Fatima, yawning; and we went to bed also.
"My story wanders, Ida; this is because it is an old woman's tale. Old
people of my age become prosy, my dear. They love to linger over
little remembrances of youth, and to recall the good counsels of kind
voices long silent. But I must not put you to sleep a second time, so
I will not describe the lists of good habits which Fatima and I drew
up in fine Roman characters, and which were to be kept as good
resolutions had never been kept before. We borrowed the red ink, to
make them the more impressive to the eye, and, unfortunately, spilt
it. A bad beginning, as many of our rules had reference to tidiness.
Neither will I give you the full account of how we packed. How our
preparations began at once, and were only stopped by the necessity of
setting off when the day arrived. How we emptied all our drawers and
cupboards, and disarranged both our bookshelves; and, in making ready
for the life of order and tidiness we were to live abroad, passed that
week at home with our room in such chaos as it had never been before.
How we prepared against an amount of spare time, that experience
eventually teaches one is not to be found out visiting; and, with this
object, took more sewing than we should have performed in a month at
home; books, that we had not touched for years; drawings, that were
fated to be once touched, and no more.
"I will not describe the big box, which my father lent to us, nor the
joys of packing it. How Fatima's workbox dove-tailed with my desk. How
the books (not having been chosen with reference to this great event)
were of awkward sizes, and did not make comfortable paving for the
bottom of the trunk; whilst folded stockings may be called the
packer's delight, from their usefulness to fill up corners. How,
having packed the whole week long, we were barely ready, and a good
deal flurried at the last moment; and how we took all our available
property with us, and left the key of the trunk behind. Fancy for
yourself, how the green coach picked us up at the toll-bar, and how,
as it jingled on, we felt the first qualm of home-sickness, and,
stretching our heads and hands out of the window, waved adieux and
kisses innumerable to Home, regardless of our fellow-traveller in the
corner, an old gentleman, with a yellow silk handkerchief on his head,
who proved in the end a very pleasant companion. I remember that we
told him our family history, with minutest particulars, and conjugated
four regular Latin verbs by his orders; and that he rewarded our
confidences and learning with the most clear, the most sweet, the most
amber-coloured sticks of barley-sugar I have ever had the good fortune
to meet with. I remember also how, in the warmth of our new
friendship, Fatima unveiled to him the future, which, through some
joke of my father's, we had laid out for ourselves.
"I am to marry a Sultan, for I am moon-faced; but Mary is to be a
linguist, for she has large eyes.'
"'Then Miss Mary is not to marry?' said the old gentleman, with a grim
smile.
"I shook my head in sage disdain. 'When I am sixteen, I shall be an
Amazon.'
"Precisely what I meant by this I don't think I knew myself, but my
dreams were an odd compound of heroic and fairy lore, with a love and
ambition for learning that were simply an inheritance. Many a night
did I fancy myself master of all the languages of the world, hunting
up and down the windy hills in a dress of Lincoln green. I had a
mighty contempt for men, and a high respect for myself, that was the
greatest of my many follies.
"After these interesting revelations we had barley-sugar all round,
and the coach rattled into Durnford.
"Shall I tell you how we were met at the Elephant and Castle by a
footman of most gentlemanlike appearance (his livery excepted), who,
with a sagacity which somewhat puzzled us, discovered that we were
'the young ladies that were expected,' and led us to the carriage,
firmly opposing my efforts to fulfil the last home orders I had
received, to 'look after the box?' How in the carriage we found a lady
handsomely dressed in black, who came out to meet us, and seemed so
anxious for our comfort, and so much interested in our arrival, that
we naturally supposed her to be the lady who had invited us, till we
discovered that she was a lady's maid; and on arriving found our
hostess quite another sort of person, with no appearance at all of
being particularly interested in our arrival, which I have since found
to be the case with the heads of some other country houses.
"It was a large house, reminding me of the Manor within, but prettier
outside; old and irregularly built, with mullioned windows, and odd
wings and corners. A glowing, well-kept garden contrasted prettily
with the grey stone, and the grounds seemed magnificent to our eyes.
