HER GRACE OF WILMOT
On a certain morning, between twelve and one o'clock, the inhabitants
of Graham Square must have felt some slight astonishment as a carriage
and pair of horses dashed up to No. 17. On the panels of the carriage
were seen the coronet, with the eight strawberries, which denotes the
ducal rank. The coachman and footman were also in the well-known
livery of the Duke of Wilmot. One of the servants got down, rang the
bell, and a moment later the Duchess swept gracefully into the
drawing-room, where mother and I happened to be alone. She came up to
us with both hands outstretched.
"My dears," she said, glancing round, "are they all out?"
"I am so glad to see you, Victoria," replied mother; "but whom do you
mean? Sit down, won't you?"
The Duchess sank into the nearest chair. She really looked quite
nervous.
"Are the boarders out?" she said again; "I could not encounter them. I
considered the whole question, and thought that at this hour they
would, in all probability, be shopping or diverting themselves in
some way. Ah, Westenra, let me look at you."
"But do you really want to look at me, Duchess?" I asked somewhat
audaciously.
"I see you have lost none of your spirit," said the Duchess, and she
patted me playfully with a large fan which she wore at her side.
"There, sit down in that little chair opposite, and tell me all about
everything. How is this--this curious concern going?"
"You can see for yourself," I answered; "this room is not exactly an
attic, is it?"
"No, it is a very nice reception-room," said the Duchess, glancing
approvingly around her. "It has, my dear Mary--forgive me for the
remark--a little of the Mayfair look; a large room, too, nearly as
large as our rooms in Grosvenor Place."
"Not quite as large," I replied, "and it is not like your rooms,
Duchess, but it does very well for us, and it is certainly better and
more stimulating than a cottage in the country."
"Ah, Westenra, you are as terribly independent as ever," said the
Duchess. "What the girls of the present day are coming to!" She sighed
as she spoke.
"But you are a very pretty girl all the same," she continued, giving
me an approving nod. "Yes, yes, and this phase will pass, of course it
will pass."
"Why have you come to see us to-day, Victoria?" asked my mother.
"My dear friend," replied the Duchess, dropping her voice, "I have
come to-day because I am devoured with curiosity. I mean to drop in
occasionally. Just at present, and while the whole incident is fresh
in the minds of our friends, you would scarcely like me to ask you to
my receptions, but by-and-by I doubt not it can be managed. The fact
is, I admire you both, and very often think of you. The Duke also is
greatly tickled at the whole concern; I never saw him laugh so
heartily about anything. He says that, as to Westenra, she is
downright refreshing; he never heard of a girl of her stamp doing this
sort of thing before. He thinks that she will make a sort of
meeting-place, a sort of bond between the West and the--the--no, not
the East, but this sort of neutral ground where the middle-class
people live."
The Duchess looked round the big room, and then glanced out at the
Square.
"Harrison had some difficulty in finding the place," she said, "but
the British Museum guided him; it is a landmark. Even we people of
Mayfair go to the British Museum sometimes. It is colossal and
national, and you live close to it. Do you often study there,
Westenra? Don't go too often, for stooping over those old books gives
girls such a poke. But you really look quite comfortable here."
"We are delightfully comfortable," I said. "We enjoy our lives
immensely."
"It is very nice to see you, Victoria," said mother.
Then I saw by the look on mother's face that while I had supposed her
to be perfectly happy, all this time she had been more or less
suffering. She had missed the people of her own kind. The Duchess
looked her all over.
"You are out of your element here, Mary," she said, "and so is this
child. It is a preposterous idea, a sort of freak of nature. I never
thought Westenra would become odd; she bids fair to be very odd. I
don't agree with the Duke. I don't care for odd people, they don't
marry well as a rule. Of course there are exceptions. I said so to the
Duke when----"
"When what?" I said, seeing that she paused.
"Nothing, my love, nothing. I have come here, Westenra, to let you and
your mother know that whenever you like to step up again I will give
you a helping hand."
"Oh, we are never going back to the old life," I said. "We could not
afford it, and I don't know either that we should care to live as we
did--should we, Mummy? We know our true friends now."
