DANCING TEAS.
It was shortly after the departure of Roland that a new era dawned for
Hester in social life. Mrs. Algernon Merridew had felt from the moment
of her return from Abroad that there was a work for her to do in
Redborough. It was not the same as in her maiden days, when she had been
at the head of Harry's household, wonderfully enfranchised indeed, but
still somewhat under the awe of Aunt Catherine. But now she was
altogether independent, and nobody had any right to make suggestions as
to who she should invite or how she should entertain, to a married lady,
with an admiring husband, not to speak of brother--and sisters-in-law,
eagerly anticipating social elevation by her means, at her back. Ellen
was not ill-natured. She was very willing to promote the happiness and
prosperity of others, so long as she could do so without any diminution
of her own--a negative goodness which the world at large is very well
pleased to acknowledge as satisfactory. And it is not at all probable
that the representations of Harry, or the good-humoured suggestions of
Algernon inspired by Harry, to the effect that it would be sublimely
good of her to take up and brighten the life of Hester, would have come
to very much, had it not at the same time occurred to Ellen that Hester
was the best assistant she could have on her own side of the house, in
the indispensable work of making her Thursdays "go." Rather than that
they should not "go," she would have embraced her worst enemy, had she
possessed one; and she did not care to rely upon the Merridew girls,
feeling as she did that she had condescended in entering their family,
and that they must never be allowed to forget that they owed everything
to her, and she nothing to them. But at the same time she required a
feminine auxiliary, a somebody to be her right hand, and help to make
everything "go." The result of her cogitations on this subject was that
she set out for the Vernonry one afternoon in the little victoria, which
Algernon, rather tremulous about the cost, had set up for her, and
which, with the smart coachman who for the moment condescended to be
gardener too, and the boy on the box who was of quite a fashionable
size, looked a very imposing little equipage. Ellen lay back in her
little carriage enveloped in her new sealskin, with a little hat of the
same upon her head, and a muff also of the same, and her light hair
looking all the brighter against that dark background, with bracelets
enough to make a jingle wherever she went, and which she had to push up
upon her arm from time to time, and a violet scent about herself and all
her garments, at least the scent which is called violet at Piesse and
Lubin's, which served her purpose. When she drove up in this state, it
may be supposed what a flutter she made in the afternoon atmosphere. The
inmates of the Vernonry rushed to their windows.
"It is that little doll Ellen, come to show off more of her finery,"
said one sister.
"I wonder why she comes here, when you set her down so, Matilda," said
the other.
They kept behind the curtains, one over the other's shoulder, that she
might not see how curious they were. But when Ellen floated in at the
verandah door, and was evidently gone to see Mrs. John, their
astonishment was boundless. They shrugged their shoulders and
interchanged glances with Mr. Mildmay Vernon, who, with his newspaper in
his hand, had appeared at his window.
"Did he think she was going to see _him_?" Miss Matilda said, even while
addressing these satires in pantomime to him. "What interest can he take
in Ellen? It is just prying and curiosity, and nothing more."
The gentleman's comments were not more friendly. He chuckled as he saw
where Ellen was going.
"The old cats will think it a visit to them, and they will be
disappointed," he said to himself, all the same shrugging his shoulders
back again to Miss Matilda. They kept on the watch all the time the
visit lasted, and it was a long one. The sisters discussed the victoria,
the horse, the little footman, the great fur rug which Ellen threw off
as she jumped lightly out of the carriage. It was somewhat hard indeed
that a little minx like Ellen should have all these things, and her
seniors, her betters, who would have enjoyed them so much, none of them.
But so it always is in this unjust world.
On the other side of the partition from where the sisters were sitting,
Ellen's appearance had caused an almost equal sensation. She was not
looked for, and the proposal she made was a very startling one.
"I am going to begin my _Thés Dansantes_, and I want you to help me,"
she said abruptly. "I want you to be my right hand; just like my sister.
You know I can't do everything myself. Mrs. John, you shall come too, I
never intended to leave you out; but I want Hester to help me, for she
is the only one that can help me. She is really my cousin. Clara and
Connie are only my sisters-in-law, and I don't care to have them about
me in that position. It would be nice for me, and it would be giving
Hester the best of chances. Now, Mrs. John, I am sure you will see it in
that light. What could be better for a girl? All that she will meet will
be the best sort of people: and she would have her chance."
