The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXII. A GLANCE AT MRS. FUMBALLY'S.

  Great as Lady Eleanor's objection was to subjecting herself or herdaughter to the contact of a boarding-house party, when the resolvewas once taken the matter cost her far less thought or anxiety than itoccasioned to the other inmates of the "Establishment." It is onlyin such segments of the great world that curiosity reaches its trueintensity, and the desire to know every circumstance of one's neighborbecomes an absorbing passion. A distrustful impression that nobodyis playing on "the square "--that every one has some special causeof concealment, some hidden shame--seems the presiding tone of theseplaces.

  Mrs. Fumbally's was no exception to the rule, and now that the residentshad been so long acquainted that the personal character and fortune ofeach was known to all, the announcement of a new arrival caused the mostlively sensations of anxiety.

  Directories were ransacked for the name of Gwynne, and every separateowner of the appellation canvassed and discussed. Army lists wereinterrogated and conned over. Dempsey himself was examined for two hoursbefore a "Committee of the whole house;" and though his inventivepowers were no mean gifts, certain discrepancies, certain unexplaineddifficulties, did not fail to strike the acute tribunal, and he wasdismissed as unworthy of credit. Baffled, not beaten, each retired todress for dinner,--a ceremony, be it remarked, only in use on greatoccasions,--fully impressed with the conviction that the Gwynne casewas a legitimate object of search and discovery.

  It is not necessary here to allude to the strange display of costumethat day called forth, nor what singular extravagances in dress eachdrew from the armory of his fascinations. The collector closed theCustom-house an hour earlier, that he might be properly powdered for theoccasion. Miss Boyle abandoned, "for the nonce," her accustomed walk onthe Banside, where the officers used to lounge, and in the privacy ofher chamber prepared for the event. There is a tradition of her beingseen, with a formidable array of curl-papers, so late as four in theafternoon. Mr. Dunlop was in a perpetual trot all day, between histailor and his bootmaker, sundry alterations being required ata moment's notice. Mrs. Fumbally herself, however, eclipsed allcompetitors, as, in a robe of yellow satin, spotted with red, she madeher appearance in the drawing-room; her head-dress being a turban of thesame prevailing colors, but ornamented by a drooping plume of feathersand spangles so very umbrageous and pendent, that she looked like aweeping-ash clad in tinsel. A crimson brooch of vast proportions--which,on near inspection, turned out to be a portrait of the departedFumbally, but whose colors were, unhappily, not "fast ones"--confineda scarf of green velvet, from which envious time had worn off all thepile, and left a "sear and yellow" stubble everywhere perceptible.

  Whether Mrs. Fum's robe had been devised at a period when dresses wereworn much shorter, or that, from being very tall, a sufficiency of thematerial could not be obtained,--but true it is, her costume would havebeen almost national in certain Scotch regiments, and necessitated,for modesty's sake, a peculiar species of ducking trip, that, with thenodding motion of her head, gave her the gait of a kangaroo.

  Scarcely had the various individuals time to give a cursory glanceat their neighbors' finery, when Lady Eleanor appeared leaning on herdaughter's arm. Mr. Dempsey had waited for above half an hour outsidethe door to offer his escort, which being coldly but civilly declined,the ladies entered.

  Mrs. Fumbally rose to meet her guests, and was about to proceed in dueform with a series of introducings, when Lady Eleanor cut her short bya very slight but courteous salutation to the company collectively, andthen sat down.

  The most insufferable assumption of superiority is never half sochilling in its effect upon underbred people as the calm quietude ofgood manners.

  And thus the party were more repelled by Lady Eleanor and her daughter'seasy bearing than they would have felt at any outrageous pretension.The elegant simplicity of their dress, too, seemed to rebuke the stagefinery of the others, and very uneasy glances met and were interchangedat this new companionship. A few whispered words, an occasionalcourageous effort to talk aloud, suddenly ending in a cough, and anuneasy glance at the large silver watch over the chimney, were all thattook place, when the uncombed head of a waiter, hired specially for theday, gave the announcement that dinner was served.

