MRS. WRIOTHESLEY.
When Ralph Wriothesley of the Household Cavalry, better known among his
intimates as the "Rip," married pretty Miss Lewson, niece of that
worldly and bitter-tongued old Lady Fanshawe, everybody said what a
fool he had made of himself. What did he, a man who had already
developed a capacity for expenditure much in excess of his income, want
with a wife who brought little or no grist to the mill? The world was
wrong--as the world very frequently is on such points. It was about
the first sensible thing that the "Rip," in the course of his
good-humoured, blundering, plunging career, had done. It saved him.
Without the check that his clever little wife almost imperceptibly
imposed upon him, "Rip" Wriothesley would probably, ere this, have
joined the "broken brigade," and vanished from society's ken. As it
was, the pretty little house in Hans Place throve merrily; and though
people constantly wondered how the Wriothesleys got on, yet the
unmistakable fact remained, that season after season they were to be
seen everywhere and ruffling it with the best.
The Wriothesleys had advantages for which those who marvelled as to how
they managed failed to make due allowance. They were both of good
family--in fact, their escutcheons were better to investigate than
their banker's account. Both popular in their own way, they were
always in request to make up a party for Hurlingham dinners, the Ascot
week, or other similar diversion. They did not affect to entertain;
but the half-dozen little dinners--strictly limited to eight
persons--that they gave in that tiny dining-room in the course of the
season were spoken of with enthusiasm by the privileged few who had
been bidden. An invitation to Mrs. Wriothesley's occasional little
suppers after the play was by no means to be neglected; the two or
three _plats_ were always of the best, and the "Rip" took care that
Giessler's "Brut" should be unimpeachable. They had both a weakness
for race-meetings; but Wriothesley's plunging days were over, and his
modest ventures were staked with considerably more discretion than in
the times when he bet heavily. The lady was a little bit of a
coquette, no doubt; but the most unscrupulous of scandalmongers had
never ventured to breathe a word of reproach against Mrs. Wriothesley.
A flirting, husband-hunting little minx, she had fallen honestly in
love with this big, _blond_, good-humoured Life Guardsman; and,
incredible as it might seem to the world she lived in, remained so
still. They understood each other marvellously well, those two. The
"Rip" regarded his wife as the cleverest woman alive; and, though she
most undoubtedly looked upon him in a very different light, nobody more
thoroughly appreciated the honest worth of his character than she did.
As she once said, to one of her female intimates, of her husband, "He
has one great virtue: he is always 'straight,' my dear. The 'Rip'
couldn't tell me a lie if he tried."
Mrs. Wriothesley is sitting in her pretty little drawing-room listening
to Sylla Chipchase's spirited account of her visit to Todborough
Rectory.
"It was great fun," continued the girl. "Lady Mary Bloxam was
thoroughly convinced, and no doubt is still, that I was setting my cap
at Lionel Beauchamp. She had no idea that we had known each other from
childhood; and her face, when I first called him Lionel, would have
sent you into fits of laughter."
"But Lady Mary was right about one thing, Sylla. Lionel Beauchamp
would be a very nice match for you."
"Don't talk nonsense, mine aunt, or speculate upon the impossible. I
couldn't care for Lionel in that way any more than he would care for
me. I am only eighteen, and I am sure I need not think about marriage
as a speculation for some years yet."
"Well," rejoined Mrs. Wriothesley, laughing, "I am certainly not
entitled to preach worldly wisdom. I was as mercenary, speculative a
little animal at your age as you could wish to see; and what came of
it? I forgot all my prudent resolutions, fell over head and ears in
love, married the 'Rip,' and have been the genteel pauper you see me
ever since."
"Consigned to such a poor-house as this," exclaimed Sylla
melodramatically, and glancing round at the china and other knicknacks
scattered about the room, "methinks that the stings of poverty are not
so hard to bear."
"Ah, yes," replied Mrs. Wriothesley; "but then, you see, I meant to
have had my country seat, my box at the opera, my two or three
carriages, and that _my_ balls should be _the_ balls of the season."
"Now, aunt, I want to ask you one question. Mr. Cottrell told me that
you and Lady Mary were once rivals. What did he mean by that?"
"No! Did Pansey tell you that?" laughed Mrs. Wriothesley. "He has a
good memory. It's now some six or seven years ago that your cousin,
Lady Rosington, then unmarried, was staying with me for the season,
Mary Bloxam at that time was trailing that grenadier eldest girl of
hers about" (a little bit of feminine exaggeration this, the lady
referred to being only half an inch taller than Blanche), "and thought
Sir Charles would suit very well for her husband. Unluckily for Mary
Bloxam, I thought Sir Charles equally suitable for Jessie, and--well,
in short, we won."
