A FAMILY PARTY.
"A grandson of Captain Morgan! Well, that is not much to meet us at our
wedding dinner--at least, if it is not our wedding dinner--Oh, I know
there was our state one, and we met all the old fogies whom I detest!"
cried Mrs. Algernon Merridew, born Ellen Vernon; "but this is only the
second, and the second is quite as important as the first. She should
have asked the county first, to introduce us properly--and then the
town; but Aunt Catherine is one of the people who never do what's
expected of them. Besides, I don't want to meet her relations on the
other side. They're nobodies. She spends quantities of money upon them
which she has no business to do, seeing it's the Vernons' money and not
hers at all, if you come to that."
"Come, Nell," said her husband with a laugh. He was a dark young man, as
was to be expected--seeing that she was so fair a young
woman--good-looking, with whiskers, which were the fashion in those
days, of a bushy blackness, and hair which suggested pomade. "Come,
Nell," he said, "strike fair. Catherine Vernon does a great deal of good
with her money, and doesn't spare upon the Vernons--all the town knows
that."
"Oh no, she doesn't spare upon the Vernons--all those useless old
creatures that she has up there in that horrid old-fashioned house! I
think if she did a little more for real relations, and left those old
fogies alone, it would be more like---- Expecting one to call upon them,
and take all sorts of trouble! And look at poor old Harry kept with his
nose at his desk for ever."
"Poor old Harry is very lucky, I think. Fair play is a jewel. If she
doesn't do all you want, who do you expect would?"
"You, of course!" cried Ellen, as was natural: and they were so newly
married that he thought it very pretty; "that is the good of you; and if
you go in for Aunt Catherine too, when you know I can't endure her----"
"Of course the good of me is to do whatever you want," he said, with
various honeymoon demonstrations; "but as for going in for Aunt
Catherine--you must know this, Nelly, that I'm very proud of being
connected with Catherine Vernon. I have heard of her all my life as a
sort of goddess, you know. You must not put me off it all at once--I
couldn't be put off it. There now, there's nothing to look sulky about."
"You are such an old Redborough person," Ellen said, with a little pout:
which was very true. He was not, indeed, at all a good match for a
Vernon; but his whiskers--things much admired in those days--and her
self-will had worsted all opposition. He was no more than the son of the
perfectly respectable and very well-to-do solicitor, who was universally
respected in Redborough, and though Algernon had been in town and sown
his wild oats, he had never entirely got out of his mind the instinctive
conviction that Redborough was the centre of the world; and to feel
himself within the charmed circle in which Catherine Vernon moved was a
promotion which was intoxicating to the young man. Not even his devotion
to his pretty wife, which was great, could bring him to disown that
allegiance to Catherine Vernon which every Redborough man was born with.
It was a sort of still more intoxicating proof of the dignity he had
come to, that the pretty wife herself turned up her little nose at
Catherine. That Mrs. Algernon should be so familiar with the highest
excellence known to them, as to venture to do this, was to the whole
family of the Merridews an admiration--just as a family entirely loyal
might be flattered by having a princess among them who should permit
herself to laugh at the majesty of the king; but this did not shake
their own fidelity. And Algernon, though he ventured with bated breath
to say "Aunt Catherine" when he spoke of her in his own family, had not
got over his veneration for Miss Vernon. He had taken her in to dinner
on the occasion of the great banquet, which Ellen described so lightly,
with a sensation bordering upon the hysterical. Rapture, and pride, and
panic were in it. He did not know, according to the vulgar description,
whether he were on his head or his heels, and his voice made a buzzing
in his own ears as he talked. The second time was to be in the intimacy
of the domestic circle--if it had been to meet a crossing-sweeper it
would still have been a bewildering gratification; but all the more, his
wife's criticism and her indifference, and even discontent with the
notice which to him seemed so overpowering an honour, pleased the young
man. She felt herself every bit as good as Catherine, and yet she was
his--Mrs. Algernon Merridew! The thought was one adapted to make his
head swim with pride and delight.
