IN WHICH MY LADY KILCRONEY STRIKES A MATCH AND MISS POUNCE THROWS COLD
WATER ON IT
The late Lady Standish was one of my Lady Kilcroney’s earliest friends.
When Kitty first burst upon society in the select precincts of
Bath--then the fabulously rich, unpardonably pretty, delightful,
audacious, amazing little Widow Bellairs--Julia Standish was scarce a
three weeks’ bride.
From the very beginning Kitty’s endeavour had been to insert some
backbone into the lovely but invertebrate Julia, and once, in despair,
she had summed up the situation by exclaiming: “That ’twas like trying
to mould too soft a jelly: the moment you thought you had her into
shape, she was deliquescent again.”
Therefore, though the connection was long and close; though Kitty,
whether as Mistress Bellairs or my Lady Kilcroney, counted no party
complete without her Julia; though, when in town together, scarce a day
could pass upon which Julia, driven by the stress of some overwhelming
emotional crisis, did not fling herself, weeping, upon Kitty’s breast,
it could not be said that my Lady Kilcroney was very ardently attached
to Lady Standish, or that her death, sad and premature as it was,
plunged her in any depth of sorrow.
The truth was that Julia Standish, elegant and virtuous, fair to
look on and fond of feeling, belonged to the class that wear out the
affections by over-usage. The stuff of Kitty’s sturdy good comradeship
had been worn so uncommonly thin, that at the time of Julia’s lamented
death scarcely enough had been left between them to make a darn worth
while.
Kitty liked life in a strong brew, and Lady Standish wept into her cup
so persistently that there was nothing left but salt water.
Nevertheless, when the news of the irreparable event reached her, my
Lady, being the best-hearted little woman in the world, wept herself
for quite three minutes, and then, dispatching her Lord to see what
service he could be to poor Sir Jasper, ordered her sedan and had
herself deposited at Madame Mirabel’s in Bond Street, to order a black
bonnet and mourning mantle for the funeral.
My Lord had set out on his melancholy errand with a dutiful concealment
of its intense distastefulness.
He thought Jasper’s case the most confounded dreadful a man could be
placed in, and shrank, with all his Irish softness, from the spectacle
of a woe beyond his consolation.
He found matters even more tragic than he anticipated. The last word
Sir Jasper’s incomparable Julia murmured to him, as, her hand in his,
she left him for a better world, was to remind him of his promise never
to replace her. This pledge had been exacted many times during the
seven years of their existence together, but never more solemnly than
in the hours that had preceded her demise.
From the moment of her seizure--spasms on the lungs--to that last
breath, Sir Jasper had been in unremitting attendance. Every physician
of note had been summoned to her bedside; but, in spite of all the
resources of science, bloodings, blisters and cuppings, pills and
potions, poor Julia Standish persisted in succumbing. He was the most
afflicted of widowers! She had been the pearl of wives. No woman could
ever compare with her in the whole world again. He was a blasted man.
Console himself! he roared. That angel, that departed saint need
have put him to no promise. She might sleep in peace; her Jasper
was henceforth naught but a solitary mourner. What was left him,
indeed, but to live for his little ones, those five pledges of their
mutual affection; to rear them worthy of such a mother, and, his task
accomplished, take his broken heart to lie beside her in the grave?
“For I will be buried with my Julia,” he cried upon each fresh gush of
tears.
“Faith,” said Lord Kilcroney to his Kitty, describing the scene to her
when they met again, “she’s dropt her mantle upon him with a vengeance.
Wasn’t it the watering-pot you used to call her, me darling? The poor
lady. He caught me by the neck a while ago, and troth he soaked me to
the skin. ‘She was the most elegant woman!’ cries he. ‘She was that,
me lad,’ says I. ‘And the most virtuous!’ cries he, with another gulp.
‘Aye, that she was,’ cries I. And sure, Kitty, if ever a poor soul made
virtue tedious and dismal----”
“Hush, hush!” my Lady Kilcroney interrupted. “Speak no ill of the dead,
sir. Poor Julia, she was a fond, foolish creature, but she was an old
friend, and, ’pon honour. Denis, I’m crying for her myself. ’Tis but
fitting indeed, that Sir Jasper, who was a sad, bad husband, my love,
and would have given any woman red eyes, should mourn her now.”
“’Tis the frantickest widower I ever met. Mourn, quotha! ‘How shall
I survive?’ is all his cry, and to see him going on that way, you’d
scarce give him a sennight.”
