Aunt Dorothea had fixed her ball for the evening of the day of Jane's
marriage, that it might be a kind of wedding party; and such had been
the mighty preparations for a day, thus doubly momentous, that what with
selecting and displaying wedding finery--finding out where to hire
cheapest coloured lamps, waiters, and forms--hurrying milliners, and
seeing packing-cases carefully opened--hunting up newly-arrived beaux,
begging evergreens, admiring jewels and new carriages, ordering ices and
rout cake, bargaining with confectioners about a standing supper, and
ordering in some wine; for, as a single lady, she had of course no
cellar; then planning where the said wine had best stand, that it might
not be drank by the waiters instead of the company; and, lastly,
considering where to put the music, that it might be heard by the
dancers, without taking up room; that, as Sarah said, when dressing her
mistress for the great occasion, "It was surprising that she had a foot
to stand on at last." The feet were a little swollen, it must be
confessed, which obliged her, so Sarah, in support of her assertion to
that effect told Mrs. Johnson, to snip the binding of her new white
satin shoes.
She had got on wonderfully however; had gone to church with the wedding
party--been of great assistance to Lady Arden in getting through the
public breakfast; seen the happy couple off; helped to send away
packages of cake and gloves; refused to dine at her sister-in-law's, on
the plea of all she had to do at home; eat a mutton chop in her
bed-room, the dining-room being already occupied by the standing supper,
the drawing-room by a great step-ladder, and two workmen hanging a hired
lamp from the centre of the ceiling; the spare bed-room with card
tables, the bed being taken down; and lastly, the dressing-room being
fitted up with the already mentioned evergreens, as a grotto for the
refreshments. The mode in which they were here arranged was Mrs.
Dorothea's happiest invention, and one on which she greatly prided
herself.
At the upper end of the grotto was erected a pile of real ornamental
rock-work, which had been brought in on purpose from the garden. Between
the crevices of the rocks were stuck all manner of flowers and flowering
shrubs; at the top of the heap, on a large space purposely made level,
were placed a well-known common kind of dessert dishes, of green china,
in the shape of large leaves, and on those dishes moulds turned out of
different coloured ices, resembling so many painted specimens of
variegated spars and marbles; while among and around all were scattered
rout cakes in abundance, which formed a very tolerable imitation of
pebbles, shells, and mosses. The grotto was furnished with rustic seats
and a rustic table, also borrowed from the garden; and on the table lay
a supply of the small leaves, or small plates, of the said green china
dessert set, with spoons, of course; so that, as Aunt Dorothea said, the
gentlemen must be very stupid if they could not take the hint, and help
their partners to a spoonful of marble or spar, and a few pebbles or
shells, as taste should direct. There was very little fear, however, of
mistake or oversight; for the grotto was Mrs. Dorothea's hobby, so that
she not only showed almost every couple the way to it herself, but
favoured each with geological lectures on the virtues and properties of
all its _natural_ productions. That all might be in perfect keeping, the
only light admitted to this favoured spot, proceeded from a single
ground-glass lamp, of the size and shape of the moon, and so ingeniously
placed among the evergreens, as to bear a respectable resemblance to the
queen of night, rising to view from behind a forest.
Mrs. Dorothea, by another excellent contrivance, added much to the
effect of her drawing-rooms, which, like those of most watering-place
villas, were on the ground floor, and had French windows. The end one of
these looked directly up one of the public walks, which the proprietors
were in the habit of illuminating on occasion, and which was therefore
provided with lamps. These Mrs. Dorothea had obtained permission to have
lighted, so that the long vista from her open French window, looked very
beautiful; particularly as some of the least prudent of the company
thought fit, between the dancing, to step out and walk up and down.
It happened to be one of the few very hot summers we are occasionally
blessed with in this country. So that though it was now the middle of
September, the weather was still very sultry, and it was only late at
night that there was any thing like a refreshing coolness in the air.
Lady Caroline Montague was still so unwell as to keep her room, so that
neither her ladyship nor Lady Palliser were able to come out. This was a
great disappointment to others besides Mrs. Dorothea; it was one,
however, for which Willoughby was fully prepared; for though he had of
course called every day to inquire for Lady Caroline, she had not been
well enough to see even him. The ball was, nevertheless, going off with
great spirit. Being a wedding party, in the first place, gave it
_eclat_; and then Aunt Dorothea had insisted on its being opened by her
favourite Madeline and that far-famed hereditary beau of her own, Mr.
Cameron, whom she was so proud and so pleased to have handed down to her
niece in such high preservation.
Fate, however, had ordained that Mrs. Dorothea Arden's ball should be
marked by more than one memorable event.
Louisa, after dancing with Sir James, had also, as she generally did,
danced with Henry Lindsey; who, instead of quitting England, had made
his appearance at Mrs. Dorothea's with a flushed cheek, an angry eye,
and a hurried, absent manner. When the quadrille had concluded, they
were among the _imprudent_ couples who ventured to promenade the
illuminated walk. Henry seemed to think the affair of last night
forgiven or forgotten, for he began in his usual passionate strain to
talk of the fervour of his own attachment, and reproach Louisa with
comparative coldness.
For the gratification of a culpable vanity, as well as from really
feeling a secret preference for Henry, Louisa had so long listened to
such language as this, and thus authorised him to believe himself
beloved, that she now literally knew not how to pacify him; although she
was far from having made up her mind to sacrifice, either to his
feelings or her own, the title and brilliant establishment which still
awaited her acceptance, if she could but bring herself to take the
advice of her friends, and marry his brother.
Henry could not be blind to what were the wishes of Louisa's family; and
he had of late had many reasons, besides the acceptance of the bracelet,
to suspect that she herself hesitated. The idea drove him almost mad.
The interview of last night, though it had convinced him of his power
over Louisa when present, had by no means silenced his fears as to what
she might be persuaded to do or to promise in his absence; he had
determined, therefore, to bring matters to a crisis. He besought her,
with all the eloquence of which he was master, to end his suspense, and
pronounce his doom. She hesitated--she knew she should never be
permitted to marry Henry; and thinking that she had already indulged too
long in an idle flirtation, a foolish preference that must end in
nothing, she confessed at last how much it was her mother's wish that
she should marry Sir James. Henry lost all self-command; overwhelmed her
with reproaches; raved at her perfidy, her cruelty; and after working
himself up to a perfect phrenzy, threatened to put a period to his
existence that very night--that very hour, and before her eyes.
As his agitation increased, his step quickened, till it was almost
impossible for Louisa to keep pace with him; while, as the interest of
the conversation deepened, he led her first as much apart from the other
couples as possible, and finally, turning short round a corner, quitted
the general promenade altogether. He then, with his really alarmed
companion, entered a cross walk, which was shrouded in almost total
obscurity, except that at the furthest point of its long and
unfrequented vista, one solitary lamp glimmered, as if but to make the
surrounding gloom more apparent.
Louisa's terror was now extreme: she felt certain that he had dragged
her to this gloomy spot to witness, as he had declared she should, the
horrible act of suicide he was about to commit.