It was entirely a family party, as Catherine had said, and a very small
one. The Miss Vernon-Ridgways had been invited, to make the number even,
and their preparations for the unusual honour had taken up four days at
least. When they sailed into the drawing-room at the Grange, having
spent ten minutes in shaking out the flounces and arranging the flowers
and ribbons with which they were ornamented, it would be impossible to
attempt to describe the disgust of the bride. She turned her eyes upon
her husband, who for his part was in a state of beatitude not to be
disturbed by trifles, with a look of indignant rage which he did not
understand. "To think she should ask those old things to meet _us!_ I
declare I have a great mind to go right away," she whispered to Harry,
who was more sympathetic. Harry allowed that it was almost beyond
bearing. "But I wouldn't make a quarrel if I were you," he said. In the
meantime the sisters went up beaming to their dear Catherine, whom they
kissed with devotion. How well she was looking! how becoming her dress
was! but that lovely lace would be becoming to any one! they cried.
Catherine received all these compliments with a smile, and she took
great pleasure in Ellen's disgust, and the way in which she turned her
ear instead of her cheek to the salutations of the cousins, who were
rapturous in their admiration of her in all her bridal finery. The entry
of the stranger, who was unknown to any of them, made a diversion.
Roland Ashton, when he was visible in the full light of Miss Vernon's
drawing-room, turned out, in appearance at least, a very valuable
addition to the society. Ellen, who was critical, and inclined by nature
to a poor opinion of old Captain Morgan's grandson, looked at him with
astonished, and indeed reluctant, approval. His whiskers were not so
thick or so black as Algernon's; but he had a fine mass of dark hair,
wavy, and rather longer than is now permitted by fashion, fine features
and dark eyes, with a paleness which was considered very interesting in
those days. He was much taller and of more imposing aspect than Edward,
whose stature was not great; he was far more intellectual than Harry;
altogether of the four young men present, his was no doubt the most
noticeable figure. They all appraised him mentally as he came
in--Catherine first of all, with a sensation of pride that the one
individual who was her relation, without being the relation of her
family, was a creditable novelty to introduce among them; the others,
with various degrees of quickened curiosity and grudging. The grudge was
intensified in the persons of the sisters, who could not endure this
interloper. They had felt it their duty to draw the line at the Morgans
long ago, and it was all they could do to behave with propriety at
Catherine's table when they were seated beside the descendant of the old
people on whom Catherine spent her money in what they felt to be an
entirely unjustifiable way. They were the only persons present who kept
up their grudge to the end. In Ellen's case it disappeared with the
clear perception of his good looks. But when Mr. Ashton offered his arm
to Miss Matilda Vernon-Ridgway, the look with which she received the
offered courtesy was enough to freeze any adventurous young man into
stone. It did not, however. It made him all but laugh as he glanced at
Catherine, who for her part contemplated her cousins with much
gratification. Miss Matilda placed the end of her finger upon the young
man's arm. She kept at as great a distance as possible as she crossed
the hall by his side. To the little speech about the weather, which he
thought it his duty to make her, she returned a sort of inarticulate
reply--a monosyllable, but conveying no meaning. When she was seated at
table she flung herself, so to speak, upon her neighbour at the other
side, who, as it happened, was Harry Vernon, and who was not prepared
for the honour. All this was to Catherine as good as a play.
"What a climate, and what a poky old place this Redborough is," said
Ellen, preparing to lead the conversation, as she finished her soup. She
spoke apparently to Edward, but in reality to the company, which was not
too large for general conversation. "It is dreadful to come back here in
the beginning of winter from Abroad. I declare I quite envy you, you
people who have never been Abroad; you don't know the difference. Bright
sunshine all day long, and bands playing, and the best of music, and all
your friends to talk to, sitting out under the trees. Compare that with
Redborough, where, beyond a few tiresome little dinner parties, and
perhaps three dances at Christmas----"
"The White House used to be a great addition to the cheerfulness of the
place," said Edward. "Harry will have no heart to keep it up by himself
now you have left him."
"Oh, Harry shall marry," said Ellen, "I have made up my mind to that;
and as soon as we have got quite settled, I mean to set things a-going.
I mean to have a Thursday, Aunt Catherine. We shall be glad if you'll
come. It is to be a _Thé Dansante_, which is quite a novelty here. You
learn so much better about all these things Abroad."