“Psha!” said Kitty. “Such frantick fits never last. I give him a
sennight, my Lord, to--to dry his eyes and look about for number two.”
“’Pon me honour, Kitty, you’re out of it! Didn’t she extract a promise
from him, the dying angel, that he’d never look at woman again, and as
for marriage----”
“And if that isn’t Julia all over!” cried Kitty indignantly. “And he
with five children! A man of Sir Jasper’s temperament! Tush! Pooh! And
were I on my death-bed, Denis, ’twould be the last of my wishes to lay
such a monstrous bit of nonsense on your spirits. Why, ’twould be but
tempting you to perjury. Yes, you--or any other man. ‘Look out for a
well-bred creature, pray,’ I would say, ‘and a healthy, that she be
kind to our little Denis, and pick her sensible, for the Lord’s sake.’
Now, Sir Jasper, mark my words ... I give him a week to bellow, and,
after that--observe me--he will be found at such common, low places as
a cockfight, or a bruising match, with a kerchief high about his neck,
and a hat down on his eyes. And he will, like as not, make expeditions
to Bristol and Plymouth, where he is less known, and where a man may
attend a bit of sport without his friends’ eyes upon him. Do I not
know your masculine ways, my Lord? And by and by he will be found at
the clubs, at the cards, and the betting; and however lugubrious he
may show his countenance, and however sadly he may heave his sigh when
he first appears, ’twill wear off marvellous! And oh, and oh,” cried
Kitty, breaking into wrathful laughter, “then there will be never such
a buck on the town, nor one with such an eye for petticoats, as your
disconsolate widower!”
“’Tis a biting tongue ye have in your head, me darling,” said
Kilcroney, half admiring, half displeased.
“Before the year is out,” concluded my Lady triumphantly, “’twill be
the duty of all his friends, aye, and of poor dear Julia’s, who care
for the welfare of her children, to see that he is safe wed. I shall
look to it myself, I owe it to the memory of poor dear Julia!”
Kitty broke off. Her glance roamed. A frown corrugated her white
forehead. Kilcroney saw that she was mentally seeking, among all her
acquaintance, for a substitute with the desired qualifications.
About the time of Sir Jasper’s bereavement, that distinguished peer, my
Lord Ongar, put off this mortal coil. The title and fortune passed to a
nephew, and it was found that his widow, and the daughter who was yet
too young to have left the parent nest, were singularly ill-provided
for. My Lady Ongar, who was a Frenchwoman, was in poor health; and much
sympathy was felt for her situation, as well as for that of the little
Lady Selina, who, on the threshold of presentation to the world, found
herself suddenly at so great a disadvantage. It was true that both her
sisters had made good marriages; one to Lord Verney, who had a house in
town as well as country property; the other to Squire Day, of Queen’s
Compton. But then, as Kitty Kilcroney said, who, that had a heart in
her breast, could suggest placing a high-spirited girl under the charge
of Susan Verney? “For sure, my dear, somewhere back there must have
been a slave-driver among her ancestors. And as for Nan Day, was she
not lost in domestic bliss? and no one ought to expect pretty Selina to
bury herself in haycocks and babies--other people’s babies!”
It was owing to the Viscountess Kilcroney’s influence that the young
lady was offered a post about the Princess Augusta, the second of the
bevy of beautiful Royal Princesses; for, since assuming her duties
as Lady-in-Waiting to Queen Charlotte, Kitty had vastly pleased Her
Majesty in that capacity.
Not indeed that my Lady Kilcroney, who now had her own personal
experience to go by, approved of Court life as a career for any young
unmarried female. ’Twas monstrous cramping, she declared to those
who had her complete confidence; and the Royals, perfect beings as
they were, and gratifying as it was to be chosen to serve them, had a
fashion of very naturally considering themselves paramount, and their
favour the chief benefit of existence.
“I’ll not have the child’s youth sucked out of her,” quoth my Lady, in
the strict privacy of her chamber, to the grunting Denis, who himself
disliked the Court and all its ways with a large intolerance, born
of its demands on his Kitty. “But a year, my love, ’twill give her a
certain stamp of elegance. We can scarce look for a very great marriage
for our Selina, with never two farthings in her pocket, but there are a
vast of pleasant gentlemen of the second rank who water at the mouth
at the thought of anything favoured by Royalty.”
It was not till Lady Selina had been some nine months in her new post,
and Sir Jasper Standish well-nigh a year a widower, that the great idea
flashed into Kitty’s mind.
