RESIGNATION.
Nearly two months had elapsed since the Vernons left A----; and affairs
wore much the same aspect as the first days of their arrival in town.
Miss Herman had called on Kate, on her return from the Isle of Wight,
and Kate had, _selon les regles_, returned the visit; and not liking
to trespass on Herman's time, unnecessarily, had written merely to ask
some trifling question, and thus, remind him of his promise; in reply
to which, she received a vague assurance of his readiness to serve her,
and a recommendation to patience.
Meantime, parliament was within a few days of its prorogation--town
fast thinning--and the season, to all intents and purposes, over. This
was indeed a trying time; and no portion of it so trying, as when the
Colonel sunk into his evening sleep. Kate then ventured to release her
thoughts from the books, or work, on which she always endeavoured to
fix them, in his presence, lest he should think her pre-occupied or
depressed; and sometimes gazing from the window, at the slowly closing
evening--sometimes fixing her eyes on the beloved face, which, freed
from constraint, bore a pained expression--too truly indicative of
internal feeling--occasionally an uneasy sigh would escape him, or some
muttered word; and, oh! the inexpressible tenderness and anguish that
would then swell his grandchild's heart.
Did you ever watch one you loved, asleep? if not, you never knew of
how much love your nature was capable; yet these communings with self,
like Jacob's wrestling with the angel, left a blessing behind--though
the frequent, bitter, passionate questions--"Why is it so? Why is he,
who would turn aside, rather than tread upon a worm; whose strong,
warm heart, was chiefly pleased in shewing mercy and pity--why is he
thus tried, and left desolate, now when the years are come in which
he has no pleasure?" would rise to her lips; and, hard, hard was it
to suppress them, for Kate Vernon's heart beat with too strong, too
passionate a pulse, not to feel that chastening was very grievous; nor
could she frame unreal words of resignation--when the strong turmoil of
her breast, lay open to the All-seeing--she could but cry, from out its
troubled depths--"Behold, O Lord, and see!"
One morning, her grandfather was reading aloud to her--she sometimes
made him do so--it fixed his attention more--when the door was
opened suddenly, and a lady presented herself, unannounced. She was
richly dressed in rather showy colors, and held a large embroidered
lace-edged handkerchief in her hand. The Colonel and Kate both rose.
"Miss Vernon, I presume!"
"Yes," she replied, advancing.
The visitor presented a card; and Kate, glancing at it, exclaimed--
"Ah! Mrs. Storey--grandpapa--Mr. Langley's sister."
And mutual civilities were exchanged.
The new comer was slightly consequential, inclined to talk of her
husband's firm, as of a subject of universal and recognized interest;
she was a little patronising too; but evidently charmed and subdued by
the inexpressible tone of deference and esteem which characterised the
Colonel's manner to women, and to which few ladies, connected with even
the most eminent firms, are accustomed.
"I am come on a double errand," said she, to Kate, after explaining
about her long delayed visit--"one, to hand you this note; the other,
to beg you and Colonel Vernon will kindly consent to join a small
circle of friends, at my house, on Thursday evening, though I have made
the request rather unceremoniously."
"You are very kind; I am sure, grandpapa, and myself will have great
pleasure--"
"Yes, certainly," chimed in the Colonel; "though I seldom do so gay a
thing, as to appear at a _soiree_."
"Then I shall expect you at half-past eight, as it is to be an early
party, of a few friends only; and now, Miss Vernon, read that note."
Kate opened it, and read as follows--
"DEAR MRS. STOREY,
"I should like to see the young person of whom your brother spoke to
me, as I wish Mary and Angelina to begin music, without any further
delay; they have quite forgotten what they learned at Mrs. Birch's.
Can Miss Vernon teach singing? I shall be at home for her at one
o'clock, on Tuesday next.
"With kind regards to Mr. S----,
"I am yours, very sincerely,
"A. POTTER."
"_St. Cecilia Terrace_,
"_Brompton, Saturday evening_."
