LADY THROCKMORTON.
THE next day Father Brousseau came to see us. We had been so hurried
and flurried at the time of our landing the day before, that we had
hardly exchanged a dozen words, and now he came to bid us farewell
before going to his friends in the country.
They had sent some one to meet him—a gentleman-in-waiting of some kind,
and a very solemn and dignified person indeed, who accompanied him to
our house. He had furnished the good priest with a suit of raiment,
such as is worn by ordinary English clergymen, not wishing, I suppose,
to have him attract notice as a foreigner.
There were at the time considerable disturbances in the country. A
French war was impending, and an apprehended rising of the Jacobites,
or adherents to the house of Stuart, which really took place the next
year, had awakened the "no popery" feeling, always prevailing more or
less in the lower and middle classes. I must say he had not succeeded
very well in disguising him, for Father Brousseau looked, if possible,
more priestly than ever.
He was to leave town that very day, and it was easy to see that the
serving-man was anxious to get him away. Indeed, he made his impatience
so manifest, that our leave-taking was rather a hurried one. The father
gave us some advice as to our conduct, enjoined it upon us to read no
heretical books, and attend no heretical services, to say our prayers
and keep at home, and to be guided by Mrs. Thorpe in all things not
belonging to our religion. He gave us each a little picture, and his
blessing, and bade us farewell. I did not see him for many a year
afterward, when times were greatly changed for both of us.
It must be confessed that for a few days, we lived rather an idle
and unprofitable life at Mrs. Thorpe's. The good woman herself was
naturally very busy after her long absence, and she left us much to
ourselves. We had never been used to the ordering of our own time any
more since we were grown up, than when we were three years old.
In the convent every hour brought its own occupation, in the same
regular routine, day after day, and year after year, and we never
thought of anything else. We had never been trained to think or decide
for ourselves in the smallest matter. "A good religious has no will of
her own, and no more thinks of guiding herself than does the needle she
sews with," was a favorite saying of Mother Superior's, and we had been
brought up on the same principle. A man who has never learned to walk
alone, will, if left to himself, stumble just as much at fifty as at
three, and will probably hurt himself a good deal more. It is therefore
no wonder that being, as it were, thus suddenly put on our own feet,
and bade to go, we did not know very well how to set about it.
Mrs. Thorpe, as I have said, had provided us with a parlor of our own,
but we liked better to sit in her room which opened from the shop,
and watch the many customers—the fine ladies who came for essences,
laces, and fans, and the hundred and one nothings in which Mrs. Thorpe
dealt—to cheapen china jars and dragons, and go into ecstasies over
tiny tea-cups and French painted fans—and the still finer gentlemen who
came to see the fine ladies, look over the last novel—for Mrs. Thorpe
added that of a circulating library to her other business—and discuss
the latest bit of news and scandal.
Mrs. Thorpe usually found or made time to take a walk with us every
day, and when she could not go herself, she sent Mrs. Crump, her
housekeeper, a most respectable woman, whom we particularly liked,
because she had come from Cornwall, and could tell about the place
where our mothers had grown up.
In the house I am afraid, we dawdled sadly. We found ourselves for the
first time among books. Mrs. Thorpe, as I have said, kept a circulating
library, but she by no means made us free of its contents. However, she
picked out for us Mr. Thomson's Poems and Dr. Young's, and the then new
romance of "Sir Charles Grandison" in its seven closely-printed little
volumes, (the good Richardson had made fourteen in the first place) and
allowed us to amuse ourselves with these. *
* This is an anachronism. "Sir Charles Grandison" was published
in 1751.
To say that we read these books was nothing. We devoured them,
read them aloud to each other, and talked about them from morning
till night. Books of any sort other than "Lives of the Saints" and
"Meditations" were such a wonder to us that it is not strange our heads
were a little turned with them. I think Amabel and I had our first
difference of opinion over the amiable Clementine, whom she admired for
her wonderful spirit of self-sacrifice and piety, and whom I thought
a sentimental little fool—(I have never changed my mind)—and she was
downright vexed with me, when I laughed outright at the pathetic image
of Sir Charles and Clementine on their knees to each other, and the
faithful Camilla presenting a smelling-bottle alternately to each of
their noses. We were actually rather cool to each other for a whole
day, but made up our quarrel at night over Mr. Thomson's description of
a thunder shower.
