THE first tidings of Beauclerc came in a letter from him to the general,
written immediately after his arrival at Paris. But it was plain that it
must have been written before Lady Cecilia’s letter, forwarded by Madame
de St. Cymon, could have reached him. It was evident that matters were
as yet unexplained, from his manner of writing about “the death-blow
to all his hopes,” and now he was setting off with Lord Beltravers
for Naples, to follow M. de St. Cymon, and settle the business of the
sister’s divorce. Lady Cecilia could only hope that her letter would
follow him thither, enclosed in this Madame de St. Cymon’s despatches to
her brother; and now they could know nothing more till they could hear
from Naples.
Meanwhile, Helen perceived that, though the general continued to be as
attentive and kind to her as usual, yet that there was something more
careful and reserved in his manner than formerly, less of spontaneous
regard, and cordial confidence. It was not that he was displeased by
her having discouraged the addresses of his ward, fond as he was of
Beauclerc, and well as he would have been pleased by the match. This he
distinctly expressed the only time that he touched upon the subject. He
said, that Miss Stanley was the best and the only judge of what would
make her happy; but he could not comprehend the nature of the mistake
she had made; Cecilia’s explanations, whatever they were, had not made
the matter clear. There was either some caprice, or some mystery, which
he determined not to inquire into, upon his own principle of leaving
people to settle their love affairs in their own way. Helen’s spirits
were lowered: naturally of great sensibility, she depended more for her
happiness on her inward feelings than upon any external circumstances. A
great deal of gaiety was now going on constantly among the young people
at Clarendon Park, and this made her want of spirits more disagreeable
to herself, more obvious, and more observed by others. Lady Katrine
rallied her unmercifully. Not suspecting the truth, her ladyship
presumed that Miss Stanley repented of having, before she was asked,
said No instead of Yes, to Mr. Churchill. Ever since his departure she
had evidently worn the willow.
Lady Cecilia was excessively vexed by this ill-natured raillery:
conscious that she had been the cause of all this annoyance to Helen,
and of much more serious evil to her, the zeal and tenderness of her
affection now increased, and was shown upon every little occasion
involuntarily, in a manner that continually irritated her cousin
Katrine’s jealousy. Helen had been used to live only with those by whom
she was beloved, and she was not at all prepared for the sort of warfare
which Lady Katrine carried on; her perpetual sneers, innuendoes, and
bitter sarcasms, Helen did not resent, but she felt them. The arrows,
ill-aimed and weak, could not penetrate far; it was not with their point
they wounded, but by their venom--wherever that touched it worked inward
mischief. Often to escape from one false imputation she exposed herself
to another more grievous. One night, when the young people wished to
dance, and the usual music was not to be had, Helen played quadrilles,
and waltzes, for hours with indefatigable good-nature, and when some of
the party returned their cordial thanks, Lady Katrine whispered, “our
musician has been well paid by Lord Estridge’s admiration of her white
hands.” His lordship had not danced, and had been standing all the
evening beside Helen, much to the discomfiture of Lady Katrine, who
intended to have had him for her own partner. The next night, Helen
did not play, but joined the dance, and with a boy partner, whom nobody
could envy her. The general, who saw wonderfully quickly the by-play
of society, marked all this, and now his eye followed Helen through the
quadrille, and he said to some one standing by, that Miss Stanley danced
charmingly, to his taste, and in such a lady-like manner. He was glad
to see her in good spirits again; her colour was raised, and he
observed that she looked remarkably well. “Yes,” Lady Katrine answered,
“remarkably well; and black is so becoming to that sort of complexion,
no doubt this is the reason Miss Stanley wears it so much longer than
is customary for an uncle. Short or long mournings are, to be sure, just
according to fashion, or feeling, as some say. For my part, I hate long
mournings--so like ostentation of sentiment; whatever I did, at any rate
I would be consistent. I never would dance in black. Pope, you know, has
such a good cut at that sort of thing. Do you recollect the lines?”
“‘And bear about the mockery of woe To midnight dances and the public show.’”