"I am very glad to get a summons, at last," said Kate, smiling. "I was
beginning to fear pupils were an unattainable good. The note is from a
friend of Mrs. Storey's, grandpapa," she continued, anxious to prevent
the old gentleman from reading it, as, she justly thought, the wording
of it might ruffle his pride, "who requires instruction in music for
her two daughters, and wishes me to call upon her on Tuesday. How do
you go to Brompton from hence, Mrs. Storey?"
"The most agreeable way is through Kensington Gardens, then across the
Knightsbridge Road."
"Thank you; that sounds as if it would be a pleasant walk."
"Oh, very pleasant, indeed; will you excuse me for running away very
abruptly? but I do not think I should have made time to call only
for Mrs. Potter's note; another time, I hope we shall be able to
improve our acquaintance, Miss Vernon. Good morning; pray don't come
to the door. Half-past eight, Miss Vernon; a few friends; my brother
brings some professors of music;" and she chattered out of the room,
overpowering Kate's every effort to thank her for her kindness.
Nurse was in readiness to open the hall door, with a look of extreme
displeasure on her countenance.
"I niver seen the like iv thim English," she said, indignantly.
"Hesther was washin' the steps whin she come up--'Is Miss Vernon at
home?' ses she. 'Yes,' ses Hesther; 'I'll call Mrs. O'Toole.' An' away
she runs for me; but me lady couldn't wait, I suppose; so in she walks
widout--'By yer lave, or with yer lave,' instead of waiting to be
announced like a christian."
"No matter, nurse, she brought me good news," replied Kate.
"Well, my love, I congratulate you, that your pious wishes are likely
to be accomplished," said the Colonel, as she returned to the room.
"This Mrs. Storey appears to be a good sort of woman."
"Oh, I am delighted with her! and no wonder; she has rekindled the
almost extinct flame of hope; I do trust I may succeed with her friend.
Do come out, dearest grandpapa, I feel too glad to stay in the house."
The next day was Tuesday, and Kate, escorted by Mrs. O'Toole and
Cormac, started at an early hour--to keep Mrs. Potter's appointment--as
they had to explore their way--this they accomplished without much
difficulty; and, leaving nurse and Cormac to wait her return, Kate
followed a rather seedy man-servant, in plain clothes, up a dingy
stair-case, into a very handsomely-furnished, but uninhabited-looking
drawing-room, with richly-bound books, geometrically placed on round
tables, vases filled with wax flowers, alabaster Cupids, and a grand,
rosewood piano. She had hardly glanced at all this finery, when the
door was opened hastily, and a fat and rather red-faced woman, her hair
done up into little round, flat curls, secured with pins, who breathed
audibly, after mounting the stairs, came quickly into the room.
"Ah, I beg pardon," she involuntarily exclaimed, as Kate's slight,
elegant figure met her eye; "I understood Miss Vernon was here."
"I am Miss Vernon," replied Kate, quietly.
"Oh!" or, as she pronounced it, 'ho,' "indeed! then will you just step
down to the front parlour? that stupid man did not know who you were."
"Indeed!"
The front parlour at No. ----, St. Cecilia Terrace, was like all other
front parlours of its class; there were horse-hair chairs and sofa,
dyed moreen curtains, and the cast off furniture of humbler days, a
former and less splendid house; no books, and a large work-basket;
two young ladies that might be twelve and sixteen years of age, rose
on their entrance; but did not long suspend the labours of their busy
needles. There was a third person, whose semi-genteel dress, and
hurried, anxious expression of face, and surrounding circle of shreds,
of every hue and texture, declared her to be--"The very reasonable girl
who goes out dress-making."
"Now, Miss Vernon," began Mrs. Potter, rapidly, almost before she was
seated, "I want these two young ladies to be taught music. I understand
you were a pupil of Herman's?"
"I was."
"And can you teach singing?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Why," said Kate, "I cannot possibly be considered a fair judge."
"Well, I should like some reference as to your capabilities."
"I have none to offer, if you are not satisfied with Mr. Langley's
opinion."
"Oh, yes; he is a very good judge."
"Perhaps you will let me hear you play," returned Mrs. Potter, sweeping
off a mingled pile of silk merino and fringe, from a very antique piano.