I have said that Mrs. Thorpe's shop was a resort for all the fine folks
in town. It was not long before we began to be observed as we sat in
the back-parlor, which was divided from the shop by a screen. In this
parlor were kept some special boxes of lace too precious to be trusted
to the outer shop, and hither also came the fine ladies to try on the
"heads," ruffs, and so on, which they were minded to purchase.
At this distance of time, I may say without vanity, that I was an
unusually pretty girl, though not so handsome as Amabel. She was and
is one of the most beautiful women I ever saw in my life. I had a dark
clear skin, with a fresh color, and the crisped or waved black hair so
common in Cornwall. Amabel, on the contrary, was fair and delicate as a
lily, with dark clear grey eyes, and a wonderful profusion of straight
golden hair, a little inclining to redness. Her features were regular,
and she had always a calm placid look, a little wondering, as it were,
as though her spirit had not got over its surprise at the strange
sphere wherein it found itself.
Ladies began to notice us, and gentlemen to pass and re-pass the door
of the parlor, and put up their eye-glasses to stare at us. All this
made Mrs. Thorpe a little uneasy, and she used now and then to make a
pretext to send us out of the room.
One day, a grand equipage stopped at the door, with a great clatter
of horse-hoofs. A lackey in a fine livery jumped down and opened the
door, and a gentleman who was in the shop rushed forward to give his
hand to a very fine lady indeed, who descended from the vehicle. She
wore an immense hoop, at least eight yards in circumference, a sacque
and petticoat of contrasting colors. Her hair was cut and curled close
round her well-rouged and patched face, and she wore a very small chip
hat cocked up at one side, and trimmed with very rich, white and silver
ribbons. These same white ribbons had a significance which, at the
time, I did not understand. The lady was followed by her gentlewoman in
waiting, an impudent looking piece, nearly as fine as her mistress, who
carried a horrid little lap-dog in her arms.
"Is it possible?" exclaimed the gentleman, laying his hand on his heart
with a theatrical air. "Do my eyes deceive me, or does the adorable
Lady Throckmorton deign once more to bestow on our barbarous town the
light of her presence? I had thought nothing would bring you from the
Baths at this time of the year."
"And nothing would but dire necessity, I assure you, Captain Lovelace,"
answered the lady. "But Sir John's mother, who is much in years and
very frail, desired to see her son, and Sir John would not travel
without me—indeed he is not very fit to do so—so as I could not deprive
the poor lady of what might be the last sight of her son, I was obliged
to quit all the dear delights of the Baths."
"Angelic goodness!" said Captain Lovelace.
"Nay, 'twas no such great matter. We shall all come to age and
infirmity some day. My lady has been a good mother to her son, and
would have been to me if I had but let her."
The lady spoke these last words with a tone expressive of some emotion.
I even thought there were tears in her beautiful eyes. If so, she soon
dispersed them, and, as if she were ashamed of her late seriousness,
she began to chatter the most arrant nonsense to Captain Lovelace and
her dog, alternately,—treating the one with about as much respect
as the other, I thought, while she turned over the caps and aprons
Mrs. Thorpe showed her, calling one horrible—absolutely hideous and
revolting—and another ravishing, angelic! Perfectly divine!
"I must positively try this on, my good Thorpe; it is just my style.
Has any one else seen it?"
"Nobody, my lady. I have but this morning unpacked it, and I brought it
from France only a few days ago. If your ladyship will step into the
parlor."
Amabel and I were sitting in the parlor—Amabel reading and I busy with
some pretence of needlework. We usually retired on such occasions, but
I had a mind to see a little more of this very fine lady, and I am
ashamed to say I purposely upset my work-basket, and set the spools
rolling all about the floor. The two grey kittens instantly pounced
upon them, and, while I was rescuing my materials, Lady Throckmorton
entered the room. She stood as if transfixed for a moment.
"Whom have we here? A ghost from the other world!" she exclaimed. "Mrs.
Thorpe, where have you found this living image of poor little Lady
Leighton?"
"This is the daughter of Sir Julius Leighton, my lady," answered Mrs.
Thorpe, presenting us; "and this is her cousin and foster-sister. I
brought the young gentlewomen from France but a few days since, and
they are staying here under my care till the smallpox shall be over at
Highbeck Hall."
"Yes, I heard Mrs. Chloe was in a way to have her youthful beauty
spoiled," said Captain Lovelace.
