"You think not, Mrs Jane?"
"Folks' eyes are so different, Madam," answered Mrs Jane. "Chinamen's
beauties wouldn't go for much in England, I guess. He's a silly,
whimsical, finnicking piece--that's what he is! Pink velvet coat, laced
with silver. Buff breeches. White silk stockings with silver clocks.
No cloak. And raining cats and dogs and pitchforks. Reckon Eleanor got
all the sense that was going in that family. None left for Mr
Mark-me-well. Missed it, anyhow."
From that day forward, behind his back, Mark-me-well was the only name
bestowed by Mrs Jane on the young man in question. To his face she
gave him none,--an uncivil proceeding in 1714; but Mrs Jane being
allowedly an eccentric character, no one expected her to conform to
conventional rules on all occasions.
It would seem that Mr Welles wished to lose no time in paying his court
to Madam; for that very evening, as soon as calling-hours began, he put
in an appearance at White-Ladies.
Calling-hours and visiting-days were as common then as now; but the
hours were not the same. From five to eight o'clock in the evening was
the proper time for a visit of ceremony; candles were always lighted,
there was a special form of knock, and the guests sat round the room in
a prim circle.
Perhaps the "cats, dogs, and pitchforks" alluded to before had spoiled
the pink and buff suit which had roused the scorn of Mrs Jane. The
colours in which Mr Welles chose to make his _debut_ at White-Ladies
were violet and white. A violet velvet coat, trimmed with silver lace,
was fastened with little silver hasps; white satin breeches led
downwards to violet silk stockings with silver clocks, girt below the
knee with silver garters. A three-cornered hat, of violet silk and
silver lace, was heavily adorned with white plumes, and buttoned up at
one side with a diamond. He wore shoes with silver buckles and very
high red heels, white-silver fringed gloves, a small muff of violet
velvet; and carried in his hand a slender amber-headed cane. Being a
London beau of fashion, he was afflicted with a slight limp, and also
with intense short-sightedness, which caused him to wear a gold
eye-glass, constantly in use--except when alone, on which occasions Mr
Welles became suddenly restored to the full use of his faculties.
He certainly was very handsome, and his taste was good. His wig was
always suited to his complexion, and he rarely wore more than two
colours, of which one was frequently black or white. Mr Welles was
highly accomplished and highly fashionable; he played ombre and basset,
the spinnet and the violin; he sang and danced well, composed anagrams
and acrostics, was a good rider, hunted fearlessly and gamed high,
interlarded his conversation with puns, and was a thorough adept at
small talk. He was personally acquainted with every actor on the London
stage, and by sight with every politician in the Cabinet. His manners
were of the new school then just rising--which means, that they were
very free and easy, removed from all the minute and often cumbersome
ceremonies which had distinguished the old school. He generally rose
about noon, dined at three p.m., spent the evening at the opera or
theatre, and went to bed towards morning. Add to this, that he
collected old china, took much snuff, combed his wig in public, and was
unable to write legibly or spell correctly--and a finished portrait is
presented of Mr Marcus Welles, and through him of a fashionable London
gentleman of his day.
The impression made by Mr Welles on the ladies at the Abbey was of
varied character. Madam commended him, but with that faint praise which
is nearly akin to censure. He was well favoured, she allowed, and
seemed to be a man of parts; but in her young days it was considered
courteous to lead a lady to a chair before a gentleman seated himself;
and it was not considered courteous to omit the Madam in addressing her.
Rhoda said very little in her grandmother's presence, reserving her
opinion for Phoebe's private ear. But as soon as they were alone, the
girls stated their ideas explicitly.
"Isn't he a love of a dear?" cried Rhoda, in ecstasy.
"No, I don't think he is," responded Phoebe, in a tone of unmistakable
disgust.
"Why, Phoebe! Are you not sensible of the merit of such a man as that?"
"No, I am sure I did not see any," said Phoebe, as before.
