AT THE REVIEW.
"Miss Mary, dear, wake up," said a pleasant middle-aged woman, as she
gently shook the sleeper to whom she spoke; "it wants twenty minutes to
eight, and Rowland will be here with the ponies presently."
A pair of large blue eyes opened languidly and stared at the speaker.
"What's the matter, nurse?"
"Aren't you going to ride this morning, Miss Mary? you'll have to be
quick if----"
But Mary's senses were roused now, and the young girl of thirteen sprung
out of bed, interrupting her nurse's speech.
"I'll be ready, nurse, don't fear," she cried, as she began to dress
with her usual quickness. "What did you say was the time?"
"Twenty minutes to eight," was the reply, "so you've twenty-five
minutes. Rowland is allowed to wait five minutes, I know."
"Ah, yes," cried Mary, "but I wont keep him waiting at all, nurse," she
added, "you need not stay. I laid out my habit and all I wanted in
readiness last night."
"To be sure, Miss Mary, you can be quick, I know, and no mistake; so
I'll get out of your way if you don't want me."
True to her word, the little lady appeared at the door in a few minutes
after the groom arrived, and she was very soon cantering round the
Regent's Park in the full enjoyment of this healthful exercise. Drawing
rein as usual before crossing the New Road on her return towards home,
she walked her pony through the Crescent, intending to enjoy a good
canter up the broad thoroughfare of Portland Place.
Scarcely had she reached the turning leading through private streets to
Piccadilly, when the sound of horse's hoofs coming rapidly behind her
caused her to turn her head, and the next moment pull up suddenly as a
large black horse trotted quickly to her side.
"Why, Mary," exclaimed the owner of the horse, "I had no idea you were
such a capital rider. I saw a little lady cantering in front of me, but
I should not have known who it was had not Rowland touched his hat as I
passed; and what a clever little pony," he added, as he stooped low to
pat the smooth black head and long flowing mane. "How long have you had
him?"
"Six months, uncle," she replied. "Papa bought him of Sir Henry Turner;
his boys all learnt to ride on Boosey, but they have grown too old and
too tall for such a small pony, so now he is mine."
"What is the pony's name, Mary? It sounds peculiar."
"Oh, Boosey, uncle," she replied, laughing. "Sir Henry's boys named him
after Alexander's horse Bucephalus; the groom shortened it to Boosey,
and we still keep up the name."
"So he is a classical pony, eh?" said Colonel Herbert; "I suppose the
name was too much of a jaw-breaker for the stablemen. Boosey, however,
is rather a degradation for the bearer of such a title."
"He's a military pony, too," laughed Mary, "for he can stand fire,
uncle. One morning the soldiers were at drill and firing in the Park as
I rode past, and Boosey walked by as quietly as possible. I did feel
half afraid till I remembered that Sir Henry was a field-officer and his
sons were often with him at reviews, one of them always riding the
pony."
"Well, then, my dear, if Boosey is so well trained, would you like to go
with me to-day? There is to be a review at Hyde Park, and you can be
with me near the flagstaff--opposite the firing, you know. Are you sure
you have no fear?"
"Not a bit, uncle, and indeed I should like it so much if papa will
allow me to go."
"Suppose we ride home and ask him."
The horses had been walking while they talked, and the colonel putting
his horse into a trot as he spoke, Boosey started off at full speed,
cantering as fast as his little legs would carry him to keep pace with
the colonel's tall black horse.
They reached Dover Street in a very short time, and Mr. Armstrong,
seeing them approach, came out to welcome the colonel. The request for
Mary was soon made, yet she almost feared that the answer would be
unfavourable when her father said,--"Mary had not breakfasted yet,
colonel; and you know I object to my daughter being seen on horseback in
the neighbourhood of my business after nine o'clock."
"Then let her ride home now to our house and breakfast with us," said
the colonel, quickly.
To this there appeared no objection, and Mr. Armstrong readily gave his
consent, but Mary had not forgotten her mother's fears.
"Oh, father," she exclaimed, "do you think mamma will mind my going? you
know how anxious she always is even when I ride quietly before
breakfast."
Mr. Armstrong was about to say that his wife was not likely to oppose
his wishes, when the colonel exclaimed,--"I will go up and quiet her
fears about Mary's safety."
He was not absent many minutes, but as he remounted his horse Mary knew
he had succeeded, for on looking up she saw her mother at the window
nodding and smiling at her as she rode off with her uncle.
Rowland, who remained behind, stood for a few moments watching his young
mistress as she and her uncle rode towards Piccadilly. Then as he turned
to take his horse to the stables he said to himself,--"Master wont get
his way with that young lady, I can see, with all his queer rules about
what she is to do."
Mary breakfasted with her aunt and uncle in Park Lane, and in less than
an hour after started to be present at the review. She certainly felt a
little nervous at first when she found herself among a group of officers
and ladies on horseback, or in carriages near the flagstaff, especially
when the soldiers were preparing for the first volley.
But Boosey stood firm, and that gave her courage to sit and calmly watch
the varied performances of the men so easily seen from such an
advantageous point of view.