Sir Jasper was a personable man, and had not yet topped thirty-five; a
very prime age for a bridegroom with the greenness of youth cast off,
the tedium of maturity not yet as much as dawned. With your man of
thirty-five it is a point of honour to be as ready with the generosity
of youth as the lad of twenty, especially should his fancy turn to
sweet seventeen. He will have gained, however, a vast experience, and,
unless he be a fool, a seasoned judgment. Sir Jasper was no fool; and
though he had so far justified my Lady Kilcroney’s prognostications as
to be more conspicuous at any dashing sport-meeting than ever before,
he kept chiefly in the company of his own sex, and never so much as
noticed the passage of the most flouncing petticoat; and who was more
likely to know than Kitty, since she was the only lady in the world
whose society the widower now frequented?
At first the talk would be all of his Julia; but in a little while
lamentations gave way to more cheerful discourse anent the young family.
It was in her capacity of godmother to little Kate Standish that, a due
interval having elapsed since the loss of their ever-to-be-regretted
Julia, Kitty Kilcroney first addressed Sir Jasper on the subject of a
second marriage. She was, of course, quite prepared for the shocked
refusal which met her.
Was it possible my Lady Kilcroney should not be aware of the solemn
vow, by which he had pledged himself to his Dying Treasure, to remain
ever faithful to her memory?
My Lady Kilcroney was very well aware of it. Heaven knew, she
exclaimed, rolling her pansy eyes towards the ceiling of her
drawing-room--she was for the while free of her Court duties, and was
established in the Hertford Street mansion--Heaven knew, if ever there
was anyone in the world who could appreciate what a second marriage
meant to a true mourner it was she! When Bellairs went--“Ah, you never
knew my first, Sir Jasper! The most excellent, the most estimable,
the most generous and noble-minded of men. There was not a condition
in his will, I do assure you! Everything, everything left to me! ‘_My
dearest wife, Kitty, in token of the perfect happiness she gave me._’
Those were his words, Sir Jasper. But a year’s happiness, alas! and he,
poor seraph, scarce able to endure anyone in the room with him with
the gout so cruel settled in his joints that, if you’ll believe me,
his feet were like nothing so much as warming-pans, and his hands--my
poor Bellairs’ hands, why, there were days when he could not have borne
that a butterfly should settle on them! When my cherished martyr was
released from his sufferings, did I not, like you, vow in my heart that
I never, never would replace him?”
Here Kitty fixed her eyes upon Sir Jasper’s lugubrious countenance,
and, positively, though her tone was filled with such pious melancholy,
they twinkled.
“I fail to see the analogy, my Lady Kilcroney,” said he huffily. “My
Julia was as young as she was fair, as elegant in form as she was
virtuous in character.”
“True, true, Sir Jasper! Bellairs became, very shortly after our
espousals, a wreck, an absolute wreck. But he retained the most
admirable amiability of temper. ’Twas indeed that which first drew my
heart to him. ‘My dear,’ he said to me, ‘when I heard that my poor old
friend Ned had gone smash, and shot himself, and left a little daughter
without a farthing to buy a ribbon with, I cast about in my mind what
I should do to help her. And, faith, I can think of no better way, my
dear, than to make a rich widow of you.’ And then he set to laughing
in his droll, wheezing way. ‘I’m game for a year,’ says he, ‘if you
can stand the old man for a year,’ says he. ‘I’ll put you in the way
of getting the best the world can give you; honour and good repute,
and wealth and a young husband in due time--better than if your poor
father had kept out of indigo. If you’ll trust me, I’ll trust you,’
says he. And my dear Bellairs kept his word royally. He’d never so much
as a suspicion of me; or aught but a smile for my pleasures.” Here a
tear suddenly flashed. “I’m proud to say,” cried Kitty. “I deserved
his confidence. Is there ever anything so beautiful in life as wedded
trust?”
Sir Jasper went home thoughtful. His Julia had had every merit, but
if she had had also just the tiniest part of Bellairs’ the Nabob’s
generosity of mind, would he, could he have so often--as alas! he had!
But there were times when he had been goaded, indubitably driven, to
seek distraction. Angel as she had been, to what screaming vapours,
what swoons had she not treated him? How often also--here he held
his head higher, and made a knowing thrust at a door post with his
gold-headed walking-stick as he went by--had she not suspected the
vilest deeds when he had been as innocent as the lambs in the field?
