Your honour’s players, hearing your amendment,
Are come to play a pleasant comedy.
Taming of the Shrew.
Poor Franceska! First she encountered Cousin Marilda’s wonder and
displeasure, and the declaration that Uncle Lance went absolutely crazy
over his musical mania. She had seen it before in poor Edgar, and knew
what it came to. She wanted to telegraph at once to Alda to ask her
consent or refusal to Franceska’s appearance; but Sir Ferdinand stopped
this on the ground that the circumstances could not be explained, and
told her to content herself with Clement’s opinion.
This she sent Sophy and Emilia to ascertain, before she would let them
and the boys escort Francie to her destination. Clement, not yet up, had
to hold a lit de justice, and pronounce that Uncle Lance was to be fully
trusted to ask nothing unbecoming or unnecessary, and that Francie would
have nothing to do with any one except him and Gerald.
“Besides,” said Emilia, as they walked up, “nobody will find it out. The
posters are all over the town, ‘Mona, Miss Ludmilla Schnetterling.’”
So the sisters were received with a murmur on their delay. The pretty
dress prepared for Mona was found to be too small for the tall shapely
Franceska, and Sophy undertook to alter it, while poor Francie’s
troubles began.
Whether it was that Uncle Lance and Gerald were in a secret state of
turmoil, or that their requirements were a good deal higher than for the
Vale Leston audience, or perhaps that she had no inheritance of actress
traditions, they certainly were a great deal sharper with her than they
had been ever before or with Ludmilla.
Gerald derided her efforts sarcastically, and Uncle Lance found fault
good-humouredly but seriously, and she was nearly in tears by eleven
o’clock, when the procession was to take place. She was quite surprised
when Lance turned to her and said--
“Thank you, my dear, you are doing capitally. I shall be proud of my
daughter Mona.”
Quite in spirits again, she was sewn by Sophy into her still unfinished
dress, her beautiful light golden flax tresses were snooded, her
Highland scarf pinned on her shoulder, and she hurried to her uncle, now
be-robed and be-wigged, with Gerald in full Highland garb, looking very
much disgusted, especially when her uncle said--
“Well done, Francie. You’ll cut that poor little thing out in looks and
voice, if not in acting.”
“Oh, uncle, I sang so horridly.”
“You can do better if you try; I wish there was time to train you.
We’ll do the ‘logs duet’ once more after this tomfoolery. Ha! Captain
Armytage. You are an awful pirate, and no mistake. Where did you get
that splendid horse-pistol?”
“From my native home, as well as my sword; but I wrote to Willingham for
the rest. This will be an uncommonly pretty march-past. The girls look
so well, and all out of doors too.”
This was decidedly a great advantage, the trees, grass, and blue sky
lending a great grace to the scene. The procession started from the
garden entrance of the hotel, headed by the town band in uniform, and
the fire brigade likewise, very proud of themselves, especially the
little terrier whom nothing would detach from one of the firemen. Then
came the four seasons belonging to the flower stall, appropriately
decked with flowers, the Italian peasants with flat veils, bright
aprons, and white sleeves, Maura White’s beauty conspicuous in the
midst, but with unnecessary nods and becks. Then came the “mediaeval”
damsels in ruffs and high hats, the Highland maidens, with Valetta and
Primrose giggling unmanageably; and Aunt Jane’s troop of the various
costumes of charity children, from the green frocks, long mittens, and
tall white caps, and the Jemima Placid flat hats and long waists, down
to the red cloaks, poke straw bonnets, and blue frocks of the Lady
Bountiful age. These were followed by the merry fairies and elves; then
by the buccaneers and the captive prisoners; and the rear was brought up
by MacProspero, as Lord Rotherwood called him, with his niece on his arm
and his nephew by his side.
When the central stall, or bothie, in the Carrara grounds was reached,
after passing in full state and order over two of the bridges, the
procession halted before a group of the Rotherwood family, Sir Jasper
and Lady Merrifield, Lady Flight, and other local grandees, with the
clergy, who had declined to walk in procession. There the performers
spread themselves out, singing Autolycus’s song, led of course by
MacProspero; Lady Rotherwood, with as much dignity as the occasion
permitted, declared the bazaar open, and the Marquis hoped every one was
going to ruin themselves in the cause of Christian education.