"Where is Abroad?" said Roland, in an undertone which was so
confidential and intimate, that had he been anybody else, Miss Matilda
must have yielded to its seduction. As it was, she only gave him a look
of surprise at his ignorance, and cleared her throat and shook her
bracelets in order to be able to strike in.
"A _Thé Dansante_ is exactly the kind of entertainment that suits me,"
Catherine said.
"Yes, won't it be nice?" said Ellen, unconscious. "I learnt all the
figures of the _cotillion_, which is the most amusing thing to end up
with, and I made Algy learn it. As soon as ever our house is ready we
shall start. It will be a new feature in society. As for Harry, till
he's married he'll have to be content with bachelor's dinners, for I
can't always be leaving Algy to look after him."
Here Harry murmured something, stammering, and with a blush, to the
intent that the bachelor's dinners would last a long time.
"We don't see you so often at our place as we used to do, Mr. Harry,"
said Miss Matilda, sweetly. "It used to be quite a pleasure to watch for
you; and the summer evenings were so tempting, weren't they? Oh, fie! it
is very naughty to love and to ride away. We always said that was what
was likely to happen, didn't we?" she said to her sister, on the other
side of the table.
Miss Martha nodded and smiled in return, and cried--
"Oh, always," in a shriller tone.
"What's that you thought likely to happen? Then it didn't happen if it
was Harry," cried Ellen, instinctively, ranging herself on her brother's
side.
"But about this _cotillion_?" said Edward. "What is it? I thought it had
something to say to a lady's dress. I am sure it had in the eighteenth
century. We shall have to go to school to learn what your novelty
means."
"She put me to school, I can tell you," cried Algernon, from the other
end of the table. "I had to work! She is the most dreadful little
tyrant, though she looks so soft."
"Dancing is neglected shamefully nowadays," said Miss Matilda;
"shamefully! We were taught very differently. Don't you remember, dear,
Mousheer D'Egmont and his little violin, Martha? we were taught the
minuet first on account of our curtseys----"
"Oh, the funny, old-fashioned thing! You _never_ curtsey nowadays; even
in the Lancers it is only a bob," said Ellen, "or a bend mostly with
your head. You never see such a thing nowadays."
"My dear! In the presence of your sovereign," said Miss Matilda, with
dignity, "it _always_ continues necessary. There is no change in that
respect so far as I am aware, Martha, is there? You were in the habit of
attending Drawing-rooms longer than I."
"Oh, never any change in that!" cried Miss Martha, rising upon herself,
so to speak, and erecting her head as she looked from one end of the
table to another. It was not often that they had such a triumph. They
had been Presented. They had made their curtseys to their Sovereign, as
Miss Matilda said.
Silence fell upon the table, only broken by the jingle of Ellen's
bracelets, which she pushed up her arm in her mortification; and there
were so many of them that they made a considerable noise. Even she was
cowed for the moment; and what was worse was, that her husband being
simple-minded, and getting a little familiar with Catherine, now turned
his looks of awe and veneration upon the Miss Vernon-Ridgways, who were
so well acquainted with the court and its ways.
And Catherine laughed.
"We are all behind in that respect," she said. "I am fond of pomp and
ceremonial for my part. It is a pretty thing, but I like it best at a
distance. It is my fault, I have no doubt, that your wife is ignorant of
Drawing-rooms, Mr. Merridew."
"I always said so, Aunt Catherine," cried Ellen, who was ready to cry,
in the midst of her triumph. "It is horrid for girls to have relations
with those out-of-the-way notions."
Catherine only laughed; it was her habitual comment. She turned smiling
to young Ashton by her side.
"You ought not to dislike state," he said, in an undertone; "you who are
a kind of queen yourself--or, shall I say, grand duchess--in your own
town?"
"A queen without any subjects," said Catherine, shaking her head. This
time she did not laugh, and there was even a little glimmer of sadness
in her eyes.
"Not so. I am a stranger, you know. When I go about the town, I hear of
nothing but Catherine Vernon. They call you so, do you know--_tout
court_, without miss or madam--that has a great effect upon one's
imagination."