“You cannot,” said Sir Jasper, sapiently to himself, as his marital
crimes appeared before him suddenly transmogrified into peccadilloes.
“You cannot be said to betray a trust that has never been reposed in
you.”
Next time my Lady spoke of matrimony to the bereaved, it was in the
tone of one who regrets a rash determination, but recognises its
binding quality.
“What a pity, Sir Jasper, you should have been led into such fond
folly! To take such a vow! Irrevocable of course. Who would have the
dreadful courage to suggest the breaking of a pledge to one who is
now among the saints. What if a father’s duty points one way? that
death-bed obligation sternly points the other.”
She pitied Sir Jasper--she did indeed. How was a man, and he so young,
to deal with five children, and they with all the difficulties of life
before them; character, education and--heavens!--illnesses? Measles
and mumps, hectics and whooping coughs, and all the rest of it! “Poor
Julia, could she but see now to what her intemperate passion for you
has led! If our Julia had a fault--dare I say it, Sir Jasper?--she was
a little, leetle inclined to jealousy.”
When Kitty returned to Queen’s Lodge, to take up service with Her
Majesty, Sir Jasper and she had come to discussing very freely the kind
of person who might be regarded as worthy to fill their dearest Julia’s
shoes.
Kitty was full of suggestions, but, one way or another, the paragons
enumerated by the lady were never to the gentleman’s taste.
When Lady Selina joined the Court circle, she was, if truth be told,
the very last young female whom Kitty could in conscience have selected
as a fitting companion for a widower of Sir Jasper’s kidney, or the
proper kind of stepmother to his peevish brats. Nevertheless when the
idea came, it was with the brilliant conviction of a flash of lightning.
Selina Vereker was not dark and masterful like Susan Verney, nor was
she soft and warm-hearted, all feminine impulse and charm, like Nan
Day. She was a bold piece, Kitty had decided from the first, with a
short nose and a short temper, and hair under her powder as blazing
as Sir Jasper’s own, and a grey eye that possessed a certain cold,
reflective audacity which made Kitty thoughtful. She was a judge of
minxes. Withal the creature if not pretty, was mighty attractive; with
a little head on a white throat, and a way of tossing it; slim, long
limbs like a boy, and a freedom of movement inside her voluminous
skirts that was almost unbecoming to her sex. And the tiresome child
was in a hundred scrapes, and in Royalty’s black books before she had
been a fortnight at her duties. This was unpleasant for Kitty, who
had recommended her. And, as she had a kind heart, it filled her with
apprehension for the future. For if anything so awful were to happen
as that Selina should fall into serious disgrace and be dismissed from
Court, what in the world would become of her? So poor, so naughty, and
so innocent; with a pair of selfish sisters, and her mother retired to
a convent! Why, with Royal displeasure upon her, never could she hope
to ally herself to a genteel family!
Sir Jasper! Was not the man to her hand? He deserved a wife with some
fire in her, after having so long endured the deliquescent Julia, and
he deserved too, sad rake that he was, something with a temper of her
own to keep him to attention and in his place.
“To heel, sir, or beware, there are other fine fellows in the world who
are ready to appreciate what you have the bad taste to neglect.”
Her mind made up, Kitty set to work with a transparent artifice, to
which only the blundering male would fall a prey.
“Pray come to tea, to-morrow, sir--or stay, perhaps better not, for I
have Princess Augusta’s Maid-of-Honour, the little Selina Vereker, and,
oh no, I would not for the world that you should meet!”
“And why, pray?”
“La, Sir Jasper, and you on the look-out for a new Lady Standish! You
might fall in love with her, to be sure.”
“And what then, my Lady Kilcroney?”
“Oh, Sir Jasper, Sir Jasper, that would never do!”
“And why not, ma’am?”
“But eighteen, sir.”
“I see no objection there.”
“Fie, Sir Jasper, and you turned thirty-six!”
“But thirty-five my last birthday, ma’am, as I’m a sinner.”
“A sinner, indeed, Sir Jasper, and now you have it. What? Would you,
sir, mate with innocence, guilelessness; lamb-like light-heartedness,
and sprightliness; you with----?”
“Come, come, my Lady Kilcroney. I’ve not been a model husband, I dare
say.”
“I dare say not, sir. Heavens, my poor Julia!”
“Your poor Julia, ma’am, would have driven a saint--Pshaw! She was too
good for me!”