  "Mr. Dempsey--Mr. Dunlop," said Mrs. Fumbally, with a gesture towardsLady Eleanor and her daughter. The gentlemen both advanced a step andthen stood stock still, as Lady Eleanor, drawing her shawl around herwith one hand, slipped the other within her daughter's arm. Every eyewas now turned towards Mr. Dunlop, who was a kind of recognized typeof high life; and he, feeling the urgency of the moment, made a step inadvance, and with extended arm, said, "May I have the honor to offer myarm?"

  "With your leave, I'll take my daughter's, sir," said Lady Eleanor,coldly; and without paying the least attention to the varioussignificant glances around her, she walked forward to the dinner-room.

  The chilling reserve produced by the new arrivals had given an air ofdecorous quietude to the dinner, which, if gratifying to Lady Eleanorand Helen, was very far from being so to the others, and as themeal proceeded, certain low mutterings--the ground swell of a comingstorm--announced the growing feeling of displeasure amongst them.Lady Eleanor and Miss Darcy were too unconscious of having offered anyumbrage to the party to notice these indications of discontent; nor didthey remark that Mr.

  Dempsey himself was becoming overwhelmed by the swelling waves ofpopular indignation.

  A very curt monosyllable had met Lady Eleanor in the two efforts shehad made at conversation with her neighbor, and she was perhaps notvery sorry to find that table-talk was not a regulation of the"Establishment".

  Had Lady Eleanor or Helen been disposed to care for it, they mighthave perceived that the dinner itself was not less anomalous than thecompany, and like them suffered sorely from being over-dressed. They,however, affected to eat, and seemed satisfied with everything, resolvedthat, having encountered the ordeal, they would go through with it tothe last. The observances of the table had one merit in the Fumballyhousehold; they were conducted with no unnecessary tediousness. Thecourses--if we dare so apply the name to an irregular skirmish of meats,hot, cold, and _rechauffe_--followed rapidly, the guests ate equally so,and the table presented a scene, if not of convivial enjoyment, at leastof bustle and animation, that supplied its place. This movement, so tocall it, was sufficiently new to amuse Helen Darcy, who, less painedthan her mother at their companionship, could not help relishing manyof the eccentric features of the scene; everything in the dress, manner,tone of voice, and bearing of the company presenting such a strikingcontrast to all she had been used to. This enjoyment on her part,although regulated by the strictest good-breeding, was perceived, orrather suspected, by some of the ladies present, and looks of veryunmistakable anger were darted towards her from the end of the table, sothat both mother and daughter felt the moment a very welcome one when aregiment of small decanters were set down on the board, and the ladiesrose to withdraw.

  If Lady Eleanor had consulted her own ardent wishes, she would at oncehave retired to her room, but she had resolved on the whole sacrifice,and took her place in the drawing-room, determined to follow in everyrespect the usages around her. Mrs. Fumbally addressed a few civil wordsto her, and then left the room to look after the cares of the household.The group of seven ladies who remained, formed themselves into a coterieapart, and producing from sundry bags and baskets little specimens offemale handiwork, began arranging their cottons and worsteds with a mostpraiseworthy activity.

  While Lady Eleanor sat with folded bands and half-closed lids, sunk inher own meditations, Helen arose and walked towards a book-shelf, wheresome well-thumbed volumes were lying. An odd volume of "Delphine,"a "Treatise on Domestic Cookery," and "Moore's Zeluco" were notattractive, and she sauntered to the piano, on which were scatteredsome of the songs from the "Siege of Belgrade," the then popular piece;certain comic melodies lay also among them, inscribed with the name ofLawrence M'Farland, a gentlem
an whom they had heard addressed severaltimes during dinner. While Helen turned over the music pages, the eyesof the others were riveted on her; and when she ran her fingers over thekeys of the cracked old instrument, and burst into an involuntary laughat its discordant tones, a burst of unequivocal indignation could nolonger be restrained.

  "I declare, Miss M'Corde," said an old lady with a paralytic shake inher head, and a most villanous expression in her one eye,--"I declare Iwould speak to her, if I was in your place."

