‘Upon my word, I really do think this is a better room than our Ashcombe Court-house!’
‘And how prettily it is decorated!’ piped out Miss Piper. ‘How well the roses are made! But you all have such a taste at Hollingford.’
‘There’s Mrs. Dempster,’ cried Miss Hornblower; ‘she said she and her two daughters were asked to stay at Mr. Sheepshanks’. Mr. Preston was to be there, too; but I suppose they could not all come at once. Look! and there is young Roscoe, our new doctor. I declare it seems as if all Ashcombe were here. Mr. Roscoe! Mr. Roscoe! come here and let me introduce you to Miss Browning, the friend we are staying with. We think very highly of our young doctor, I can assure you, Miss Browning.’
Mr. Roscoe bowed, and simpered at hearing his own praises. But Miss Browning had no notion of having any doctor praised who had come to settle on the very verge of Mr. Gibson’s practice, so she said to Miss Hornblower—
‘You must be glad, I am sure, to have somebody you can call in, if you are in any sudden hurry, or for things that are too trifling to trouble Mr. Gibson about; and I should think Mr. Roscoe would feel it a great advantage to profit, as he will naturally have the opportunity of doing, by witnessing Mr. Gibson’s skill!’
Probably Mr. Roscoe would have felt more aggrieved by this speech than he really was, if his attention had not been called off just then by the entrance of the very Mr. Gibson who was being spoken of Almost before Miss Browning had ended her severe and depreciatory remarks, he had asked his friend Miss Hornblower—
‘Who is that lovely girl in pink, just come in?’
‘Why, that’s Cynthia Kirkpatrick!’ said Miss Hornblower, taking up a ponderous gold eyeglass to make sure of her fact. ‘How she has grown! To be sure it is two or three years since she left Ashcombe—she was very pretty then—people did say Mr. Preston admired her very much; but she was so young!’
‘Can you introduce me?’ asked the impatient young surgeon. ‘I should like to ask her to dance.’
When Miss Hornblower returned from her greeting to her former acquaintance, Mrs. Gibson, and had accomplished the introduction which Mr. Roscoe had requested, she began her little confidences to Miss Browning.
‘Well, to be sure! How condescending we are! I remember the time when Mrs. Kirkpatrick wore old black silks, and was thankful and civil as became her place as a schoolmistress, and as having to earn her bread. And now she is in a satin; and she speaks to me as if she just could recollect who I was, if she tried very hard! It isn’t so long ago since Mrs. Dempster came to consult me as to whether Mrs. Kirkpatrick would be offended if she sent her a new breadth for her lilac silk gown in place of one that had been spoilt by Mrs. Dempster’s servant spilling the coffee over it the night before; and she took it and was thankful, for all she’s dressed in pearl-grey satin now! And she would have been glad enough to marry Mr. Preston in those days.’
‘I thought you said he admired her daughter,’ put in Miss Browning to her irritated friend.
‘Well! perhaps I did, and perhaps it was so; I am sure I can’t tell; he was a great deal at the house. Miss Dixon keeps a school in the same house now, and I am sure she does it a great deal better.’
‘The earl and the countess are very fond of Mrs. Gibson,’ said Miss Browning, ‘I know, for Lady Harriet told us when she came to drink tea with us last autumn; and they desired Mr. Preston to be very attentive to her when she lived at Ashcombe.’
‘For goodness’ sake don’t go and repeat what I’ve been saying about Mr. Preston and Mrs. Kirkpatrick to her ladyship. One may be mistaken, and you know I only said “people talked about it”.’
Miss Hornblower was evidently alarmed lest her gossip should be repeated to the Lady Harriet, who appeared to be on such an intimate footing with her Hollingford friends. Nor did Miss Browning dissipate the illusion. Lady Harriet had drunk tea with them, and might do it again; and, at any rate, the little fright she had put her friend into was not a bad return for that praise of Mr. Roscoe which had offended Miss Browning’s loyalty to Mr. Gibson.
Meanwhile Miss Piper and Miss Phoebe, who had not the character of esprit-fortscc to maintain, talked of the dresses of the people present, beginning by complimenting each other.
‘What a lovely turban you have got on, Miss Piper, if I may be allowed to say so: so becoming to your complexion!’
‘Do you think so?’ said Miss Piper, with ill-concealed gratification; it was something to have a ‘complexion’ at forty-five. ‘I got it at Brown‘s, at Somerton, for this very ball. I thought I must have something to set off my gown, which isn’t quite so new as it once was; and I have no handsome jewellery like you’—looking with admiring eyes at a large miniaturecd set round with pearls, which served as a shield to Miss Phoebe’s breast.
