One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work--it was before twelve
o'clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons
that had been Miss Jenkyns's best, and which Miss Matty was now
wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of Mrs.
Jamieson's at all times when she expected to be seen--Martha came up,
and asked if Miss Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. Miss Matty
assented, and quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons while
Miss Barker came up-stairs; but as she had forgotten her spectacles,
and was rather flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not
surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of the other. She
was quite unconscious of it herself, and looked at us with bland
satisfaction. Nor do I think Miss Barker perceived it; for putting
aside the little circumstance that she was not so young as she had
been, she was very much absorbed in her errand, which she delivered
herself of with an oppressive modesty that found vent in endless
apologies.
Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who
had officiated in Mr. Jenkyns's time. She and her sister had had
pretty good situations as ladies'-maids, and had saved money enough to
set up a milliner's shop, which had been patronized by the ladies in
the neighborhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would occasionally give
Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, which they immediately
copied and circulated among the _elite_ of Cranford. I say the
_elite_, for Miss Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and
piqued themselves upon their "aristocratic connection." They would not
sell their caps and ribbons to any one without a pedigree. Many a
farmer's wife or daughter turned away huffed from Miss Barkers' select
millinery, and went rather to the universal shop, where the profits of
brown soap and moist sugar enabled the proprietor to go straight to
(Paris, he said, until he found his customers too patriotic and
John-Bullish to wear what the Mounseers wore) London, where, as he
often told his customers, Queen Adelaide had appeared only the very
week before in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, trimmed with
yellow and blue ribbons, and had been complimented by King William on
the becoming nature of her head-dress.
Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth and did not approve of
miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were
self-denying, good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest of them
(she that had been maid to Mrs. Jamieson) carrying out some delicate
mess to a poor person. They only aped their betters in having "nothing
to do" with the class immediately below theirs. And when Miss Barker
died, their profits and income were found to be such that Miss Betty
was justified in shutting up shop and retiring from business. She also
(as I think I have before said) set up her cow,--a mark of
respectability in Cranford almost as decided as setting up a gig is
among some people. She dressed finer than any lady in Cranford, and we
did not wonder at it; for it was understood that she was wearing out
all the bonnets and caps and outrageous ribbons which had once formed
her stock in trade. It was five or six years since she had given up
shop, so in any other place than Cranford her dress might have been
considered _passe_.
And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at
her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu
invitation, as I happened to be a visitor--though I could see she had
a little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he
might have engaged in that "horrid cotton trade," and so dragged his
family down out of "aristocratic society." She prefaced this
invitation with so many apologies that she quite excited my curiosity.
"Her presumption" was to be excused. What had she been doing? She
seemed so overpowered by it, I could only think that she had been
writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a receipt for washing lace; but
the act which she so characterized was only an invitation she had
carried to her sister's former mistress, Mrs. Jamieson. "Her former
occupation considered, could Miss Matty excuse the liberty?" Ah!
thought I, she has found out that double cap, and is going to rectify
Miss Matty's head-dress. No; it was simply to extend her invitation to
Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that
in the graceful action she did not feel the unusual weight and
extraordinary height of her head-dress. But I do not think she did,
for she recovered her balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a
kind, condescending manner, very different from the fidgety way she
would have had if she had suspected how singular her appearance was.
"Mrs. Jamieson is coming, I think you said?" asked Miss Matty.
"Yes. Mrs. Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said she would be
happy to come. One little stipulation she made, that she should bring
Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs."
"And Miss Pole?" questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking of her pool
at Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as a partner.
"I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think of asking
her until I had asked you, madam--the rector's daughter, madam.
Believe me, I do not forget the situation my father held under yours."
"And Mrs. Forrester, of course?"
"And Mrs. Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her before I went
to Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, madam, she was
born a Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges of
Bigelow Hall."
Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being a
very good card-player. Miss Barker looked at me with sidelong dignity,
as much as to say, although a retired milliner, she was no democrat,
and understood the difference of ranks.
"May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling as
possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs. Jamieson dines at five, but has kindly
promised not to delay her visit beyond that time--half-past six." And
with a swimming curtsy Miss Betty Barker took her leave....
The spring evenings were getting bright and long, when three or four
ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker's door. Do you know what a
calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads
fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so
large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression on the
children in Cranford; and now two or three left off their play in the
quiet sunny little street, and gathered in wondering silence round
Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so that we
could hear loud suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker's house: "Wait,
Peggy! wait till I've run up-stairs and washed my hands. When I cough,
open the door; I'll not be a minute."
And true enough, it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between
a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood a
round-eyed maiden, all aghast at the honorable company of calashes,
who marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind enough
to usher us into a small room, which had been a shop, but was now
converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook
ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and
gracious company face; and then, bowing backwards with "After you,
ma'am," we allowed Mrs. Forrester to take precedence up the narrow
staircase that led to Miss Barker's drawing-room. There she sat, as
stately and composed as though we had never heard that odd-sounding
cough, from which her throat must have been even then sore and rough.
