A very pretty little room it was; none of your enormous dreary
state-apartments, dull as a theatre in the daytime, with a bed like a
mourning coach, and corners of gloom and mystery, uncomfortable even
at noon, and fatal to the nerves when seen by the light of a solitary
wax-candle. On the contrary, it was quite the room for a young lady:
pink hangings tinted one's complexion with that roseate bloom which
the poet avers is as indispensable to woman as "man's imperial
front"--whatever _that_ means--is to the male biped. A dark carpet
with a rich border relieved the light-coloured paper, picked out
sparingly with flowers; the toilet-table was covered with a blushing
transparency of pink under white, like sunset on snow--perhaps I
should rather say like a muslin dress over a satin slip; and there was
a charming full-length glass, in which I could contemplate my whole
person from top to toe, without slanting it an inch off the
perpendicular. The lookout was into Lady Scapegrace's garden, a little
_bijou_ of a place, that bore ample witness to the good taste of its
mistress. Every shrub had been transplanted under her own eye, every
border filled according to her personal directions. She tied her own
carnations, and budded her own roses, like the most exemplary
clergyman's wife in England. I do believe she _would_ have been a good
wife to anybody but Sir Guy.
However, it was too dark for me to see anything of her ladyship's
garden. It was already getting dusk when we arrived, and although it
wanted three mortal hours of dinner, all the ladies, including the
hostess, had retired to their own rooms, to while away the time by
writing letters, reading novels, and going to sleep. I was much too
restless to embark in any of these occupations. It would have been a
relief to write, certainly--to pour out all one's thoughts and
feelings before some sympathizing correspondent; but I owned none
such. I could not have settled to read, no, not the most interesting
novel that was ever penned, although I might have left it off the day
before in an agony of uncertainty at the critical place which is
always to be found near the conclusion of the second volume; and as
for sleep--sleep, indeed!--I felt as if I should never sleep again.
When I am unhappy, and particularly when I am angry with myself, I
must always be doing something--no matter what--but I _must_ be
occupied, so I hurried Gertrude, and bustled about, and got myself
dressed, and found my own way to one of the drawing-rooms, where I
hoped to be at least secure from interruption, and to brood and worry
myself for an hour or two in unbroken solitude. I ought to have been
safe enough here. As I had wandered through unknown passages and
passed uncertain doors, I had heard the click of billiard balls, the
sound of many voices, and the harsh laugh of Sir Guy; I knew
consequently that the gentlemen were all busy at "pool," or some
equally intellectual pastime, and had not yet gone to dress. I was
sufficiently conversant with the habits of my own sex to be aware that
no lady would willingly tarnish the freshness of her dinner toilette
by coming down before the very last minute, and I anticipated
therefore no further interruption than a housemaid coming to put the
fire to rights, or a groom of the chambers to light fresh candles,
functionaries, especially the former, who would be much more
incommoded by my presence than I should be by theirs. Good gracious!
there was a gentleman down and dressed already; sitting with his back
to me, immersed in the thrilling pages of "The Drawing-Room Scrap
Book," which he was studying upside-down. I came in very softly, and
he never heard me, nor turned his head, but I knew the back of that
head pretty well. It was Cousin John. I also took a book, and sat
down.
"Perhaps," I thought, "he's not going to speak to me at all. Well,
what do I care? I've a temper, too, if it comes to that."
So I read my book assiduously; it was the "Comic Almanac," but I don't
know that it made me feel very much inclined to laugh. The clock
ticked loud and disagreeably. I determined not to speak till I was
spoken to; but after a time the silence grew irksome, and the ticking
of the clock so loud, that I ventured on a slight cough, merely to
break it. "Ahem," said I, still intent on the "Comic Almanac." John
turned slowly round, made a half rise, as if out of compliment to my
presence, and returned to "The Drawing-Room Scrap Book," which,
however, he was now reading the right way. This would not do; I
resolved to wait a little longer, just a quarter of an hour by the
clock, and see whether he would not have the common civility to speak
to me. What a long quarter of an hour it was! The hand reached it at
last--it passed it--I gave him another five minutes. It was getting
painful. I spoke, and the sound of my own voice quite startled me, yet
was my remark as harmless and commonplace as well could be.
"John," said I, "what time do we dine?"
"A quarter before eight, I believe," answered John, quite
good-humouredly, and as if nothing had happened to estrange us. "Dear
me, Kate, how early you're dressed!"