"Of course," replied Kate, drawing off her gloves.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, shrinking back at the discordant tones, which her
first touch drew forth. "This is rather out of tune, and has not got
the additional keys; I could not play anything on this instrument."
"Well, there's the grand up-stairs," said Mrs. Potter, with more
respect than her manner had yet testified, at this raising of
difficulties on the part of Kate. "Come along, girls."
They ascended to the decorated apartment before described; and there,
although she found the "grand rose-wood," as it was termed by the
family, to be deplorably out of tune also, Kate performed a noisy
introduction and march, which she guessed would be most likely to suit
her auditors; a song was then demanded, and given; and mother and
daughters exchanged glances, which said very plainly--"We've drawn a
prize!"
"Well, I'm sure that's very nice," began Mrs. Potter. "I have no
objection to engage you."
Then came the discussion of terms; the greatest trial poor Kate had yet
encountered. It was so difficult to name her price, so hard to bear
the attempt to beat her down; yet all things must have an end; and, at
length, she was finally engaged. Then, with what a feeling of relief
she walked briskly on to meet Mrs. O'Toole, who was loitering about in
waiting for her young mistress.
"How valuable poor Mr. Gilpin's hints have been to me," thought she;
"what exquisite torture that whole interview would have been, had I
not, by his advice, made up my mind to treat and think of the whole
affair as a business transaction, which could not touch me really."
Nurse was less curious than usual--the subject was one that could
only give her pain and grief, so she contented herself with Kate's
general assurance that all was satisfactorily settled. The Colonel,
notwithstanding all his consideration for his loving, self-forgetting
child, could not suppress a groan, when he heard all the particulars
she thought fit to give.
"Ah, dear Kate! what costs us so dear, brings but little into our
exchequer."
"But I shall get more pupils, you know, and then--"
"Well, God's will be done!"
The lessons at Brompton began the next day; and Kate was surprised
to find how rapidly the time flew in the endeavour to convey her own
knowledge to her pupils; then the walk back, accompanied by Cormac, who
lay outside the hall door, like a chiselled effigy of watchfulness, all
the time the lesson lasted, was charming. The welcome from nurse and
grandpapa! how grateful the task to work for them. "All I ask of Thee,
oh Mighty Parent! is abundance of work!" she often murmured, almost
aloud.
Thus cheered, she wrote in a strain of unwonted gaiety to Winter,
promising him an account of Mrs. Storey's _soirée_, at which nurse
was determined her darling should appear in most _recherché_ costume;
but, to her dismay, the object of all this care, refused to appear in
anything but "a demi-toilette."
"An' why won't ye show yer illigant white neck, an' arums, just to let
them see what we've got in ould Ireland?"
"You see, it will be a small party, nurse; and, at all events, I would
rather look too little, than too much, dressed; besides, it is of no
consequence; yet, that is not quite true," she added, with a frank
smile, "I should not like to look frightful."
So she had her own way, and wore the style of dress she preferred.
Nurse produced a very handsome bouquet, just at the critical moment
when the toilette was "_un fait accompli_," and Kate was thinking how
unfinished her costume looked without what had hitherto been, with her,
an invariable accompaniment.
"Oh, nurse, how lovely! and you have got these for me! Ah, you spoil
your child! but I am so glad to have them! Now I am indeed _mise a
ravir_; and shall value them a thousand times more as your gift, than
if they were from--"
"The Captin?" put in Mrs. O'Toole, slily.
"Yes, far more," said Kate, and she spoke the truth, for the moment.
Some slight delay in procuring a cab, rendered their appearance at Mrs.
Storey's later than they had intended, and her rooms were more than
half full when they entered. There was the usual group of gentlemen
near the door, conversing in under tones with each other; there was
the same spare sprinkling of broad cloth, amongst the silks, satins,
and muslins, seated stiffly round the walls, or rigidly enthroned on
ottomans; the same half dozen of bolder spirits, more at home with the
company than those about the door, amongst whom the _facetious man_,
(for there is always such at third rate parties), shone conspicuous,
entreating the ladies to teach him the language of flowers, or
propounding far-fetched conundrums, ending, invariably, with, "do you
give it up?"
