FOUR IN A FLY.
A few days before Christmas, Emma and I were taking a constitutional (a
walk for duty, not for pleasure) between two bare uninteresting hedges,
about a mile from Stonebrook. We had been stitching all the morning at
the dress in which I was to make my _début_ at the Abbey—a rich white
satin, long and plain, which Emma had worn but once, and that fitted me
with surprisingly little alteration, beyond lengthening the skirt.
This tramp along a muddy footpath was the result of my companion’s
extreme anxiety with respect to my complexion! I had been forced
abroad—much against my inclination—to “get a color.” As we trudged
together, in somewhat gloomy silence, a smart little sandy-haired
horse-woman trotted gaily by, followed by a groom. She glanced at us
carelessly in passing, looked back, and finally drew up short. It was
Mrs. Cholmondeley.
“Oh, so pleased to meet you!” she cried vivaciously. “How do you do,
Mrs. Hayes?” nodding carelessly to Emma. Then, leaning down, and
addressing me particularly, “I’m having a party to-morrow night, some
music and a little dance. It would be a _big_ dance if _I_ had anything
to do with it; but Jack won’t hear of that. He declares that it keeps
people up too late, and hunting people should all be up at cockcrow.
However, this function to-morrow will be over early, and I shall be
so glad if you can come! I’m rather short of girls—of pretty ones, I
mean. I can reckon on any number of plain ones!”
Who could resist such an invitation? I hesitated. I felt my face
becoming rather warm. Surely I had a color now! Mrs. Cholmondeley was
struck by it, for she exclaimed—
“Oh, my dear! I wish I had your complexion!—your lovely roses!”
She was not aware that I owed my lovely roses to the fact that she had
ignored Emma as absolutely as if she had been my nurse.
“You know it’s only for young people, Mrs. Hayes,” she explained. “It
would bore you to death. Chaperons are quite exploded, and girls go
about everywhere now by themselves.”
“So I hear,” answered Emma, meekly. “And I am sure Gwen would be
delighted to accept your kind invitation; but I don’t think she could
very well go alone, and it’s a long drive.”
“I can easily settle all that. The Bennys shall call for her. Leave
it all to me, please, and I’ll arrange everything. I’ll chaperon her
myself, and take every care of her. Remember, she is to wear her
smartest frock, and bring her roses.”
“But, really, we scarcely know the Misses Benny sufficiently well to
ask——”
“But _I_ know them, and _I’ll_ ask. Now, please, Mrs. Hayes, don’t
throw any more obstacles in the child’s way. The Bennys will call for
your charming daughter at nine o’clock to-morrow evening. If they call
in vain, I shall never, never speak to you again.” And, with a smiling
nod, she gave her impatient horse the rein, and trotted briskly away.
Here was something to discuss during the remainder of our walk, and
over our tea!
“I am sure the Bennys will _hate_ having to take me,” I remarked. “I
would really rather brave Mrs. Cholmondeley’s wrath and not go. She
might have asked me before, if she desired my company so much; and I
think it is extremely rude of her to leave you out, and declare that
you would be bored. Why should you be more bored than _I_?”
“You are quite different, dear. You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t understand,” I answered with angry impatience; “and I am
not going.”
“Oh, but, Gwen, I _wish_ you to go. Go to please me. You never get any
variety or amusement.”
“It will be no amusement to me to drive six miles cramped up in a fly
with the Miss Bennys, and to sit for a couple of hours with my back to
the wall, not knowing a soul to speak to.”
“There will be music; and I dare say Mrs. Cholmondeley will get you
some partners. Your dress is ready. I hope it won’t take any harm. It
is not as if it was going to be a regular ball; if it was, I should be
afraid to risk it. I want to keep the bloom on it for Christmas Day. I
don’t suppose there will be a large gathering at the Moate, for I doubt
if Mrs. Cholmondeley is in the best set. She is of no family, so Miss
Skuce said, but had an immense fortune—made in margarine. It was kind
of her to ask you, darling; and I really think you ought to take her
invitation as it was meant—and go.”
At this moment Mrs. Gabb appeared, with a cocked-hat note between her
finger and thumb.
“It’s from the Dovecote, please, Miss; and the boy is in the hall
waiting for an answer.”
The missive was addressed to me, and proved to be unexpectedly cordial.
It said—
“DEAR MISS HAYES,
“We shall be delighted to take you to Mrs. Cholmondeley’s to-morrow
evening, and will call for you at a quarter to nine.