Lady Castlefort took Miss Stanley aside, after the dance was over, to
whisper to her so good-naturedly, how shockingly severe Katrine had
been; faithfully repeating every word that her sister had said. “And
so cruel, to talk of your bearing about the _mockery_ of woe!--But, my
sweet little lamb, do not let me distress you so.” Helen, withdrawing
from the false caresses of Lady Castlefort, assured her that she should
not be hurt by any thing Lady Katrine could say, as she so little
understood her real feelings; and at the moment her spirit rose against
the injustice, and felt as much superior to such petty malice as even
Lady Davenant could have desired. She had resolved to continue in
mourning for the longest period in which it is worn for a parent,
because, in truth, her uncle had been a parent to her; but the morning
after Lady Katrine’s cruel remarks, Cecilia begged that Helen would
oblige her by laying aside black. “Let it be on my birthday.” Lady
Cecilia’s birth-day was to be celebrated the ensuing week. “Well, for
that day certainly I will,” Helen said; “but only for that day.” This
would not satisfy Cecilia. Helen saw that Lady Katrine’s observations
had made a serious impression, and, dreading to become the subject of
daily observation, perhaps altercation, she yielded. The mourning was
thrown aside. Then every thing she wore must be new. Lady Cecilia and
Mademoiselle Felicie, her waiting-maid, insisted upon taking the matter
into their own hands. Helen really intended only to let one dress for
her friend’s birth-day be bespoken for her; but from one thing she was
led on to another. Lady Cecilia’s taste in dress was exquisite. Her
first general principle was admirable--“Whatever you buy, let it be the
best of its kind, which is always the cheapest in the end.” Her second
maxim was--“Never have anything but from such and such people, or from
such and such places,” naming those who were at the moment accredited by
fashion. “These, of course, make you pay high for the name of the thing;
but that must be. The name is all,” said Lady Cecilia. “Does your
hat, your bonnet, whatever it be, come from the reigning fashionable
authority? then it is right, and you are quite right. You can put down
all objections and objectors with the magic of a name. You need think no
more about your dress; you have no trouble; while the poor creatures
who go toiling and rummaging in cheap shops--what comes of it? but total
exhaustion and disgrace! Yesterday, now, my dear Helen, recollect. When
Lady Katrine, after dinner, asked little Miss Isdall where she bought
that pretty hat, the poor girl was quite out of countenance. ‘Really
she did not know; she only knew it was very cheap.’ You saw that nobody
could endure the hat afterwards; so that, cheap as it might be, it was
money to all intents and purposes absolutely thrown away, for it did not
answer its purpose.”
Helen, laughing, observed, that if its purpose had been to look well,
and to make the wearer look well, it had fully succeeded. “Sophistry,
my dear Helen. The purpose was not to look well, but to have a
distinguished air. Dress, and what we call fashion and taste altogether,
you know, are mere matters of opinion, association of ideas, and so
forth. When will you learn to reason, as mamma says? Do not make me
despair of you.”
Thus, half in jest, half in earnest, with truth and falsehood, sense
and nonsense, prettily blended together, Lady Cecilia prevailed in
overpowering Helen’s better judgment, and obtained a hasty submission.
In economy, as in morals, false principles are far more dangerous than
any one single error. One false principle as to laying out money is
worse than any bad bargain that can be made, because it leads to bad
bargains innumerable. It was settled that all Helen wanted should be
purchased, not only from those who sold the best goods, but from certain
very expensive houses of fashionably high name in London. And the next
point Lady Cecilia insisted upon was, that Helen’s dress should always
be the same as her own. “You know it used to be so, my dear Helen, when
we were children; let it be so now.”
“But there is such a difference _now_” said Helen; “and I cannot
afford----”
“Difference! Oh! don’t talk of differences--let there be none ever
between us. Not afford!--nonsense, my dear--the expense will be nothing.
In these days you get the materials of dress absolutely for nothing--the
fashion--the making-up is all, us Felicie and I, and everybody who knows
anything of the matter, can tell you. Now all that sort of thing we can
save you--here is my wedding paraphernalia all at your service--patterns
ready cut--and here is Felicie, whose whole French soul is in the
toilette--and there is your own little maid, who has hands, and head,
and heart, all devoted to you--so leave it to us--leave it to us, my
dear--take no thought what you shall put on--and you will put it on all
the better.” Felicie was summoned. “Felicie, remember Miss Stanley’s
dress is always to be the same as my own. It must be so, my dear. It
will be the greatest pleasure to me,” and with her most persuasive
caressing manner, she added, “My own dear Helen, if you love me, let it
be so.”