"Ah, now I understand; and I suppose you have never been friends since.
Lady Mary told me that she saw very little of you in London now."
"That is not quite the case. I think we meet as often as formerly.
Friends we never were, but acquaintances we have been for some years.
Jim Bloxam, though, is one of my intimates. He is a great friend of
both mine and the 'Rip's,' and we see a good deal of him when he is in
London; and, indeed," she continued, laughing, "for the matter of that,
when he is not; for he has a way of turning up at all places generally
when there is anything going on. Indeed, we have half promised to
lunch at their regimental tent at Ascot. And you, what do you think of
Captain Bloxam?"
"I like him very much indeed," replied Sylla. And she looked her
inquisitor so steadily in the face, that Mrs. Wriothesley came promptly
to the conclusion that no love passages had taken place between the
pair as yet. But it had suddenly shot through the energetic little
woman's mind that her favourite, Jim Bloxam, would make a most suitable
husband for her niece. Jim was an eldest son, and Todborough, from all
accounts, a very respectable property. Yes, it would do very well if
it could be brought about, to say nothing of the satisfaction there
would be in stealing from her old enemy's flock the only lamb that was
worth the taking. All this ran through Mrs. Wriothesley's mind as
quick as lightning; and though she said nothing to Sylla on the
subject, she had pretty well resolved to do her best to marry those two.
When Mrs. Wriothesley took charge of nieces for the season, she
conceived it her clear and bounden duty to provide for them
satisfactorily if possible. If Sylla could not be brought to think of
Lionel Beauchamp, it might be possible for her to take a more
favourable view of Captain Bloxam. True, he was not quite so good a
_parti_ as the other; but it was comforting to think that there was
every probability that it would occasion her old antagonist equal
annoyance. It further struck her that, engrossed in her plans for her
daughter, Lady Mary would probably totally overlook any flirtation of
her son's. There is a species of fascination in countermining
difficult to resist; and, though of course she would have in some
measure to be guided by events, Mrs. Wriothesley had pretty well
determined upon the course she would pursue.
"What are you thinking about?" inquired Sylla, breaking in upon her
aunt's reverie. "They should be pleasant thoughts, judging from the
smile on your lips."
"Thinking, my dear, that if we don't get our bonnets on, the world will
all have gone home to luncheon before we get to the Row, and it is good
for us to get the fresh air of the morning."
A little later, and the two ladies passed into the Park by the Albert
Gate, and made their way to the High Change of gossip of fashionable
London. A bright fresh spring morning filled the Row to overflowing.
It was thronged, as it always is on a fine day after Easter.
Fashionable London comes to see who of its acquaintances may be in
town; and numberless parties and plans for the future are sketched out
on these occasions. As for Mrs. Wriothesley's acquaintance, their name
was legion. Everybody seemed to know her; and that she was popular was
evident from the numbers who stopped to speak to her. They had not
been long installed in their chairs before Sylla perceived Mr. Cottrell
lounging towards them, and pointed him out to her aunt.
"Ah," exclaimed Mrs. Wriothesley, "I must signal him as soon as he gets
within range. I want to speak to him. I should like to hear his
account of your Todborough party."
"Do," replied Sylla, laughing. "He is my fellow-conspirator, remember,
though I don't suppose he will confess anything. It's delicious to see
the utterly unconscious way in which he will upset people's schemes. I
used really at first to think he did it innocently, but I soon
discovered it was _malice prepense_."
"Yes, I know Pansey Cottrell very well. He is very mischievous; though
not malicious, unless you interfere with his personal comfort; rather
given to playing tricks upon his fellow-creatures; but he is more of a
Puck than a Mephistopheles.--Good morning, Mr. Cottrell. Pray come and
give an account of yourself. Sylla tells me you have been passing
Easter with the Bloxams."
"Quite so," replied that gentleman, as he raised his hat. "Miss Sylla
and I have been dedicating our poor talents to the amusement of Lady
Mary's guests, and to the furtherance of Lady Mary's plans. I am sure
she was much delighted at all the dancing and theatricals we inveigled
her into. I presume," he continued, turning to Sylla, "that you have
seen her since your arrival in town."
"Not yet," returned the girl. "She told me, you know, at Todborough,
that she and my aunt moved in somewhat different sets."
"Which is hardly the case, as you know," interrupted Mrs. Wriothesley.
"What do you suppose she meant by that?"
"I?" replied Cottrell. "My dear Mrs. Wriothesley, I never pretend to
understand what a woman means by doubtful speech of any kind. Our
masculine understandings are a great deal too dense to penetrate the
subtleties of feminine language. She might mean that she intends your
grooves to lie far apart for the future; and then again she might mean
something--something--else," continued Mr. Cottrell, rather vaguely.