I could have cried with vexation; but I resolved, if possible, to find
a sore place somewhere, and give him "one" before I had done with him;
so I made a saucy face, and asked him, half laughing, whether "he
didn't think I had driven them very well from the station?"
"Inimitably, Kate," was his reply; "I hadn't the least idea you were
so accomplished a charioteer."
I should have burst into tears, I verily believe, but just then Lady
Scapegrace sailed in, and the usual forms of society had to be gone
through; and she kissed me, and shook hands with Mr. Jones, as if she
really liked us; and we talked of the weather, and the shameful
stoppages of the train we had come by, and the general inconveniences
of railways; and presently more ladies came down, neat and crisp as if
turned out of a bandbox, followed by their lords in choking white
neckcloths; and then Sir Guy himself appeared in a costume of
surpassing splendour; but still, although in his evening dress,
brilliant with starch and polish and buttons and jewellery, looking
like a coachman in masquerade; and "dinner" was announced, and we all
paired off with the utmost ceremony, and I found myself seated between
Frank Lovell and dear old Mr. Lumley, and opposite the elder Miss
Molasses, who scowled at me with an asperity of which I should have
believed her unmeaning face incapable, as if she hated me on this
particular evening more than all the other days of the year. I soon
discovered the cause. Frank was more attentive to me than I had ever
known him, although there was a _something_ in his manner that I did
not altogether like, a sort of freedom that I had never remarked
before, and which made me colder and more reserved than usual. It was
evident he thought he might venture as far as he liked with a young
lady who drove four horses and smoked a cigar the while. I felt I was
blushing _under my skin_; but I was determined to brave it all out, to
hide from every living soul my own vexation and self-contempt. Once I
caught a telegraphic signal exchanged between my neighbour and Miss
Molasses, after which she seemed more at ease, and went on with her
dinner in comfort. I was so angry now that I turned my shoulder
towards Master Frank, and took refuge with my dear old friend Mr.
Lumley, who, utterly regardless of the noise and flirtation his better
half was carrying on at the other end of the table, discussed his
cutlet quite contentedly, and prosed away to me in his usual kind,
consolatory manner. I was one of his great favourites; in fact, he
told me so, then and there. He always called me "my dear," and often
vowed that if he had only the use of his legs he would walk to the end
of the world to make me a thoroughgoing naturalist like himself. I was
getting more at ease under his dear old wing. I had gone through so
much excitement during the day that this comparative inaction was a
positive relief, and I was really beginning to enjoy a sort of repose,
when the Baronet's horrid voice from the bottom of the table aroused
me once more to an agony of shame and despite.
"Do me the honour to drink a glass of champagne; the champagne to Miss
Coventry!" shouted Sir Guy; "you must require it after your exertion.
Egad! my team won't get over it in a hurry--the roads were woolly and
the time short--hey, Miss Kate? But d----n me if the whipcord was
scarce. I've done that seven miles in all weathers, and a sweet seven
miles it is, but I never came anything like the pace we did to-day.
Your good health, Miss Kate; I'll have a fresh team put together for
you to-morrow, and a better cigar to smoke than the one I gave you
to-day."
I could willingly have sunk into the earth--nay, crept under the
table-cloth--anything to hide my dishonoured head. The ladies looked
at each other aghast, and then at _me_. The gentlemen, even the
stiffest of them, turned boldly round to survey such a phenomenon as
the tobacco-smoking, four-in-hand Miss Coventry. Mrs. Lumley showered
her long ringlets all over her face with one toss of her pretty little
head that I might not see how heartily she was laughing. Lady
Scapegrace good-naturedly made an immense clatter with something that
was handed to her, to distract attention from my unfortunate self; but
I believe I must have got up and left the room had not Cousin John
come adroitly to the rescue. He had not been studying the daily paper
for nothing, and his voice rose loud and clear through the awful
silence that succeeded Sir Guy's polished remarks.
"Did you see that article in to-day's _Times_ about Ministers?" asked
John, of the public in general; "there's another split in the
Cabinet--this time it's on the malt-tax. To-day, in the City, they
were betting five to two there's a general election within a
fortnight, and taking two to one Ambidexter is Premier before the
first of next month."