"For shame! You spiteful creature!" said the lady, giving him a blow
with her closed fan. "Mrs. Chloe is my particular friend. And so are
Lady Leighton's daughter, as well as her living image," she added,
turning to Amabel, and speaking in quite a different tone. "I knew your
mother well, my child. You and my Alice were born on the same day, but
she was but a frail creature, fading in her earliest bloom."
Again a softer look came into her eyes. I never saw such eyes as hers.
They were of a sapphire-blue, very bright and clear, with a sort of
hardness and sharpness in them, and flashing with a fierce and baleful
luster when she was offended. She was indeed a most curious mixture of
good and evil, as I came to know afterward, but the evil predominated,
being let to have its way unchecked, and she perished miserably at
last, poor thing!
"Mrs. Thorpe never made a more beautiful or valuable importation, I
am sure," said Captain Lovelace, bowing to us both, though he had not
been included in—indeed, had been rather pointedly left out of—the
presentation.
Lady Throckmorton's eyes flashed for a moment.
"Your presence in this room is not required, Captain Lovelace," said
she in a stately fashion; then, as the gentleman retired, with an
extravagant gesture of humility and despair, "You must not listen to
such gallants, my loves," she added, in a lighter tone.
"I do not, madam," answered Amabel quietly.
"A dignified young lady, upon my word. And who is this?" Turning to me.
"She reminds me of some one, I cannot tell who."
Mrs. Thorpe explained who I was, and her ladyship was pleased to say
she remembered my mother quite well.
"She came from Cornwall with Lady Leighton, and they were quite
inseparable, I remember," said she. "Your mother afterward married a
gentleman who had a small estate in the neighborhood, and was killed by
a fall from his horse. Yes, yes; I remember. My good Thorpe, you must
take care of these visitors of yours."
"I hope to do so, my lady," answered Mrs. Thorpe, not without emphasis,
as I thought.
"And have you seen anything of the town yet, my rose-buds?" asked the
lady, turning to us. "I suppose not. Come, get your hoods, and I will
take you for an airing. No, on second thought, I cannot either, for I
promised my old lady to return in time for her afternoon drive. I shall
have my own horses another day, and then I will call for you. Meantime,
Mrs. Thorpe must let me present you each with one of these fine aprons."
So saying, she selected from the stock before her two lawn aprons with
more puffs, ruffles, and lace than there was of the original stuff,
and bestowing one upon each of us, she sailed out to her carriage,
attended by Captain Lovelace, and followed by her maid and dog. This
was our first sight of that famous beauty and wit, Lady Throckmorton of
Newcastle. It would have saved us a good deal had it been the last.
"There goes a fine woman spoiled," said Mrs. Thorpe. "I was glad she
was obliged to go, I did not like to have you go out with her, and I
did not exactly know how to refuse."
"But why do you call her spoiled?" I asked. "I am sure she is very
generous in giving us these beautiful aprons."
"'Tis not hard to be generous when some one else pays the bills,"
answered Mrs. Thorpe. "However, we will not judge the poor thing. Her
notice was at least kindly meant. Perhaps if her children had lived
she would have been different. But, my young ladies, though I do not
like to deprive you of a pleasure, I fear I must banish you forth of
this parlor during business hours. 'Tis too public a place for ladies
of quality, and I have no mind to have you brought under the notice of
Captain Lovelace and others of his stamp, of whom we have at present
only too many in the town. So, my dears, you will amuse yourselves as
well as you can in your own room."
We had now no choice but to withdraw, and were soon seated in our own
pretty parlor.
"So it seems we are to be imprisoned in this dull room for the future!"
said I, pettishly enough. "One might as well be in the convent again,
as shut up in this poky place."
"You did not think it poky at first!" said Amabel. "And I think, Lucy,
Mrs. Thorpe is right about our sitting in the shop. I am sure Mother
Prudentia would say the same, if she were here."
"Mother Prudentia is not our governor now," I replied.
"No! But Mrs. Thorpe is, now that our relations have put us under her
care. I must say, I don't care to see that Captain Lovelace again; I
thought him very rude," answered Amabel with a flash of her eye, such
as I had hardly ever seen before.
"You did not think Mr. Cheriton rude, when he gave you those flowers
over the wall this morning!" said I.
"That was very different!" answered Amabel. "I am sure, Lucy, you can't
compare Mr. Cheriton's manners with those of Captain Lovelace. Mrs.