Young Merridew had thrust forward his head, and was listening, which
perhaps was not very good manners.
"It is quite true," he said eagerly. "Ellen says I am a very Redborough
person. I have been born and bred here. I can't remember the time when I
didn't look up to--her, as if she was something above the human----"
"And yet you have married a Vernon!" said Catherine; but she was
pleased. "It is not an uncommon thing in this world," she said. "People
at a distance think more kindly of one than those who are near; but this
is not talk for a dinner-table. Not to interfere with Ellen's
_cotillion_" she said, in a louder tone, "I am thinking of a party for
Christmas, young people. As it is for you, you must lay your heads
together, and decide what it is to be."
Then there arose a flutter of talk, chiefly maintained by the ladies,
but in which young Merridew was appealed to by his wife; and Harry,
stimulated by the same hand, and Edward, mindful of his duties, took
part.
Catherine and her young relative were left, as it were, alone, amid the
babble of tongues.
"I cannot allow myself to look at it gravely," she said. "I laugh; it is
the best way. They all take what they can get, but their opinions, if
they were individually weighed, of Catherine Vernon, would surprise you.
They don't think much of me. I dare say I quite deserve it," she said,
after a pause, with another laugh. "Don't you think that in most cases
enthusiasm is confined to those people who personally know the least of
the object of it? That's an awkward sentence, but never mind."
"Isn't it the same thing as to say that a great man is never a hero to
his valet, or that a prophet has no honour in his own country?"
"Not the last, at least," said Catherine; "for being no prophet, you
yourself say I have got some honour in my country. As for the valet, I
don't know," she continued, "but a maid, though she appraises you at
your true value, and is convinced you are a fool in many things, still
is not without a prejudice in your favour. She would like, though she
maintains her erect position, to see the rest of the world bow down
before you. That is amusing too."
"You are a philosopher," said the stranger, looking at her with a tender
regard in his eyes, which made a great impression generally upon younger
women, and moved even Catherine as with a sense of kindness--of kindness
disproportioned to their actual knowledge of each other, which is a
thing which conciliates everybody, looking as if it implied a particular
attraction.
"Your grandfather thinks me a cynic," she said. She liked these few
words of quiet talk in the midst of the mingled voices of the others,
and was grateful to the young man who looked so sympathetic. "I don't
know that I am a cynic, but rather than cry, I prefer to laugh. Is that
cynicism?" He gave her a look which would have no doubt had a great
effect upon the heart of a younger woman, and which pleased Catherine,
old as she was.
"I think it is true philosophy; but some of us have feelings that will
not be laughed at," said Roland. He was accustomed to make great use of
his fine eyes, and on this occasion he did so with the greatest effect.
There could not have been more tender sympathy than was in them. Could
he be really so much impressed by her character and position, and the
failure of true gratitude and kindness? Catherine Vernon would probably
have laughed at any one else of her own age who had been so easily
persuaded; but it is always so much more easy to believe in the
sincerity of affection which is called forth by one's self! Her eyes
softened as she looked at him.
"I think you and I, Roland, are going to be great friends," she said,
and then turned with a slight little sigh, so small as to be almost
imperceptible, to the louder voices appealing to her. "You must settle
it among you," she said. "I give Edward _carte blanche_. The only thing
is that it must take in everybody, all the Vernonry and our neighbours
as well--a real Christmas party."
"Oh, don't you think, Aunt Catherine, Christmas is such a bore!" said
Ellen, "and family parties! Let us have strangers. Let us have people we
never set eyes on before. Christmas is so vulgar! Look at all the
newspapers with their little stories; the snow on the ground and the
wanderer coming home, and so forth. I am so glad we haven't got a
wanderer to come home."
"Christmas brings a great many duties I am sure," said Miss Matilda.
"Have you seen the charity flannel at Roby's, Catherine? It is so good,
almost good enough to wear one's self; and the blankets really look like
blankets, not horse-cloths. Do you think that is good or bad? What you
give in charity ought to be different, don't you think? not to let them
suppose they have a right--"
"You forget," said her sister, eager to get in a word, "that dear
Catherine always gives the best."
"Ah! it is well to be Catherine," said Miss Matilda, "but many people
think there should be a difference. What do you think, Mr. Harry?