"I don't know what you mean by having my chance--and I don't want any
chance," said Hester, in a flush of shame and indignation; but Ellen put
her down with a wave of her gloved hand and arm, all tinkling with
bangles.
"Of course you don't know anything about it," she said, "an unmarried
girl! We don't want you to know. Your mother and I will talk about that;
but you can understand that a nice dance in a nice house like ours will
be something pleasant. And you would be there not just like a visitor,
but like one of the family, and get a good deal of attention, and as
many partners as ever you liked."
"Of course, Ellen, of course," cried Mrs. John. "I am sure _I_
understand you. It would be very nice for Hester. At her age every girl
likes a little gaiety, and in my position I have never been able to give
it to her. It was very different when my husband was alive, when we were
in the White House. I am sure I have never grudged it to you, but it
made a great difference. I was not brought up to this sort of thing. I
had my balls, and my parties, as many as could be wished, when I was
Hester's age. If her poor papa had lived, and we had stayed in the White
House, she would have held a very different position. It gives me a
little prick, you will understand, to think of Hester wanting anybody to
be kind to her; but still, as it is so, and as you are her relation, I
never could object. You will find no objection from me."
"No, I should think not," cried Ellen, throwing back her warm coat. It
was at the time when sealskins were rare, when they were just "coming
in," and Mrs. John looked at it with admiration. She did not ask, as the
Miss Vernon-Ridgways did, why this little minx should have everything;
but she remembered with a little regret the days when she too had
everything that a young woman could desire, and wondered, with a little
flutter at her heart, whether when Hester married she would have a
sealskin and a victoria, and all the other crowns of happiness. She
looked with something of a pathetic look at her daughter. Ah! if she
could but see Hester as Ellen was!
Meanwhile Hester was elevating her young head as was natural, in special
scorn of the "chance" which her cousin meant to secure for her, and in
defiance altogether of the scheme, which nevertheless (for she was but
human and nineteen, and the prospect of a dance every week took away her
breath) moved her in spite of herself.
"When I was a child," Hester said, "when you first came to see us,
Cousin Ellen, you said you must see a great deal of me, that I must go
to your house, that you and Harry would take me out, that I should have
a share in your pleasures. Perhaps my mother and you don't remember--but
I do. How I used to look out for you every morning; how I used to watch
at the window, thinking they will surely come or send, or take some
notice to-day. I was very young, you know, and believed everything, and
wished so much to drive about and to go to parties. But you never came."
"To think she should remember all that!" cried Ellen, a little abashed.
"Of course I didn't. Why, you were only a child. One said so to please
you; but how can you suppose one meant anything? What could I have done
with you then--a little thing among lots of people? Why, you wouldn't
have been allowed to come! It would have been bad for you. You would
have heard things you oughtn't to hear. You wouldn't have let her come,
would you, Mrs. John?"
"Certainly not, my dear," said Mrs. John, promptly. To tell the truth,
it was she who had complained the most though it was Hester who had been
most indignant. She forgot this, however, in the new interest of the
moment. "It would never have done," she said, with all sincerity. "Your
cousin, of course, only spoke to please you, Hester. I never could have
permitted you, a little thing at your lessons, to plunge into pleasure
at that age."
"Then why--" cried Hester, open-mouthed; but when she had got so far she
paused. What was the use of saying any more? She looked at them both
with her large brown eyes, full of light and wonder, and a little
indignation and a little scorn, then stopped and laughed, and changed
the subject. "When I go to Cousin Catherine's," she said, "which I never
do when I can help it, we stand in a corner all the evening, my mother
and I. We are thankful when any one speaks to us--the curate's daughters
and the Miss Reynoldses and we---- There is never anybody to take us in
to supper. All the Redborough people sweep past while mamma stands
waiting; and then perhaps some gentleman who has been down once before
takes pity, and says, 'Haven't you been down to supper, Mrs. Vernon?
Dear me! then let me take you.' You will please to remember that my
mother is Mrs. Vernon, Ellen, and not Mrs. John."
"I only say it for--short," said Ellen, apologetically; "and how can I
help what happens at Aunt Catherine's? I don't go in for her ways. I
don't mean to do as she does. Why do you talk of Aunt Catherine to me?"