"We were shown into the drawing-room, where the real lady of the house
sat at a dainty writing-table, scratching away at a letter that was no
doubt as affectionate as the one which my mother had received. She was
shortsighted, which seemed to be the case also with most of the other
ladies in the room; this, perhaps, was why they stared so hard at us,
and then went on with the elaborate pieces of needlework on which all
of them were engaged. It seemed to take our hostess a second or two to
see us, and another second or two to recall who we were; then she came
forward very kindly, showed us where to sit, and asked after my
mother. Whilst I was replying, she crossed to the fire-place, and rang
the bell; and I felt slightly surprised by her seeming to wish for no
further news of her old friend. She asked if we had had a pleasant
journey, and Fatima had hardly pronounced a modest yes, before she
begged we would allow her to finish her letter, and went back to the
spindle-legged table. Whilst she scratched we looked around us. Three
or four ladies were in the room, more or less young, more or less
pretty, more or less elegantly dressed, and all with more or less
elaborate pieces of needlework. There was one gentleman, young and
dark, with large brown eyes, who seemed to be employed in making paper
pellets of an old letter, chatting the while in a low voice to a young
lady with a good deal of red hair. We afterwards found out that he was
an Irishman, familiarly called 'Pat' by some of the young ladies, who
seemed to be related to him. We had seen all this when the man-servant
appeared at the door.
"'Where is Miss Lucy, Thompson?' our hostess asked, sharply.
"'I will inquire, ma'am,' Thompson replied, with the utmost softness,
and vanished.
"The scratching began again, the Irishman went on gently chatting, and
it all felt very like a horrid dream. Then Thompson reappeared.
"'Miss Lucy is out, ma'am.'
"'Did she know what time these young ladies were to arrive?'
"'Miss Lucy knew that the carriage had gone to meet them, ma'am.'
"'Very thoughtless! Very thoughtless indeed!' said the lady. Thompson
paused respectfully, as if to receive the full weight of the remark,
and then vanished noiselessly as before.
"There was an awkward pause. Our hostess left off scratching, and
looked very cross; the Irishman fired one of his pellets across the
room, and left off chatting, and the red-haired young lady got up, and
rustled across to us. I remember her so well, Ida, for we fell deeply
in love with her and her kindness. I remember her green and white
dress. She had a fair round face, more pleasant than really pretty, a
white starlike forehead, almost too firm a mouth, but a very gentle
voice, at least, so we thought, when she said:
"'As Lucy is out, may I take these young ladies to their room?'
"Our hostess hesitated, and murmured something about Bedford, who was
the lady's maid. The starlike forehead contracted, and the red-haired
young lady said, rather emphatically:
"'As Lucy is not in to receive her friends, I thought I might perhaps
supply her place.'
"'Well, my dear Kate, if you will be so kind,' said our hostess, 'I
must finish these letters.'
"'The yellow room?' said the young lady, abruptly, and swept us off
without further parley. The Irish gentleman opened the door for us,
staring with a half-puzzled, half-amused look at the lofty air with
which the young lady passed out. He followed us into the hall, where
we left him discharging his remaining pellets at the furniture, and
whistling 'Kathleen Mavourneen,' as clearly as a bird.
"The yellow room was a large airy one, with white painted wainscoting,
a huge four-post bed with yellow curtains, and a pretty view from the
windows. In the middle of the floor we saw our box standing in all its
dignity, uncorded, and ready. Then it was the terrible fact broke upon
our minds that the key was left behind. My sufferings during the few
seconds before I found courage to confide this misfortune to our new
friend were considerable. When I did tell her, the calmness and good
nature with which she received the confession were both surprising and
delightful.
"'The lock doesn't look a very uncommon one, she said, as she opened
the door. 'I dare say I may find a key to fit it.'
"'What's the matter?' said a voice outside. It was the Irish
gentleman. She explained.
"'Keys?' said the Irish gentleman; 'got lots in my pocket, besides
their being totally unnecessary, as I'm a capital hand at
lock-picking. Let me see.'
"With which he slipped in, seeming quite as much at his ease as in the
drawing-room, and in another second had squatted upon the floor before
our box, where he seemed to be quite as comfortable as in the
arm-chair he had left. Here he poked, and fitted, and whistled, and
chatted without a pause.
"'I've locks and keys to everything I possess' he cheerfully remarked;
'and as I never lock up anything, there's no damage done if the keys
are left behind, which is a good thing, you see, as I always leave
everything everywhere.'