Tea and coffee was being handed round by two most respectable-looking
men, whose faces seemed strangely familiar to Kate, until she
remembered that she saw them almost daily, at the gate of Kensington
Gardens, mounting guard over the Bath chairs, which they had there for
hire; and young ladies were gently nibbling small squares of cake, and
then depositing them in their saucers, as if ashamed of being guilty of
so sublunary an occupation; in short, there was every thing that could
possibly be expected at a _soirée_ of the class we are describing.
The appearance of Colonel Vernon, with his elegant-looking
granddaughter, drew general attention; and a whisper of curiosity ran
round the room, as each one felt, instinctively, there was something
in the newly arrived guests, different from themselves. Miss Vernon
advanced through the numerous company, to her total strangers, with
the quiet self-possession which so peculiarly distinguished her, and
which had struck Egerton so forcibly, at the memorable ball, where they
had first met. It was so different from the assured manner of a veteran
society hunter, or the "look at me," air of a professed beauty, and
seemed to say, "there is no position so lofty, where I should be out of
place."
Mrs. Storey welcomed her new acquaintance with great warmth, advancing
rapidly to meet them, with a huge bouquet held fiercely in her hand
like a Lancer charging the foe.
"Very glad to see you, Miss Vernon, and your grandpa, looking so
well--Mr. Storey, Colonel Vernon, Miss Vernon, &c."
Mr. Storey was a rubicund, jolly looking man, not yet absolutely fat,
but promising well for the time to come; slightly bald, with small
twinkling eyes, and an inveterate affection for the letter R; moreover,
he constantly held his hands in his trowsers' pockets; laughed often a
fat laugh, had an unmistakeable air of prosperity, and was altogether
what Mrs. Storey, called, "very good company."
"Happy to see you, Miss Vernon, happy to see you, sir; just a few
friends, what my friend Jones calls a "tea fight," that's his
interpretation of "a _soirée_."
Langley here disengaged himself, rather abruptly, from a group of two
or three bold, confident-looking girls, and pale dishevelled men,
evidently artistic, to greet the Vernons, very warmly for him.
"Let me get you a seat, Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Storey, drawing Kate
towards the group Mr. Langley had just left. "Sorry I was out when you
called yesterday. Did you arrange with Mrs. Potter?"
"Yes, and I have to thank you and Mr. Langley for procuring me my first
pupils."
"Oh, I was very glad."
"Miss Dent," said Mrs. Storey to one of the dashing looking young
ladies, before mentioned, "let me introduce Miss Vernon, you are both
very musical; Miss Vernon plays beautifully, I am told; we hope to hear
her farther on in the evening--Miss Charlotte Dent."
And Kate, to her dismay, was left to the tender mercies of these
evidently "very fashionable," girls, who were, "_en grande tenue_,"
with the lowest cut dresses, and shortest sleeves permissible in
society.
"Been long in town?" said the eldest, (after a deliberate survey of
Miss Vernon's simple costume,) in a bold and rather deep toned voice.
Kate replied courteously, and turned to see what had become of the
Colonel; he was engaged, apparently, in interesting conversation with
Mr. Langley, and satisfied that he did not feel lonely, she gave her
attention to the people round her.
"Were you ever in town before?" continued her examiner.
"Oh, yes, for some time, three years ago."
"Horrid place at this time of year. I am counting the days until I
start for Germany."
Here one of Langley's dishevelled friends, from some change in the
surrounding group (for the rooms were now almost crowded), suddenly
stepped back, and in so doing, trod on Miss Vernon's dress; he begged
pardon with much empressement, in a manner which bespoke him to be no
common man; he was pale, thin and foreign-looking, with deep sunk,
flashing eyes, wild hair, and an unsteady expression of countenance.
"I am always doing these sort of things, and have vowed a hundred times
never to brave the dangers of a _soirée_ again; but," he shrugged his
shoulders.