Thorpe herself was by and saw no harm. But I don't think it is very
nice to be talking about young men in this way."
"One may as well talk of them as think of them, I suppose!" I answered,
rather flippantly.
Amabel made me no answer, but withdrawing into a corner, she laid aside
Mr. Thomson's poems, and, betook herself to her book of "Hours," which
had been rather neglected of late. I took up my work, and we sat in
silence, till called to dinner.
A few days afterwards, we were walking with Mrs. Crump. We had been to
carry a basket of food some pensioner of Mrs. Thorpe's, and were pacing
along rather soberly, thinking of the sad scene we had just witnessed,
when we heard our names called.
We looked and saw Lady Throckmorton, leaning out of her carriage. She
was more dressed than ever, with splendid jewels in her ears, and on
her neck. Of course we stopped to curtsy, and were passing on, when she
beckoned us again; the coachman at the same time drawing up to the side
of the street.
"So I have caught you, my doves!" said she. "I must positively take you
for an airing, and carry you home to have some tea with me. Nay, I will
take no refusal. This good woman will make your excuses to Mrs. Thorpe,
if any are needed."
Mrs. Crump was a very quiet woman, who dressed in the plainest way, and
rarely said a needless word. She did not, however, seem at all dashed
at the presence of the great lady, but answered her, even with dignity.
"So, please you madam, I think the young ladies had better see Mrs.
Thorpe themselves, before going any where else."
"Woman, you forget yourself!" said Lady Throckmorton, with that angry
flash of the eye, that I had observed before. "I would have your
mistress know, that Lady Throckmorton's notice is an honor to any young
lady. Come girls—my black haired beauty, I am sure, is not afraid of
the old shopkeeper. Come, I cannot keep the horses standing."
I think Amabel would have refused, but that she saw me determined to
accept Lady Throckmorton's invitation, and she would not let me go by
myself. So we got into the carriage and drove away, leaving Mrs. Crump
standing on the pavement.
"Insolent old creature!" said Lady Throckmorton. "But there, never mind
her. Tell me about yourselves, and your life—where were you educated?"
"In France," we told her.
"Ah! That is how you come to carry yourselves so well; and what have
you learned?"
I gave her as good an account as I could of our acquirements.
"Why! You are real paragons—I must have you with me, while I am here—I
positively must, indeed—nothing takes like a new face, and your
conventual simplicity is truly charming. It will never do for you to be
buried at Highbeck Hall, with those old frights, each more absurd than
the other. I must write to your father, Miss Amabel Leighton."
This was the first time I ever heard the title of Miss, which was just
then coming into fashion.
"The ladies you speak of are my aunts, madame," said Amabel, with some
dignity.
"That does not hinder their being old frights, child. Oh! You must not
mind me, I say I think of every one. Well, here we are at home. I must
introduce you to my poor old Sir John; he is not so old either, but a
sad invalid, poor man."
We had driven into a paved court, and now alighted at the door of the
handsomest mansion I had yet seen.
Lady Throckmorton led us through a grand hall, up a fine oak staircase,
which reminded me of the great staircase at St. Jean, and into her own
dressing-room; which was a rather small apartment, so crowded with all
kinds of nick-nacks, that it was hard to move without knocking down a
china mandarin, or a shepherdess, or upsetting a potpourri. The air was
heavily laden with scents, as that of Mrs. Thorpe's shop. The windows
were hung with rich draperies, and another curtain was looped over a
door, which opened into a richly furnished bed-chamber. One of the
most noticeable things in the room, was a finely painted portrait of a
gentleman, surrounded by a wreath of white roses, so beautifully made,
that at first I thought them real, and wondered where they came from.
"This is my den," said Lady Throckmorton. "I told Sir John I positively
could not stay in this horrible old pile of bricks unless he would
allow me to fit up two or three rooms to suit my own taste. He is a
good-natured creature, and so, though he worships his hideous old
chairs and tables as if they were veritable household gods, he gave me
leave to do what I liked with these rooms, and a withdrawing-room down
stairs. What do you think of the general effect, eh?"
She evidently expected us to be quite dazzled with all her splendor,
and I indeed was so, though all the time I was conscious of a certain
something which pained the eye. Amabel answered that we had seen so
little of such things, that we were hardly good judges. My lady was
evidently a little nettled by her coolness, and began to display one
fine bit of china and gilding after another, till the entrance of her
waiting-woman interrupted the lecture.