"'Do you make a principle of it?' asked the young lady, coldly.
"'I'm afraid I make a practice of it.' He had opened the box, and was
leaning against the bed-post, with a roguish twinkle in his brown
eyes, which faded, however, under the silent severity of the
red-haired young lady, and gave place to a look of melancholy that
might have melted granite, as he added:
"'I'm all alone, you see, that's what does it. I believe I'm the
neatest creature breathing, if I'd only somebody to keep me up to it.'
"Neither his hardened untidiness nor his lonely lot seemed, however,
to weigh heavily on his mind; for he withdrew whistling, and his notes
were heard about the passages for some little time. When they had died
away in a distant part of the house, the red-haired young lady left us
also.
"I shall not give you a lengthened account of our unpacking, dear Ida;
though it was as enjoyable, but less protracted than the packing-up
had been. How we revelled in the spacious drawers and cupboards, over
which we were queens, and how strictly we followed one of our mother's
wise counsels--'unpack to the bottom of your box at once, however
short your visit may be; it saves time in the end.' We did unpack to
the lowest book (an artificial system of memory, which I had long been
purposing to study, which I thought to find spare moments to get up
here, and which, I may as well confess, I did not look at during the
visit, and have not learnt to this day). We divided shelves and pegs
with all fairness, and as a final triumph found a use for the
elaborate watch-pockets that hung above our pillows. They were rich
with an unlimited expenditure of quilled ribbon, and must have given a
great deal of trouble to someone who had not very many serious
occupations in this life. Fatima and I wished that we had watches to
put in them, till the happy thought suddenly struck one of us, that we
could keep in them our respective papers of good habits.
"Bedford came in whilst we were in the midst of our labours, and
warmly begged us to leave everything to her, as she would put our
things away for us. The red-haired young lady had sent her, and she
became a mainstay of practical comfort to us during our visit. She
seemed a haven of humanity after the conventions of the drawing-room.
From her we got incidental meals when we were hungry, spirits of wine
when Fatima's tooth ached, warnings when we were near to being late
for breakfast, little modern and fashionable turns to our hair and
clothes, and familiar anecdotes of this household and of others in
which she had lived. I remember her with gratitude.
"Miss Lucy came home before our putting away was fairly finished, and
we had tea with her in the schoolroom. She was a slight, sharp, lively
young lady, looking older than fifteen to us, rather pretty, and very
self-possessed. She scanned us from head to foot when we first met,
and I felt as if her eyes had found defects innumerable, which seemed
the less likely, as she also was shortsighted. As her governess was
away visiting a sick relative, Miss Lucy did the honours of the
schoolroom. She was cold and inattentive at first, became patronizing
at tea, and ended by being gracious. In her gracious mood she was both
affectionate and confidential. She called us 'my dear girls,' put her
arms round us as we sat in the dark, and chattered without a pause
about herself, her governesses, her sister, and her sister's husband.
"'A wedding in the house,' she observed, 'is very good fun,
particularly if you take a principal part in it. I was chief
bride's-maid, you know, my dear girls. But I'll tell you the whole
affair from the first. You know I had never been bride's-maid before,
and I couldn't make up my mind about how I should like the dresses,'
etc., etc. And we had got no further in the story than Miss Lucy's own
costume, when we were called to dress and go downstairs.
"'What are you going to put on?' she asked, balancing herself at our
door and peering in.
"'White muslin!' we said with some pride, for they were new frocks,
and splendid in our eyes.
"'I have had so many muslins, I am tired of them,' she said; 'I shall
wear a pink silk to-night. The trimming came from London. Perhaps I
may wear a muslin to-morrow; I have an Indian one. But you shall see
my dresses to-morrow, my dear girls.'
"With which she left us, and we put on our new frocks (which were to
be _the_ evening dresses of our visit) in depressed spirits. This was
owing to the thought of the pink silk, and of the possibility of a
surfeit of white muslin.
"During the evening we learnt another of Miss Lucy's peculiarities.
Affectionate as she had been when we were alone together, she was no
sooner among the grown-up young ladies downstairs than she kept with
them as much as she was permitted, and seemed to forget us altogether.
