It was rather worse when the ladies were by themselves. Some of the
party were personally strangers to Lady Davenant; all had heard of her
sufficiently; most had formed a formidable and false opinion of
her. Helen was quite astonished at the awe her ladyship inspired in
strangers. Lady Davenant’s appearance and manner at this moment were
not, indeed, calculated to dispel this dread. She was unusually distant
and haughty, from a mistaken sort of moral pride. Aware that some of
the persons now before her had, in various ways, by their own or
their husbands’ means, power to serve or to injure Lord Davenant, she
disdained to propitiate them by the slightest condescension.
But how any persons in England--in London--could be strangers to Lady
Davenant, was to a foreign lady who was present, matter of inexpressible
surprise. She could not understand how the wives of persons high in
political life, some of opposite, but some of the same parties, should
often be personally strangers to each other. Foreigners are, on first
coming to England, apt to imagine that all who act together in public
life must be of the same private society; while, on the contrary,
it often happens that the ladies especially of the same party are in
different grades of fashion--moving in different orbits. The number
of different circles and orbits in London is, indeed, astonishing to
strangers, and the manner in which, though touching at tangents,
these keep each their own path, attracted and repelled, or mutually
influential, is to those who have not seen and studied the planisphere,
absolutely incomprehensible. And, as she pondered on this difficulty,
the ambassadress, all foreigner as she was, and all unused to silence,
spoke not, and no one spoke: and nought was heard but the cup on the
saucer, or the spoon in the cup, or the buzzing of a fly in the window.
In the midst of this awful calm it was that Lady Bearcroft blurted out
with loud voice--“Amazing entertaining we are! so many clever people got
together, too, for what?” It was worth while to have seen Lady Masham’s
face at that moment! Lady Bearcroft saw it, and, fearing no mortal,
struck with the comic of that look of Lady Masham’s, burst into laughter
uncontrolled, and the contrast of dignity and gravity in Lady Davenant
only made her laugh the more, till out of the room at last she ran. Lady
Masham all the while, of course, never betrayed the slightest idea that
she could by any possibility have been the object of Lady Bearcroft’s
mirth. But Lady Davenant--how did she take it? To her daughter’s
infinite relief, quite quietly; she looked rather amused than
displeased. She bore with Lady Bearcroft, altogether, better than
could have been expected; because she considered her only as a person
unfortunately out of her place in society, and, without any fault of her
own, dragged up from below to a height of situation for which nature
had never intended, and neither art nor education had ever prepared her;
whose faults and deficiencies were thus brought into the flash of day
at once, before the malice of party and the fastidiousness of fashion,
which knows not to distinguish between _manque d’esprit_, and _manque
d’usage_.
Not so Lady Davenant: she made liberal and philosophic allowance for
even those faults of manner which were most glaring, and she further
suspected that Lady Bearcroft purposely exaggerated her own vulgarity,
partly for diversion, partly to make people stare, and partly to prevent
their seeing what was habitual, and what involuntary, by hiding
the bounds of reality. Of this Lady Masham had not the most distant
conception; on the contrary, she was now prepared to tell a variety
of odd anecdotes of Lady Bearcroft. She had seen, she said, this
extraordinary person before, but had never met her in society, and
delighted she was unexpectedly to find her here--“quite a treat.”
Such characters are indeed seldom met with at a certain height in the
atmosphere of society, and such were peculiarly and justly Lady
Masham’s delight, for they relieved and at the same time fed a sense of
superiority insufficient to itself. Such a person is fair, privileged,
safe game, and Lady Masham began, as does a reviewer determined to be
especially severe, with a bit of praise.