“Believe me, sir, you should wed a young lady of some experience, if
not a widow; a staid female, sir.”
“Thank you, my Lady, I’m vastly obliged, I’m sure.”
“And you so jealous, Sir Jasper, who could scarce even trust virtue’s
self, in the shape of Julia! La, to think of you with Selina--such
beauty, Sir Jasper; such grace, such charm, so ready to take the
pleasure of her years, so pure ignorant of the world’s ways.”
“Good heavens, my Lady Kilcroney, if I do not come to your tea-party
to-morrow, ’twill be that I am a dead man.”
“Do not say you were not warned,” said my Lady, and had the laugh of
scorn to herself to see with what conquering airs Sir Jasper glanced at
himself in each mirror when, departing, he crossed the long length of
her drawing-room at Queen’s Lodge.
The pretty Maid-of-Honour and the already foresworn widower duly met
over Kitty’s bohea, next afternoon. Sir Jasper duly fell head over
heels in love; and before the week was out, they were engaged to be
married. Royalty approved, my Lady Ongar gave her consent with tears of
joy; and both Susan Verney and Ann Day sent cool sisterly sanction.
Having secured her victim Kitty prepared herself to enjoy every
moment of the delightful process of decking her for the sacrifice.
What woman but does not feel that in the trousseau lies the true
inward satisfaction of the bridal state? To a benevolent heart
like my Lady Kilcroney’s the choice of Lady Selina’s garments, the
proper expenditure of the funds entrusted to her for the purpose by
the widowed mother offered a task in which duty went hand in hand
with delight. Generous soul that she was, she promptly decided to
supplement the Dowager’s exiguous allotment by a contribution of her
own: secretly, so as not to hurt the poor child’s feelings, but
to an extent which should in her estimation befit the wedding of a
maid-of-honour under the protection of the Lady Kilcroney.
Needless to add that to bring Selina to Pamela Pounce was almost the
first of her desires as self-elected Fairy Godmother. Who but Pamela
indeed, could set out a Bride so that her appearance on the great
morning should be an event in the world of Fashion? Pamela under
Kitty’s instructions--there never was such a combination of intellect!
My Lady Kilcroney as she drove up through the bright sunshine from
Windsor was filled with anticipations so agreeable and exciting that
she had little thought to spare for the silence and irresponsiveness of
the girl beside her.
Selina had a delicious little countenance, even though she was sulking
heavily; so when her glance strayed reflectively upon her my Lady found
nothing in the contemplation to disturb her equanimity.
It was the first time in its annals that the House of Mirabel beheld
a carriage with the Royal liveries halt before its portals, and the
flutter in its discreet walls was indescribable.
Madame Mirabel herself catching sight of the scarlet splendour, through
the first floor window, was seized with the trembles, and had to send
Miss Clara Smithson for a glass of ratafia out of the back parlour
cupboard before she could control her limbs sufficiently to walk
downstairs. It was true that her immense agitation was promptly allayed
by Miss Polly Popple, who put her head in at the door to say:
“It’s only my Lady Kilcroney after all, what’s brought a pale Miss
for a wedding hat. So don’t you put yourself about, Madame Mirabel,
and Miss Pounce that cool it don’t look as if her opinions were what
they ought to be, and gracious goodness where is the roll of silver
ribbon came from Lyons? I laid it out of my hand, Clara, when I ran up
a while ago about Mrs. Lafone’s bill, and him giving all sorts in the
showroom. I wouldn’t be married to an elderly gentleman what’s miserly
not for--where’s the silver ribbon for mercy’s sake? There’s the bell
going after me like mad. Thank you, dear. Don’t put yourself about,
Madame Mirabel--who ever told you it was the Queen! It’s only my Lady
Kilcroney--drat it, there it goes again--I’m coming.”
Pamela Pounce had caught a glimpse of Kitty’s dainty profile behind
the misleading scarlet as the Queen’s barouche halted; and it was with
her usual graceful self-composure that she swam forward to curtsy to
her patroness. Four steps and a nicely graduated obeisance, with just
an undulation which included my Lady’s companion, Pamela had a perfect
command of the correct attitude. Then she waved her hand.
“Chairs, Miss Popple. Pray be seated, ladies.”
Then, with a pretty spring of alacrity in manner and voice, a most
respectful yet delightfully confidential approach to familiarity:
“And what can I show your Ladyship to-day?” cried she. “There’s the
sweetest head, a twist of cherry tulle with a bunch of green grapes,
just come from Paris--made for your Ladyship.”