This was an appeal which Helen could not resist. She thought that she
could not refuse without vexing Cecilia; and, from a sort of sentimental
belief that she was doing Cecilia “a real kindness,”--that it was
what Cecilia called “a sisterly act,” she yielded to what she knew was
unsuited to her circumstances--to what was quite contrary to her better
judgment. It often so happens, that our friends doubly guard one obvious
point of weakness, while another exists undiscovered by them, and
unknown to ourselves. Lady Davenant had warned Helen against the
dangers of indecision and coquetry with her lovers, but this danger of
extravagance in dress she had not foreseen--and into how much expense
this one weak compliance would lead her, Helen could not calculate. She
had fancied that, at least, till she went to town, she should not want
anything expensive--this was a great mistake. Formerly in England, as
still in every other country but England, a marked difference was made
in the style of dress in the country and in town. Formerly, overdressing
in the country was reprobated as quite vulgar; but now, even persons
of birth and fashion are guilty of this want of taste and sense. They
display almost as much expensive dress in the country as in town.
It happened that, among the succession of company at Clarendon Park
this summer, there came, self-invited, from the royal party in the
neighbourhood, a certain wealthy lady, by some called “Golconda,” by
others “the Duchess of Baubleshire.” She was passionately fond of dress,
and she eclipsed all rivals in magnificence and variety of ornaments. At
imminent peril of being robbed, she brought to the country, and carried
about everywhere with her, an amazing number of jewels, wearing two or
three different sets at different times of the day--displaying them on
the most absurdly improper occasions--at a fete champêtre, or a boat
race.
Once, after a riding-party, at a pic-nic under the trees, when it had
been resolved unanimously that nobody should change their dress at
dinner-time, Golconda appeared in a splendid necklace, displayed over
her riding-dress, and when she was reproached with having broken through
the general agreement not to dress she replied, that, “Really she had
put the thing on in the greatest hurry, without knowing well what it
was, just to oblige her little page who had brought three sets of jewels
for her choice--she had chosen the _most undressed_ of the three, merely
because she could not disappoint the poor little fellow.”
Every one saw the affectation and folly, and above all, the vulgarity of
this display, and those who were most envious were most eager to comfort
themselves by ridicule. Never was the “Golconda” out of hearing, but
Lady Katrine was ready with some instance of her “absurd vanity.” “If
fortune had but blessed her with such jewels,” Lady Katrine said, “she
trusted she should have worn them with better grace;” but it did not
appear that the taste for baubles was diminished by the ridicule thrown
upon them--quite the contrary, it was plain that the laughers were only
envious, and envious because they could not be envied.
Lady Cecilia, who had no envy in her nature--who was really
generous--entered not into this vain competition; on the contrary,
she refrained from wearing any of her jewels, because Helen had none;
besides, simplicity was really the best taste, the general said so--this
was well thought and well done for some time, but there was a little
lurking love of ornaments in Cecilia’s mind, nor was Helen entirely
without sympathy in that taste. Her uncle had early excited it in her
mind by frequent fond presents of the prettiest trinkets imaginable; the
taste had been matured along with her love for one for whom she had such
strong affection, and it had seemed to die with its origin. Before she
left Cecilhurst, Helen had given away every ornament she possessed;
she thought she could never want them again, and she left them as
remembrances with those who had loved her and her uncle.
Cecilia on her birthday brought her a set of forget-me-nots to match
those which she intended to wear herself, and which had been long
ago given to Lady Cecilia by the dear good dean himself. This was
irresistible to Helen, and they were accepted. But this was only the
prelude to presents of more value, which Helen scrupled to receive;
yet--
“Oft to refuse and never once offend”
was not so easily done as said, especially with Lady Cecilia; she was so
urgent, so caressing, and had so many plausible reasons, suitable to all
occasions. On the general’s birthday, Lady Cecilia naturally wished to
wear his first gift to her--a pair of beautiful pearl bracelets, but
then Helen must have the same. Helen thought that Roman pearl would do
quite as well for her. She had seen some such excellent imitations that
no eye could detect the difference. “No eye! very likely; but still
your own conscience, my dear!” replied Lady Cecilia. “And if people ask
whether they are real, what could you say? You know there are everywhere
impertinent people; malicious Lady Katrines, who will ask questions. Oh!
positively I cannot bear to think of your being detected in passing off
counterfeits. In all ornaments, it should be genuine or none--none or
genuine.”