"That is unkind, my child. The fact is, it is the idea of the
_boarding-house_ that all your friends shrink from. If you and your
mother had taken a nice house in the country, not a large and
expensive house, but a fairly respectable one, with a little ground
round, I and other people I know might have got ladies to live with
you and to pay you well. Our special friends who wanted change and
quiet might have been very glad to go to you for two or three weeks,
but you must see for yourselves, both of you, that this sort of thing
is impossible. Nevertheless, I came here to-day to say that whenever,
Westenra, you step up, you will find your old friend----"
"And godmother," I said.
"And godmother," she repeated, "willing to give you a helping hand."
"When you became my godmother," I said slowly (oh, I know I was very
rude, but I could not quite help myself), "you promised for me, did
you not, that I should not love the world?"
The Duchess gazed at me out of her round, good-humoured brown eyes.
"We all know just what that means," she said.
"No, we do not," I answered. "I think very few people do know or
realise it in the very least. Now stepping back again might mean the
world; perhaps mother and I would rather stay where we are."
As I spoke I got up impatiently and walked to one of the windows, and
just then I saw Mr. Randolph coming up the steps. As a rule he was
seldom in to lunch; he was an erratic individual, always sleeping in
the house, and generally some time during the day having a little chat
with mother, but for the rest he was seldom present at any of our
meals except late dinner. Why was he coming to lunch to-day? I heard
his step on the stairs, he had a light, springy step, the drawing-room
door opened and he came in.
"Ah, Jim," said the Duchess, "I scarcely expected to see you here."
She got up and held out her hand; he grasped it. I thought his face
wore a peculiar expression. I am not quite certain about this, for I
could not see him very well from where I was standing, but I did
notice that the Duchess immediately became on her guard. She dropped
his hand and turned to mother.
"I met Mr. Randolph last year in Italy," she said.
Mother now entered into conversation with them both, and I stood by
the window looking out into the square, and wondering why the Duchess
had coloured when she saw him. Why had she called him Jim? If she only
met him last year abroad it was scarcely likely that she would be
intimate enough to speak to him by his Christian name. A moment later
she rose.
"You may take me down to my carriage, Jim," she said. "Good-bye,
Westenra; you are a naughty girl, full of defiance, and you think your
old godmother very unkind, but whenever you step up I shall be waiting
to help you. Good-bye, good-bye. Oh hurry, please, Mr. Randolph, some
of those creatures may be coming in. Good-bye, dear, good-bye."
She nodded to mother, laid her hand lightly on Mr. Randolph's arm,
who took her down and put her into her carriage. They spoke together
for a moment, I watched them from behind the drawing-room curtains,
then the carriage rolled away, and the square was left to its usual
solid respectability. Doctors' carriages did occasionally drive
through it, and flourishing doctors drove a pair of horses as often as
not, but the strawberry on the panels showed itself no more for many a
long day in that region.
At lunch the boarders were in a perfect state of ferment. Even Captain
and Mrs. Furlong were inclined to be subservient. Did we really know
the Duchess of Wilmot? Captain Furlong was quite up in the annals of
the nobility. This was one of his little weaknesses, for he was quite
in every sense of the word a gentleman; but he did rather air his
knowledge of this smart lady and of that whom he had happened to meet
in the course of his wanderings.
"There are few women I admire more than the Duchess of Wilmot," he
said to mother, "she is so charitable, so good. She was a Silchester,
you know, she comes of a long and noble line. For my part, I believe
strongly in heredity. Have you known the Duchess long, Mrs. Wickham?"
"All my life," answered mother simply.
"Really! All your life?"
"Yes," she replied, "we were brought up in the same village."
The servant came up with vegetables, and mother helped herself.
Captain Furlong looked a little more satisfied.
Mrs. Armstrong gave me a violent nudge in the side.
"I suppose your mother was the clergyman's daughter?" she said. "The
great people generally patronise the daughters of the clergy in the
places where they live. I have often noticed it. I said so to Marion
last night. I said, if only, Marion, you could get into that set, you
would begin to know the upper ten, clergymen are so respectable; but
Marion, if you'll believe it, will have nothing to do with them. She
says she would not be a curate's wife for the world. What I say is
this, she wouldn't always be a curate's wife, for he would be sure to
get a living, and if he were a smart preacher, he might be a dean
by-and-by, or even a bishop, just think of it. But Marion shuts her
eyes to all these possibilities, and says that nothing would give her
greater torture than teaching in Sunday-school and having mothers'
meetings. With her h'artistic soul I suppose it is scarcely to be
expected that she should take to that kind of employment. And your
mother was the clergyman's daughter, was she not?"