"Oh, Phoebe! Such taste as he has! And his discourse! I never saw so
quick a wit. I am sure he is a man of great reach, and a man of figure
too. I shall think the time long till I see him again."
"Dear me! I shan't!" exclaimed Phoebe. "Taste? Well, I suppose you
may dress a doll with taste. His clothes are well enough, only they are
too fine for anything but visiting."
"Well, wasn't he visiting, you silly Phoebe?"
"And he may be a man of figure--I don't know; but as to reach! I wonder
what you saw in his discourse to admire; it seemed to me all about
nothing."
"Why, that's just his parts!" said Rhoda. "Any man can talk about
something; but to be able to talk in a clever, sprightly way about
nothing--that takes a man of reach."
"Well! he may take his reach out of my reach," answered Phoebe, in a
disgusted tone. "I shall think the time uncommonly short, I can promise
you, till I see him again; for I never wish to do it."
"Phoebe, I do believe you haven't one bit of discernment!"
But Phoebe held her peace.
Madam called in due form on her new guest at the Maidens' Lodge, and
Mrs Darcy returned the visit next day. She proved to be a short,
stout, little woman, with a face which, while undeniably and excessively
plain, was so beaming with good humour that it was difficult to remember
her uncomeliness after the first _coup d'oeil_. Mr Welles accompanied
her on the return visit. What had induced him to take up his quarters
at the Bear, at Tewkesbury, was an enigma to the inhabitants of
White-Ladies. Of course he could not live at the Maidens' Lodge, Madam
being rigidly particular with respect to the intrusion of what Betty
called "he creeturs" into that enchanted valley, and not tolerating the
habitual presence even of a servant of the obnoxious sex. According to
the representations of Mr Welles himself, he was fascinated by the
converse and character of Madam, and was also completely devoted to his
dear Aunt Eleanor. But Mr Welles had not favoured the Bear with very
much of his attention before it dawned upon one person at least that
neither Madam nor Mrs Eleanor had much to do with his frequent visits
to Cressingham. Mrs Dorothy Jennings quickly noticed that Mr Welles
was quite clever enough to discover what pleased different persons, and
to adapt himself accordingly with surprising facility; and she soon
perceived that the attraction was Rhoda, or rather Rhoda's prospects as
the understood heiress of White-Ladies. Mr Welles accommodated himself
skilfully to the prejudices of Madam; his manners assumed a graver and
more courtly air, his conversation a calm and sensible tone; and Madam
at length remarked to her grand-daughters, how very much that young man
had improved since his first arrival at Cressingham.
With Rhoda, in the absence of her grandmother, he was an entirely
different being. A great deal of apparent interest in herself, and
deference to her opinions; a very little skilful flattery, too
delicately administered for its hollowness to be perceived; a quick
apprehension of what pleased and amused her, and a ready adaptation to
her mood of the moment--these were Mr Welles' tactics with the heiress
for whom he was angling. As to Phoebe, he simply let her alone. He
soon saw that she was of no account in Rhoda's eyes, and was not her
chosen _confidante_, but simply the person to whom she talked for want
of any other listener. There was not, therefore, in his opinion, any
reason why he should trouble himself to propitiate Phoebe.
Ever since the visit of the Delawarrs, Rhoda had seemed disinclined for
another call on Mrs Dorothy Jennings. Now and then she went to see
Mrs Clarissa, when the conversation usually turned on the fashions and
cognate topics; sometimes she drank tea with Lady Betty, whose discourse
was of rather a more sensible character. Rarely, she looked in on Mrs
Marcella. Mrs Jane had thoroughly estranged her by persisting in her
sarcastic nickname for Rhoda's chosen hero, and letting off little
shafts against him, more smart than nattering. On Mrs Darcy she called
perpetually, perhaps with a view to meet him at her house; but all Mr
Welles' alleged devotion to his dear Aunt Eleanor scarcely ever seemed
to result in his going to see her at the Maidens' Lodge. When Rhoda met
him, which she very often did, it was either by his calling at the
Abbey, or by an accidental _rencontre_--if accidental it were--in some
secluded glade of the Park.