The first idea of “every one” was luncheon, except that Lance laid hands
on his unfortunate Angus and Mona for their duet, in the midst of which
Lord Rotherwood made a raid on them.
“There! I’m sure Prospero never was so cruel as to starve
what’s-his-name! Come in and have some food--it is just by.”
They found themselves in a dining-room, in the presence of Lady
Rotherwood, her son and daughter, and a sprinkling of Merrifields and
actors, in full swing of joyous chatter; Mysie and Lady Phyllis telling
all that was specially to be admired, and Lord Rotherwood teasing them
about the prices, and their wicked extortions in the name of goodness,
Gillian snubbing poor Captain Armytage in his splendid buccaneer
dress, Ivinghoe making himself agreeable to Franceska, whose heightened
carnation tints made her doubly lovely through her shyness. Gerald and
Dolores in the less lively vicinity of the Marchioness carrying on a
low-toned conversation, which, however, enabled Gerald to sustain nature
with food better than he had done at breakfast.
It did not last long. The sellers had to rush off to relieve those
who had begun the sale, and the performance was to commence at three
o’clock, so that the final preparations had to be hurried through.
Geraldine had made the tour of the stalls on the arm of Anna, to admire
them in their first freshness, and put finishing touches wherever
solicited. The Rocca Marina conservatories were in rare glory, orchids
in weird beauty, lovely lilies of all hues, fabulously exquisite
ipomoeas, all that heart could wish. Before them a fountain played in
the midst of blue, pink, and white lotus lilies, and in a flower-decked
house the Seasons dispensed pot-flowers, bouquets, and button-holes;
the Miss Simmondses and their friends with simpering graces, that
made Geraldine glad to escape and leave them to the young men who
were strolling up. At Carrara was the stall in which she was chiefly
interested, and which had been arranged with a certain likeness to
Italian gardens, the statues and other devices disposed among flowers;
the Dirty Boy judiciously veiled by the Puzzle Monkey, and the front
of the summer-house prolonged by pillars, sham but artistic. Jasper was
zealously photographing group after group, handing his performances over
to his assistant for printing off. Kalliope looked in her costume most
beautiful and dignified. Her sister, grown to almost equal beauty, was
hurrying off to see the masque, flushed and eager, while Gillian and one
or two others were assisting in sales that would be rather slack
till after the performance. Here Geraldine purchased only a couple
of Mouse-traps, leaving further choice to be made after the stranger
purchasers. Here Sir Jasper and General Mohun came up, and gave her
a good deal of curious information about Bernard’s bevy of figures
in Indian costumes; and having the offer of such a strong arm as the
General’s, she dispensed with Anna, who was really wanted to help with
the very popular photographs.
They passed the refreshments, at present chiefly haunted by Mrs. Edgar’s
boys, ready to eat at any time of day; they looked civilly at the Varley
Elizabethans, and found Lady Merrifield in the midst of her bothie, made
charming with fresh green branches and purple heather, imported by the
Vanderkists.
“That’s Penbeacon ling. I know that red tint in the mauve,” said
Geraldine; “I’ll give you half-a-crown, if your decorations can spare
that spiring spray!” And she put it in her bosom, after touching it with
her lips. “You have a bower for the Lady of the Lake,” she added.
“I’m afraid I’m only Roderick Dhu’s mother,” laughed Lady Merrifield;
“but I shall have more ladies when the masque is done. Now I have only
Mysie.”
“And oh!” cried Mysie, “please set up the nurse in the nursery gardens
right. Wilfred knocked her over, and she won’t stand right for me.”
“Perverse woman. There! No, I shall not buy anything now, I shall
wait for Primrose and the refuse. How pretty it does all look! Ah, Mr.
Brownlow,” as she shook hands with the curate.
“I left my brother John at your house,” he said; “I persuaded him to run
down this morning with my mother and see our doings, and he was glad of
the opportunity of looking in upon the Vicar.”