Many questions were asked the colonel respecting the little equestrian,
who looked very attractive in her riding attire. The long curls falling
to the waist over the dark blue riding-habit would have been called
golden in these days; and a black beaver hat, with a drooping feather
and a broad brim, did not quite conceal the fair complexion and delicate
features of the really pretty child. When asked, "Who is your little
friend?" the colonel would merely reply, "My niece." No mention was made
of her name, or of the fact of her being a tradesman's daughter, for in
those days of exclusiveness it would have created a feeling of surprise.
More than fourteen years have passed since Edward Armstrong became the
husband of the young girl who owed her life to his energy and courage.
A marriage under such circumstances was not unlikely to be accompanied
with real affection on both sides, although a union of those who occupy
different positions socially is seldom truly happy.
Notwithstanding the love that made Edward Armstrong gentle and indulgent
to his wife, there yet existed certain phases in his character which
jarred upon her love of refinement, and caused her great annoyance. His
eccentricities, his prejudices, and, at times when angry, a certain
coarseness of manner, were actual pain to his sensitive wife. But she
possessed a natural sweetness of temper that could "turn away wrath" by
a "soft answer" or silence. She had quickly discovered that his will was
law, and brooked no contradiction; and her love of peace as well as her
wifely love very soon taught her to give way to her husband in every
point.
Besides, she had all the comforts and luxuries of a refined home, equal
in many respects to the homes of her sisters, although considered so
inferior in position; a loving and indulgent husband, and four children,
of whom Mary was the eldest and only girl.
Her relatives had not cast her off because of her marriage; the occasion
of their first meeting, when Edward Armstrong had been the means of
saving their sister's life, rendered such an idea impossible. Added to
this, Maria's husband was unmistakably a man of intellectual tastes as
well as education, notwithstanding his eccentricities and peculiar
notions. Association with his wife, and mixing in the society he
sometimes met with at the houses of her sisters, had already increased
his refinement of manner, although nothing could as yet entirely
overcome the effects of narrow minded prejudices.
The custom now so prevalent which enables a man of business to take a
house for his wife and children at a distance from London, was at the
time of which we write a novelty. Railways and omnibuses, by which
London is now filled in the morning and deserted in the evening, were in
a state of progression. Yet Mr. Armstrong could not be persuaded to take
a house out of town; it was a new-fangled notion, he would say, and
quite out of place in a man of business. Mrs. Armstrong's family,
therefore, could only get over the fact of her living above a shop with
her children by ascribing it to her husband's eccentricities.
"My brother-in-law keeps horses, and he could easily ride or drive into
town every day if he chose, but we cannot persuade him to do so," said
Mrs. Herbert to a visitor on one occasion; "but I hope he will give way
at last, especially when his daughter is old enough to be introduced
into society."
But if all these little matters troubled Mrs. Armstrong's family, her
husband felt himself also aggrieved on one point in which she was the
unfortunate cause.
He had quickly discovered after his marriage that his loving and
accomplished wife was totally ignorant of domestic duties or of the
management of a household.
She soon also became conscious of her deficiencies, and tried to acquire
the necessary knowledge by every effort in her power, but in vain; and
her husband, accustomed to the perfect order and regularity of his
mother's house, never appeared satisfied.
This circumstance produced after a time, as their family increased, new
plans on the part of Mr. Armstrong. He engaged a suitable housekeeper,
to regulate the domestic arrangements of his home, and placed the
education of Mary in the hands of her mother, knowing well that no one
could be found more fit for that office.
Gladly Mrs. Armstrong gave up the duties she felt so irksome, and
divided her time between the nursery and the schoolroom. In this way,
notwithstanding the fact that her drawing-room and dining-room were on
the floor above her husband's business, and in spite also of various
annoyances which his eccentric doings in the household often caused, the
years passed away in comfort and happiness, bringing the time in which
this chapter commences.
Mr. Armstrong's next proposition, however, was by no means so
satisfactory to his wife.
About six months before the meeting of Mary with her uncle Herbert
during her morning ride, Mr. Armstrong made his appearance in the
schoolroom, and finding his wife alone, he said apparently with an
effort,--"Maria, my dear, I want to make some little change in Mary's
educational duties; I suppose you have no objection?"
"In what way?" she asked, with a dread in her heart of what her
eccentric husband might be about to propose.
"Why, my dear," he replied, seating himself, "you know your own
deficiencies in domestic knowledge, but I am determined my daughter
shall never fail in that important part of a woman's education; you may
make her as accomplished as you please, I will take care that she is
made domestic."
Mrs. Armstrong had been trained in those days when to stoop to domestic
duties, or to understand how to make a pie or pudding, was considered a
degradation to an accomplished young lady; and to her ultra refinement
there was something repulsive in the idea of her daughter learning the
duties of a cook or a housemaid. But when her husband expressed himself
in such a firm decided manner, she knew it was useless to offer any
opposition, so she merely said faintly,--"What do you wish Mary to do?"
"Send for her, my dear," he replied, "there will be no objections on her
part, I am quite sure."
In a few minutes Mary made her appearance, and listened to her father's
proposition, the subject of which will appear in the next chapter.