"It is only to let you see that I will not be treated so," the girl said
with indignation. "If you think I will go to your house like that, just
because you are a relation, I won't, Ellen; and you had better
understand this before we begin."
"What a spitfire it is!" said Ellen, raising her hand with a toss of all
her bracelets to brush Hester's downy cheek with a playful touch. "To
think she should put all these things down in her book against us! I
should never remember if it were me. I should be furious for the moment,
and then I should forget all about it. Now, Hester, you look here. I am
not asking you for your own pleasure, you silly; I am asking you to help
_me_. Don't you see that makes all the difference? You are no good to
Aunt Catherine. She doesn't need you. She asks you only for civility.
But it stands to reason, you know, that I can't look after all the
people myself if I am to have any of the fun. I must have some one to
help me. Of course you will have every attention paid you; for, don't
you see, you are wanted. I can't get on without you. Oh, _of course_,
that makes all the difference! I am sure your mamma understands very
well, even if you are too young and too silly to understand!"
"Yes, Hester, your cousin is quite right," said Mrs. John, eagerly. The
poor lady was so anxious to secure her child's assent to what she felt
would be so manifestly for her advantage that she was ready to back up
everything that Ellen said. A spark of animation and new life had
lighted up in Mrs. John's eyes. It was not a very elevated kind of hope
perhaps, yet no hope that is centred in the successes of another is
altogether ignoble. She wanted to see her child happy; she wanted Hester
to have her chance, as Ellen said. That she should be seen and admired
and made much of, was, Mrs. John felt, the first object in her life. It
would not be without some cost to herself, but she did not shrink from
the idea of the lonely evenings she would have to spend, or the
separation that might ensue. Her mind, which was not a great mind,
jumped forward into an instant calculation of how the evening dresses
could be got, at what sacrifice of ease or comfort. She did not shrink
from this, whatever it might be. Neither did she let any visionary pride
stand in her way as Hester did. She was ready to forgive, to forget, to
condone all offences--and in the long discussion and argument that
followed, Mrs. John was almost more eloquent than Ellen on the mutual
advantages of the contract. She saw them all the instant they were set
before her. She was quite tremulous with interest and expectation. She
ran over with approval and beaming admiration as Ellen unfolded her
plans. "Oh, yes, I can quite understand; you want to strike out
something original," cried Mrs. John. "You must not think I agree with
Hester about Catherine's parties. I think Catherine's parties are very
nice; and relations, you know, must expect to give way to strangers,
especially when there are not enough of gentlemen; but it will be much
pleasanter for you to strike out something original. I should have liked
it when I was in your circumstances, but I don't think I had the energy.
And I am sure if Hester can be of any use---- Oh, my darling! of course you
will like it very much. You always are ready to help, and you have
plenty of energy--far more than I ever had--and so fond of dancing too;
and there are so few dances in Redborough. Oh, yes, I think it is a
capital plan, Ellen! and Hester will be delighted to help you. It will
be such an opening for her," Mrs. John said, with tears of pleasure in
her eyes.
Hester did not say much while the talk ran on. She was understood to
fall into the scheme, and that was all that was necessary. But when
Ellen, after a prolonged visit and a detailed explanation to Mrs. John,
which she received with the greatest excitement and interest, of all her
arrangements as to the music, the suppers, and every other particular
they could think of between them, rose to take her leave, she put her
hand within Hester's arm, and drew her aside for a few confidential
words.
"Don't think of coming to the door," she said to Mrs. John; "it is so
cold you must not stir. Hester will see me out. There is one thing I
must say to you, dear," she added, raising herself to Hester's ear when
they were out of the mother's hearing, "and you are not to take it
amiss. It must be a condition beforehand--now please, Hester, mind, and
don't be offended. You must promise me that you will have nothing to say
to either of the boys."
The quick flush of offence sprang to Hester's face.
"I don't know what you mean. You mean something you have no right to
say, Ellen!"