Kitty waved the tempting suggestion on one side. “Nothing for me
to-day, my dear creature. I’ve brought Lady Selina.”
Selina, who had entered, stood and sat down like an automaton with
every reason to be dissatisfied with its surroundings, here gave her
patroness a steely look of enmity, and then cast down her eyes so that
their long eyelashes cast a shadow on her white cheek.
Pamela appraised the small set face and Kitty proceeded to expound;
“The fact is, Miss Pounce, I am here with Lady Selina for a wedding
order.”
“Indeed, my Lady.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Kitty, warming to her subject, “the wedding hat,
no less, child, and the going away! Oh! And a head for the dinner party
I mean to give in honour of the engagement. Princess Augusta has
promised to attend. And the wedding is to take place from my house in
Hertford Street, Pamela, the very moment May is over. What with my Lady
Verney having a feeling about the mourning, and my Lady Anne Day so set
about with measles in her nursery, there isn’t anyone as near to this
dear girl as myself, if it’s reckoned by old friendship.”
Here Kitty paused for breath and after duly waiting for Lady Selina to
express some acknowledgments of these handsome sentiments, Pamela, in
the young person’s persistent mutism, was fain to remark that there was
no one like her Ladyship for kindness, that she knew. And though this
was but a deferential murmur, there was conviction in it. Pamela had
every reason for this testimony.
Kitty glanced askance at the bride’s most unbride-like countenance; she
faintly shrugged her shoulders. None of the Verekers had good tempers
and she was not going even to notice Selina’s moods.
“A wedding hat.”
Pamela pondered upon the bride, while her quick brains worked.
(“Dear to be sure, the poor young lady! One would think ’twas her
funeral things they were getting together. Who are they going to marry
her to? And why is my Lady Kilcroney managing it all, and that mortal
tickled?) I wouldn’t recommend white satin for my Lady Selina,” she
said out loud, “though I know it’s the usual thing, my Lady. And if I
might venture, it wouldn’t do to be putting dead white next her face.
No, my Lady Kilcroney, no, my Lady Selina, not if you was to rouge
ever so and _that_ would be a thousand pities; my Lady’s skin is a
treat to look at. And it’s her _cachet_ to be pale with those dark
eyes--excuse me, my Lady, for dropping into French, it’s a way I got
into in Paris. Now I’d like lace.” The milliner spoke slowly as if
she were tasting one by one, the condiments of an exquisite dish. “A
fine brim of real lace, my lady, with a tulle lining, three layers of
tulle, and the middle one pale pink. Oh, pale, pale, pale.” Pamela
twiddled her fingers in the air, mitigating the colour till it faded
into nothingness. “The tint they’re calling in Paris, _cuisse de
nymphe émue_. Excuse me, my Lady, I won’t be so bold as to translate
it. Yes, your Ladyship, the French have droll minds! But your Ladyship
has seized the idea; not pink, but just a warmth, a lightening of
the white, ’twill be exquisite. A twist of silver ribbon to hold it
together--Miss Popple, where’s that silver ribbon that came from Lyons?
I have a model here,” went on Pamela, stooping to pull out one of the
deep drawers of the cupboard which ran the length of the room, and in
which the most special treasures in the millinery line were hidden away
from the ordinary public, only to be brought out for the favoured. “I
have a model here which is the very latest, out of Paris. It’ll never
be seen at all, so to speak, till next month, and that on a Queen’s
head.”
Queen Charlotte’s Lady-in-waiting sprang up and tripped across the
carpet to stand by the milliner’s side.
“It must be worth while for a female of Fashion,” my Lady was thinking,
“to have a post about Queen Marie Antoinette, always the first in the
land in modes and in looks as in everything else.”
Now Lady Selina Vereker, hearing the two women whisper as they stood
together, lifted her eyes and watched and hearkened very intently.
“The young lady’s just engaged I take it,” said Pamela, shaking the
tissue paper from a cobweb vision of blue tulle and lace.
“’Twas only ratified by Lady Ongar last night, from her retreat at
Wimbledon. (They say it’s a convent of nuns my dear, but ’tis not
generally known.)”
“Dear, to be sure, the poor lady!”
Here Kitty lowered her voice, but Selina’s irately keen ears caught the
murmur.
“Sadly ill-provided for. My Lord Ongar’s affairs in a desperate state.
Hardly a brass farthing between the three poor girls! A most prodigious
relief to have the third settled.”