“Really very handsome, Lady Bearcroft must have been! Yes, as you say,
Lady Cecilia, she is not out of blow yet certainly, only too full blown
rather for some tastes--fortunately not for Sir Benjamin; he married
her, you know, long ago, for her beauty; she is a very correct
person--always was; but they do repeat the strangest things she says--so
very odd! and they tell such curious stories, too, of the things she
does.” Lady Masham then detailed a variety of anecdotes, which related
chiefly to Lady Bearcroft’s household cares, which never could she
with haste despatch; then came stories of her cheap magnificence and
extraordinary toilette expedients. “I own,” continued Lady Masham, “that
I always thought the descriptions I heard must be exaggerated; but one
is compelled to acknowledge that there is here in reality a terrible
want of tact. Poor Sir Benjamin! I quite pity him, he must so see it!
Though not of the first water himself, yet still he must feel, when he
sees Lady Bearcroft with other people! He has feeling, though nobody
would guess it from his look, and he shows it too, I am told; sadly
annoyed he is sometimes by her _malapropoisms_. One day, she at one end
of the table and he at the other, her ladyship, in her loud voice called
out to him, ‘Sir Benjamin! Sir Benjamin! this is our wedding-day!’ He,
poor man, did not hear; she called out again louder, ‘Sir Benjamin,
my dear, this day fifteen years ago you and I were married!’ ‘Well, my
dear,’ he answered, ‘well, my dear, how can I possibly help that now!’”
Pleased with the success of this anecdote, which raised a general smile,
Lady Masham vouched for its perfect correctness, “she had it from one,
who heard it from a person who was actually present at the time it
happened.” Lady Davenant had not the least doubt of the correctness of
the story, but she believed the names of the parties were different;
she had heard it years ago of another person. It often happens, as she
observed, to those who make themselves notoriously ridiculous, as to
those who become famous for wit, that all good things in their kinds
are attributed to them; though the one may have no claim to half
the witticisms, and the other may not be responsible for half the
absurdities for which they have the reputation. It required all Lady
Masham’s politeness to look pleased, and all her candour to be quite
happy to be set right as to that last anecdote. But many she had heard
of Lady Bearcroft were really incredible. “Yet one would almost believe
anything of her.” While she was yet speaking, Lady Bearcroft returned,
and her malicious enemy, leaning back in her chair as if in expectation
of the piece beginning, waited for her puppet to play or be played off.
All this time Lady Cecilia was not at ease; she, well aware what her
mother would feel, and had felt, while Lady Masham was going on with
this gossip-talk, had stood between her ladyship and Lady Davenant, and,
as Lady Masham did not speak much above her breath, Cecilia had for some
time flattered herself that her laudable endeavours to intercept the
sound, or to prevent the sense from reaching her mother’s ear, had
succeeded, especially as she had made as many exclamations as she could
of “Really!” “Indeed!” “How extraordinary!” “You do not say so?” which,
as she pronounced them, might have excited the curiosity of commonplace
people, but which she knew would in her mother’s mind deaden all desire
to listen. However, Lady Masham had raised her voice, and from time to
time had stretched her neck of snow beyond Lady Cecilia’s intercepting
drapery, so as actually to claim Lady Davenant’s attention. The
consequences her daughter heard and felt. She heard the tap, tap, tap of
the ivory folding-knife upon the table; and well interpreting, she
knew, even before she saw her mother’s countenance, that Lady Masham had
undone herself, and, what was of much more consequence, had destroyed
all chance of accomplishing that reconciliation with “mamma,” that
projected coalition which was to have been of such ultimate advantage to
“papa.”
Notwithstanding Lady Bearcroft’s want of knowledge of the great
world, she had considerable knowledge of human nature, which stood her
wonderfully in stead. She had no notion of being made sport of for the
_élégantes_, and, with all Lady Masham’s plausibility of persiflage, she
never obtained her end, and never elicited anything really absurd by
all attempts to draw her out--out she would not be drawn. After an
unconquerable silence and all the semblance of dead stupidity, Lady
Bearcroft suddenly showed signs of life, however, and she, all at once,
began to talk--to Helen of all people!--And why?--because she had taken,
in her own phrase, a monstrous fancy to Miss Stanley; she was not sure
of her name, but she knew she liked her nature, and it would be a pity
that her reason should not be known and in the words in which she told
it to Lady Cecilia, “Now I will just tell you why I have taken such a
monstrous fancy to your friend here, Miss Hanley--”
“Miss Stanley--give me leave to mention,” said Lady Cecilia. “Let me
introduce you regularly.”