At length, one day, without any warning, a horse cantered up to the side
door, and Molly Delawarr's voice in its loudest tones (and very loud
they were) demanded where all those stupid creatures were who ought to
be there to take her horse. Then Miss Molly, having been helped off,
came marching in, and greeted her friends with a recitative--
"Lucy Locket lost her pocket; `Kitty Fisher found it!'"
"My dear Mrs Molly, I am quite rejoiced to see you!"
"No! you aren't, are you?" facetiously responded Molly. "Rhoda--I vow,
child, you're uglier than ever!--mother wants you for a while. There's
that jade Betty going to come of age, and she means to make the biggest
fuss over it ever was heard. She said she would send Wilson over, but I
jumped on my tit, and came to tell you myself. You'll come, won't you,
old hag?"
Rhoda looked at her grandmother.
"My dear, of course you will go!" responded Madam, "since my Lady
Delawarr is so good. 'Tis so kind in Mrs Molly to take thus much
trouble on herself."
"Fiddle-de-dee!" ejaculated Molly. "I'm no more kind than she's good.
She wants a fuss, and a lot of folks to make it; and I wanted a ride,
and some fun with Rhoda. Where's the goodness, eh?"
"Shall I take Phoebe?" asked Rhoda, doubtfully.
"You'd better," returned Molly, before Madam could speak. "You'll want
somebody to curl your love-locks and stitch your fal-lals; and I'm not
going to do it--don't you fancy so. Oh, I say, Rhoda! you may have
Marcus Welles, if you want him. There's another fellow turned up, with
a thousand a year more, that will suit me better."
"Indeed! I thank you!" said Rhoda, with a little toss of her head.
"My dear Mrs Molly, you are so diverting," smiled Madam.
"You don't say so!" rejoined that fascinating young person. "You'll put
on your Sunday bombazine, Rhoda. We're all going to be as fine as
fiddlers. As for you"--and Molly's bold eyes surveyed Phoebe, seeming
to take in the whole at a glance--"it won't matter. You aren't an
heiress, so you can come in rags."
Phoebe said nothing.
"I don't think," went on Molly, in a reflective tone, "that you can make
a catch; but you can try. There is the chaplain--horrid old centipede!
And there's old Walford"--Molly never favoured any man with a Mr to his
name--"an ugly, spiteful old bear that nobody'll have: he's rich enough;
and he might look your way if you play your cards well. Any way, you'll
not have much chance else; so you'd better keep your eyes pretty well
open. Now, Rhoda, come along, and we'll have some fun."
And away went Molly and Rhoda, with a smiling assent from Madam.
What a very repulsive, vulgar disagreeable girl this Molly Delawarr is!
True, my gentle reader. And yet--does she do much more than say, in
plain language, what a great number of Mollys are not ashamed to think?
Phoebe's sensations, in view of the coming visit to the Court, were far
removed from pleasure. Must she go? She braced up her courage, and
ventured to ask.
"If you please, Madam--"
"Well, child?" was the answer, in a sufficiently gracious tone to
encourage Phoebe to proceed.
"Must I go with Mrs Rhoda to Delawarr Court, if you please, Madam?"
"Why, of course, child." Madam's tone expressed surprise, though not
displeasure.
Phoebe swallowed her regret with a sigh, and tried to comfort herself
with the thought of meeting Gatty, which was the only bright spot in the
darkness. But would Gatty be there?
Rhoda and Molly came in to tea arm-in-arm.
"And how has my Lady Delawarr her health, Mrs Molly?" inquired Madam,
as she poured out the refreshing fluid.
Molly had allowed no time for inquiries on her first appearance.
"Oh, _she's_ well enough," said Molly, carelessly.
"And Mrs Betty is now fully recovered of her distemper?"
