“Oh, dear, Antonia!” she murmured, with a pleading look, “perhaps I oughtn’t to order this gown after all! I never thought of a necklace! But of course the gown ought to have one. I brought only my mother’s amethysts with me—and they are so very plain—”
“Nonsense, Rena, they are beautiful, and in any case this would be a wonderful time to have them reset. Perhaps Aunt Winifred will recommend us to her jeweler, and then we can see if he will remake the necklace? The color would be lovely with this silk.”
Against her will, Serena was persuaded by the other two women to have the amethysts reset, and, having given in once, she soon found herself committed to the purchase of new slippers and an evening cloak. Before she knew what she was about, Madame was measuring her once more. Following a murmured conference with Antonia, the little dressmaker commenced chattering about driving costumes, morning frocks, walking suits, and every other imaginable costume. Without knowing quite how it had occurred, Serena soon found herself writing out a bank draft for two hundred pounds—and this only to serve as a deposit against the stuffs!
“Two hundred pounds!” cried she. “Why, Antonia, that is nearly one thousand dollars!”
“No dear—a little more. But it is worth every penny, and you know you can afford it.”
“But you, Antonia,” she murmured with a sinking sensation, “are not you going to take anything?”
“Madame is going to measure me now for one or two little things, which I do not need in any case. But I am so greedy, and this silk is so delicious—you know what a spoiled creature I am! But you are the one who most deserves some little extravagances, for you never indulge yourself, and I think it is perfectly delightful that you are doing so now!”
While Antonia was in the little fitting room with Madame, Serena had a moment to reflect upon her folly. How on earth she had allowed herself to be persuaded into so much extravagance, she knew not. One thousand dollars! Why, it was sufficient to keep four families above a year! Sufficient to cultivate twenty acres of land, to repair the old barns, to have the roof reshingled! She, who had exercised so much monetary caution since her father’s death in the maintenance of his estate, who had argued over every unnecessary penny expended, had in little over an hour thrown away a thousand dollars! And for what? For the purchase of flimflammery, as her father would certainly have said. And what would it serve her, or anyone else? Nothing but to sharpen her present sense of being an outsider in the world. All the fine dresses in Christendom could not get back what she had lost, nor buy her one moment’s joy! So violently did she feel her foolishness, so acutely did she feel that she had given in to nothing greater than vanity, that she determined to withdraw the order. She stood quite still, her hands clasped in front of her, her mouth working nervously in her pale face, until Antonia emerged, followed by the dressmaker.
“Madame, a word with you, if you do not mind,” she murmured, when the others had ceased discussing the cut of a bodice.
Madame, consenting, followed her back into the fitting room with a surprised look. Serena had endeavored to draw as little notice to her departure as possible, contriving to look as if she wished to clarify some detail of the order with Madame.
“Oui, mademoiselle?”
“I am afraid, Madame Violet,” commenced Serena in a miserable voice, “that I have made a great mistake. There is no possible way that—”
“Mam’selle!” exclaimed the little woman, throwing up her hands in a gesture of horror. “You are not happy? I have done something not to your satisfaction?”
“No! Nothing like that. I am afraid—the fault is all mine. In the excitement of the moment, I was not thinking very clearly, you see. I am afraid I cannot possibly afford all this.”
Madame’s expression, which had gone from puzzlement to horror, and back again, now took on a look of marked disdain.
“Je comprends,” she murmured. “It ees trop chère, n’est-ce pas? And yet, conceivably we can arrive at some arrangement, mam’selle. Madame la Marquise, she has a most wonderful credit in London. I am certain it will be possible to arrange something!”
“Non, madame, pardonnez-moi,” Serena interrupted her quite firmly. Her French, learned at the knee of her Huguenot governess, was excellent, and, as soon as the little Frenchwoman heard her accent, she lapsed off with a petulant, but compliant look. “Je veux contredire mes premiers désirs. C’est tout à fait impossible. Je ne peux pas payer tout cela. I should like you to make the evening gown, as I see the fabric is already cut. The remainder of my deposit, you may apply to the account of my cousin, Miss Powell. It will suffice to cover the whole?”
Madame Violet’s eyes narrowed consideringly. She had heard of ladies who could not afford the clothes they had ordered, but such creatures rarely paid the way of their friends!
“Mais oui, mademoiselle. It is sufficient to pay everything. And more besides—you may still have ze evening cloak if you wish.”
“Very well, I shall take that also. But for everything else—for the riding costumes, the morning frocks—”
“It is as you wish, mam’selle. It is possible even we may give you one or two of ze other frocks, but above what you have paid, I shall not go.”
“Very good, madame. That is kind of you, and I am sorry to have caused you this inconvenience—”
Madame, having satisfied herself that no more extravagance was forthcoming from this young woman, held up her hands in protest. “Mais, c’est tout entendu, mam’selle.”
She watched the other smile gratefully, and leaving the fitting room, rejoin her pretty friend. As they walked out into the street, she made a face remarkable for its expressiveness, and called to her assistant.
“Elise, écoute-moi, les Américaines sont toutes folles! Cette mademoiselle-là—la très haute—qui a désirée toutes les robes, les pelisses, les soies les plus merveilleux—veut maintenant contredire ses ordres! Elle a l’idée de se promener comme ça, dans ces horribles vêtements, par toute la ville! Ha! She theenks she weel be much admired at Almack’s, no doubt! Entende-moi, Elise?”