Then Pamela’s clear compassionate undertone.
“I trust the young lady is happy in her choice, so young as she looks.”
The milliner’s eye wandered to the Bride-elect and met her darkling
gaze.
“Why, that goes without saying,” exclaimed my Lady tartly, “since I
made the match, Miss Pounce. Sir Jasper Standish is one of my Lord’s
oldest friends.”
“Sir Jasper Standish! Good God!” Pamela started and wheeled round. She
echoed the words in accents which left no doubt as to the consternation
evoked by the name.
Her face was reflected in the glass in front of her, and Selina had a
vision of its blasted expression of horror and disapproval.
The next moment Miss Pounce had resumed her usual bland self-control,
and was bending over the French hat, feigning to be absorbed in
twitching its knotted ribbons into place.
“Upon my word, Miss Pounce,” exclaimed Kitty, in high surprise and
anger. “And what have you got against Sir Jasper Standish, may I ask,
that you should couple his name with such impiety?”
“Oh, nothing, my Lady, nothing!”
Pamela’s hands trembled as she twitched the faint pink ribbons.
“Nothing but a bit of a business trouble between my father and Sir
Jasper, our place being all but next door to Standish Hall--I crave
your Ladyship’s pardon, I’m sure, for letting my feelings go away with
me,--but Sir Jasper was hard on father over a mortgage.”
“Oh! a mortgage! Pish, child!” Kitty was immensely relieved, though she
could not conceal that she considered it a great liberty in a milliner
thus to obtrude her family affairs upon the notice of distinguished
clients. She had not so very high an opinion of Jasper herself, and
Pamela was a prodigious handsome girl! She had been actually trembling
over what might have come out!
My Lady’s manner for the rest of the _séance_ comically varied between
a dignified displeasure and the overwhelming fascination exercised by
the milliner’s supreme talent.
Lady Selina submitted to all the trying-on and listened to the
prolonged discussions with the same demeanour of angry martyrdom which
she had brought into the shop.
“You’ve been insufferable, my dear!” cried Kitty, patience giving way
at length, as the sleek royal horses started on their homeward way.
Selina turned her long, brilliant eyes upon her companion without
speaking. There was a pert question and an underlying significance in
them, which further exasperated the chaperone.
“’Pon honour!” exploded Kitty, “I marvel what’s to do with you. You,
with everything the world can give you, and three as sweet hats chosen
as ever I’ve seen in my whole life! Such a picture as you’ll look, a
Bride, with your mother’s lace and all! and by the airs of you, you
might have been trying on sackcloth to go to the stake.”
“You must remember, my Lady Kilcroney, that I am in mourning.”
“Psha!”
“And Sir Jasper a widower himself.”
“And what of that, child?”
“Oh, nothing,” said Selina. “Do you think it’s going to rain?”
Kitty looked at her long and earnestly. Was there ever such a little
shut-up countenance, such obstinate close lips and such naughty secret
eyes?
“I wish to Heaven,” she said, at last, “that you’d say what you’ve got
in your heart, child.”
“Oh, I was just thinking about Miss Pamela Pounce!”
“And what of her?”
My Lady still uneasily remained cross.
“Oh, I only thought she looked honest!” said the girl. And not one
other word to the purpose could my Lady Kilcroney extract from her.
They drove into Windsor in a strained silence and separated to their
divers duties in no very cordial mood.
Kind-hearted people in positions of authority are apt to fall into the
danger of doing good to their neighbours in spite of themselves. They
see so clearly the value of the benefits they mean to confer, that fate
having given them the power to enforce their acceptance, they do not
hesitate to wield it. With the best intentions in the world they become
tyrants. Kitty had a real desire to be of use to the orphan, and she
was quite sure that the plans she had laid for her were entirely for
her comfort and well-being. In any case matters had gone too far for
Selina, even to dream of such a catastrophe as a withdrawal of her word.
The Maid-of-Honour had accepted Sir Jasper of her own free will. If
she had secretly repented, if she chose to sulk and make a martyr
of herself, Kitty knew better than to encourage her by seeming to
notice it. And my Lady told herself that the moods of such a chit were
of no account. She was too fresh out of the schoolroom to stand so
much promotion all together--Maid-of-Honour, Bride-elect, the pet of
royalty, all in a couple of months--a little spoilt cat, and if she
scratched Jasper ’twould but do him a vast of good.