Kind, gentle, shabbily dressed Mrs. Forrester was immediately
conducted to the second place of honor--a seat arranged something like
Prince Albert's near the Queen's--good, but not so good. The place of
pre-eminence was of course reserved for the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson,
who presently came panting up the stairs--Carlo rushing round her on
her progress, as if he meant to trip her up.
And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred the
fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, quite on
the edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering under the weight
of the tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest
Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. She and her mistress
were on very familiar terms in their every-day intercourse, and Peggy
wanted now to make several little confidences to her, which Miss
Barker was on thorns to hear, but which she thought it her duty as a
lady to repress. So she turned away from all Peggy's asides and signs;
but she made one or two very malapropos answers to what was said; and
at last, seized with a bright idea, she exclaimed, "Poor sweet Carlo!
I'm forgetting him. Come down-stairs with me, poor little doggie, and
it shall have its tea, it shall!"
In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I
thought she had forgotten to give the "poor little doggie" anything to
eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down chance pieces
of cake. The tea tray was abundantly laden--I was pleased to see it, I
was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present might think it
vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses;
but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs. Jamieson eating
seed-cake slowly and considerately, as she did everything; and I was
rather surprised, for I knew she had told us on the occasion of her
last party that she never had it in her house, it reminded her so much
of scented soap. She always gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs.
Jamieson, kindly indulgent to Miss Barker's want of knowledge of the
customs of high life, and to spare her feelings, ate three large
pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, ruminating expression of
countenance, not unlike a cow's.
After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were six in
number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two there was
Cribbage. But all except myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford
ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious business they
ever engaged in) were anxious to be of the "pool." Even Miss Barker,
while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was evidently
hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon put an end to by a
singular kind of noise. If a baron's daughter-in-law could ever be
supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs. Jamieson did so then; for
overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the
temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for
her, and Mrs. Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes
with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but
by-and-by even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, and she
was sound asleep.
"It is very gratifying to me," whispered Miss Barker at the card table
to her three opponents, whom notwithstanding her ignorance of the game
she was "basting" most unmercifully--"very gratifying indeed, to see
how completely Mrs. Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling;
she could not have paid me a greater compliment."
Miss Barker provided me with some literature, in the shape of three or
four handsomely bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old;
observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my special
benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo
lay and snorted and started at his mistress's feet. He too was quite
at home.
The card table was an animated scene to watch: four ladies' heads,
with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the
table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough; and
every now and then came Miss Barker's "Hush, ladies! if you please,
hush! Mrs. Jamieson is asleep."
It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs. Forrester's deafness
and Mrs. Jamieson's sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous
task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs. Forrester, distorting her
face considerably in order to show by the motions of her lips what was
said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, and murmured to
herself, "Very gratifying indeed; I wish my poor sister had been alive
to see this day."
Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet
with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs. Jamieson awoke; or perhaps she had
not been asleep--as she said almost directly, the room had been so
light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening
with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation.
Peggy came in once more, red with importance. Another tray! "O
gentility!" thought I, "can you endure this last shock?" For Miss
Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not prepared, although she did say,
"Why! Peggy, what have you brought us?" and looked pleasantly
surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all sorts of good things for
supper--scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, a dish called
"little Cupids" (which was in great favor with the Cranford ladies,
although too expensive to be given except on solemn and state
occasions--macaroons sopped in brandy, I should have called it, if I
had not known its more refined and classical name). In short, we were
evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest and best; and we
thought it better to submit graciously, even at the cost of our
gentility--which never ate suppers in general, but which, like most
non-supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions.
Miss Barker in her former sphere had, I daresay, been made acquainted
with the beverage they call cherry brandy. We none of us had ever seen
such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered it us--"just a
little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you
know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome." We all
shook our heads like female mandarins; but at last Mrs. Jamieson
suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It was not
exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought
ourselves bound to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such
things by coughing terribly--almost as strangely as Miss Barker had
done, before we were admitted by Peggy.
"It's very strong," said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty glass;
"I do believe there's spirit in it."
"Only a little drop--just necessary to make it keep," said Miss
Barker. "You know we put brandy paper over preserves to make them
keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart."
I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs. Jamieson's heart
as the cherry brandy did; but she told us of a coming event,
respecting which she had been quite silent till that moment.
"My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me." There
was a chorus of "Indeed!" and then a pause. Each one rapidly reviewed
her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence of a baron's
widow; for of course a series of small festivals were always held in
Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends' houses. We
felt very pleasantly excited on the present occasion.
Not long after this, the maids and the lanterns were announced. Mrs.
Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which squeezed itself into Miss Barker's
narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally "stopped the
way." It required some skillful manoeuvring on the part of the old
chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to carry the sedan,
dressed up in a strange old livery--long greatcoats with small capes,
coeval with the sedan and similar to the dress of the class in
Hogarth's pictures) to edge, and back, and try at it again, and
finally to succeed in carrying their burden out of Miss Barker's front
door. Then we heard their pit-a-pat along the quiet little street, as
we put on our calashes and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering
about us with offers of help, which if she had not remembered her
former occupation, and wished us to forget it, would have been much
more pressing.