Catherine may consider poor people's feelings; but there are some who
think it is wrong to do so--for who is like Catherine? She is always
giving. She is always so considerate. Whatever she does is sure to be
the best way."
"I am certain," said Algernon Merridew beaming with honest loyalty from
where he sat by Miss Vernon's side, "that all Redborough is of that
opinion; and Redborough ought to know."
"You mean all but the people to whom I give," said Catherine, "there are
not so many of them: but they are the best judges of all, and I don't
think they approve."
"There's nobody so unreasonable as the poor," said Ellen, "they are
never satisfied. You should just see them turning over the pieces from
my kitchen. Of course all the pieces are quite nice; everything is, I
hope, where I am housekeeper. Oh, I know I am extravagant, I like the
best of everything; but nothing satisfies the poor. Cold potatoes now
with mayonnaise sauce are what I adore, but _they_ throw them away."
"Perhaps they don't have the mayonnaise sauce?" suggested Edward.
"Oh, goodness! I hope not; that would be simply immoral," cried Miss
Matilda. "But, Mr. Harry, you don't give your opinion, none of the
gentlemen give their opinion. Perhaps that is because money is what they
give, and one shilling is just like another. You can't have charity
shillings. Oh, but I approve of charity flannel; and some people always
like to make a difference in what they give to the poor. Poor ladies and
gentlemen soon find that out, I assure you. People give you useful
presents. If they want to invite you, they invite you when there's
nobody there. They think a family dinner or high tea quite treat enough
for you. And quite right, don't you think, when one is in the position
of a dependent? It keeps people in their proper places. Dear Catherine
buys the best flannel, better than I can afford, for her Christmas
gifts. She is never like other people, always more liberal; but I should
buy the whitey-brown, that is, if I could afford any at all you know."
"Don't attack me, Matilda," said Catherine, with a laugh, "all along the
line."
"Oh, attack! _you_, dear Catherine? not for the world. We all know what
a friend you are. What should we do without you? Whether we are in Paris
fashions or our old silks, don't we owe it all to you?"
There was a little pause round the table which was somewhat awkward; for
what could anybody say? The clever ones were all non-plussed, but Harry,
who was the stolid one, suddenly became audible with his round rolling
bass voice. "Whoever says that, and whether it was well meant or not, I
say the same. It's all quite true. We owe everything to Aunt Catherine.
I am always ready to say so, wherever I go."
"Have we come to Christmas toasts already?" said Edward intervening. "We
had better not start that sort of thing before the time. We all know
what we owe to Aunt Catherine."
"Hush, hush," she cried, waving her hand to him as she rose. "Now we
shall release your noble intellects from the necessity of coming down to
our level," Catherine said as she followed carefully Miss Matilda's long
train. It was very long, though it was rather flimsy, and the progress
of the ladies was impeded by it. Ellen swept out lightly in advance with
a perfect command of hers. It was the first time she had preceded the
old cousins in her dignity as a married woman, and the ring of her
bracelets sounded like a little trumpet-note. As she followed them out
Catherine Vernon returned to her habitual mood of amused indulgence. She
had been almost sentimental for a moment, she said to herself, beguiled
by that boy's sympathetic eyes, which no doubt he must make great use of
among the young ones. She laughed at herself not unpleasantly, to think
of the confidences she had almost been beguiled into. But it pleased her
to think that it was her mother's blood which had exercised this
influence upon her. After all, it might be the Vernons only who were
sordid and ungrateful. The old captain and his wife had always been
exceptions to her sweeping judgment of human nature. And now it was
their descendant who had touched her heart. Perhaps it was only the
Vernonry after all. But she was fully restored to her usual kind of
amusement as she watched the progress of her three companions into a
temporary but eager intimacy on the score of Ellen's Paris fashions
which they were eager to examine. The bride was as eager to exhibit as
they were to see, and was so well pleased with herself as to be
impervious to the little covert blows which Miss Matilda gave under the
shield of her flatteries. Catherine Vernon established herself in her
own chair, and gathered her costly silken skirts about her, and took up
the newspaper, which people in the country have to read in the evening
instead of the morning; but she did not read much. She was diverted by
the talk. "Crinoline is certainly going out," said Ellen. "I heard it
from the very best shops. Look at mine, it is quite small, hardly to be
called crinoline at all. This is the very newest, from the Grangd
Magaseens du Louvre. You see yours are twice as big," Ellen added,
making a little pirouette to exhibit the diminished proportions of her
hoops. The Miss Vernon-Ridgways looked down upon their own skirts with
unquiet eyes.