  "Unquestionably," exclaimed another, whose face was purple withexcitement; and thus encouraged, a very thin and very tall personage,with a long, slender nose tipped with pink, and light red hair inringlets, arose from her seat, and approached where Helen was standing.

  "You are perhaps not aware, ma'am," said she, with a mincing, lispingaccent, the very essence of gentility, "that this instrument is not a'house piano.'"

  Helen blushed slightly at the address, but could not for her life guesswhat the words meant. She had heard of grand pianos and square pianos,of cottage pianos, but never of "house pianos," and she answered in themost simple of voices, "Indeed."

  "No, ma'am, it is not; it belongs to your very humble servant,"--hereshe courtesied to the ground,-"who regrets deeply that its tone shouldnot have more of your approbation."

  "And I, ma'am," said a fat old lady, waddling over, and wheezingas though she should choke, "I have to express my sorrow that thebook-shelf, which you have just ransacked, should not present somethingworthy of your notice. The volumes are mine."

  "And perhaps, ma'am," cried a third, a little meagre figure, with avoice like a nutmeg-grater, "you could persuade the old lady, who Ipresume is your mother, to take her feet off that worked stool. When Imade it, I scarcely calculated on the honor it now enjoys!"

  Lady Eleanor looked up at this instant, and although unconscious of whatwas passing, seeing Helen, whose face was now crimson, standing in themidst of a very excited group, she arose hastily, and said,--

  "Helen, dearest, is there anything the matter?"

  "I should say there was, ma'am," interposed the very fat lady,--"Ishould be disposed to say there was a great deal the matter. That tomake use of private articles as if they were for house use, to thump onelady's piano, to toss another lady's books, to make oneself comfortablein a chair specially provided for the oldest boarder, with one's feeton another lady's footstool,--these are liberties, ma'am, which becomesomething more than freedoms when taken by unknown individuals."

  "I beg you will forgive my daughter and myself," said Lady Eleanor, withan air of real regret; "our total ignorance--"

  "I thought as much, indeed," muttered she of the shaking head; "there isno other word for it."

  "You are quite correct, ma'am," said Lady Eleanor, at once addressingher in the most apologetic of voices,-"I cannot but repeat the word; ourvery great ignorance of the usages observed here is our only excuse, andI beg you to believe us incapable of taking such liberties in future."

  If anything could have disarmed the wrath of this Holy Alliance, themanner in which these words were uttered might have done so. Far fromit, however. When the softer sex are deficient in breeding, mercyis scarcely one of their social attributes. Had Lady Eleanor assumedtowards them the manner with which in other days she had repelled vulgarattempts at familiarity, they would in all probability have shrunkback, abashed and ashamed; but her yielding suggested boldness, andthey advanced, with something like what in Cossack warfare is termed a"Hurra," an indiscriminate clang of voices being raised in reprobationof every supposed outrage the unhappy strangers had inflicted on thecompany. Amid this Babel of accusation Lady Eleanor could distinguishnothing, and while, overwhelmed by the torrent, she was preparingto take her daughter's arm and withdraw, the door which led into thedining-room was suddenly thrown open, and the convivial party entered_en masse_.

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  "Here's a shindy, by George!" cried Mr. M'Farland,--the Pickle, and thewit of the Establishment,--"I say, see how the new ones are getting it!"

  While Mr. Dempsey hurried away to seek Mrs. Fumbally herself, theconfusion and uproar increased; the loud, coarse laughter of the"Gentlemen" being added to the wrathful violence of the softer sex.Lady Eleanor, how-ever, had drawn her daughter to her side, andwithout uttering a word, proceeded to leave the room. To this course aconsiderable obstacle presented itself in the shape of the Collector,who, with expanded legs, and hands thrust deep into his side-pockets,stood against the door.

  "Against the ninth general rule, ma'am, which you may read in the frameover the chimney!" exclaimed he, in a voice somewhat more faltering andthicker than became a respectable official. "No lady or gentleman canleave the room while any dispute in which they are concerned remainsunsettled. Isn't that it, M'Farland?" cried he, as the young gentlemanalluded to took down the law-table from its place.