"I have a very good right to say it--for I'm a married lady, and you are
only a girl, and of course I must know best. You are not to have
anything to say to the boys. Any one else you like. I am sure I don't
mind, but will do anything I can to help--but not the boys. Oh, I know
something about Harry. I know you have had the sense to---- Well, I don't
understand how far it went, but I suppose it must have gone as far as it
could go, for he's not clever enough to be put off with anything less
than a real No. But you may have changed your mind, or a hundred things
might happen. And then there's Edward; Aunt Catherine would be wild if
anything got up between you and Edward. Oh, I think it's always best to
speak plain, and then one has nothing to reproach one's self with after.
She would just be _wild_, you know. She thinks there is nobody good
enough for him; and you and she have never got on. Oh, I don't suppose
there's anything between you and Edward. I never said so; the only thing
is you must promise me to have nothing to say to _them_. There are
plenty of others--much better matches, and more eligible: and it's
always a pity to have anything to say to a cousin in that way. You're
sure to set the family by the ears; and then it narrows the connection,
and you keep always the same name; and there are ever so many drawbacks.
So just you promise me, Hester, there's a dear--never," said Ellen,
seizing her with both hands, and giving her a sudden perfumy kiss,
"never!" and the salute was repeated on the other cheek, "to have
_anything_ to say to the boys----"
"The boys! if you think I care anything for the boys! I shall have
nothing to say to anybody," cried Hester, with indignation, drawing
herself out of this too urgent embrace. Ellen tossed back all her
bracelets, and shook her golden locks and her sealskin hat, and made an
agitation in the air of scent and sound and movement.
"Oh, that's being a great deal too good," she cried.
Hester stood at the door, and looked on while Mrs. Algernon got into her
victoria and drew the fur rug over her, and was driven away, waving the
hand and the bracelets in a parting jingle. The girl was not envious,
but half-contemptuous, feeling herself in her poverty as much superior
to this butterfly in furs and feathers, as pride could desire. Hester
did little credit to the social gifts, or the popularity or reputed
cleverness in her own way, of her gay cousin who had been the
inspiration of Harry, and now was the guide of Algernon Merridew. She
said to herself with the downrightness of youth, that Ellen was a little
fool. But her own cheeks were blazing with this parting dart which had
been thrown at her. The boys! She had a softened feeling of amity
towards Harry, who had done all a stupid young man could do to overcome
the sentence of disapproval under which Hester was aware she lay. It had
been embarrassing and uncomfortable, and had made her anything but
grateful at the moment; but now she began to feel that Harry had indeed
behaved like a man, and done all that a man could to remedy her false
position, and give her a substantial foundation for the native
indomitable pride which none of them could crush, though they did their
best. No; she would have nothing to say to Harry. She shook her head to
herself, and laughed at the thought, all in the silence of the verandah,
where she stood hazily gazing out through the dim greenish glass at
Ellen, long after Ellen had disappeared. But Edward! that was a
different matter altogether. She would give no word so far as he was
concerned. Edward was altogether different from Harry. He piqued and
excited her curiosity; he kept her mind in a tremor of interest. She
could not cease thinking of him when she was in his neighbourhood,
wondering what he would do, what he would say. And if it did make
Catherine _wild_, as Ellen said, that was but an inducement the more in
Hester's indignant soul. She had no wish to please Catherine Vernon.
There had not been any love lost between them from the first, and Hester
was glad to think she was not one of those who had in any way pretended
to her kinswoman's favour. She had never sought Catherine, never bowed
the knee before her. When she went to the Grange it had been against her
will, as a matter of obedience to her mother, not to Catherine. If it
made Catherine wild to think that there was a friendship, or any other
sentiment between Edward and the girl whom she had so slighted, then let
Catherine be wild. That was no motive to restrain Hester's freedom of
action. All this passed through her mind as she stood in the verandah in
the cold, gazing after Ellen, long after Ellen was out of sight. There
were many things which gave her a sort of attraction of repulsion to
Edward. He had tried to deceive Roland Ashton about her, telling him she
was about to marry Harry, when he knew very well she had refused to
marry Harry. Why had he done it? And in his manner to herself Edward was
two men. When they were alone he was more than friendly; he was tender,
insinuating, anxious for her approval, eager to unfold himself to her.
But when he saw her in the Grange drawing-room he never went near her.