"So you think Mary Bloxam intends to see as little of me in future as
possible?" rejoined Mrs. Wriothesley, taking no manner of notice of her
companion's last words.
"No; don't say I think so," interrupted Mr. Cottrell. "I told you
particularly I could form no conclusion as to what she meant. However,
this place is neutral ground, and all the world meets here, or rather
would, if it was not so crowded that it is almost impossible to find
anybody. But--ah, here comes Lady Mary and _la belle_ Blanche! Shall
I stop her, and ask her what she does mean?" And Mr. Cottrell looked
so utterly unconscious, that any one who did not know him might have
deemed him actually about to put this awkward interrogatory. But the
two ladies to whom he was speaking knew him better than that, and only
laughed.
Whether Lady Mary intended to pass Mrs. Wriothesley with merely a bow
it would be difficult to say, but certain it is that Mr. Cottrell
supposed that to be her intention. Prompted by his insatiable passion
for teasing his fellow-creatures, he took advantage of his situation,
and, turning from Mrs. Wriothesley and Sylla, placed himself in Lady
Mary's way, and stopped her to shake hands. It was only natural that
Sylla should jump up to say "How do you do?" to Blanche; and then
suddenly occurred to Mrs. Wriothesley the audacious idea of capturing
her enemy and bearing her off in triumph to luncheon. She rose,
greeted Lady Mary and Blanche warmly, and then strongly urged that they
should come home with her to Hans Place when the Park should begin to
thin.
"You know, I am close to Prince's, and the Canadians are going to play
a match at La Crosse, which is well worth looking on at; such a pretty
game. We can go across and have our afternoon tea at the little tables
overlooking the cricket-ground. Everybody will be there."
"Mrs. Wriothesley is quite right," interposed Cottrell gravely. "Not
to have seen La Crosse played is as grave an omission this season as
not to have done the Opera, the Royal Academy, or other of the
stereotyped exhibitions. If you can't rave about the 'dexterity of the
dear Indians,' you are really not doing your duty to society. They are
the last new craze; and admitting that you have not seen them being out
of the question, as a lover of veracity I counsel you to do so at once."
We lunch and dine at a good many places that we would rather not;
entertain, and are entertained by, a good many people for whom we feel
a by no means dormant aversion. It is only the Pansey Cottrells of
this world who successfully evade all such obligations, and
persistently decline to do aught that does not pleasure them.
Lady Mary was too much a woman of the world to be entrapped by a _tour
de force_ such as this. She hesitated; thought it was impossible. It
was very kind of Mrs. Wriothesley; but they had so many visits to pay,
so much to do, &c. But here, somewhat to her mother's astonishment,
Blanche interposed, and suggested that their other engagements could be
postponed. The young lady was great at lawn tennis, having a natural
aptitude for all games of that description. She had heard a great deal
about this La Crosse, and was extremely curious to see it; therefore it
was not surprising that she should advocate the acceptance of Mrs.
Wriothesley's invitation.
"It's a thing you will have to do some time or other, Lady Mary,"
observed Mr. Cottrell, "unless you are setting up as an 'eccentric.'
By-the-bye, Miss Sylla, of course you will see Beauchamp at Prince's.
Tell him I have heard of a park hack worth his looking at. He was
wanting one the other day."
That settled the question. Lady Mary felt now it was essential that
she should be at Prince's and see how Sylla progressed in her insidious
designs. For that Miss Chipchase, under her aunt's guidance, was not
doing her best to entangle Lionel Beauchamp in her toils, no power
could have persuaded Lady Mary. Mrs. Wriothesley was one of the few
people who thoroughly understood the whimsical perversity of Mr.
Cottrell's character, and she shrewdly suspected, as was indeed the
case, that he had no more heard of that hack than that he had that
Beauchamp wanted one.
It was seldom that Ralph Wriothesley honoured his wife's
luncheon-table, so the four ladies had that meal all to themselves.
Mrs. Wriothesley exerted herself to be agreeable; and if Lady Mary had
still doubts about her hostess's sincerity, she was not insensible to
the charm of her manner; so that in spite of her mother's misgivings
and Blanche's own nascent jealousy of Sylla, the afternoon glided
pleasantly by, until it was time to stroll across to Prince's. They
found quite a fashionable mob already there assembled, for, as Mr.
Cottrell had told them, to see the Canadians play La Crosse was one of
the novelties of the season. That gentleman's idle words proved true
also in more senses than one, for they had not long taken chairs
overlooking the cricket-field, before Lionel Beauchamp joined them,
and, as he greeted Sylla, thanked her for her very pretty present.