  "All right," replied M'Farland; "the very best rule in the house.Without it, all the rows would take place in private! Now for a court ofinquiry. Mr. Dunlop, you are for the prosecution, and can't sit."

  "May I beg, sir, you will permit us to pass out?" said Lady Eleanor, ina voice whose composure was slightly shaken.

  "Can't be, ma'am; in contravention of all law," rejoined the Collector.

  "Where is Mr. Dempsey?" whispered Helen, in her despair; and though thewords were uttered in a low voice, one of the ladies overheard them.A general titter ran immediately around, only arrested by the fat ladyexclaiming aloud, "Shameless minx!"

  A very loud hubbub of voices outside now rivalled the tumult within,amid which one most welcome was distinguished by Helen.

  "Oh, mamma, how fortunate! I hear Tate's voice."

  "It's me,--it's Mrs. Fumbally," cried that lady, at the same momenttapping sharply at the door.

  "No matter, can't open the door now. Court is about to sit," replied theCollector. "Mrs. Gwynne stands arraigned for--for what is't? There 's nouse in making that clatter; the door shall not be opened."

  This speech was scarcely uttered, when a tremendous bang was heard, andthe worthy Collector, with the door over him, was hurled on his face inthe midst of the apartment, upsetting in his progress a round table anda lamp over the assembled group of ladies.

  Screams of terror, rage, pain, and laughter were now commingled; andwhile some assisted the prostrate official to rise, and sprinkled histemples with water, others bestowed their attentions on the discomfitedfair, whose lustre was sadly diminished by lamp-oil and bruises, whilea third section, of which M'Farland was chief, lay back in their chairsand laughed vociferously. Meanwhile, how and when nobody could tell,Lady Eleanor and her daughter had escaped and gained their apartments insafety.

  A more rueful scene than the room presented need not be imagined. TheCollector, whose nose bled profusely, sat pale, half fainting, inone corner, while some kind friends labored to stop the bleeding, andrestore him to animation. Lamentations of the most poignant grief wereuttered over silks, satins, and tabinets irretrievably ruined; whilethe paralytic lady having broken the ribbon of her cap, her head rolledabout fearfully, and even threatened to come clean off altogether. Asfor poor Mrs. Fumbally, she flew from place to place, in a perfect agonyof affliction; now wringing her hands over the prostrate door, now overthe fragments of the lamp, and now endeavoring to restore the table,which, despite all her efforts, would not stand upon two legs. But themost miserable figure of all was Paul Dempsey, who saw no footing forhimself anywhere. Lady Eleanor and Helen must detest him to the dayof his death. The boarders could never forgive him. Mrs. Fum would ascertainly regard him as the author of all evil, and the Collector wouldinevitably begin dunning him for an unsettled balance of fourteen andninepence, lost at "Spoiled five" two winters before.

  Already, indeed, symptoms of his unpopularity began to show themselves.Angry looks and spiteful glances were directed towards him, amidstmuttered expressions of displeasure. How far these manifestations mighthave proceeded there is no saying, had not the attention of the companybeen drawn
to the sudden noise of a carriage stopping at the streetdoor.

  "Going, flitting, evacuating the territory!" exclaimed M'Farland, asfrom an open window he contemplated the process of packing a post-chaisewith several heavy trunks and portmanteaus.

  "The Gwynnes!" muttered the Collector, with his handkerchief to hisface.

  "Even so! flying with camp equipage and all. There stands your victor,that little old fellow with the broad shoulders. I say, come here amoment," called he aloud, making a sign for Tate to approach. "TheCollector is not in the least angry for what's happened; he knew you didn't mean anything serious. Pray, who are these ladies, your mistresses Imean?"

  "Lady Eleanor Darcy and Miss Darcy, of Gwynne Abbey," replied Tate,sturdily, as he gave the names with a most emphatic distinctness.

  "The devil it was!" exclaimed M'Farland.

  "By my conscience, ye may well wonder at being in such company, sir,"said Tate, laughing, and resuming his place just in time to assistLady Eleanor to ascend the steps. Helen quickly followed, the door wasslammed to, and, Tate mounting with the alacrity of a town footman, thechaise set out at a brisk pace down the street.