“Oh! by no means; don’t trouble yourself now, Lady Cecilia, for I hate
regular introductions. But, as I was going to tell you how, before
dinner to-day, as I came down the great staircase, I had an uncommon
large, big, and, for aught I know, yellow corking-pin, which that most
careless of all careless maids of mine--a good girl, too--had left
sticking point foremost out of some part of me. Miss Hanley--Stanley
(beg pardon) was behind, and luckily saw and stopped. Out she pulled it,
begging my pardon; so kindly too, I only felt the twitch on my sleeve,
and turned, and loved the first sight I had of that pretty face, which
need never blush, I am sure, though it’s very becoming the blush too. So
good-natured, you know, Lady Cecilia, it was, when nobody was looking,
and before any body was the wiser. Not like some young ladies, or old
even, that would have _showed one up_, rather than help one out in any
pin’s point of a difficulty.”
Lady Cecilia herself was included in Lady Bearcroft’s good graces, for
she liked that winning way, and saw there was a real good-nature there,
too. She opened to both friends cordially, _à propos_ to some _love_
of a lace trimming. Of lace she was a famous judge, and she went into
details of her own good bargains, with histories of her expeditions
into the extremity of the city in search of cheap goods and unheard
of wonders at prime cost, in regions unknown. She told how it was her
clever way to leave her carriage and her _people_, and go herself down
narrow streets and alleys, where only wheel-barrows and herself could
go; she boasted of her feats in diving into dark dens in search of run
goods, charming things--French warranted--that could be had for next to
nothing, and, in exemplification, showed the fineness of her embroidered
cambric handkerchiefs, and told their price to farthing!
Lady Masham’s “Wonderful!” was worthy of any Jesuit male or female, that
ever existed.
From her amazing bargains, the lady of the law-knight went on to
smuggling; and, as she got into spirits, talking loudly, she told of
some amber satin, a whole piece capitally got over in an old gentleman’s
“Last Will and Testament,” tied up with red tape so nicely, and sealed
and superscribed and all, got through untouched! “But a better thing I
did myself,” continued she; “the last trip I made to Paris--coming back,
I set at defiance all the searchers and _stabbers_, and custom-house
officers of both nations. I had hundreds of pounds worth of Valenciennes
and Brussels lace hid--you would never guess where. I never told
a servant--not a mortal maid even; that’s the only way; had only a
confidante of a coachmaker. But when it came to packing-up time, my own
maid smelt out the lace was missing; and gave notice, I am, confident,
to the custom-house people to search me. So much the more glory to me.
I got off clear; and, when they had stabbed the cushions, and torn the
inside of my carriage all to pieces, I very coolly made them repair the
mischief at their own cost. Oh, I love to do things bravely! and away I
drove triumphant with the lace, well stuffed, packed, and covered within
the pole leather of the carriage they had been searching all the time.”
At this period of her narrative the gentlemen came into the
drawing-room. “But here comes Sir Benjamin! mum, mum! not a word more
for my life! You understand, Lady Cecilia! husbands must be minded. And
let me whisper a favour--a whist-party I must beg; nothing keeps Sir Ben
in good-humour so certainly as whist--when he wins, I mean.”
The whist-party was made, and Lady Cecilia took care that Sir Benjamin
should win, while she lost with the best grace possible. By her
conciliating manners and good management in dividing to govern, all
parties were arranged to general satisfaction. Mr. Harley’s antipathy,
the _attaché_, she settled at ecartê with Lady Masham, who found him
“quite a well-mannered, pleasant person.” Lady Cecilia explained to Mr.
Harley, that it was her fault--her mistake entirely--that this person
had been invited. Mr. Harley was now himself again, and happy in
conversation with Lady Davenant, beside whom he found his place on the
sofa.