"_Passato l'pericolo gabbato l'santo_," said Kate, gaily and archly;
judging from his air and manner, that this scrap of poor Winter's lore
would be understood.
"_La Signorina parla l'Italiano_," he exclaimed, joyously.
"So little that I dare not venture to begin a conversation in it," she
replied, as she did not consider it impossible to speak to a stranger
without a formal introduction.
"Yet you pronounce it correctly," said the wild looking man.
"You think so?"
"Yes, and although it is not my native tongue, I love it, as if it
were."
"So did the friend from whom I learned what little I know of it, and
the proverb I have just said; yet no; not quite so well as his own
tongue, for _he_ was English."
"Your emphasis would imply that you think I am not, nor am I."
"Mr. Winter used to say----"
"Winter!" he interrupted, "is he the painter who has buried himself so
strangely in some monastic tomb, some old city, "_en Province_?""
"The same."
"Then you are the young lady Langley spoke of?"
"Yes."
"_Maraviglia!_"
"Why are you surprised?" asked Kate, smiling.
He only repeated, "_maraviglia!_"
"Miss Dent, will you kindly play us something," said Mrs. Storey,
sailing up, bouquet in hand.
"With pleasure, Mrs. Storey, but really you must send for my music, for
Mr. Jones has been making me laugh so, I could not remember a note if I
was to die for it; it is in the cloak room."
While Miss Dent was making numerous preparations for the proposed
exhibition, Langley for the first time, left Vernon, and came over to
Kate, who, feeling pleased to speak to her only acquaintance, at least
of any standing, received him with a brilliant smile, making room for
him beside her on the sofa, with her usual unpremeditated grace.
"I see my friend Galliard has made your acquaintance, Miss Vernon,
without my assistance."
"Ah, out of evil cometh good, thanks to Mademoiselle!" said the man he
called Galliard, gaily. "Tore her dress, she pardoned the penitent, and
permitted him to speak, _voilà tout_."
A warning hus-sh-sh silenced him, and taking a large pinch of snuff,
he assumed a critical air as Miss Dent struck a powerful blow on an
unfortunate chord, and started off at a brisk gallop up the keys; her
execution was really remarkable, and the music she performed full of
physical difficulties; there were interminable shakes, and thundering
chords; crossing of the hands and rushing from one extreme of the keys
to the other; at last the performance, amid a crash of chords, came to
a sudden end, upon which the talkers, startled at hearing their own
voices, all at once, so loud, stopped too, and clapped their hands.
Miss Dent rose with a triumphant air, gathered together her gloves, fan
and bouquet, and stood at the end of the "instrument," as Mrs. Storey
called it, laughing and talking noisily, with the numerous beaux who
surrounded her.
"Now, Miss Vernon, may I call upon you?" said the lady of the house,
approaching.
Kate rose with a smile, and addressing Langley, in a low tone, said--
"Will you kindly stay with grandpapa, while I play, and do not let him
come near me."
She took Mr. Storey's arm, as she spoke, and moved to the piano.
Galliard and two or three more of Langley's friends followed,
with every appearance of interest, very different from the degree
of attention they bestowed on Miss Dent. Kate felt little or no
nervousness; her trial and success, at Herman's, had set her mind at
ease, and she at once began a very lovely Fantasia, composed by Gilpin,
at her request, and meant to convey the feeling of sweet peacefulness
she had described to him, as often stealing over her heart, when, after
the last notes of the evening service had scarce died away, she stood
in the Priory church yard, where it overlooked the river, and saw its
waters silvered by the moonbeams.
The music was of the Mendelssohn school, of which the organist was a
great admirer, and Kate played it well; she knew every note by heart,
from the first solemn sustained chords, to the noble march and tender
aria with which it concludes.
The talkers frequently begun, but were as frequently hushed by the
indignant "chut, chut" of the connoisseurs; and when she quietly
rose from the piano, the emphatic "good, very good!" "she can play!"
"a remarkable composition!" testified the satisfaction of Langley's
professional friends; while they left the task of noisy plaudits to
the indiscriminating multitude.