"No," I answered. I did not add any more. I did not repeat either that
the Duchess happened to be my godmother. I turned the conversation.
Mr. Randolph sat near mother and talked to her, and soon other things
occupied the attention of the boarders, and the Duchess's visit ceased
to be the topic of conversation.
On the next evening but one, Mr. Randolph came to my side.
"I heard your mother say, Miss Wickham, that you are both fond of the
theatre. Now I happen to have secured, through a friend, three tickets
for the first night of Macbeth. I should be so glad if you would allow
me to take you and Mrs. Wickham to the Lyceum."
"And I should like it, Westenra," said mother--she came up while he
was speaking. Miss Armstrong happened to be standing near, and I am
sure she overheard. Her face turned a dull red, she walked a step or
two away. I thought for a moment. I should have greatly preferred to
refuse; I was beginning, I could not tell why, to have an uneasy
feeling with regard to Mr. Randolph--there was a sort of mystery about
his staying in the house, and why did the Duchess know him, and why
did she call him Jim. But my mother's gentle face and the longing in
her eyes made me reply--
"If mother likes it, of course I shall like it. Thank you very much
for asking us."
"I hope you will enjoy it," was his reply, "I am glad you will come."
He did not allude again to the matter, but talked on indifferent
subjects. We were to go to the Lyceum on the following evening.
The next day early I went into mother's room. Mother was not at all as
strong as I could have wished. She had a slight cough, and there was a
faded, fagged sort of look about her, a look I had never seen when we
lived in Mayfair. She was subject to palpitations of the heart too,
and often turned quite faint when she went through any additional
exertion. These symptoms had begun soon after our arrival at 17 Graham
Square. She had never had them in the bygone days, when her friends
came to see her and she went to see them. Was mother too old for this
transplanting? Was it a little rough on her?
Thoughts like these made me very gentle whenever I was in my dear
mother's presence, and I was willing and longing to forget myself, if
only she might be happy.
"What kind of day is it, Westenra?" she said the moment I put in an
appearance. She was not up yet, she was lying in bed supported by
pillows. Her dear, fragile beautiful face looked something like the
most delicate old porcelain. She was sipping a cup of strong soup,
which Jane Mullins had just sent up to her.
"O Mummy!" I said, kissing her frantically, "are you ill? What is the
matter?"
"No, my darling, I am quite as well as usual," she answered, "a little
weak, but that is nothing. I am tired sometimes, Westenra."
"Tired, but you don't do a great deal," I said.
"That's just it, my love, I do too little. If I had more to do I
should be better."
"More visiting, I suppose, and that sort of thing?" I said.
"Yes," she answered very gently, "more visiting, more variety, more
exchange of ideas--if it were not for Mr. Randolph."
"You like him?" I said.
"Don't you, my darling?"
"I don't know, mother, I am not sure about him. Who is he?"
"A nice gentlemanly fellow."
"Mother, I sometimes think he is other than what he seems, we know
nothing whatever about him."
"He is a friend of Jane Mullins's," said mother.
"But, mother, how can that be? He is not really a friend of Jane
Mullins's. Honest little Jane belongs essentially to the people. You
have only to look from one face to the other to see what a wide gulf
there is between them. He is accustomed to good society; he is a man
of the world. Mother, I am certain he is keeping something to himself.
I cannot understand why he lives here. Why should he live here?"
"He likes it," answered mother. "He enjoys his many conversations with
me. He likes the neighbourhood. He says Bloomsbury is far more healthy
than Mayfair."
"Mother, dear, is it likely that such a man would think much about his
health."
"I am sorry you are prejudiced against him," said mother, and a
fretful quaver came into her voice. "Well," she added, "I am glad the
day is fine, we shall enjoy our little expedition this evening."
"But are you sure it won't be too much for you?"
"Too much! I am so wanting to go," said mother.
"Then that is right, and I am delighted."
"By the way," continued mother, "I had a note this morning from Mr.
Randolph; he wants us to dine with him first at the Hotel Cecil."
"Mother!"
"Yes, darling; is there any objection?"
"Oh, I don't like it," I continued; "why should we put ourselves under
an obligation to him?"
"I do not think, Westenra, you need be afraid; if I think it right to
go you need have no scruples."
"Of course I understand that," I answered, "and if it were any one
else I should not think twice about it. If the Duchess, for instance,
asked us to dine with her, and if she took us afterwards to the
theatre I should quite rejoice, but I am puzzled about Mr. Randolph."