After Helen had done her duty at harp and piano-forte, Cecilia relieved
her, and whispered that she might now go to her mother’s sofa, and rest
and be happy. “Mamma’s work is in some puzzle, Helen; you must go and
set it to rights, my dear.” Lady Davenant welcomed her with a smile,
made room for her on the sofa, and made over to her the tambour-frame;
and now that Helen saw and heard Mr. Harley in his natural state, she
could scarcely believe that he was the same person who had sat beside
her at dinner. Animated and delightful he was now, and, what she
particularly liked in him, there was no display--nothing in the
Churchill style. Whenever any one came near, and seemed to wish to hear
or speak, Mr. Harley not only gave them fair play, but helped them in
their play. Helen observed that he possessed the art which she had often
remarked in Lord Davenant, peculiar to good-natured genius--the art of
drawing something good out of every body; sometimes more than they knew
they had in them till it was brought out. Even from Lord Masham, insipid
and soulless though he was, as any courtier-lord in waiting could be,
something was extracted: Lord Masham, universally believed to have
nothing in him, was this evening surprisingly entertaining. He gave Lady
Davenant a description of what he had been so fortunate as to see--the
first public dinner of the king of France on his restoration, served
according to all the _ci-devant_ ceremonials, and in the etiquette of
Louis the Fourteenth’s time. Lord Masham represented in a lively manner
the Marquis de Dreux, in all his antiquarian glory, going through the
whole form prescribed: first, knocking with his cane at the door; then
followed by three guards with shouldered carbines, marching to buttery
and hall, each and every officer of the household making reverential
obeisance as they passed to the _Nef_--the _Nef_ being, as Lord Masham
explained to Miss Stanley, a piece of gilt plate in the shape of the
hull of a ship, in which the napkins for the king’s table are kept. “But
why the hull of a ship should be appropriated to the royal napkins?”
was asked. Lord Masham confessed that this was beyond him, but he looked
amazingly considerate--delicately rubbed his polished forehead with the
second finger of the right hand, then regarded his ring, and turned it
thrice slowly round, but the talismanic action produced nothing, and he
received timely relief by a new turn given to the conversation, in which
he was not, he thought, called upon to take any share--the question
indeed appeared to him irrelevant, and retiring to the card-table, he
“left the discussion to abler heads.”
The question was, why bow to the Nef at all?--This led to a discussion
upon the advantages of ceremonials in preserving respect for order and
reverence for authority, and then came an inquiry into the abuses of
this real good. It was observed that the signs of the times should
always be consulted, and should guide us in these things.--How far?
was next to be considered. All agreed on the principle that ‘order is
Heaven’s first law,’ yet there were in the application strong shades of
difference between those who took part in the conversation. On one side,
it was thought that overturning the _tabouret_ at the court of France
had been the signal for the overthrow of the throne; while, on the other
hand, it was suggested that a rigid adherence to forms unsuited to the
temper of the times only exasperates, and that, wherever reliance on
forms is implicit, it is apt to lead princes and their counsellors to
depend too much on the strength of that fence which, existing only in
the imagination, is powerless when the fashion changes. In a court quite
surrounded and enveloped by old forms, the light of day cannot penetrate
to the interior of the palace, the eyes long kept in obscurity are
weakened, so that light cannot be borne: when suddenly it breaks in, the
royal captive is bewildered, and if obliged to act, he gropes, blunders,
injures himself, and becomes incapable of decision in extremity of
danger, reduced to the helplessness which marks the condition of the
Eastern despot, or _les rois fainéans_ of any time or country.
As Helen sat by, listening to this conversation, what struck and
interested her most was, the manner in which it went on and went off
without leading to any unpleasant consequences, notwithstanding the
various shades of opinion between the parties. This she saw depended
much on the good sense and talents, but far more on the good breeding
and temper of those who spoke and those who listened. Time in the first
place was allowed and taken for each to be understood, and no one was
urged by exclamation, or misconception, or contradiction, to say more
than just the thing he thought.