Kate now in her turn, the centre of a little group, had to answer many
questions as to the author of the music she had played, and, with her
usual eagerness to exalt a friend, she pronounced a glowing eulogium on
the organist as a man, and a musician.
"He has genius, undoubtedly," said Galliard, "but can genius be
satisfied with the obscurity of a little provincial town?"
"He is happy there," said Kate.
"Happy!" Galliard repeated, with a cynical accent.
"A man must be very happy when he allows it," replied Miss Vernon.
"_E vero_," cried Galliard, laughing.
"Or so very proud that he will not admit the contrary," suggested
Langley.
"If you knew Mr. Gilpin," began Kate, when their hostess advancing,
interrupted her, and begged for a song, to which request Kate at once
acceded.
Then the hostess proposed a quadrille, and introduced a young
gentleman, redolent of _eau de mille feurs_, with an elaborately
worked shirt front, lined with pink, and a white pastry face, to Kate,
whispering, in a jocose manner, "is quite a catch, junior partner
in the great firm of Jones, Brown and Tuckett;" and, with a knowing
nod, she walked away, leaving Kate half amused at the extraordinary
confidences of her communicative hostess; but feeling through all that,
had she still been heiress of Dungar, and any strange chance had thrown
Mrs. Storey in her way, the acquaintanceship would have been conducted
on very different terms.
She stood up very good-humouredly, however, and replied to all her
partner's vapid remarks, very readily; yet, somehow, Tuckett, junior,
though he was "the glass of fashion and the mould of form," to
Hammond-court, Mincing-lane, did not feel at his ease with her; and
she, in the innocence of her heart, believing that all firms dwelt in
the city, and never dreaming that a man could be so silly as to blush
because he was a worker instead of an idler, put him to torture by her
unconscious questions.
"I am anxious to explore the city," she said, while the side couples
were dancing _La Poule_. "I suppose you know all its charming nooks by
heart."
"Aw, no, indeed, it's a place I have too great a distaste for, to stay
in, except when obliged."
"For shame," said Kate, "A citizen of 'famous London Town,' ought
to know, and prize the various interesting 'locales' in the mighty
capital."
"Shall I get you an ice?" said her partner, sullenly.
"No, no, thank you," replied Kate, shaking her head rather mournfully,
as she remembered the last time a similar question had been put to
her; and taking her seat near the Colonel, who was standing with
Langley and Galliard; she dismissed Tuckett, junior, with a gracious
inclination of the head.
Soon after, the Colonel complaining of fatigue, and Kate, glad to
escape her good-humoured host's frequently expressed wish that she
would 'polkar,' took her leave of the _soirée_. Langley and Galliard
attended them to the carriage, which awaited them.
"Mr. Langley tells me he saw our friend Egerton's name, in some paper,
promoted to a majority," said the Colonel.
"Did he! oh, where?" cried Kate.
"It was in the Gazette, I took it up while waiting for Lord H-- --,
whose portrait I am painting."
"What did it say?" asked Kate, folding her shawl round her.
"Oh,--'The Honourable Frederic Egerton to be Major in the Lancers,
without purchase, vice,' some one, I forget the name, 'deceased.'"
"I dare say it cost him some hard cash, though it is there stated
'without purchase;' I understand all that. Come, Kate. Good night,
Mr. Langley. _Bon soir, monsieur, au plaisir de vous voir_," said the
Colonel.
The Frenchman bowed profoundly, and they drove away.
The Colonel was not animated after this piece of gaiety, as he used to
be in former days; it seemed to have depressed him, and he complained
of slight cold. Mrs. O'Toole was woefully disappointed to find that
there was "ne'er a lord, nor even an honourable, good or bad, at the
party."
"To think iv yer playin' an' singin' for the likes iv thim!" she
exclaimed, indignantly.
"What have I said to make you think so contemptuously of the very
respectable people, amongst whom we have spent (I confess) 'a rather
slow evening,' as my eloquent partner would term it?"
"Och no matther, sure it's thim that's the only quolity goin' now;
well, niver mind, Miss Kate, we'll lave thim all yet."
"I hope so," sighed Kate.