‘It is handsome,’ that lady replied. ‘It is a likeness of my dear mother; Dorothy has got my father on. The miniatures were both taken at the same time; and just about then my uncle died and left us each a legacy of fifty pounds, which we agreed to spend on the setting of our miniatures. But because they are so valuable, Dorothy always keeps them locked up with the best silver, and hides the box somewhere; she never will tell me where, because she says I’ve such weak nerves, and that if a burglar, with a loaded pistol at my head, were to ask me where we kept our plate and jewels, I should be sure to tell him; and she says, for her part, she would never think of revealing under any circumstances. (I’m sure I hope she won’t be tried.) But that’s the reason I don’t wear it often; it’s only the second time I’ve had it on; and I can’t even get at it, and look at it, which I should like to do. I shouldn’t have had it on to-night, but that Dorothy gave it out to me, saying it was but a proper compliment to pay to the Duchess of Menteith, who is to be here in her diamonds.’
‘Dear-ah-me! Is she really! Do you know I never saw a duchess before.’ And Miss Piper drew herself up and craned her neck, as if resolved to ‘behave herself properly,’ as she had been taught to do at boarding-school thirty years before, in the presence of‘her grace.’ By and by she said to Phoebe, with a sudden jerk out of position—‘Look, look! that’s our Mr. Cholmley, the magistrate’ (he was the great man of Coreham), ‘and that’s Mrs. Cholmley in red satin, and Mr. George and Mr. Harry from Oxford, I do declare; and Miss Cholmley, and pretty Miss Sophy. I should like to go and speak to them, but then it’s so formidable crossing a room without a gentleman. And there is Coxe the butcher and his wife! Why, all Coreham seems to be here! And how Mrs. Coxe can afford such a gown I can’t make out for one, for I know Coxe had some difficulty in paying for the last sheep he bought of my brother.’
Just at this moment the band, consisting of two violins, a harp, and an occasional clarionet, having finished their tuning, and brought themselves as nearly into accord as was possible, struck up a brisk country-dance, and partners quickly took their places. Mrs. Gibson was secretly a little annoyed at Cynthia’s being one of those to stand up in this early dance, the performers in which were principally the punctual plebeians of Hollingford, who, when a ball was fixed to begin at eight, had no notion of being later, and so losing part of the amusement for which they had paid their money. She imparted some of her feelings to Molly, sitting by her, longing to dance, and beating time to the spirited music with one of her pretty little feet.
‘Your dear papa is always so very punctual! To-night it seems almost a pity, for we really are here before there is any one come that we know.’
‘Oh! I see so many people here that I know. There are Mr. and Mrs. Smeaton, and that nice good-tempered daughter.’
‘Oh! booksellers and butchers if you will.’
‘Papa has found a great many friends to talk to.’
‘Patients, my dear—hardly friends. There are some nice-looking people here,’ catching her eye on the Cholinleys: ‘but I daresay they have driven over from the neighbourhood of Ashcombe or Coreham, and have hardly calculated how soon they would get here. I wonder when the Towers’ party will come. Ah! ther
e’s Mr. Ashton, and Mr. Preston. Come, the room is beginning to fill.’
So it was, for this was to be a very good ball, people said; and a large party from the Towers was coming, and a duchess in diamonds among the number. Every great house in the district was expected to be full of guests on these occasions; but at this early hour, the townspeople had the floor almost entirely to themselves; the county magnates came dropping in later; and chiefest among them all was the lord-lieutenant from the Towers. But to-night they were unusually late, and the aristocratic ozone being absent from the atmosphere, there was a flatness about the dancing of all those who considered themselves above the plebeian ranks of the tradespeople. They, however, enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and sprang and bounded till their eyes sparkled and their cheeks glowed with exercise and excitement. Some of the more prudent parents, mindful of the next day’s duties, began to consider at what hour they ought to go home; but with all there was an expressed or unexpressed curiosity to see the duchess and her diamonds; for the Menteith diamonds were famous in higher circles than that now assembled; and their fame had trickled down to it through the medium of ladies’ maids and housekeepers. Mr. Gibson had had to leave the ball-room for a time, as he had anticipated, but he was to return to his wife as soon as his duties were accomplished and, in his absence, Mrs. Gibson kept herself a little aloof from the Miss Brownings and those of her acquaintance who would willingly have entered into conversation with her, with the view of attaching herself to the skirts of the Towers’ party, when they should make their appearance. If Cynthia would not be so very ready in engaging herself to every possible partner who asked her to dance, there were sure to be young men staying at the Towers who would be on the look-out for pretty girls: and who could tell to what a dance might lead? Molly, too, though not so good a dancer as Cynthia, and, from timidity, less graceful and easy, was becoming engaged pretty deeply; and, it must be confessed, she was longing to dance every dance, no matter with whom. Even she might not be available for the more aristocratic partners Mrs. Gibson anticipated. She was feeling very much annoyed with the whole proceedings of the evening when she was aware of some one standing by her; and, turning a little to one side, she saw Mr. Preston keeping guard, as it were, over the seats which Molly and Cynthia had just quitted. He was looking so black that, if their eyes had not met, Mrs. Gibson would have preferred not speaking to him; as it was, she thought it unavoidable.
