I wonder whether any lady in England has a maid who, to use that
domestic's own expression, is capable of "giving satisfaction." If any
lady does rejoice in such an Abigail, I shall be too happy to "swap"
with her, and give anything else I possess except Brilliant into the
bargain. Mine is the greatest goose that ever stood upon two legs, and
how she can chatter as she does with her mouth full of pins is to me a
perfect miracle. Once or twice in the week I have to endure a certain
ordeal which, although a positive pleasure to some women, is to my
disposition intense martyrdom, termed dressing to go out; and I think
I never hated it more than the night of Lady Horsingham's ball. Lady
Horsingham is my poor uncle's widow; and as Aunt Deborah is extremely
punctilious on all matters relating to family connections, we
invariably attend these solemnities with a gravity befitting the
occasion.
Now, I may be singular in my ideas; but I confess that it does appear
to me a strange way of enjoying oneself in the dog-days, to make one's
toilette at eleven p.m., for the purpose of sitting in a carriage till
twelve, and struggling on a staircase amongst a mob of one's
fellow-creatures till half-past. After fighting one's way literally
step by step, and gaining a landing by assault, one looks round and
takes breath, and what does one see? Panting girls looking in vain for
the right partner, who is probably not ten yards from them, but wedged
in between substantial dowagers, whom he is cursing in his heart, but
from whom there is no escape; or perhaps philosophically and
perfidiously making the best of his unavoidable situation, and
flirting shamefully with the one he likes _next_ best to the
imprisoned maiden on the staircase; or, the tables turned, young
fledglings pining madly for their respective enslavers, and picturing
to themselves how she may be even now whirling round to that pealing
waltz in the arms of some former adorer or delightfully new
acquaintance, little heeding him who is languishing in his white
neckcloth, actually within speaking distance, but separated as
effectually as if he were in another country. By-the-bye, it's fatal
when people begin to think of each other as hes and shes; the softest
proper name that ever was whispered is not half so dangerous as those
demonstrative pronouns. In one corner is a stout old gentleman, wedged
against the wall, wiping the drops from his bald head, and wondering
what Jane and Julia can see in these gatherings to make them wild
about going to every ball for which they can get an invitation.
Deluded father! both Jane and Julia have the best of reasons in this
very house. You grudge not to spend a broiling September day in the
pursuit of _your_ game; each of your fair daughters, sir, flatters
herself that she, too, has winged her bird.
Swaying backwards and forwards in the mass, like some goodly
merchantman at anchor, pitching and rolling to a ground-swell, behold
the chaperon fulfilling her destiny, and skilfully playing that game
which to her is the business of life. Flushed and hot in person, she
is cool and composed in mind. Practice makes perfect; and the chaperon
is as much at home here as the stockbroker on 'Change, or the
betting-man in the ring, or the fisherman amidst the roar and turmoil
of the waves. With lynx eyes she notes how Lady Carmine's eldest girl
is "carrying on" with young Thriftless, and how Lord Looby's eyeglass
is fixed on her own youngest daughter; yet for all this she is not
absent or preoccupied, but can whisper to stupid Lady Dulwich the very
latest intelligence of a marriage, or listen, all attention, to the
freshest bit of scandal from Mrs. General Gabbler. But perhaps by this
time you have floated with the tide into the doorway, and received
from your hostess the cordial shake of the hand or formal bow which
makes you free of the place. So, with patience and perseverance you
work your way at last into the dancing-room, and you now see what
people come here for--dancing, of course. Each performer has about
eighteen inches of standing room, and on that space must be enacted in
hopeless pantomime the intricate evolutions of the quadrille, or the
rotatory struggles of the waltz. Sliding and smiling, and edging and
crushing, the conscientious dancers try to fulfil their duties, and
much confusion and begging of pardons are the natural results.
However, it's a rare place for love-making. What with the music and
the crowd and the confusion, the difficulty is more to make out what
one's partner _does_ say than to prevent his being overheard by other
people; but, I must confess, if anybody had anything very particular
to say to _me_, I had rather hear it in the quiet country by
moonlight, or even coming home from Greenwich by water--or anywhere,
in short, rather than in the turmoil of a London ball. But that's all
nonsense; and I hope I have too much pride to allow any man to address
me in such a strain. Trust me for setting him down!
It's no wonder, then, that I was cross when I was dressing for Lady
Horsingham's ball; and that silly Gertrude (that's my maid's name, and
what a name it is for a person in that class of life!) put me more and
more out of patience with her idiotic conversation, which she tries to
adapt to my tastes, and of which the following is a specimen:----
"Master John will be at her ladyship's ball, miss, I make no doubt;"
brushing away the while at my back hair, and pulling it unnecessarily
hard; no maid ever yet had a "light hand."
No answer. What business is it of hers, and why should she call him
_Master John?_ Gertrude tries again: "You look pale to-night, miss;
you that generally has such a colour. I'm afraid you're tired with
your ride."
"Not a bit of it--only sleepy. Why, it's time one was in bed."