“How very kind of him. We were wishing to know what he thought!”
“No doubt he will be here presently. My mother is at the masque. There
was not a seat for us, so I took him down to St. Andrew’s Rock.”
“Not a seat! The five-shilling seats?”
“Not the fraction of one. Numbers standing outside! Pity there can’t be
a second performance.”
“Four hundred seats! That’s a hundred pounds! We shall beat the
School-board yet!”
So, with the General politely expressing that there was no saying what
Rockquay owed to the hearty co-operation of such birds of passage as
herself and her brothers, she travelled on to the charity stall, which
Miss Mohun had quaintly dressed in the likeness of an old-fashioned
school, with big alphabet and samplers, flourished copies, and a stuffed
figure of a ‘cont-rare-y’ naughty boy, with a magnificent fool’s
cap. She herself sat behind it, the very image of the Shenstone
school-mistress, with wide white cap, black poke-bonnet, crossed
kerchief, red cloak, and formidable rod; and her myrmidons were
in costume to match. It was very attractive, and took every one by
surprise, but Geraldine had had enough by this time, and listened
to Miss Mohun’s invitation and entreaty that she would preside over
tea-cups for the weary, in the drawing-room. The privacy of the houses
had been secured by ropes extending from the stalls to the rails of the
garden, and Geraldine was conducted by her two generals to the verandah,
where they installed her, and lingered, as was usual with her squires,
always won by her spirited talk, till messages came to each of them from
below that some grandee was come, who must be talked to and entertained.
Already, however, Armine Brownlow had brought up his brother, the
doctor--John or Jock, an old friend--over, first Clement’s district and
then his bed.
“Well, Mrs. Grinstead, I can compliment you much on your brother. He is
very materially better, and his heart is recovering tone.”
“I am very glad and thankful! I only wish you had seen him last week. He
was better then, but he had a worry about our little nephew, which threw
him back.”
“So he told me. The more quiescent and amused you can keep him, the more
chance of a fair recovery there will be. I am glad he thinks of dining
with the party to-night.”
“I am glad he still thinks. I had to come away early, when he had still
left it doubtful.”
“I encouraged the idea with all my might.”
“Do you think he will be able to go back to his parish?”
“Most assuredly not while every worry tells on him in this manner. You
must, if possible, take him abroad for the winter, before he begins to
think about it.”
“He has leave of absence for a year.”
“Dating from Easter, I think. Keep him in warm climates as long as you
can. Find some country to interest him without over-fatigue, and you
will, I hope, be able to bring him home fit to consider the matter.”
“That is all you promise?”
“All I dare--not even to promise--but to let you hope for.”
An interruption came; one of the young ladies had had her skirt trodden
on, and wanted it to be stitched up. Then came Jane Mohun to deposit
a handkerchief which some one had dropped. “I can stay a moment,” she
said; “no one will come to buy till the masque is ended. Oh, this red
cloak will be the death of me!”
“You look highly respectable without it.”
“I shall only put it on for the coup d’oeil at first. Oh, Geraldine,
what is to be done with that horrid little Maura?”
“The pretty little Greek girl--Mrs. Henderson’s sister?”
“Oh! it is not Mrs. Henderson’s fault, nor my sister Ada’s either,
except that the little wretch must have come round her. I know Ada meant
to stay away on that very account.”
“What account?”
“Ivinghoe’s, to be sure! Oh! I forgot. You are so much one of us that
I did not remember that you did not know how the foolish boy was
attracted--no, that’s too strong a word--but she thought he was, when
they were here to open Rotherwood Park. He did flirt, and Victoria--his
mother, I mean--did not like it at all. She would never have come this
time, but that I assured her that Maura was safe at Gastein!”
“Is it so very undesirable?”
“My dear! Their father was old White’s brother, a stone-mason. He was
raised from the ranks, but his wife was a Greek peasant--and if you had
seen her, when the Merrifield children called her the Queen of the White
Ants! Ivinghoe is naturally as stiff and formal as his mother, I am not
much afraid for him, except that no one knows what that fever will make
of a young man, and I don’t want him to get his father into a scrape.
