"Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a
distant waste: No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, Yet the Chief
Shepherd is for ever near."
_Cowper_.
The Abbey Church of White-Ladies, to which allusion has already been
made, was not in any condition for Divine Service, being only a
beautiful ruin. When Madam went to church, therefore, she drove two
miles to Tewkesbury.
At nine o'clock punctually, the great lumbering coach was drawn to the
door by the two heavy Flanders mares, with long black tails which almost
touched the ground. Madam, in a superb costume of black satin, trimmed
with dark fur and white lace, took her seat in the place of honour.
Rhoda, in a satin gown and hood, with a silk petticoat, all black, as
became the day, sat on the small seat at one side of the door. But
Rhoda sat with her face to the horses, while the yet lower place
opposite was reserved for Phoebe, in her unpretending mourning. The
great coach rumbled off, out of the grand gates, always opened when
Madam was present, past the ruins of the Abbey Church, and drew up
before a row of six little houses, fronted by six little gardens. They
were built on a very minute scale, exactly alike, each containing four
small rooms--kitchen, parlour, and two bedrooms over, with a little
lean-to scullery at the back. On the mid-most coping-stone appeared a
lofty inscription to the effect that--
"The Maidens' Lodge was built to the Praise and Glory of God, by the
pious care of Mistress Perpetua Furnival, Widow, for the lodging of six
decayed gentlewomen, Spinsters, of Good Birth and Quality,--A.D. 1702."
It occurred to Phoebe, as she sat reading the inscription, that it might
have been pleasanter to the decayed gentlewomen in question not to have
their indigence quite so openly proclaimed to the world, even though
coupled with good birth and quality, and redounding to the fame of
Mistress Perpetua Furnival. But Phoebe had not much time to meditate;
for the door of the first little house opened, and down the gravel walk,
towards the carriage, came the neatest and nicest of little old ladies,
attired, like everybody that day, in black, and carrying a silver-headed
cane, on which she leaned as if it really were needed to support her.
She was one of those rare persons, a pretty old woman. Her complexion
was still as fair and delicate as a painting on china, her blue eyes
clear and expressive. Of course, in days when everyone wore powder,
hair was of one colour--white.
"This is Mrs Dolly Jennings," whispered Rhoda to Phoebe; "she is the
eldest of the maidens, and she is about seventy. I believe she is some
manner of cousin to the Duke--not very near, you know."
The Duke, in 1712, of course, meant the Duke of Marlborough.
"Good morning, Madam," said Mrs Jennings, in a cheerful yet gentle
voice, when she reached the carriage.
"Good morning, Mrs Dorothy. I am glad I see you well enough to
accompany me to church."
"You are very good, Madam," was the reply, as Mrs Dorothy clambered up
into the lumbering vehicle; "I thank God my rheumatic pains are as few
and easy to-day as an old woman of threescore and ten need look for."
"You are a great age, Mrs Dorothy," observed Madam.
"Yes, Madam, I thank God," returned Mrs Dorothy, as cheerfully as
before.
While Phoebe was meditating on this last answer, the second Maiden
appeared from Number Two. She was an entire contrast to the first,
being tall, sharp, featured, florid, high-nosed, and generally angular.
"Mrs Jane Talbot," whispered Rhoda.
Mrs Jane, having offered her civilities to Madam, climbed also into the
coach, and placed herself beside Mrs Dorothy.
"Marcella begs you will allow her excuses, Madam, for she is indisposed
this morning," said Mrs Jane, in a quick, sharp voice, which made
Phoebe doubt if all her angularity were outside.
While Madam was expressing her regret at this news, the doors of Numbers
Five and Six opened simultaneously, and two ladies emerged, who were, in
their way, as much a contrast as Mrs Jane and Mrs Dorothy. Number Six
reached the carriage first. She was a pleasant, comfortable looking
woman of about fifty years of age, with a round face and healthy
complexion, and a manner which, while kindly, was dignified and
self-possessed.
"Good morning, my Lady Betty!" said the three voices.
Phoebe then perceived that the seat of honour, beside Madam, had been
reserved for Lady Betty. But Number Five followed, and she was so
singular a figure that Phoebe's attention was at once diverted to her.