“Yours very sincerely,
“JESSICA BENNY.”
“There! You see you have no alternative,” cried Emma, triumphantly.
“Just scribble a nice little note and say that you accept their kind
offer with much pleasure.”
When I had despatched my reply, and taken up my needlework, Emma
continued—
“I wonder if you will know any one in the room. I do _hope_ Lady
Hildegarde will be there. I am sure she will look after you, and make
it pleasant for you.”
I was not so sanguine on this point, but I merely said with a laugh—
“Perhaps we shall have Lady Polexfen, too. Do you think _she_ will make
it pleasant for me?”
“She is a cold, arrogant wretch; not one bit like her mother or her
brother. I wish he were to be there. He would be sure to notice you.”
“Notice me!” I echoed.
“There, now—there, now! My dear Gwen, you know what I mean. No
offense, as they say. Upon my word, when your eyes flash like that, I
feel quite terrified. I cannot think where you get your pride—and you
are desperately proud—certainly not from your poor dear father. He
had not a scrap of pride—except—just on one subject.” And she gazed
rather dreamily at the lamp.
“And what was that subject?” I inquired.
No answer. She did not seem to hear me. Her thoughts were far away.
“What subject, Emma,” I repeated, “was my father’s one sensitive
point?”
“Oh”—rather confusedly—“it was an old, old story. It is no use in
recalling it now. Would you mind running into my room, dear, and
fetching me the large scissors?”
It was evident that my usually communicative stepmother wished to
change the conversation.
The next evening I placed myself and my toilet entirely in Emma’s
hands. She was a clever hairdresser, and lingered long over my
adornment; it being, as she confessed to me, “a labor of love.” When
the last pin had been fastened, she surveyed me with an air of critical
approval, and said—
“Now, Gwen, look at yourself, and tell me your candid opinion of Miss
Hayes?”
I rose up and surveyed my appearance in a narrow little mirror in
her wardrobe, whilst Emma stood on a chair and held the flat candle
triumphantly over my head.
I wore my thick fair hair turned off my face as usual; a long plain
white satin gown, a lace fichu knotted in front, and a little gold
necklet and locket which had once belonged to my own mother.
“I think, since you ask me,” I said, “that Miss Hayes is absurdly
overdressed, most unsuitably got up. This magnificent satin, this
cobwebby lace, are ridiculously out of place on _me_.”
“They don’t look out of place, I can assure you; you become them to the
manner born. You might be a countess in your own right, as far as your
appearance and style are concerned. I must say, Gwen, that you are a
girl that it is a pleasure to dress; you have quite a grand air, such a
remarkable carriage.”
“Carriage!” I repeated, with a laugh of scorn. “I wish I _had_ a
carriage—yes, and a pair—so that I need not intrude upon the Miss
Bennys; three in a fly are too many.”
“Oh, and do take care of your gown, darling; lift it up well, and hold
the train in your lap. This is only a dress rehearsal for Christmas
Day, and I should be _so_ vexed if you got your frock tumbled or
soiled.”
I promised in the most solemn manner to take the greatest care of my
toilet, and refused for the tenth time the eagerly pressed loan of her
diamond brooch, “just to give the lace a finish.”
“My dear Emma, I am going to this party to please you; I am wearing
lace and satin fit for a duchess to please you; but I really must
decline the diamonds. As it is, people will be quite sufficiently
tickled, when they compare my costume with my position and
surroundings; they will say all sorts of nasty things.”
“They will say you are a princess in disguise!”
“Pooh! they will say I am a pauper who has been swindling some London
dressmaker! I shall make myself small, and sit in a corner, and try and
escape notice,” and I sailed into the sitting-room.
Here I found an immediate opportunity of testing the effect of my
transformation. Mrs. Gabb, who (as an excuse to obtain a private view)
was making up the fire, dropped the poker with a frightful clang, as
she ejaculated—
“Good laws—laws me! Well—I never!” which I accepted as a very
handsome tribute to my splendid appearance. In another five minutes the
glories of my costume were concealed beneath a long fur-trimmed evening
cloak (yet another relic of Emma’s wealthy days), and I found myself
shut into a fly, with my back to the horse, and driving away with the
two Miss Bennys and Mrs. Montmorency Green, their cousin. I ventured to
thank them, rather timidly.
“It is so very kind of you to take me,” I murmured; “and I am quite
ashamed of crushing you like this.”