"She's come out of the small-pox, and tumbled into the vapours," said
Molly.
"The vapours" was a most convenient term of that day. It covered
everything which had no other name, from a pain in the toe to a pain in
the temper, and was very frequently descriptive of the latter ailment.
Betty's condition, therefore, as subject to this malady, excited little
regret.
"And how goes it with Mrs Gatty? Is she now my Lady Polesworth?"
"My Lady Fiddlestrings!" responded Molly. "Not she--never will. Old
Polesworth wanted a pretty face, and after Gatty's small-pox, why, you
couldn't--"
"Small-pox!" cried Madam and Rhoda in concert.
"What, didn't you know?" answered Molly. "To be sure--took it the
minute she got home. But that wasn't all, neither. Old Polesworth told
Mum"--which meant Lady Delawarr--"that he might have stood small-pox,
but he couldn't saintship; so Saint Gatty lost her chance, and much
she'll ever see of such another. Dad and Mum were as mad as hornets.
Dad said he'd have horsewhipped her if she'd been out of bed. Couldn't,
_in_ bed, you see--wouldn't have looked well."
"But, my dear, she could not help taking the small-pox?"
"Maybe not, but she might have helped taking the saint-pox," said Molly.
"I believe she caught it from you," nodding at Phoebe. "But what vexed
Mum most was that the grey goose actually made believe to be pleased
when she lost her chance of the tinsel. Trust me, but Mum blew her up--
a little! All leather and prunella, you know, of course. Pleased to be
an old maid!--just think, what nonsense. She will be an old maid now,
sure as eggs are eggs, unless she marries some conventicle preacher.
That would be the best end of her, I should think."
Phoebe sat wondering why Molly paid so poor a compliment to her own
denomination as to suppose that the natural gravitation of piety was
towards Dissent. But Molly's volatile nature passed to a different
subject the next moment.
"I say, old Roadside, bring a white gown. The Queen's coming to the
Bath, and a lot of folks are trying to make her come on to Berkeley; and
if she do, a whole parcel of young gentlewomen are to be there to
courtesy to her, and give her a posy, and all that sort of flummery.
And Mum says she'll send us down, if they do it."
"Who's to give the posy?" eagerly asked Rhoda.
"Don't know. Not you. You won't have a chance, old Fid-fad. No more
shan't I. It'll be some thing of quality. I'll tread on her tail,
though,--see if I don't."
"Whose?" whispered Rhoda; for Molly's last remark had been confidential.
"You don't mean the Queen?"
"Of course I do,--who better? Her grandmother was a baronet's daughter;
what else am I? I'll have a snip of her gown, if I can."
"O Molly!" exclaimed Rhoda in unfeigned horror.
"Why not? I've scissors in my pocket."
"Molly, you never could!"
"Don't you lay much on those odds, my red currant bush. I can do pretty
near anything I've a mind--when I _have_ a mind."
Rhoda was not pleased by Molly's last vocative, which she took as an
uncomplimentary allusion to the faint shade of red in her hair,--a
subject on which she was peculiarly sensitive. This bit of confidence
had been exchanged out of the hearing of Madam, who had gone to a
cabinet at the other end of the long room, but within that of Phoebe,
who grew more uncomfortable every moment.
"Well, 'tis getting time to say ta-ta," said Molly, rising shortly after
tea was over. "Where's that tit of mine?"
"My dear, I will send to fetch your horse round," said Madam, "Pray,
make my compliments to my Lady Delawarr, and tell her that I cannot but
be very sensible of her kindness in offering Rhoda so considerable a
pleasure."
Madam was about to add more, but Molly broke in.
"Come now! Can't carry all that flummery. My horse would fall lame
under the weight. I'll say you did the pretty thing. Ta-ta! See you
on Monday, old gentlewoman." She turned to Rhoda; threw a nod, without
words, to Phoebe, and five minutes afterwards was trotting across the
Park on her way home to Delawarr Court.