"The French are always so exaggerated," said Miss Matilda. "Ignorant
persons have such strange ideas. They think really nice people in
England take their fashions straight out of Paris, but that is quite a
mistake. It has always to be modified by English good taste----"
Ellen interrupted with a little shriek. "Oh, good taste! You should just
hear how they speak of that Abroad. Sometimes I could have cried. They
say no woman knows how to dress herself in England. And when I come back
and see the dreadful things that are worn here---- This is pretty,"
Ellen continued, drawing attention to a portion of her dress. "The
Empress wore one just the same at a ball."
"Dear Ellen," said Miss Matilda, "and you wear it at a little family
party! that shows the difference. I am sure it was done just to please
us, to let us see what the new fashions are, in your unselfish way,
dear!"
And Catherine laughed behind the newspaper. The honours of the occasion
were to the old sisters after all.
In the meantime conversation of much more serious import, though
scarcely more elevated, was going on round the table in the dining-room,
where young Ashton had got the lead, though none of the others looked
upon him with over-favourable eyes. There was no doubt that he was a
very handsome fellow, and both Harry and Edward had that instinctive
sense that he was a competitor likely to put them on their mettle, which
is supposed to influence the bosoms of women alone. They thought
(instinctively, and each in their different ways,) that he must be a
coxcomb. They divined that he was the sort of fellow whom women admired,
and scorned him for it--as women perhaps now and then indulge in a
little sneer at a gentleman's beauty. But by and by he touched a chord
which vibrated more or less in all their bosoms. He began to talk of the
city, for which country men of business have a natural reverence. He
revealed to them that he himself was on the Stock Exchange, and
incidentally let fall an anecdote here and there, of the marvellous
incidents, the fairy tales of commerce, that were taking place in those
magic regions every day: of men who woke in the morning with the most
moderate means at their command, and before night were millionaires.
They gathered close about him as he added anecdote to anecdote. Edward
Vernon was like tinder, prepared for the fire; for all his thoughts for
some time past had been directed in that way. And young Merridew was
launching forth upon life, rather more lavishly than was consistent with
his income and prospects. Harry was the least interested of the three,
but even to him the idea of making a fortune in a few hours and being
able to retire to the country to give himself up to dogs and horses,
instead of going down to the bank every morning, was a beatific
suggestion. The present writer does not pretend to be able to inform the
reader exactly how it was, or in favour of which schemes, that the poet
of the Stock Exchange managed to influence these rustic imaginations,
but he did so. He filled their minds with an impatience of their own
slow business and its mild percentages, even when he seemed to praise
it.
"Perhaps it does feel slow work; I can't say. I think it is a vast deal
more wholesome. It is very hard to keep your head steady, you know, when
you feel that the chances of an hour or two may make you the richest man
in England."
"Or the poorest perhaps?" said Edward, more with the idea of subduing
himself than checking this flow of instruction.
"Ye-es," said Ashton, indifferently, "no doubt that's on the cards: but
it ought not to be if your broker has a head on his shoulders. About the
worst that can happen, if you take proper precautions, is that you're no
worse than you were to start with, and better luck next time. I don't
approve the 'gain or lose it all' system. But what will Miss Vernon say
if we stay here talking shop all the evening?" he added.
There was never a more clever conclusion; it was like the exciting close
of an act in the theatre, for he could not be persuaded to begin again.
When they went reluctantly into the drawing-room, Ellen thought her
Algernon had taken too much wine; and even Edward, who never offended
the proprieties in any way, had a curious light in his eyes, and did not
hear when he was spoken to. But Catherine Vernon, for her part, did not
notice anything except the filial kindness of young Roland, and the
sympathy and understanding which shone in his eyes.