“Well, you must only make yourself as _small_ as you can,” said the
elder, with asperity. “We would do _anything_ to oblige dear Mrs.
Cholmondeley; and she made quite a point of our taking you with us.”
The tone in which this was said left no doubt on my mind that Miss
Benny was extremely surprised at Mrs. Cholmondeley’s enthusiasm.
“I suppose it will not be a large party?” I hazarded, still more
timidly.
“Not a large party! We shall have half the county; _every one_ will be
there. The Moate is such a dear old place—splendid pictures, grand
reception-rooms—and the Cholmondeleys do everything so well; they gave
three weeks’ invitation, so it’s sure to be extra smart!”
Three weeks’ invitation, and I had been asked at the eleventh hour! I
now shrank into my corner of the fly and relapsed into silence, feeling
as small as Miss Benny could possibly desire.
As we bowled steadily along the hard country roads, my three companions
launched into the news of the neighborhood, entirely ignoring my
presence. I gathered that Mrs. Montmorency Green was a newcomer, and
that her cousins were anxious to post her up in all the fashionable
intelligence.
“They have a large house-party at the Moate, and there will be a lawn
meet to-morrow,” said Miss Benny.
“I wonder if the Somers will give a dance this winter?” added her
sister. “I should like Annie here to see the Abbey—it’s such a
wonderful old place. The library is what was once the monks’ refectory.”
“Oh, there will be no dances at the Abbey now that Lady Hildegarde has
married her _daughter_,” remarked her sister decisively.
“But she has a son!”
“My dear Jessica, a mother does not give balls for her son: she leaves
that to other women!”
“They have lost a lot of money lately; old Mr. Somers is in his dotage,
and has burnt his fingers badly over investments in South America, and
the son _must_ marry money. Both families wish him to marry”—here the
fly rattled over a sheet of stones, and I lost the name. “His mother
is quite determined about it. I don’t call her a good-looking girl,
and I can’t imagine what any of the men see in her, except unlimited
effrontery. She calls herself advanced. _I_ call her abominably fast.
She goes about everywhere alone, just as she pleases, hunts, and keeps
race-horses. They say her style of conversation is most extraordinary.
She shoots, smokes, fishes, and rules her poor father with a rod of
iron. In fact, she is just like a young man!”
“Only, young men don’t generally rule their fathers with a rod of
iron,” said the cousin, smartly.
“And I don’t believe that she keeps race-horses,” put in Miss Jessica.
“I should like to see her. I hope she will be at this place to-night,”
remarked Mrs. Green. “If she _is_, you must be sure and point her out.”
“Oh, you may easily recognize her! She is always surrounded by a
multitude of men, and you can hear her voice above the band!” rejoined
Miss Benny. Then, suddenly, to me, “Are you asleep, Miss Hayes?”
“Oh no.”
“I’m afraid”—with a sigh—“you will find it rather dull to-night,
as you are a stranger, and know so few people. However, you can amuse
yourself looking at the pictures—they are all masterpieces, and there
is sure to be a good supper.”
I made no reply. No doubt I must make up my mind to play the _rôle_ of
looker-on; I was well accustomed to the part.
We were now in the avenue, which was very long, and quite a string of
carriages were already disgorging their contents. We drove under a
portico, stepped out on red cloth, were ushered up by powdered footmen,
and passed on to the ladies’ room, where three or four smart maids were
ready to relieve us of our wraps. The Miss Bennys and their cousin
nodded to several acquaintances, and made a bold and combined assault
upon the dressing-table. The sisters Benny were dressed alike in prim
black evening dresses, with stiff little bouquets pinned in on the left
side—just over the region of the heart. Their hair was extremely
neat, and really their anxiety was unnecessary; however, they powdered
their noses and twitched their fringes; meanwhile, I had divested
myself of my long mantle, and patiently awaited their good pleasure.
At last they were ready, and as Miss Benny’s eyes fell on me I saw
a change come over her whole face. She glanced expressively at her
relatives, and then again at me. As I waited humbly for her to pass
out, she found her voice.
“Upon _my_ word!” she exclaimed, with a very forced smile. “If we are
to go by _appearances_, Miss Hayes”—now looking me up and down from
head to foot—“we should walk after _you_!” And then, with a violent
toss of her head, she led the way out of the room, followed by her
cousin, Miss Jessica Benny, and last and least—myself.