"Lor, miss, I shouldn't want to go to bed, not if I was going to a
ball. But I think you like 'orse exercise best; and to be sure, your
'orse is a real beauty, Miss Kate."
The very name of Brilliant always puts me in good humour, so, of
course, I can but answer, "_That_ he is, Gertrude, and as good as he's
handsome;" on which my voluble handmaid goes off again at score.
"That's what I say, miss, when I see him coming round to the door,
with his long black tail and his elegant shape and his thin legs."
_Thin legs!_--I can't stand that; to hear my beautiful Brilliant's
great strong legs called _thin_, as if he were made of paper. I feel I
am getting savage again, so I cut Gertrude short, and bid her "finish
my hair," and hasten my dressing, for Aunt Deborah don't take long,
and we shall be late for the ball. At the mention of the word "ball,"
off goes Gertrude again.
"What a grand ball it'll be, miss, as all her ladyship's is; and I
know there'll be no young lady there as will be better dressed than my
young lady, nor better looking neither; and I'm sure, to see you and
Master John stand up together, as you did last Christmas when we was
all at Dangerfield! and I says to the steward, 'Mr. Musty,' says I, 'a
handsomer couple than them two I never clapped eyes on. Master John,
he looks so fresh, and so healthy and portly, as becomes a gentleman.'
And he says, 'No doubt,' says he; 'and Miss Kate, she steps away like
a real good one, with her merry eyes and her trim waist, as blooming,'
says he, 'as a beanfield, and as saucy as----'"
"There, that will do, Gertrude; now my pocket-handkerchief and some
scent, and my gloves and my fan. Good-night, Gertrude."
"Good-night, miss; I do humbly hope you'll enjoy your ball."
Enjoy my ball, indeed! How little does the girl know what I enjoy, and
what I don't enjoy! Lady Horsingham will be as stiff as the poker, and
about as communicative. Cousin Amelia will look at everything I've got
on, and say the most disagreeable things she can think of, because she
never can forgive me for being born two years later than herself. I
shall know very few people, and those I do know I shall not like. I
shall have a headache before I have been half an hour in the room. If
I dance I shall be hot, and if I don't dance I shall be bored. Enjoy
my ball, indeed! I'd much rather be going hay-making.
Up went the steps, bang went the door, and ere long we were safely
consigned to the "string" of carriages bound for the same destination
as ourselves. After much "cutting-in," and shaving of wheels, and
lashing of coach-horses, with not a little blasphemy, "Miss
Horsingham" and "Miss Coventry" were announced in a stentorian voice,
and we were struggling in a mass of silks and satins, blonde and
broadcloth, up the swarming staircase. Everything happened exactly as
I had predicted; Lady Horsingham accosted Aunt Deborah with the most
affectionate cordiality, and lent me two fingers of her left hand, to
be returned without delay. Cousin Amelia looked me well over from head
to foot, and asked after my own health and Brilliant's with a
supercilious smile. How that girl hates me! And I honestly confess to
returning the feeling with some cordiality. As far as appearance goes,
I think without vanity I may say I have the best of it, Cousin Amelia
being very short and pale, with a "turn-up" nose and long ringlets.
Why does a little woman with a turn-up nose always wear her hair in
ringlets? Is it that she wishes to resemble a King Charles's spaniel?
And why are our sex so apt to cherish feelings of animosity towards
those who are younger and better-looking than themselves? While I ask
myself these questions I was suddenly accosted by a lady who had been
some time in conversation with my chaperon, and from whom, I saw by
Aunt Deborah's countenance, she was anxious to make her escape. Poor
old soul! What could she do? A double rank of dowagers hemmed her in
in front; on one side of her was her unwelcome acquaintance and the
banisters--on the other, myself and three demure young ladies
(sisters), who looked frightened and uncomfortable--whilst her rear
was guarded by a tall cavalry officer with enormous moustachios,
heading an impervious column of dandies worse than himself. Aunt
Deborah was like a needle in a bottle of hay. Taking advantage of her
position, the lady before mentioned seized me by both hands, and vowed
she should have known me anywhere by my likeness to my poor mamma. "I
must make your acquaintance, my dear Miss Coventry--your uncle, Sir
Harry, was one of my oldest friends. I see you so often in the park,
and you ride the nicest horse in London, a bay with a white star." Of
course I bowed an affirmative, and shook my new friend by the hand
with a cordiality equal to her own. A conversation begun in so
promising a manner as by a reference to my favourite was sure to go on
swimmingly; besides, we could not have got away from each other if we
would; and ere long I found Mrs. Lumley--for that was the lady's
name--a most amusing and satirical personage, with a variety of
anecdotes about all her friends and acquaintances, and a sort of
flippant charm of manner that was quite irresistible.