She looked about the age of Lady Betty, but having evidently been a
beauty in her younger days she was greatly indisposed to resign that
character. Though it was a sharp January morning, her neck was
unprotected by the warm tippet which all the other ladies wore. There
was nothing to keep her warm in that quarter except a necklace. Large
ear-rings depended from her ears, half a dozen rings were worn outside
her gloves, a long chatelaine hung from her neck to her waist, to which
were attached a bunch of trinkets of all shapes and sizes. She was
laced very tight, and her poor nose was conscious of it, as it showed by
blushing at the enormity. Under her left arm was a very small, very
fat, very blunt-nosed Dutch pug. Phoebe at once guessed that the lady
was Mrs Vane, and that the pug was Cupid.
"Well, Clarissa!" said Mrs Jane, as the new-comer took her seat at the
door opposite Rhoda; "pity you hadn't a nose-ring!"
Mrs Vane made no answer beyond an affected smile, but Cupid growled at
Mrs Jane, whom he did not seem to hold in high esteem. The coach, with
a good effort on the part of the horses, got under way, and rumbled off
towards Tewkesbury.
"And how does Sir Richard, my Lady Betty?" inquired Madam, with much
cordiality.
"Oh, extremely well, I thank you," answered Lady Betty. "So well,
indeed, now, that he talks of a journey to London, and a month at the
Bath on his way thence."
"What takes him to London?" asked Mrs Jane.
"'Tis for the maids he thinks to go. He would have Betty and Gatty have
a season's polishing; and for Molly--poor little soul!--he is wishful to
have her touched."
"Is she as ill for the evil as ever, poor child?"
"Oh, indeed, yes! 'Tis a thousand pities; and such sprightly parts as
she discovers!"
[Note: So clever as she is.]
"'Tis a mercy for such as she that the Queen doth touch," said Mrs
Jane. "King William never did."
"Is that no mistake?" gently suggested Lady Betty.
"Never _dared_," came rather grimly from Madam.
"Well, maybe," said Mrs Jane. "But I protest I cannot see why Queen
Mary should not have done it, as well as her sister."
"I own I cannot but very much doubt," returned Madam, severely, "that
any good consequence should follow."
By which it will be perceived that Madam was an uncompromising Jacobite.
Mrs Jane had no particular convictions, but she liked to talk Whig,
because all around were Tories. Lady Betty was a Hanoverian Tory--that
is, what would be termed an extreme Tory in the present day, but
attached to the Protestant Succession. Mrs Clarissa was whatever she
found it the fashion to be. As to Mrs Dorothy, she held private
opinions, but she never allowed them to appear, well knowing that they
would be far from acceptable to Madam. And since Mrs Dorothy was
sometimes constrained unwillingly to differ from Madam on points which
she deemed essential, she was careful not to vex her on subjects which
she considered indifferent.
Rhoda was rather disappointed to find that Phoebe showed no astonished
admiration of Tewkesbury Abbey. She forgot that the Abbey Church at
Bath, and Saint Mary Redcliffe at Bristol, had been familiar to Phoebe
from her infancy. The porch was lined with beggars, who showered
blessings upon Madam, in grateful anticipation of shillings to come.
But Madam passed grandly on, and paid no attention to them.
The church and the service were about equally chilly. Being a fast-day,
the organ was silent; but all the responding was left to the choir, the
congregation seemingly supposing it as little their concern as Cupid
thought it his--who curled himself up comfortably, and went to sleep.
The gentlemen appeared to be amusing themselves by staring at the
ladies; the ladies either returned the compliment slily behind their
fans, or exchanged courtesies with each other. There was a long, long
bidding prayer, and a sermon which might have been fitly prefaced by the
announcement, "Let us talk to the praise and glory of Charles the
First!" It was over at last. The gentlemen put down their eye-glasses,
the ladies yawned and furled their fans; there was a great deal of
bowing, and courtesying, and complimenting--Mr William informing Mrs
Betty that the sun had come out solely to do her honour, and Mrs Betty
retorting with a delicate blow from her fan, and, "What a mad fellow are
you!" At last these also were over; and the ladies from Cressingham
remounted the family coach, nearly in the same order as they came--the
variation being that Phoebe found herself seated opposite Mrs Clarissa
Vane.
"Might I pat him?" said Phoebe, diffidently.
"If you want to be bit, do!" snapped Mrs Jane.
"Oh deah, yes!" languishingly responded Mrs Clarissa. "He neveh bites,
does 'e, the pwetty deah!"
"Heyday! Doesn't 'e, the pwetty deah!" observed Mrs Jane, in such
exact imitation of her friend's affected tones as sorely to try Phoebe's
gravity.