"Tea is ready, my lady," said the Abigail, as it was then the fashion
to call these personages, "and Captain Lovelace and some other
gentlemen are in the drawing-room."
"Dear me, I had no notion it was so late. You have been so
entertaining, girls, that you have lent new wings to time."
N. B.—We had hardly said ten words between us, but I have observed that
people are usually better entertained with their own conversation than
that of any one else.
"See, Wilson, can you make these girls presentable at short notice? I
wish to take them out with me this evening."
Mrs. Wilson looked critically at us, and began to suggest various
additions to our simple toilets.
"No, on second thoughts, you may let them alone, only select one of my
lace aprons and a necklace apiece for them. Those black velvet bands
with the pearls sewed on will do. No, let the hair alone, 'tis well
enough as it is. Those gipsy hats are very becoming, only they should
be trimmed with white. Don't wear red ribbons, girls, whatever you do,
but blue may pass well enough. There, that will answer, Wilson."
All this time, Mrs. Wilson had been pinning on the aprons, tying on the
necklaces, and otherwise decorating us, till I felt as if I was a doll
being dressed for Mrs. Thorpe's show window. I glanced at Amabel. She
looked more uncomfortable than I had often seen her. There was not much
time to notice looks, for my lady beckoned us to follow her, and we did
so, passing down stairs into a small drawing-room, where was a table
set out with a tea equipage in silver, and any number of odd little
china cups.
There were two or three gentlemen in the room, and a thin middle-aged
lady very plainly dressed, and with a good serene face, which attracted
me at once. In one corner, with a table to himself, sat a thin elderly
man, evidently an invalid, to whom we were presented as Sir John
Throckmorton. The poor man's face brightened as he heard Amabel's name.
"And so you are Sir Julius Leighton's daughter," said he kindly. "Your
father was an honest, worthy gentleman, and we have had many a day's
sport together when we were young. I suppose he is still in London.
Will he be coming north before long?"
"I do not know, Sir John," answered Amabel. "We have not heard from him
since we landed in England."
"He will come north at the right time, I dare say," said Lady
Throckmorton. "Come, Sir John, I cannot have you monopolizing our young
ladies. We shall have cutting of throats presently."
She then gave us seats on each side of herself, and presented the
gentlemen as they came up. I remember none of them except Captain
Lovelace, who had the impudence to claim a previous acquaintance, and
Mr. Cheriton, who came in just as the ceremony was concluded. He looked
surprised, and, as it seemed to me, not very well-pleased, at finding
us in such company.
I noticed in a moment that, while all the other gentlemen wore white
rose-buds in their button-holes, he wore a red clove pink which Amabel
had given him that very morning. I think Amabel saw it too, for she
blushed and looked confused.
Lady Throckmorton's keen eyes flashed from one face to the other as if
she suspected something.
"So you know my young visitors already, Mr. Cheriton," said she. "How
is that?"
"We are neighbors, you know," answered Mr. Cheriton easily, "and
as their parish priest and spiritual guide, it was my duty to make
acquaintance with them."
I must say I was not pleased with the tone in which he spoke—as if his
sacred profession were a thing to be joked about.
"And you ventured to come hither with a red flower in your
button-hole!" continued the lady in the same bantering tone, which yet
seemed to have a meaning in it.
"Red is my favorite color," answered Mr. Cheriton.
"I have heard it was a thrifty color—no doubt that recommends it," said
one of the company with an undisguised sneer.
"You are right my lord, it is a thrifty color, and does not change,
easily," answered Mr. Cheriton, dryly enough. "I have known many white
roses turn red, but I don't know that I have ever seen a red one turn
white."
"Let the white ones become the fashionable color and the red will turn
fast enough," retorted the other angrily.
"Possibly, but that fashion has not yet been set."
"Come, come, I will have no sparring," said Lady Throckmorton
imperatively. "Captain Lovelace, do you not see that Miss Bunnell has
her tea all ready to dispense? What are you thinking of? Give them
plenty of sugar, my good Bunnell, and sweeten their tempers."
On this hint the gentlemen bestirred themselves, and handed us little
cups of tea with sponge cakes and other things of that kind. I had
not yet learned to like tea, which I had never seen till I came to
England, and Lady Throckmorton seeing that I did not drink mine, bade
Mr. Cheriton exchange it for a cup of chocolate. My lady herself waited
upon her husband, carrying him his chocolate and other refreshments,
and spending some minutes in arranging them to his liking.