In early times she had asked why, and he had answered with deceiving
words, asking how she thought he could bear to approach her with
commonplace civilities when she was the only creature in the place for
whom he cared at all, a speech which had pleased Hester at first as
something high-flown and splendid, but which had not preserved its
effect as time went on: for she could not see why he should not be
civil, and show some regard for her presence, even if he could not
devote himself to her. And why could he not devote himself to her?
Because it would displease Catherine. When Catherine was not present,
there was nobody for him but Hester. When Catherine was there, he was
unconscious of her existence. This, of course, should have shown clearly
to Hester that he was not worthy of her regard, and to some degree did
so. But the conviction was mingled with so lively a curiosity in respect
to him, so strong an opposition as regarded her, that Hester's moral
judgment was confused altogether. She was anxious, eager to overcome her
adversary, excited to know what Edward's meaning was. He would not stand
up for her like a true friend, but at the same time he would never let
her alone, he would still let her see that she was in his mind. She
disliked him, yet---- She almost loved him, but still---- Nothing could
be more tantalising, more entirely unlike indifference. To think of
meeting Edward in society, yet not under Catherine's eye, made her
heart beat loudly. She had never done this hitherto. She had met him by
chance on the Common or in the country roads about, and his voice had
been almost that of a lover. She had met him before the world, and he
had scarcely seemed to know her. But how could these meetings test what
he meant? This it was that made Ellen's proposal exciting, even while
she herself half scorned it. Harry? no! Poor Harry! she would not
disturb his peace, nor say a word, nor even look a look which should
put him in jeopardy. But Edward?--ah! that was a different matter. It
was with all the vehemence of a quarrel that she snatched at the chance
put into her hands, even when she had seemed to scorn it. To know what
he meant--to know what was his real state of mind. If he would be afraid
of what the world would say, as well as of what Catherine would say--in
that case there was no scorn which Hester did not feel herself capable
of pouring out upon her unworthy admirer; but if things proved
different? Ah! then she did not know what softening, what yielding, she
might not be capable of. The very thought melted her heart.
And yet she had thought herself more "interested" (this was what she
called it) in Roland Ashton than in any man whom she had ever heard of
before. The world had seemed all blank to her when he went away. His
step at the door had made her heart thrill: the commonplace day had
brightened up into something smiling and sweet when he came in. But then
she had not been fighting a duel with him half her life as she had been
doing with Edward. She was not curious, _intriguée_, to know what Roland
meant. She thought (with a blush) that she did know--more or less--what
he meant. But Edward was a sort of sphinx; he was an enemy to be beaten,
a riddle to be read. She said to herself, what would please her best
would be to force him into self-abandonment, to carry him so out of
himself that he should give up all pretences and own himself at her
disposal, and then to turn her back upon him and scorn him. Would she
have done so? she thought she would, and that in this lay the secret of
her interest in Edward and his crooked ways. And now, here was the trial
approaching. She would see what was his true mettle, she would be able
indeed to judge of him now.
"Hester," said Mrs. John appearing at the open door, "what do you mean
by lingering in the cold, to get your death? You will be chilled to your
very bones. You have not even a shawl on, and in this cold place. What
are you doing? I have called you three times, and you never paid any
attention. Even to stand here for five minutes freezes me."
"Then don't stand here, mamma," said Hester, taking hold of her mother's
arm and thus leading her back in the old way. They did not walk about
very much together now. Hester preferred her own thoughts to her
mother's society, and Mrs. John was not sorry to be left quietly by
herself at the fireside. How long it seemed since the time when she held
her mother's arm clasped in hers whenever she moved, and used it as a
helm to guide that timid and trustful woman wherever she would! A little
compunction came over her as she made use of that well-known expedient
again, and steered her mother (all the more gently for that thought)
back to her own chair.
"Yes, yes, dear, this is very comfortable," said Mrs. John, "but I wish
you had come at once, when I called you, for we must not lose any time
in thinking about your dresses. You must do Ellen credit, that is one
thing clear. I can't have you dowdy, Hester. The Merridew girls shall
not have a word to say about the Vernons on your account. Oh, I know
they will if they can; they will whisper and say how proud we all are,
and give ourselves airs, and just look at Hester in a washed muslin! I
would rather go without my dinner," said Mrs. John with vehemence, "for
a whole year."
"But I shall not let you do that, mamma."