Perhaps a fit of particularly short sight attacked her; for she seemed
to look over us, away from us, on each side of us, anywhere but at us,
and to be quite unconscious of our existence. The red-haired young
lady had made her fetch us a large scrap-book, and we sat with this
before our eyes, and the soft monotonous chit-chat of our hostess in
our ears, as she talked and worked with some elder ladies on the sofa.
It seemed a long gossip, with no particular end or beginning, in which
tatting, trimmings, military distinction, linens, servants, honourable
conduct, sentiment, settlements, expectations, and Bath waters, were
finely blended. From the constant mention of Cecilia and the dear
major, it was evident that the late wedding was the subject of
discourse; indeed, for that matter, it remained the prime topic of
conversation during our stay.
"Cecilia and the dear major were at Bath, and their letters were read
aloud at the breakfast-table. I remember wondering at the deep
interest that all the ladies seemed to take in the bride's pretty flow
of words about the fashions, the drives, and the pump-room, and the
long lists of visitors' names; this, too, without any connection
between the hearers and the people and places mentioned. When anybody
did recognize a name, however, about which she knew anything, it
seemed like the finding of a treasure. All the ladies bore down upon
it at once, dug up the family history to its farthest known point, and
divided the subject among them. Miss Lucy followed these letters
closely, and remembered them wonderfully, though (as I afterwards
found) she had never seen Bath, and knew no more of the people
mentioned than the little hearsay facts she had gathered from former
letters.
"It is a very useful art, my dear Ida, and one in which I have sadly
failed all my life, to be able to remember who is related to whom,
what watering-place such a family went to the summer before last, and
which common friends they met there, etc. But, like other arts, it
demands close attention, forbids day-dreaming, and takes up a good
deal of time.
"'_Wasn't_ it odd,' said Miss Lucy, one morning after breakfast, 'that
Cecilia and the major should meet those Hicksons!'
"'Who are the Hicksons?' I asked.
"'Oh! my dear girl, don't you remember, in Cecilia's last letter, her
telling us about the lady she met in that shop when they were in town,
buying a shawl the counterpart of her own? and it seems so odd they
should turn up in Bath, and be such nice people! Don't you remember
mamma said it must be the same family as that Colonel Hickson who was
engaged to a girl with one eye, and she caught the small-pox and got
so much marked, and he broke it off?'
"'Small-pox and one eye would look very ugly,' Fatima languidly
observed; and this subject drifted after the rest.
"One afternoon, I remember, it chanced that we were left alone with
our hostess in the drawing-room. No one else happened to be in the way
to talk to, and the good lady talked to us. We were clever girls for
our age, I fancy, and we had been used to talk a good deal with our
mother; at any rate we were attentive listeners, and I do not think
our hostess required much more of us. I think she was glad of anybody
who had not heard the whole affair from beginning to end, and so she
put up her feet on the sofa, and started afresh with the complete
history of her dear Cecilia from the cradle; and had gone on to the
major, his military exploits abroad, his genteel connections at home,
and the tendency to gout in the family which troubled him at times,
and was a sad anxiety to her dear child, when visitors were announced.
"Our intelligent attention had gained favour for us; and we were
introduced to these ladies as 'daughters of a very dear friend of
mine, whom I have not seen for years,' on which one lady gave a sweet
glance and a tight smile and murmured:
"'So pleasant to renew acquaintance in the children;' and the other
ladies gave sweet glances, and tight smiles also, and echoed:
"'So pleasant!'
"'Such sensible girls!' said our hostess, as if we were not there;
'like women of fifty. So like their dear mother! Such treasures to my
little Lucy! You know she has lost her dear sister,' etc., etc.
"For then the ladies drew together, and our hostess having got a fresh
audience, we retired to distant arm-chairs, a good deal bewildered.
"But to return to our first evening.
"Miss Lucy and we retired together, and no sooner had the drawing-room
door closed behind us, than she wound her arms round our waists, and
became as devoted as if we had been side by side the whole evening.
"'I'll tell you what I'll do, my dear girls,' she said when we
reached our room; 'I'll come and sleep with you (there's lots of room
for three), and then I can go on about Cecilia's affair, and if we
don't finish to-night we can go on to-morrow morning before we get up.
I always wake early, so I can call you. I'll come back when I'm ready
for bed.'
"And she vanished.