There, I have exhaled it to you, and there is a crowd as if the masque
was done with.”
It was, and the four hundred auditors were beginning to throng about the
stalls, strays coming up from time to time, and reporting with absolute
enthusiasm on the music and acting. Marilda was one of these.
“Well, Cherry, I saw no great harm in it after all, and Francie looked
sweetly pretty, just as poor Alda did when she first came to us. Lance
must make his own excuses to Alda. But Gerald looked horridly ill!
He sang very well, but he had such red spots on his cheeks! I’d get
Clement’s doctor to sound him. Lord Rotherwood was quite complimentary.
Now I must go and buy something--I hear there is the Dirty Boy--I think
I shall get it for Fernan’s new baths and wash-houses. Then isn’t there
something of yours, Cherry?”
“Not to compete with the Dirty Boy.”
“Ah! now you are laughing at me, Cherry. Quite right, I am glad to hear
you do it again.”
The next visitor was Lance.
“Oh, Cherry, how cool you look! Give me a cup of tea--not
refreshment-stall tea. That’s right. Little Francie is a perfect
gem--looks and voice--not acting--no time for that. Heigh-ho!”
“Where’s Gerald?”
“Somewhere about after that Merrifield niece with the doleful name, I
fancy. He did very well when it came to the scratch.”
“Have you seen Dr. Brownlow? He has been to see Clement.”
“That’s first-rate! Where shall I find him?”
“Somewhere about, according to your lucid direction, I suppose.”
“What does he think of old Tina?”
Geraldine told him, and was rather surprised, when he whistled as though
perplexed, and as Fergus rushed in, glorious with the news that Sir
Ferdinand had bought his collection of specimens for the Bexley museum,
he rose up, looking perturbed, to find Dr. Brownlow.
Next came Gillian with news that the Dirty Boy was sold to Lady Travis
Underwood.
“And mayn’t I stay a moment or two?” said she. “Now the masque is over,
that Captain Armytage is besetting me again.”
“Poor Captain Armytage.”
“Why do you pity him? He is going to join his ship, the Sparrow Hawk,
next week, and that ought to content him.”
“Ships do not always fill a man’s heart.”
“Then they ought. I don’t like it,” she added, in a petulant tone. “I
have so much to learn and to do, I don’t want to be tormented about a
tiresome man.”
“Well, he will be out of your way to-morrow.”
“Geraldine, that is a horrid tone.”
“If you choose to put meaning in it, I cannot help it.”
“And that horrid little Maura! She is in the most awful flutter,
standing on tiptoe, and craning out her foolish little neck. I know it
is all after Ivinghoe, and he never has come to our counter! Kalliope
has been trying to keep her in order, but I’m sure the Queen of the
White Ants must have been just like that when she got poor Captain White
to marry her. Kalliope is so much vexed, I can see. She never meant to
have her here. And Aunt Ada stayed away on purpose.”
“Has she seen much of him?”
“Hardly anything; but he did admire her, and she never was like
Kalliope. But what would Aunt Ada do? Oh dear! there’s that man! He has
no business at Aunt Jane’s charity stall. I shall go and tell him so.”
Geraldine had her little private laugh before Adrian came up to her with
a great ship in his arms--
“Take care of this, Aunt Cherry. She is going to sail on the Ewe. I
bought her with the sovereign Uncle Fernan gave me.”
Geraldine gave the ship her due admiration, and asked after the masque.
“Oh, that went off pretty well. I wouldn’t have been Fely! All the
ladies went and said ‘Pretty dear!’ when he sang his song about the
bat’s back. Disgusting! But then he has not been a fellow at school, so
he made his bow and looked as if he didn’t mind it.”
“And Francie?”
“Francie looked perfectly stunning. Everybody said so, and she
sang--well, she sang better than she did at home; but she was in an
awful funk, though I kept on looking at her, and shouting bravo to
encourage her; and she must have heard my voice, for I was just in
front.”
“I hope she was encouraged.”