Lady Cecilia, who had now joined the party, was a little in pain when
she heard Louis the Fourteenth’s love for punctuality alluded to. She
dreaded, when the general quoted “Punctuality is the virtue of princes,”
that Mr. Harley, with the usual impatience of genius, would have
ridiculed so antiquated a notion; but, to Lady Cecilia’s surprise,
he even took the part of punctuality: in a very edifying manner he
distinguished it from mere ceremonial etiquette--the ceremonial of the
German courts, where “they lose time at breakfast, at dinner, at supper;
at court, in the antechamber, on the stairs, everywhere:”--punctuality
was, he thought, a habit worthy to be ranked with the virtues, by its
effects upon the mind, the power it demands and gives of self-control,
raising in us a daily, hourly sense of duty, of something that ought,
that must be done, one of the best habits human creatures can have,
either for their own sake or the sake of those with whom they live. And
to kings and courtiers more particularly, because it gives the idea
of stability--of duration; and to the aged, because it gives a sort of
belief that life will last for ever. The general had often thought
this, but said he had never heard it so well expressed; he afterwards
acknowledged to Cecilia that he found Mr. Harley was quite a different
person from what he had expected--“He has good sense, as well as genius
and good breeding. I am glad, my dear Cecilia, that you asked him here.”
This was a great triumph.
Towards the close of the evening, when mortals are beginning to think of
bed-chamber candles, Lady Cecilia looked at the _ecarté_ table, and
said to her mother, “How happy they are, and how comfortable we are!
A card-table is really a necessary of life--not even music is more
universally useful.” Mr. Harley said, “I doubt,” and then arose between
Lady Davenant and him an argument upon the comparative power in modern
society of music and cards. Mr. Harley took the side of music, but Lady
Davenant inclined to think that cards, in their day, and their day is
not over yet, have had a wider range of influence. “Nothing like that
happy board of green cloth; it brings all intellects to one level,” she
said. Mr. Harley pleaded the cause of music, which, he said, hushes all
passions, calms even despair. Lady Davenant urged the silent superiority
of cards, which rests the weary talker, and relieves the perplexed
courtier, and, in support of her opinion, she mentioned an old ingenious
essay on cards and tea, by Pinto, she thought; and she begged that Helen
would some time look for it in the library. Helen went that instant. She
searched, but could not find; where it ought to have been, there it of
course was not. While she was still on the book-ladder, the door opened,
and enter Lady Bearcroft.
“Miss Hanley!” cried she, “I have a word to say to you, for, though you
are a stranger to me, I see you are a dear good creature, and I think I
may take the liberty of asking your advice in a little matter.”
Helen, who had by this time descended from the steps, stood and looked
a little surprised, but said all that was properly civil, “gratified by
Lady Bearcroft’s good opinion--happy to be of any service,”--&c. &c.
“Well, then--sit ye down one instant, Miss Hanley.”
Helen suggested that her name was Stanley.
“Stanley!--eh?--Yes, I remember. But I want to consult you, since you
are so kind to allow me, on a little matter--but do sit down, I never
can talk of business standing. Now I just want you, my dear Miss Hanley,
to do a little job for me with Lady Davenant, who, with half an eye can
see, is a great friend of yours.--Aren’t I right?”
Helen said Lady Davenant was indeed a very kind friend of hers, but
still what it could be in which Lady Bearcroft expected her assistance
she could not imagine.
“You need not be frightened at the word job; if that is what alarms
you,” continued Lady Bearcroft, “put your heart at ease, there is
nothing of that sort here. It is only a compliment that I want to make,
and nothing in the world expected in return for it--as it is a return
in itself. But in the first place look at this cover.” She produced the
envelope of a letter. “Is this Lady Davenant’s handwriting, think you?”