John! John! if you had saved my life I could not have been more
obliged to you. Many of the present party were members of
Parliament--all were deep in politics. Most of them had seen the
Times, but none, like John, had the earliest intelligence from the
City. I have since had reason to believe he invented every syllable of
it. However, such a topic was too engrossing not to swamp every other,
and no more allusions were made to my unfortunate escapade till Lady
Scapegrace had drawn on her gloves, bent her haughty head, and "made
the move," at which we all sailed away to tea and coffee in the
drawing-room.
Here I was more at my ease. Lady Scapegrace and Mrs. Lumley, hating
each other, were, of course, inclined to be excessively kind to me--I
formed a bond of union between the foes. We three, particularly with
such a weapon as the tongue of Mrs. Lumley, were more than a match for
any number of our own sex, and most of the other ladies gave in at
once. Only Miss Molasses held out, and eyed me once more with an
expression of eager malice for which I could not easily account. I
remarked, too, that she seemed restless and fidgety, glanced anxiously
ever and anon at the door by which the gentlemen would join us, and
seemed uncomfortable if any of us approached an empty chair which was
next to her seat. I began to have my suspicions of Frank Lovell,
notwithstanding all his asseverations. I determined to watch him
narrowly; and _if_ I found my misgivings were true--if I discovered he
was false and treacherous, why, then, I would--after all, what _could_
I do? It stung me to think how powerless I was.
Now, the establishment of Scamperley, although doubtless the bonds of
domestic discipline were by no means over-tightly drawn, was one in
which servants, from the stately curly-headed "groom of the chambers,"
down to the little boy in green that was always too late for the post,
had more than enough upon their hands. In the first place, nobody ever
seemed to think of going to bed much before daylight. This entailed a
breakfast, protracted by one late sleeper after another till
luncheon-time; that meal was of unusual magnificence and variety;
besides which, a hot repast, dressed by the French cook, and
accompanied by iced champagne, etc., required to be served in one of
the woods for the refreshment of Sir Guy's shooting guests. Then in
the afternoon there were constant fresh arrivals and rooms to be got
ready; for when the host and hostess were at home they kept the house
full, and the day concluded with a large dinner-party, at which seldom
less than sixteen sat down to discuss the inspirations of Monsieur
Horsd'oeuvre and the priceless wines of Sir Guy. No wonder the
servants looked tired and overworked, though I fancy the luxury and
good living _downstairs_ was quite equal to that which elicited
encomiums from _bon-vivants_ and connoisseurs above. Nevertheless, it
was but just that they too should have their share of relaxation and
amusement; therefore did Sir Guy in his generosity give an annual
servants' ball, which he attended and opened himself in a state of
hilarity not calculated to inspire much respect amongst his retainers.
He had, however, sufficient self-command invariably to select as his
partner the prettiest maidservant in his establishment. But if the
baronet failed in his dignity as head of the house, her ladyship had
enough for both. She looked like a queen as she sailed in, amongst her
own domestics and all the retainers and hangers-on for miles round. On
the evening in question it amused me much to see the admiration,
almost the adoration, she elicited from old and young. No wonder: that
stately form, that queenly brow, had been bent over many a sick-bed;
those deep, thrilling tones had spoken words of comfort to many a
humble sufferer; that white hand was ever ready to aid, ever open to
relieve; good or bad, none ever applied to Lady Scapegrace in vain.
"The virtuous it is pleasant to relieve and make friends of," she has
often said to me in her moments of confidence; "the wicked it is a
duty to assist and to pity. Who should feel for them, Kate, if I
didn't? God knows I have been wicked enough myself."
The men-servants never took their eyes off her, and I fear made but
sorry partners to the buxom lasses of the household till "my lady" had
left the room. I saw two stable-boys, evidently fresh arrivals, who
seemed perfectly transfixed with admiration, as at an apparition such
as they had never pictured to themselves in their dreams; and one
rough fellow, a sort of under-keeper in velveteen, with the frame of a
Hercules and a fist that could have stunned an ox, having gazed at her
open-mouthed for about ten minutes without winking an eyelash, struck
his hand against his thigh, and exclaimed aloud to his own
inexpressible relief, though utterly unconscious of anything but the
presence which so overpowered him,--
"Noa, dashed if ever I _did_!"