"I am very glad you like it," replied Sylla, smiling; "but I can't take
much credit for my generosity. I am afraid, strictly speaking, it only
amounts to the payment of a debt. You deserved a testimony of your
prowess, and I to pay a penalty for my rashness."
"What is this testimony?" inquired Blanche. "What has Sylla given you?
and what have you done to deserve it?"
"A mere trifle," interposed Miss Chipchase; "I daresay he will show it
you some day. He got me out of my scrape that day at Rockcliffe, you
know, as indeed he has been called upon to do before, though not quite
in that fashion. He saved my bracelet, you remember; it's rather a pet
bangle, and I should have been very sorry to have lost it. Have you
done my other commission for me?"
"Not as yet," replied Lionel. "I haven't had time; but I will see
about it in a day or two."
All this fell very unpleasantly upon Blanche's cars. She was utterly
unconscious of her mother's schemes and hopes. She had not as yet
recognized that she was drifting into love with Lionel Beauchamp, but
she did know that his confidential intimacy with Sylla Chipchase was
very distasteful to her. What was this present she had made him? and
what was this commission she had given him? She did not like to ask
further questions just then, but she made up her mind that she would
know all about these things the first time she got Lionel to herself.
People who make mysteries of trifles at times exercise their friends a
good deal,--the imagination so often converts molehills into mountains;
and then there is always a power in the unknown.
"Have you seen this game of La Crosse before, Miss Bloxam?" inquired
Lionel. "It looks incomprehensible and never-ending, to start with;
but when you have seen a goal or two taken you will understand it, and
admire the dexterity of the players."
"Mrs. Wriothesley explained it to me at luncheon. As I told you at
Todborough, I am good at games, and can follow it very fairly. But,
Sylla, you have a message for Mr. Beauchamp, which you have forgotten
to give him."
Sylla had not forgotten Mr. Cottrell's message at all, but she thought
it more than doubtful whether that message was intended to be
delivered. She had her own opinion as to the motive of that message,
but, thus challenged, immediately replied, "Oh, yes, something about a
hack from Mr. Cottrell; he told me to tell you he had heard of one to
suit you."
"There he is wrong," rejoined Beauchamp: "a thing can't suit you when
you don't want it; and that's my case with regard to a hack."
"Curious that he should be so misinformed," said Lady Mary. "He
certainly said you had asked him if he knew of one."
"Mixed up with somebody else," interposed Mrs. Wriothesley. "Mr.
Cottrell is a very idle man with a very numerous acquaintance.
Somebody wanted a hack, and he has forgotten who."
If Lady Mary's suspicions had been lulled to sleep during luncheon,
they had been now most thoroughly reawakened. She, like her daughter,
had overheard the conversation between Sylla and Lionel upon the
latter's first arrival. She had always had misgivings that the
relations between the two would change into something much warmer, to
the downfall of her own hopes. She was annoyed with herself for having
accepted the hand of amity extended by her ancient antagonist. She
felt sure that the battle that she pictured to herself on that night at
the Grange, when she had first heard of the relationship between Sylla
and Mrs. Wriothesley, was already begun. She had a horrible conviction
that she was once more destined to undergo the bitterness of offering
her congratulations to her successful opponent. What cruel fatality
had ordained that whenever she had a daughter to settle, Mrs.
Wriothesley should invariably appear upon the scene with a niece? And
in the anguish of her spirit she gave way to very harsh thoughts
concerning poor Sylla's conduct. If she could but have divested
herself of all prejudice, and looked on matters with dispassionate
eyes, she would have seen, as Pansey Cottrell had told her at
Todborough, that things were travelling much in the way she wished
them. At this very moment, when she is inwardly raging against Mrs.
Wriothesley, Lionel Beauchamp is undoubtedly paying at least as much,
if not more, attention to Blanche than he is to Miss Chipchase; but the
spectacles of prejudice are never neutral-tinted.
However, it is time to leave; and Lady Mary, rising, signals her
daughter, and makes her adieu.
"I really have no patience with that girl," said Lady Mary, when she
found herself outside. "I think her making a present to a young man
like Mr. Beauchamp is going a great deal more than half-way."
"Oh, I don't know, mamma," replied Blanche; "she has known him all her
life; and you know he did save her bracelet."
"Very indelicate of her ever to have made such a wager," retorted Lady
Mary, quite trumpeting in her wrath.
"I have known you bet yourself, mamma," rejoined Blanche; "and I think
she was perhaps carried away by the excitement of the occasion. I
wonder what it is that she has given him?"
It was curious, that although Miss Bloxam was as uncomfortable
concerning that gift as her mother, she still took Sylla's part
regarding it. She was a proud girl, and it was probable that she
shrank from owning even to her mother that it could possibly matter to
her what presents any lady might choose to bestow on Mr. Beauchamp.