“But she is very stupid. I wanted to take her round to all the stalls,
and show her what to buy with the five Jubilee sovereigns Uncle Fernan
gave her, for you know she has never been anywhere, or seen anything. I
thought she would like it, and besides, all our fellows say they never
saw such an awfully pretty girl, and they can’t believe all that hair is
her own--she had it all down her back, you know--so I told them I would
let them have a pull to try.”
“Poor Francie! She declined, I suppose?”
“Well, there was that ridiculous swell, Fergus’s cousin, Ivinghoe, and
he has taken her off to see the stupid flowers in the conservatory. I
told Sophy I wondered she permitted such flirting, but of course Francie
knew no better.”
“Oh! and you couldn’t stop it?”
“Not I, though I called her over and over again to look at things, but
Lord Ivinghoe always hung about and gave one no peace. So I just told
Sophy to look after her, and came off to tell you. Oh my! here is old
Miss Mohun coming up. I shall be off. I want some chocolate creams. Mrs.
Simmonds has got some splendid ones.”
Miss Mohun was coming, in fact.
“Well, Geraldine, the masque was a great success. People beg to have it
repeated, so many could not get in. And it is worth at least a hundred
pounds to us. People whose opinion is worth having were quite struck.
They say your brother really ought to have been a great composer and
singer.”
“I think he might have been if he had not given up his real passion to
come to the help of my dear eldest brother. And he is really happier as
he is.”
“I knew there was conquest in his face. And that dear little elf of a
boy--what a voice! So bright and so arch too. Then the Miranda--she took
all by surprise. I believe half the spectators took her for the Little
Butterfly.”
“Ah, the poor Little Butterfly is flown. There was nothing for it but to
make Francie act, as she had taken the part once before.”
“Her acting was no great things, they say--ladylike, but frightened. Her
voice is lovely, and as to her looks--people rave about them. Tell me,
she is not Lady Travis Underwood’s daughter?”
“Oh no; she is Anna’s sister, Adrian’s sister.”
“So I told Lady Rotherwood, I was sure it was so.”
“The Travis Underwoods have no children, but they adopted Emilia when
I took Anna, and they have brought three Vanderkists to this affair.
Francie has never been from home before, it is all quite new to her.”
Then recollecting what Adrian had repeated, she thought it fair to add,
“My sister was left very badly off, and all these eight girls will have
nothing of their own.”
“Well, I don’t suppose anything will come of it. I hope it will put no
folly into her head; but at any rate it effaces that poor silly little
Maura. I hope too, as you say your niece is so innocent, it will do her
no harm.”
“I don’t suppose any possibilities have occurred to the child.”
Lord Rotherwood here came on the scene.
“Jenny, there’s an offer for your boy in the fool’s cap, and Mysie
doubts if she ought to let him go. Well, Mrs. Grinstead, I think you
have the best of it. Lookers on, etc.”
“Looking on has always been my trade.”
“You heard the rehearsal of the masque, I believe, but you did not hear
that charming Mona?”
“No; she had to take the part suddenly. Her uncle had to tyrannize over
her, to save the whole thing.”
“We are much indebted to him, and to her,” said Lord Rotherwood
courteously. “She looked as if she hated it all in the first scene,
though she warmed up afterwards. I must say I liked her the better for
her shyness.”
“Her little brother thinks she recovered in consequence of his
applause,” said Geraldine, smiling.
“Ah! I saw him. And heard. A little square fellow--very sturdy.”
“Yes, the Dutchman comes out in him, and he has droll similitudes,
very curious in one who never saw his father, nor any but his Underwood
relations.”
“So much the better for him perhaps; I have, and ought to have, great
faith in uncles’ breeding. I am glad to meet Sir Ferdinand Travis
Underwood. I have often come across him about London good works.”
“Yes, he is an excellent man.”
“Not wholly English is he, judging by the depth of colour in those
eyes?”
“No; his mother was a Mexican, partly Indian. We used to call him the
Cacique;” and Geraldine had the pleasure of telling his story to an
earnest listener, but interruption came in the shape of Sir Ferdinand
himself who announced that he had hired a steam-yacht wherein to view
the regatta, and begged Lord Rotherwood to join the party.