She pointed to the word “_Mis-sent_,” written on the corner of
the cover. Helen said it was Lady Davenant’s writing. “You are
certain?--Well, that is odd!--Mis-sent! when it was directed to herself,
and nobody else on earth, as you see as plain as possible--Countess
Davenant, surely that is right enough?” Then opening a red morocco case
she showed a magnificent diamond Sevigné. “Observe now,” she continued,
“these diamonds are so big, my dear Miss Hanley--Stanley, they would
have been quite out of my reach, only for that late French invention,
which maybe you may not have heard of, nor should I, but for the hint
of a friend at Paris, who is in the jewellery line. The French, you must
know, have got the art of sticking small diamonds together so as to make
little worthless ones into large, so that, as you see, you would never
tell the difference; and as it was a new discovery, and something
ingenious and scientific, and Lady Davenant being reported to be a
scientific lady, as well as political and influential, and all that,
I thought it a good opportunity, and a fine excuse for paying her a
compliment, which I had long wished to pay, for she was once on a time
very kind to Sir Ben, and got him appointed to his present station; and
though Lord Davenant was the ostensible person, I considered her as the
prime mover behind the curtain. Accordingly, I sat me down, and wrote as
pretty a note as I could pen, and Sir Ben approved of the whole thing;
but I don’t say that I’m positive he was as off-handed and clean-hearted
in the matter as I was, for between you and I his gratitude, as they say
of some people’s, is apt to squint with one eye to the future as well as
one to the past--you comprehend?”
Helen was not clear that she comprehended all that had been said; still
less had she any idea what she could have to do in this matter; she
waited for further explanation.
“Now all I want from you then, Miss Hanley--Stanley I would say, I beg
pardon, I’m the worst at proper names that lives--but all I want of
you, Miss Hanley, is--first, your opinion as to the validity of the
handwriting,--well, you are positive, then, that this _mis-sent_ is her
hand. Now then, I want to know, do you think Lady Davenant knew what she
was about when she wrote it?”
Helen’s eyes opened to their utmost power of distension, at the idea of
anybody’s questioning that Lady Davenant knew what she was about.
“La! my dear,” said Lady Bearcroft; “spare the whites of your eyes, I
didn’t mean she didn’t know what she was about in _that_ sense.”
“What sense?” said Helen.
“Not in any particular sense,” replied Lady Bearcroft. “But let me go
on, or we shall never come to an understanding; I only meant that her
ladyship might have just sat down to answer my note, as I often do
myself, without having read the whole through, or before I have taken it
in quite.” Helen thought this very unlikely to have happened with Lady
Davenant.
“But still it might have happened,” continued Lady Bearcroft, “that her
ladyship did not notice the delicacy of the way in which the thing
was _put_--for it really was put so that nobody could take hold of it
against any of us--you understand; and after all, such a curiosity of a
Sevigné as this, and such fine ‘di’monds,’ was too pretty, and too good
a thing to be refused hand-over-head, in that way. Besides, my note
was so respectable, and respectful, it surely required and demanded
something more of an answer, methinks, from a person of birth or
education, than the single bald word ‘mis-sent,’ like the postman!
Surely, Miss Hanley, now, putting your friendship apart, candidly you
must think as I do? And, whether or no, at least you will be so obliging
to do me the favour to find out from Lady Davenant if she really made
the reply with her eyes open or not, and really meant what she said.”
Helen being quite clear that Lady Davenant always meant what she said,
and had written with her eyes open, declined, as perfectly useless,
making the proposed inquiry. It was plain that Lady Davenant had not
thought proper to accept of this present, and to avoid any unpleasant
explanations, had presumed it was not intended for her, but had been
sent by mistake. Helen advised her to let the matter rest.
“Well, well!” said Lady Bearcroft, “thank you, Miss Hanley, at all
events for your good advice. But, neck or nothing, I am apt to go
through with whatever I once take into my head, and, since you cannot
aid and abet, I will trouble you no further, only not to say a word of
what I have mentioned. But all the time I thank you, my dear young lady,
as much as if I took your dictum. So, my dear Miss Hanley--Stanley--do
not let me interrupt you longer in your book-hunt. Take care of that
step-ladder, though; it is _coggledy_, as I observed when you came
down--Good night, good night.”