"How devoted Lady Throckmorton is to her husband! Is it not a pretty
exhibition?" said Captain Lovelace in my ear, as he stood just behind
me. "She is always so—at least when there is any one to see her. He has
all his personal property in his own power, and she has no settlements
to speak of; but of course that has nothing to do with the matter."
I knew nothing of settlements or personal property at that time, but
I understood the implied detraction, and felt indignant at it. I had
begun to feel very uncomfortable by that time, as if I had of my own
accord walked into a net out of which I did not see my way. Presently
Lady Throckmorton came back to her seat, and began asking the news of
the day.
"They say the Methodists are coming hither again," said Captain
Lovelace. "If so, we shall have some sport. You ought to have seen how
we served them at Leeds when I was there. There was a bull-baiting in
the town, and we drove the bull right in among them, as they stood with
open mouths and ears, around their prophet. There was a fine scattering
at first, I promise you. But if you will believe it, when the beast got
into the crowd, he stood stock still by the side of Mr. Wesley himself,
as quiet as he had been a tame dog." *
* This incident, or one nearly similar, happened at Pensford,
March, 1742.
I saw Mrs. Bunnell smile at this, as with a kind of triumph, at which I
wondered, for it seemed to me a mean and dastardly action.
"I have taken a shorter way than that," said Lord Bulmer. "I took up a
local preacher, and another fellow of that sort who had the impudence
to come praying and exhorting among my tenants, and sent them for
soldiers on the spot. I told them I would soon stop their prayers, and
one of them, if you will believe me, had the impudence to answer me:
'You cannot do that, my lord, unless you can stop the path to heaven.'
Why, one of those rascals had the impudence to tell Dr. Borlase himself
that he knew his sins were forgiven."
Again I saw the smile pass over Mrs. Bunnell's face.
"These Methodists seem to me to be a harmless sort of folks enough—mere
visionary enthusiasts," said Mr. Cheriton, helping himself to a piece
of plum cake as he spoke.
"They are traitors—rascals who turn the world upside down—Jesuits in
disguise, if the truth was known," said Captain Lovelace.
"That, of course, would be enough to condemn them in your eyes," said
Mr. Cheriton, carelessly, "your aversion to Jesuits, and those who are
governed by them, being so well-known."
Again I saw by the expression of the faces around me, that the words
had some hidden meaning.
"Well, well, we shall know how to serve them if they come here," said
Lord Bulmer.
"They have been here already—do you not know it?" said Lady
Throckmorton. "I myself heard a part of one of Mr. Wesley's sermons,
and thought him very eloquent. And my good friend Bunnell here, was
altogether won over by him, so that she thinks it a sin to wear so much
as a feather or a necklace."
"Is that true, Mrs. Bunnell? Nay, I cannot have that," said Mr.
Cheriton, turning to the lady, who had sat quietly behind her mistress.
"I look upon you as one of the pillars of my church."
"Mr. Wesley withdraws no one from church," answered Mrs. Bunnell, in
her clear, even tones. "On the contrary, it has been objected to him
that he makes trouble for the clergy and sextons by bringing so many to
the sacrament." *
* See Charles Wesley's "Journal."
"I could bear a little trouble of that kind, methinks," said the
rector; "but surely, Mrs. Bunnell, you do not justify such presumption
as a common man saying that he knows his sins are forgiven?"
"The paralytic was but a common man to whom One said, 'Thy sins be
forgiven thee!'" answered Mrs. Bunnell. "And why should you read the
absolution in church if no one is to believe himself absolved?"
"Come, come, Bunnell, we want no conventicles here. You and Mr.
Cheriton must settle your disputes elsewhere than at my tea-table."
"Nay, madam, she did but answer my question," said Mr. Cheriton,
good-naturedly.
"Then you need not have asked such a question," returned the lady
sharply. "I hate people who are always dragging religion in by the
head and shoulders, reminding one of everything dismal that one wishes
to forget. Commend me to a preacher like yourself, Mr. Cheriton, who
gives us good moral discourses that don't make one uncomfortable. I
hate the Methodists, with their rant and pretence of spirituality, and
what not, and I hope if the preachers come here again, they will get
a warm reception. Gentlemen, if you have finished your tea, we ask to
be excused, as I propose to take my young friends to the theatre this
evening."