This was impossible, as the Marquis was due at an agricultural dinner at
Clarebridge, but in return, in the openness of his heart, he invited the
Travis Underwoods to their dinner that evening at the hotel, where the
Merrifields and the Underwoods were already engaged, little boys and
all.
“Thank you, my lord, but we are too large a party. We have three
Vanderkist girls with us, and Anna and her brother are to join them to
be with their sister.”
“Never mind, never mind. The great hall will have room for all.”
Still Fernan demurred, knowing that Marilda had ordered dinner at the
Quay Hotel, and that even liberal payment would not atone for missing
the feasting of the millionaires; so the matter was compounded by his
promise to bring all his party, who were not ready for bed, up to spend
the evening.
And Geraldine perceived from Lady Rotherwood’s ceremonious politeness
that she did not like it at all, though she never said so even to Lady
Merrifield.
However, it was a very bright evening. Gerald had sung himself into
spirits, and then found Dolores, and retreated into the depths of the
garden with her, explaining to her all about his sister, and declaring
that his first object must be to rescue her; and then, unless his name
was cleared, and he had to resume all his obligations, the new life
would be open to him, and he had no fear of not succeeding as a
journalist, or if not, a musical career was possible to him, as Dolores
had now the opportunity of fully perceiving. His sweet voice had indeed
filled her with double enthusiasm. She had her plan for lecturing, and
that very morning she had received from her father permission to enter
a ladies’ college, and the wherewithal. She would qualify herself for
lecturing by the time he had fixed his career; and they built their airy
castles, not on earth, but on railroads and cycles, and revelled on
them as happily as is common to lovers, whether in castle or in cottage.
Certainly if the prospect held out to her had been Vale Leston Priory,
it would not have had the same zest; and when in the evening they
joined the dinner-party, there was a wonderful look of purpose and of
brightness on both their faces. And Emilia, who had been looking for
him all the afternoon to tell him, “Gerald, I am really going to be a
nurse,” only got for answer an absent “Indeed!”
“Yes, at St. Roque’s.”
“I hope I shall never be a patient there,” he said, in his half-mocking
tone. “You’ll look jolly in the cap and apron.”
“I’m to be there all the time they are in America, and--”
“Well, I wonder you don’t go and study the institutions.”
“But, Gerald--”
His eye was wandering, and he sprang forward to give Dolores a flower
that she had dropped.
Lancelot, knowing what was before Gerald, and having always regarded
Vale Leston with something of the honours of Paradise, could not
understand that joyous look of life, so unlike Gerald’s usual weary,
passive expression. He himself felt something of the depression that was
apt to follow on musical enjoyment; he saw all the failures decidedly
enough not to be gratified with the compliments he met on all sides, and
“he bitterly thought on the morrow,” when he saw how Clement was getting
animated over a discussion on Church matters, and how Geraldine was
enjoying herself. And as to that pretty Franceska, who had blossomed
into the flower of the flock, he foresaw heart-break for her when
he watched the Marchioness’s countenance on hearing that her son had
accepted Sir Ferdinand’s invitation to cruise to-morrow in the yacht.
Vainly was Ivinghoe reminded of the agricultural dinner. He was only too
glad to escape it, and besides, he thought he could be there in time.
Nevertheless, the present was delightful, and after dinner the young
people all went off to the great assembly-room, whence Anna came back to
coax Uncle Lance to play for them. All the elders jumped up from their
several discussions. Even Lady Rotherwood moved on, looking as benign
as her feelings would permit. Jane squeezed Geraldine’s arm, exceedingly
amused. Lance struck up, by request, an old-fashioned country dance;
Lord Rotherwood insisted that “Lily” should dance with him, as the
remnant of forty good years ago or more, and with Sir Roger de Coverley
the day ended.
Poor little Maura, making an excuse to wander about the gardens in the
moonlight, saw the golden locks shining through the open windows, and
Lord Ivinghoe standing over them, went home, and cried herself to sleep
over the fickleness of the nobility, when she had better have cried over
her own unjustified romance, excited by a few kindly speeches and a cup
of tea.
And Emilia! What was Gerald’s one laughing turn with her, compared with
his long talk with Dolores in the moonlight?