This was soon after "my lady" had sailed into the servants' hall at
the head of her guests. It was the custom of the place for all the
"fashionables" and smart people who were actually in the house to
attend the servants' ball, most of us only staying long enough to set
the thing going with spirit, though I believe some of the young
dandies who found partners to their liking remained to the end, and
"kept it up" till daylight. Down we all went, as soon as the gentlemen
had finished their wine and discussed their coffee in the
drawing-room, down we went, through stone passages and long
underground galleries into a splendidly-lighted apartment, somewhat
devoid of furniture, but decorated with evergreens, and further
adorned by a sort of muslin transparency hanging from the roof. This
was the servants' hall, and although on a stone floor, a capital room
for dancing it was. We were all soon provided with partners. Sir Guy,
much to her triumph, selected my maid, Gertrude. Lady Scapegrace
paired off with the steward, a fat, rosy man, who quite _shone_ with
delight at the honour. The French cook carried off Miss Molasses, with
whose native stupidity I thought the vivacious foreigner seemed a
little disappointed. Frank Lovell was taken possession of by the fat
housekeeper, to whom he "did the amiable," as Frank had the knack of
doing to anything with a petticoat. Cousin John handed off a stately
damsel, whom I afterwards recognized as the upper housemaid, and I was
claimed by a dapper little second-horse rider, of whom I flatter
myself I made a complete conquest by the interest I took in his
profession and the thorough knowledge I displayed of its details. I
had to make most of the conversation myself, certainly, for his
replies, though couched in terms of the deepest respect, and
accompanied by a chivalrous deference for my sex to which I was
totally unaccustomed from the partners of a London ball-room,
consisted for the most part of little more than "Yes, Miss," and "No,
Miss," with an additional smooth of the smoothest, shiniest head I
ever beheld. When I had exhausted the meets of the hounds for the
ensuing week, with a few general observations on the pursuit of
hunting, and the merits of that noble animal, the horse, I began to
get high and dry for further topics, and was not sorry when three
fiddles and a flute struck up their inspiriting tones, and away we all
went, "cross hands," "down the middle and up again," to the lively and
by this time tolerably familiar air of "Sir Roger de Coverley."
I am bound to confess that, as far as the servants were concerned,
everything went on with the utmost propriety and respect. Sir Guy,
indeed, pulled his partner about with an unnecessary degree of vigour,
which at times almost degenerated into a romp, and squeezed my hands
in "the Poussette" with an energy of affection which I could well have
dispensed with; but every one else was a very pattern of politeness
and decorum. In fact, the thing was almost getting stupid, when my
little second-horse rider and myself, returning breathless from our
rapid excursion down some two-and-thirty couple, were "brought up,"
startled and dismayed, by a piercing scream from at least that number
of female voices, all raised at the same instant.
"Fire! fire!" exclaimed the tall housemaid at my elbow.
"Save me! save me!" shrieked the fat housekeeper, plumping into Frank
Lovell's arms, and well-nigh bringing him to the ground, in which case
she _must_ have crushed him.
"Murder! murder!" shouted my idiot of a maid, Gertrude, rushing
frantically for the doorway, followed by Sir Guy, who was swearing, I
am sorry to say, most fearfully.
"Stand still, fools!" I heard Lady Scapegrace exclaim in her deep
tones, "and let nobody open the door!"
By this time there was a rush of all the women towards the door; and
as the centre of the room was cleared, I saw what had happened. The
muslin transparency had caught fire--a large fragment of it was even
now blazing on the floor, and the consequences amongst all those light
floating dresses and terrified women might have been indeed awful. For
an instant everybody seemed paralyzed--everybody but Cousin John;
during that instant he had flung off his coat, and kneeling upon it,
extinguished the flames. They were still blazing over his head: with a
desperate bound he tore down the ill-fated transparency; regardless of
singed hair and blistered hands, he clasped and pressed it, and
stamped upon it, and smothered it. Ere one could have counted fifty
the danger was over and not a vestige of the fire remained. How
handsome he looked with his brave face lighted up and his eyes
sparkling with excitement! Nobody could say John wanted expression of
countenance now. The next moment he was quietly apologizing in his
usual tone to Lady Scapegrace for "spoiling her beautiful
transparency," and parrying her thanks and encomiums on his courage
and presence of mind with an assurance that he "only pulled it down
because he happened to be directly under it;" but he could not help
turning to me and saying,--
"Kate, I hope you were not much frightened."
The words were not much, but they were uttered in the old kind voice;
they rung in my ears all the evening, and I went to bed happier than I
ever thought I could have been after such a day.