Nevertheless, my lady Kilcroney felt slightly uncomfortable until she
next beheld the engaged couple together. Then, indeed--it was the
next evening after their shopping drive to London, in my Lady’s own
rooms--Selina appeared to have completely forgotten her gloomy fit. The
child was in outrageous spirits, with quite scarlet cheeks, taunting
and mocking her ardent lover, till he was beside himself.
Kitty forbore rebuke. In her relief she was full of indulgence towards
behaviour which, at another time, she would have severely reprobated.
“My dear love,” she wrote to her husband that night. She was still
in attendance at Windsor and Denis, very much injured, was alone at
Hertford Street. “Everything is going as well as possible. Do not
forget to call on Mr. Gunter’s about the wedding cake and on Mr.
Bartolozzi about the tickets of invitation.”
Could she have known how Lady Selina had employed the afternoon of that
very day, the poor Lady-in-Waiting would have issued very different
instructions.
For Selina had obtained leave from her “Royal” to go to town about her
trousseau. The Princess Augusta, all blandness and good nature, offered
every facility, even to her own carriage.
How grateful was Lady Selina! But “Oh, no, Ma’am,” she pleaded, “it
makes me feel so horrid shy! There we were yesterday, my Lady Kilcroney
and I, in one of the Queen’s barouches and every one turning round and
staring at us, and oh! so disappointed, Ma’am, not to see the Royal
faces. My mother is sending her own maid for me, and we’ll take a
chaise and Sister Verney will meet me in the town.”
Princess Augusta looked very kindly at the child. She liked her modest
disclaimer and the little flattery it wrapped about, and it all sounded
very proper and becoming. How could she guess that Selina was lying
like a little devil, that the audacious creature would positively set
out from the consecrated precincts of Queen’s Lodge alone, take the
common coach to town and proceed on foot to Bond Street; in a kind of
disguise indeed, a plain bonnet, borrowed off a Royal housemaid, which
had a brown gauze veil to drop over her face, so that she might have
passed her own mother in the street and not been known!
The cunning girl watched her opportunity and slipped into Miss Pounce’s
showroom at a slack moment. As she flung back her veil Pamela’s colour
changed; she saw who it was.
Selina walked quite close up to her and the two stood a moment staring
at each other. The milliner was too acute not to feel the moment big
with importance, and too shrewd not to guess at the cause.
“What did you mean,” said Selina then, “by saying yesterday like that:
‘Sir Jasper! good God!’?”
Pamela was not often taken-to, but she felt herself in a most
disagreeable fix.
“La!” she faltered. “I could have bitten my tongue out. I can only ask
your pardon.”
“I want you to answer my question. What did you mean?”
Pamela, who had been growing pale, grew paler.
“Father had trouble with him over a mortgage.”
“Oh, tush with your mortgage! That’s only a bit of trumpery. It wasn’t
the mortgage. You know something of Sir Jasper.”
The milliner hesitated: then she tossed her head.
“And if I do, my Lady? There! There ain’t anything for you to suspect
me about, I do assure you.”
“Oh, I don’t suspect you!” cried Selina wildly. “I see you hate him! I
hate him myself! I haven’t anyone to help me. What do you know of him?”
“Nothing that would count as against a gentleman’s honour,” said Pamela
bitterly, recalling, with an inward shudder, the vile trick that had
been played upon her, and the narrowness of her escape.
Selina caught the working-woman’s two capable hands.
“I won’t get you into a scandal! I know you’ve got your bread to earn.
I’ll never mention your name or let anyone guess! I promise! I promise!
Look here, I’ll put it differently: if you were me, would you marry Sir
Jasper Standish?”
Pamela drew a long breath and the truth leaped.
“I’d see myself dead rather!”
The absurdity of the phrase did not detract from its effectiveness.
“Ah!” cried Selina. “Thank you! That’s all I wanted to know.”
She wrung the hands she had caught, whisked her veil over her flushed
countenance and turned to leave. On the threshold of the shop she
paused and flung back a quick reassurance.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll never betray you!” which Miss Polly Popple,
overhearing, promptly carried to the awestruck ears of Miss Clara
Smithson.
“There’s a low-class girl just been in the showroom blackmailing
Miss Pounce and gone off Heaving knows with how much hushmoney! ‘I
won’t betray you,’ says she. And Miss Pounce looking after her, that
distraught; you’d think she’d seen a ghost.”
“Ah! my dear,” said Miss Smithson. “Retribution is gathering over that
abandoned creature’s head.”