“None, then, let it be for me this time, dear Cecilia.”
Cecilia seemed to submit, and Helen thought she had well settled it.
But on the day of the general’s _fête_, the pearl bracelets were on her
dressing-table. They were from the general, and could not be refused.
Cecilia declared she had nothing to do with the matter.
“Oh, Cecilia!”
“Upon my word!” cried Lady Cecilia; “and if you doubt me, the general
shall have the honour of presenting, and you the agony of refusing or
accepting them in full salon.”
Helen sighed, hesitated, and submitted. The general, on her appearing
with the bracelets, bowed, smiled, and thanked her with his kindest
look; and she was glad to see him look kindly upon her again.
Having gained her point so pleasantly this time, Lady Cecilia did
not stop there; and Helen found there was no resource but to bespeak
beforehand for herself whatever she apprehended would be pressed upon
her acceptance.
Fresh occasions for display, and new necessities for expense,
continually occurred. Reviews, and races, and race-balls, and archery
meetings, and archery balls, had been, and a regatta was to be. At some
of these the ladies had appeared in certain uniforms, new, of course,
for the day; and now preparations for the regatta had commenced, and
were going on. It was to last several days: and after the boat-races in
the morning, there were to be balls at night. The first of these was
to be at Clarendon Park, and Mademoiselle Felicie considered her lady’s
dress upon this occasion as one of the objects of first importance in
the universe. She had often sighed over the long unopened jewel-box.
Her lady might as well be nobody. Mademoiselle Felicie could no ways
understand a lady well born not wearing that which distinguished her
above the common; and if she was ever to wear jewels, the ball-room was
surely the proper place. And the sapphire necklace would look _à ravir_
with her lady’s dress, which, indeed, without it, would have no effect;
would be quite _mésquine_ and _manquée_.
Now Lady Cecilia had a great inclination to wear that sapphire necklace,
which probably Felicie saw when she commenced her remonstrances, for
it is part of the business of the well-trained waiting-woman, to give
utterance to those thoughts which her lady wishes should be divined and
pressed into accomplishment. Cecilia considered whether it would not be
possible to divide the double rows of her sapphires, to make out a set
for Helen as well as for herself; she hesitated only because they had
been given to her by her mother, and she did not like to run the hazard
of spoiling the set; but still she could manage it, and she would do it.
Mademoiselle Felicie protested the attempt would be something very like
sacrilege; to prevent which, she gave a hint to Helen of what was in
contemplation.
Helen knew that with Cecilia, when once she had set her heart upon a
generous feat of this kind, remonstrance would be in vain; she dreaded
that she would, if prevented from the meditated division of the
sapphires, purchase for her a new set: she had not the least idea what
the expense was, but, at the moment, she thought anything would be
better than letting Cecilia spoil her mother’s present, or put her under
fresh obligations of this sort. She knew that the sapphires had been
got from the jewellers with whom her uncle had dealt, and who were no
strangers to her name; she wrote, and bespoke a similar set to Lady
Cecilia’s.
“_Charmante!_ the very thing,” Mademoiselle Felicie foresaw, “a young
lady so well born would determine on doing. And if she might add a
little word, it would be good at the same opportunity to order a ruby
brooch, the same as her lady’s, as that would be the next object
in question for the second day’s regatta ball, when it would be
indispensable for that night’s appearance; _positivement_, she knew her
lady would do it for Miss Stanley if Miss Stanley did not do it of her
own head.”
Helen did not think that a brooch could be very expensive; there was not
time to consider about it--the post was going--she was afraid that Lady
Cecilia would come in and find her writing, and prevent her sending the
letter. She hastily added an order for the brooch, finished the letter,
and despatched it. And when it was gone she told Cecilia what she had
done. Cecilia looked startled; she was well aware that Helen did not
know the high price of what she had bespoken. But, determining that she
would settle it her own way, she took care not to give any alarm, and
shaking her head, she only reproached Helen playfully with having thus
stolen a march upon her.
“You think you have out-generaled me, but we shall see. Remember, I am
the wife of a general, and not without resources.”