The gentlemen took their leave on this hint, and Mrs. Bunnell also
withdrew. Sir John's man came and carried him off, and we were left
alone with my lady.
"Bunnell is a good creature, and devoted to me," said her ladyship,
when we were by ourselves, "but I think I shall have to let her go if
she keeps on with her high-flown notions. I told her the other day that
she might be content to let Mr. Cheriton think for her in such matters;
and what do you suppose she answered me? Why, that as Mr. Cheriton
could not be saved or lost for her, she must needs think for herself.
But come, it is time we were going. See, here is a fan apiece for you,"
pulling out a handful from a box; "take your choice."
"But, madam, I think we should be going home," said Amabel. "It is
growing dark."
"Nonsense, child! You are going to the play with me, and then I will
set you down at home, or bring you back here, if it is too late. Nay,
not a word," with an imperative gesture, as Amabel would have spoken.
"You are in my hands, and must do as you are bid."
She left the room for a few moments, and Amabel turned to me.
"What shall we do?" said she. "Oh, how I wish we had never come."
"It was all my fault," I answered: "but I don't see how to help it now;
we cannot find our way home alone, through this great town, especially
as it is growing dark. If Mrs. Thorpe wanted us, she would send for us."
"True!" said Amabel. "She knows where we are, and could send Timothy
for us."
She had done so, we found afterwards, but we were not told of it.
"We must do as my lady bids us, till we can get away; but Lucy! I do
not like her, nor this place."
"Nor I!" I answered. "I feel as if we had got into the hands of the
fairy Melusene, that Mother Prudentia told us of. I have not seen one
person who seemed real to me, except that nice Mrs. Bunnell—and Mr.
Cheriton."
My lady returned at this moment, so we had no chance for any further
conversation. We went with her to the play; I don't remember what
it was, and indeed, there was such a buzz of conversation, and the
lights and music so bewildered me, and gave me such a headache, that I
had much ado not to burst out crying. I was thankful enough when the
evening concluded.
Captain Lovelace had been in the box all the evening, and had full
possession of her ladyship's ear and attention. I fancy from words that
I caught, that there was some political intelligence going among them.
I saw that many of the ladies wore white ribbons, and other red; while
a few seemed to have tried to make a compromise between the two.
"What ails you, child?" said my lady somewhat sharply, as the play
being at last concluded, she had time to notice me. "You are as white
as a ghost."
"Lucy has a bad headache, madame!" said Amabel, seeing that I was
trying in vain to speak.
"A headache! Oh that is nothing—and yet it might be the beginning of an
illness too!" added her ladyship. "Where had you been when I met you
this afternoon?"
"To visit a poor sick woman, madame."
"A poor sick woman—very likely she had smallpox or something, and here
you have been sitting with me all this time!" exclaimed her ladyship:
"Who knows what I may have caught."
"The poor woman had nothing infectious," Amabel began, but Lady
Throckmorton cut her short—
"There! Don't talk to me child—Williams, take these young ladies to
Mrs. Thorpe's, and come back for me as quickly as you can; and mind you
open all the glasses of the carriage. There! Good-night."
I hardly know how Williams made a passage for us through the crowd,
but he did somehow, and we were quickly carried to Mrs. Thorpe's door,
which indeed, was not far off. The good woman was up, and opened to
us before the lackey had time to knock. She received us in absolute
silence, and led the way to our room, where she lighted our candles,
and turning round she addressed us with emphasis.
"Young ladies, I excuse you this time, seeing that you were, so to
speak, taken at unawares; but this a thing that must never happen
again; your aunts, who have known me for many years, have seen fit to
place you under my care, and to me, you must be accountable, as much
so, as the youngest apprentice I have. I would not have a young maiden
in my house on any other terms—no! Not if she were the Queen's own
daughter. You know my conditions now, and I expect you to abide by
them."
She bade us a short good-night, and was turning away, when Amabel
made bold to ask her for some drops for my head. She was all sympathy
directly, helped me to undress, and brought me I knew not what of
smelling-salts and Hungary water.
The kindness set me off into the fit of hysterical crying, which had
been impending all the evening. Mrs. Thorpe dosed me with sal volatile,
and sat by me till I fell asleep, to be tormented half the night with
horrible dreams, in which I was alternately a fly, a mouse, and a
persecuted Methodist; and Lady Throckmorton a spider, a fly, and a mad
bull, intent on sending me for a soldier.
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