"Oh, Hester, just hold your tongue. What do you know about it? I would
rather sell my Indian shawl, or my pearls--Dear me, what a good thing I
did not part with my pearls! that is something nobody can turn up their
noses at. And you can say you got them from your mother, and your
grandmother before her--which is more than they ever had. But there are
the dresses to be thought of," said the tender mother, looking in
Hester's face, half awed, half appealing: for even in the pride of
descent she was forced to remember that you cannot send your child to a
_Thé Dansante_ with nothing but a string of pearls round her neck,
however fine, and however long in the family it may have been.
"Dresses! one will do," said Hester, with a little flush of pleasure,
yet determination to repress her mother's unnecessary liberality. "You
forget what you are talking of, mother dear. One dress is as much
as----"
"And to whom do you suppose you are speaking," said Mrs. John with
dignity; "there are a great many things which you think you know better
than I. Perhaps you are wrong there too; but I am not going to bandy
words with you. One thing I must say, than when we talk of ball dresses
I know a great deal better than you. Oh, but I do--I had to get
everything for myself in old days. Your father delighted in seeing me
fine, but he never pretended to have any taste. All the responsibility
was on me. Considering that we are poor, and that you are so young, I
should think tulle would do: or even tarlatan. Hester, I should like you
to have silk slips, that gives a character to a thing at once. A white
one, a pink one, and a blue one----"
"Dear mamma, a white frock, that is all I want. I am sure that is all I
want; we can't afford any more. And as for silk slips----"
"Oh, hold your tongue, Hester, what do you know about it?" cried Mrs.
John, exasperated. "You have never been at a ball in your life. You
can't know what's wanted, like me. There are quantities of other things
besides. Shoes--you must have satin shoes and silk stockings, and
gloves, and something to wear in your hair. I don't even know what's
worn now. We used to have wreaths in my day, but perhaps that's not the
fashion at present. When I had not a maid--and of course, poor child,
you have no maid--I used to have a hair-dresser to do my hair when I was
going out. We wore it quite high on the top of our heads, and now you
wear it down in the nape of your neck. What a thing fashion is! We had
gigot sleeves all puffed out with feather cushions, and I used to wear a
lace scarf which was very becoming. We had muslins in my time, nice
clear book-muslins, and when you had worn it two or three times for
balls you just wore it out in the evenings at home. Tarlatan is not half
so profitable," said Mrs. John, with a very serious face, "but you must
have it, I suppose, all the same."
"Mother," said Hester, when her mother paused for breath, "I feel quite
horrified at all this. Why should I dress up so fine for Ellen's
parties? I shall only be a sort of poor relation. My washed muslin will
do very well. Nobody will expect anything better from me."
"Then that is just why you shall have something better," said the poor
lady, her pale countenance brightening with a pretty pink flush. "You
sha'n't go at all if you can't go as my daughter should. You shall have
a white first, and then a--no, not a pink; pink used to be my colour,
for you know I was pale, and my hair was plain brown, not like yours.
Yours is a little too--auburn--for pink. You must have a blue for your
second, with silk slips made very simply, and tarlatan over that. White
shoes, and white gloves, and my pearls. Oh, how glad I am I kept my
pearls! It will be such a pleasure, dear, to see you dressed, it will be
like old times again. And you must ask Ellen what to wear in your hair,
a wreath, or just one flower at the side, with a spray hanging down over
your neck. Mr. Ashton, I am sure, would get it for me in town. For
flowers and those sort of things one should always send to London. And
you must have a fan. I wonder if my ivory fan would be old-fashioned? I
must ask Ellen. And, dear child, don't stand there doing nothing when
there is not a moment to lose, but ring for the tea. We must have tea
first. I always feel better after, and then we must put everything down
upon paper, and calculate what it will cost, and how we are to do."
"I don't want all that," said Hester again: but the sound of it
flattered her youthful ears; for she was only a girl, when all was said.
"Don't talk any nonsense, child, but ring for the tea," said Mrs. John,
feeling herself for once mistress of the occasion. "But Hester," she
added, in so solemn a tone that Hester came back half frightened to hear
what it was, "if you ever have children, as I hope you will, be sure you
have one of your girls taught how to cut out, and to look after the
dressmaking. If we only could have them made at home, what a saving it
would be!"