‘The rooms are not well lighted to-night, are they, Mr. Preston?’
‘No,’ said he; ‘but who could light such dingy old paint as this, loaded with evergreens, too, which always darken a room?’
‘And the company, too! I always think that freshness and brilliancy of dress go as far as anything to brighten up a room. Look what a set of people are here: the greater part of the women are dressed in dark silks, really only fit for a morning. The place will be quite different, by and by, when the county families are in a little more force.’
Mr. Preston made no reply. He had put his glass in his eye, apparently for the purpose of watching the dancers. If its exact direction could have been ascertained, it would have been found that he was looking intently and angrily at a flying figure in pink muslin: many a one was gazing at Cynthia with intentness besides himself, but no one in anger. Mrs. Gibson was not so fine an observer as to read all this; but here was a gentlemanly and handsome young man, to whom she could prattle, instead of either joining herself on to objectionable people, or sitting all forlorn until the Towers’ party came. So she went on with her small remarks.
‘You are not dancing, Mr. Preston!’
‘No! The partner I had engaged has made some mistake. I am waiting to have an explanation with her.’
Mrs. Gibson was silent. An uncomfortable tide of recollections appeared to come over her; she, like Mr. Preston, watched Cynthia; the dance was ended, and she was walking round the room in easy unconcern as to what might await her. Presently her partner, Mr. Harry Cholmley, brought her back to her seat. She took that vacant next to Mr. Preston, leaving that by her mother for Molly’s occupation. The latter returned a moment afterwards to her place. Cynthia seemed entirely unconscious of Mr. Preston’s neighbourhood. Mrs. Gibson leaned forwards, and said to her daughter—
‘Your last partner was a gentleman, my dear. You are improving in your selection. I really was ashamed of you before, figuring away with that attorney’s clerk. Molly, do you know whom you have been dancing with? I have found out he is the Coreham bookseller.’
‘That accounts for his being so well up in all the books I’ve been wanting to hear about,’ said Molly, eagerly, but with a spice of malice in her mind. ‘He really was very pleasant, mamma,’ she added; ‘and he looks quite a gentleman, and dances beautifully!’
‘Very well. But remember, if you go on this way, you will have to shake hands over the counter to-morrow morning with some of your partners of to-night,’ said Mrs. Gibson, coldly.
‘But I really don’t know how to refuse when people are introduced to me and ask me, and I am longing to dance. You know to-night it is a charity ball, and papa said everybody danced with everybody,’ said Molly, in a pleading tone of voice; for she could not quite and entirely enjoy herself if she was out of harmony with any one. What reply Mrs. Gibson would have made to this speech cannot now be ascertained; for, before she could make reply, Mr. Preston stepped a little forwards, and said, in a tone which he meant to be icily indifferent, but which trembled with anger—
‘If Miss Gibson finds any difficulty in refusing a partner, she has only to apply to Miss Kirkpatrick for instructions.’
Cynthia lifted up her beautiful eyes, and, fixing them on Mr. Preston’s face, said, very quietly, as if only stating a matter of fact—
‘You forget, I think, Mr. Preston: Miss Gibson implied that she wished to dance with the person who asked her—that makes all the difference. I can’t instruct her how to act in that difficulty.’
And to the rest of this little conversation, Cynthia appeared to lend no ear; and she was almost directly claimed by her next partner. Mr. Preston took the seat now left empty, much to Molly’s annoyance. At first she feared lest he should be going to ask her to dance; but, instead, he put out his hand for Cynthia’s nosegay, which she had left on rising, entrusted to Molly. It had suffered considerably from the heat of the room, and was no longer full and fresh; not so much so as Molly’s, which had not, in the first instance, been pulled to pieces in picking out the scarlet flowers which now adorned Molly’s hair, and which had since been cherished with more care. Enough, however, remained of Cynthia’s to show very distinctly that it was not the one Mr. Preston had sent; and it was perhaps to convince himself of this, that he rudely asked to examine it. But Molly, faithful to what she imagined would be Cynthia’s wish, refused to allow him to touch it; she only held it a little nearer.
‘Miss Kirkpatrick has not done me the honour of wearing the bouquet I sent her, I see. She received it, I suppose, and my note?’
‘Yes,’ said Molly, rather intimidated by the tone in which this was said. ‘But we had already accepted these two nosegays.’
Mrs. Gibson was just the person to come to the rescue with her honeyed words on such an occasion as the present. She evidently was rather afraid of Mr. Preston, and wished to keep at peace with him.
Wives and Daughters Page 40