"Prejudiced, you mean, dear; but never mind, you are young. As long as
you have me with you, you need have no scruples. I have written a line
to him to say that we will be pleased to dine with him. He is to meet
us at the hotel, and is sending a carriage for us here. I own I shall
be very glad once in a way to eat at a table where Mrs. Armstrong is
not."
"I have always tried to keep Mrs. Armstrong out of your way, mother."
"Yes, darling; but she irritates me all the same. However, she is a
good soul, and I must learn to put up with her. Now then, West, what
will you wear to-night?"
"Something very quiet," I answered.
"One of your white dresses."
"I have only white silk, that is too much."
"You can make it simpler; you can take away ornaments and flowers. I
want to see you in white again. I am perfectly tired of that black
dress which you put on every evening."
I left mother soon afterwards, and the rest of the day proceeded in
the usual routine. I would not confess even to myself that I was glad
I was going to the Lyceum with Mr. Randolph and mother, but when I saw
a new interest in her face and a brightness in her voice, I tried to
be pleased on her account. After all, she was the one to be
considered. If it gave her pleasure it was all as it should be.
When I went upstairs finally to dress for this occasion, which seemed
in the eyes of Jane Mullins to be a very great occasion, she (Jane)
followed me to my door. I heard her knock on the panels, and told her
to come in with some impatience in my voice.
"Now that is right," she said; "I was hoping you would not put on that
dismal black. Young things should be in white."
"Jane," I said, turning suddenly round and speaking with great
abruptness, "what part of the cake do you suppose Mr. Randolph
represents?"
Jane paused for a moment; there came a twinkle into her eyes.
"Well, now," she said, "I should like to ask you that question myself,
say in a year's time."
"I have asked it of you now," I said; "answer, please."
"Let's call him the nutmeg," said Jane. "We put nutmeg into some kinds
of rich cake. It strikes me that the cake of this establishment is
becoming very rich and complicated now. It gives a rare flavour, does
nutmeg, used judiciously."
"I know nothing about it," I answered with impatience. "What part of
the cake is mother?"
"Oh, the ornamental icing," said Jane at once; "it gives tone to the
whole."
"And I, Jane, I?"
"A dash of spirit, which we put in at the end to give the subtle
flavour," was Jane's immediate response.
"Thank you, Jane, you are very complimentary."
"To return to your dress, dear, I am glad you are wearing white."
"I am putting on white to please mother," I replied, "otherwise I
should not wear it. To tell the truth, I never felt less disposed for
an evening's amusement in my life."
"Then that is extremely wrong of you, Westenra. They are all envying
you downstairs. As to poor Miss Armstrong, she would give her eyes to
go. They are every one of them in the drawing-room, and dressed in
their showiest, and it has leaked out that you won't be there, nor
Mrs. Wickham, nor--nor Mr. Randolph, and that I'll be the only one to
keep the place in order to-night. I do trust those attic boarders
won't get the better of me, for I have a spice of temper in me when I
am roused, and those attics do rouse me sometimes almost beyond
endurance. As I said before, we get too much of the attic element in
the house, and if we don't look sharp the cake will be too heavy."
"That would never do," I replied. I was hurriedly fastening on my
white dress as I spoke. It was of a creamy shade, and hung in graceful
folds, and I felt something like the Westenra of old times as I
gathered up my fan and white gloves, and wrapped my opera cloak round
me. I was ready. My dress was simplicity itself, but it suited me. I
noticed how slim and tall I looked, and then ran downstairs,
determined to forget myself and to devote the whole evening to making
mother as happy as woman could be.
Mother was seated in the drawing-room, looking stately, a little
nervous, and very beautiful. The ladies of the establishment were
fussing round her. They had already made her into a sort of queen, and
she certainly looked regal to-night.
The servant came up and announced that the carriage was waiting. We
went downstairs. It was a little brougham, dull chocolate in colour. A
coachman in quiet livery sat on the box; a footman opened the door for
us. The brougham was drawn by a pair of chestnuts.
"Most unsuitable," I murmured to myself. "What sort of man is Mr.
Randolph?"
Mother, however, looked quite at home and happy in the little
brougham. She got in, and we drove off. It was now the middle of
November, and I am sure several faces were pressed against the glass
of the drawing-room windows as we were whirled rapidly out of the
Square.