Besides all this, she was doubtless a very pretty woman--less striking
perhaps than winning. At the first glance you hardly remarked her--at
the second you observed she was very well dressed--at the third it
occurred to you all of a sudden that she was far better-looking than
half the regular red-and-white beauties of the season; and after five
minutes' conversation all the men were over head and ears in love with
her. She was neither dark nor fair, neither pale nor ruddy, neither
short nor tall. I never could succeed in making out the colour of her
eyes, but she had wonderfully long thick eyelashes with a curl in them
(I wish mine had been cut when I was a baby), and a beautiful
healthy-looking skin, and such good teeth. After all, I think her
great attraction was her nose. It had more expression in its straight,
well-cut bridge and little, sharp point than all the rest of her
features put together. I believe it was her nose that conquered
everything, and that her small feet and pretty figure and white hands,
and dashing ways and _piquante_ conversation had much less to answer
for than one saucy little feature. How she rattled on: "You don't know
Lady Scapegrace, Miss Coventry, do you? There, that bold-looking woman
in yellow. Beautiful black hair, hasn't she?--false, every bit of it!
She'll bow to me to-night, because she sees me with your good aunt;
there, I told you so! Since she and Sir Guy are living together again
she sets up for being respectable--such stories, my dear! but I don't
believe half of 'em. However, I've seen her with my own eyes do _the
oddest_ things--at best, I'm afraid she's a shocking flirt! There's
your cousin, Mr. Jones--you see I know everybody. How black he
looks--he don't like me--a great many people don't--but I return good
for evil--I like everybody--it's never worth while to be cross;" and
as she said so she smiled with such a sunny, merry expression that I
liked her better and better.
Cousin John certainly did look very cross. "Who introduced you to that
horrid woman, Kate?" said he as soon as a fresh convulsion in the
crowd had stranded us a few steps higher up, and we were separated
from Mrs. Lumley and her attractions.
"My aunt, sir," I replied demurely, telling a "_white_ one" for the
sake of teasing him. "Why? Have you any objections?"
"Oh, of course, if my aunt did, it's all right," replied he. "I don't
know a great deal of her, and what I do know I don't much like. But,
Kate, there's a friend of mine wishes to be presented to you. You've
often heard me mention Frank Lovell--well, there he is; do you see
him?--turning round now to speak to Lady Scapegrace."
Good heavens! it was the man I had seen in the park so often, if
possible better-looking with his hat off than I had thought him in his
morning costume, with the eternal cigar in his mouth. I have a sort of
dim recollection of his making his bow to my aunt, who received him,
as she does all good-looking young men, with a patronizing smile, and
a vision of John "doing the polite," and laughing as he ceremoniously
introduced "Captain Lovell" and "Miss Coventry," and something said
about "the honour of the next waltz;" and although I am not easily
discomposed, I confess I felt a little shy and uncomfortable till I
found myself hanging on Captain Lovell's arm, and elbowing our way to
a place amongst the dancers.
I must say he wasn't the least what I expected--not at all forward,
and never alluded to our previous meeting, or to Brilliant, till we
went to have an ice in the tea-room, when Captain Lovell began to
enlarge upon the charm of those morning rides, and the fresh air, and
the beautiful scenery of Hyde Park; and though I never told him
exactly, he managed to find out that I rode every day at the same
early hour, "_even_ after a ball!" and that I was as likely to be
there to-morrow as any day in the week; and so we had another turn at
"the Colombetta" waltz, and he took me back to my aunt, half-inclined
to be pleased with _him_, and more than half-inclined to be angry with
_myself_. I am afraid I couldn't help watching him as he loitered
about amongst the crowd, now deep in conversation with Lady
Scapegrace, now laughing with my new friend, Mrs. Lumley. He looked so
like a gentleman, even amongst all the high-bred men there; and though
so handsome, he didn't appear the least conceited. I began to wonder
whether all could be true that I had heard of him, and to think that a
man who liked such early walks could not possibly be the _roué_ and
"good-for-nothing" they made him out. I was roused out of a brown
study by Cousin John's voice in my ear, "Now then, Kate, for _our_
waltz. The room's a little clearer, so we can go the 'pace' if you
like." And away we went to "the Odalisque" faster than any other
couple in the room. Somehow it wasn't half such a pretty air as the
Colombetta, and John, though he has a very good ear, didn't seem to
waltz quite so well as usual; perhaps I was getting a little tired. I
know I wasn't at all sorry when my aunt ordered the carriage; and I
thought the dawn never looked so beautiful as it did when we emerged
from those hot, lighted rooms into the pure, fragrant summer air. I
confess I do love the dawn, even in London. I like to see the "gates
of morning" open with that clear, light-green tinge that art has never
yet been able to imitate; and if I could do as I liked, which none of
us can, I should always be up and dressed by sunrise.
As we drove down Grosvenor Place I saw Captain Lovell walking home,
smoking a cigar. I think he caught a glimpse of my face at the
carriage-window, for I am almost sure he bowed, but I shrunk back into
the corner, and pretended to go to sleep; and when we arrived in
Lowndes Street I was not at all sorry to wish Aunt Deborah good-night,
and go upstairs to bed.