"We were in bed when she returned. Her hair had been undergoing some
wonderful process, and was now stowed away under a large and elaborate
night-cap.
"'Bedford was so slow,' said she; 'and then, you know, I got into bed,
and let her tidy the room, and then when she was fairly gone, out I
got, and here I am. We shall be as comfortable as possible; I'll be in
the middle, and then I can have you on each side of me, my dear
girls;' and in she sprang.
"'Did you notice this?' she asked, holding up her hand, and pointing
out the edging on the sleeve of her night-dress; 'it's a new pattern;
do you know it? Oh! my dears, the yards and yards of tatting that
Cecilia had for her trousseau!'
"Fatima and I were not rich in tatting edges, and rejoiced when the
conversation took another turn.
"'About the proposal,' she rambled on; 'do you know I don't really
know whereabouts Henry (that is the major, my brother-in-law,' she
added, with one of the little attacks of dignity to which she was
subject) 'proposed or what he said. I asked Cecy, but she wouldn't
tell me. She was very cross, often; I'm very glad she's married. I
think sisters ought to marry off as fast as they can; they never get
on well in a house together, you know.'
"I fairly gasped at this idea, and Fatima said bluntly:
"'There are lots of us, and we get on.'
"'Ah!' said Miss Lucy, in tones of wisdom; 'wait till you're a little
older, and you'll see. Cecy was at school with two sisters who hated
each other like poison, and they were obliged to dress alike, and the
younger wore out her things much faster than the other one, but she
was obliged to wear them till her sister's were done. She used to wish
so her sister would marry, Cecy said, and the best fun is, now they're
both in love with the same man. He's the curate of the church they go
to.'
"'Which of them is he in love with?' I asked.
"'Oh, neither that I know of,' said Miss Lucy, composedly. 'They don't
know him, you know; but they sit close under the pulpit, and they have
such struggles about which shall get into the corner of the pew that's
nearest. Cecy and I weren't like that; but still I'm very glad she's
married. Now wasn't it stupid of her not to tell me? I should never
have told anybody, you know. And don't you wonder what gentlemen do
say, and how they say it? He couldn't propose sitting, and I think
standing would be very awkward. I suppose he knelt. Aunt Maria doesn't
approve of gentlemen kneeling; she says it's idolatry. I think they
must look very silly. Cecy wouldn't even tell me what he said. She
said he spoke to mamma, and mamma said his conduct was highly
honourable; but I think it was very stupid. Do you know, my dears, I
have a cousin who was really married at Gretna Green? She married an
officer. He was splendidly handsome; but people said things against
him, and her parents objected. So they eloped, and then went to Wales,
to such a lovely place! Wasn't it romantic? They quarrelled afterwards
though; he lives abroad now. People ought to be careful. I shall be
very careful myself; I mean to refuse the first few offers I get.'
"And so Miss Lucy rambled on, perfectly unconscious of the melancholy
and yet ludicrous way in which she degraded serious subjects, which
she was not old enough to understand, or wise enough to reverence. We
were too young then to see it fully, but her frivolity jarred upon us,
though she amused us, and excited our curiosity. She was not worse
than many other girls, with plenty of inquisitiveness and sharp sense,
and not too much refinement and feeling; whose accomplishments are
learnt from the 'first masters,' and whose principles are left to be
picked up from gossip, servants, and second-rate books; digested by
ignorant, inquisitive, and undisciplined minds.
"I won't try to recall any more of it, dear Ida. I remember it was a
continuous stream of unedifying gossip, varied by small boastings
about her own family. We've so many connections, was a favourite
phrase of Miss Lucy's, and it seemed to mean a great deal. 'Do you
like making trees?' she asked. I was getting sleepy, and without much
thought replied, 'I love trees beyond anything, and I like growing oak
trees in bottles.' Miss Lucy's, 'My dear girl, I mean family trees,
genealogical trees,' was patronizing to scorn. 'Ours is in the spring
drawer of the big oak cabinet in the drawing-room,' she added. 'We are
descended from King Stephen.'
"I believe I was the first to fall asleep that night. The last words I
remember hearing were: 'We've so many connections.'
"The next day's post brought news from Bath of more general interest
to the household. The plans of Cecilia and the major were changed;
they were coming to her mother's on the following Monday.