Elise, a very homely, very kind-hearted girl without the benefit of her mistress’s wit, regarded her gravely. “Oui, madame,” said she without much conviction, “J’entends tout.”
“Bah! She weel make thee laughingstock of Londres, mark my words!”
Chapter VII
It was to be some days, however, before Serena was given the opportunity to be the laughingstock—or anything else, for that matter—of London.
Following their visit to Madame Violet’s, the young ladies walked out into the sunlight, which had deepened with the approach of noon, to see an even more hurley-burley collection of Londoners in the streets. Having expressed her satisfaction in her cousin’s sudden burst of vanity (for Serena had given no hint of what had just transpired in the fitting room) Antonia gave herself up to a thorough enjoyment of the scene. She thought at first that she might glimpse that arrogant fellow who had been staring at her, in which case, she would certainly give him a taste of her own insouciant powers, but having traversed Park Place and lingered for a little at the entrance to Regent’s Park, they saw Lady Pendleton’s carriage bearing down upon them, and climbed up. Serena suggesting they commence their sightseeing that very moment, they gave the order to the coachman to take them on a thorough tour.
Antonia’s indignation at the proud gentlemen was soon swallowed up by the wonders of the towers of St. James, the admirable and elegant landscaping of the parks, and the vast exterior of the Museum. In wonder and delight did they pass the remainder of the day. Serena was much better read than her cousin, and knew nearly as much history as a guide book, and with this information she readily furnished her companion. Antonia, in turn, infected Serena with her excitement and interest in every human aspect of the monuments and buildings they looked upon, continually conjecturing how such and such a king had contrived to marry a woman he had never seen, or how the ladies must have moved, encumbered as they were by
so many ruffs and corsets, as portrayed in the portraits they saw.
“How fortunate we are, Rena,” declared she, as they were driving homeward much later in the day, “to be free of so much that is antique, and false, and contrived simply to encumber one! I am thoroughly glad we live in a modern world, and, I confess,” she added with a sigh, “that I am ready for some modern amusement. I believe I have had enough antiquity for a lifetime.”
Serena, who really reveled in all this, looked amazed. “Why, Tony, we have not seen a tenth of London! Don’t you enjoy it? I do!”
Antonia patted her cousin’s arm affectionately. “I know you do, dear, and so do I—up to a point. But having passed three months with Papa, who will not be easy till he has seen every old stone ever carved, and glanced into the recesses of every crumbling church and palace, I am quite satiated with history. Give me now, if you please, a little holiday from it; I am keen to see a company of people gathered in one place who have not been dead this five hundred years, at least!”
“Then look out of the window, my dear Tony,” commented her cousin in a wry voice, “for you shall see a hundred thousand very living bodies.”
Antonia smiled at her cousin’s light irony, and did as she was bid, but doing so gave her so little pleasure that she heaved a sigh. “But if only we knew them, Rena! It is as cruel as showing a starving man food, to point out all these fascinating creatures, when I have no hope of knowing them!”
“You cannot know them all, dear. But I am sure you shall know some of them at least, before very long. Why, perhaps Aunt Winifred will have planned some entertainment for us this evening!”
This idea, which in truth was put forward more as a consolation to her friend, than as a comfort to herself, was quickly seized upon, and Antonia passed the remainder of their journey conjecturing, with sparkling eyes, what amusements they might expect from their hostess, “for Lady Pendleton had really shown a marked enthusiasm for festivity when she had been in Philadelphia,” she related. Why, everywhere they went, she had made some new friend or accepted some invitation. It was not likely she would lead a hermit’s life in her own city.
Neither so fond of balls nor of company as her cousin, more retiring and introspective, Serena heard all this with a sinking heart; for, though she had been prepared to purchase one new ballgown, that she might not shame her friends, she had no idea how she ought to behave in English Society. She had got a pretty fair picture, from that gentleman she had spoken to so briefly upon the ship, how the haut ton might treat her. She could not relish the prospect of a ceaseless round of balls and dinners, as did Antonia, and was therefore quiet till they had reached Cadogan Place.
Of the contradictory desires of the young ladies, only one was to be fulfilled, and, alas for Antonia, this was not her own. Lady Pendleton greeted them very warmly, and inquired very eagerly into their day’s activities, but made no mention of going abroad, either that evening or the next. The ladies dined at home, and rather early, and having played one or two hands of whist, retired to bed.
The next day was much like the one before it, save that there was no shopping. The carriage was put into their hands at ten o’clock, and the Misses Powell, with Lady Pendleton’s coachman as tour guide, drove off toward Notting Hill. They saw the fair ground, and admired the booths, and continued in the direction of Westminster. There the Abbey was gone over, from cellar to attic, “with some cloisters in between,” as Antonia would have it, and they ended the afternoon with a drive through Hyde Park, which afforded them the only glimpse of living society they had been granted all day. Save for their fellow guests at the small inn where they had stopped for luncheon, no other mortals had they seen. The monk at the Abbey, Antonia maintained, could not be counted: for his features were concealed from view by his hood, and he had spoken in such a chirping, chanting liturgy, that he might have been some disembodied soul.
“Poor Tony,” murmured Serena as they were going home, “I can see you are very low! Oh, well—this evening will surely produce some amusement for you.”
But when they reached Pendleton House, no mention was made of an evening diversion. Half hopefully, Antonia inquired if they ought to dress for dinner?
“Why, my dear—you look perfectly sweet just as you are,” declared Lady Pendleton. “If it were not for Bentley, I should not change gowns—but he is so provokin’ and formal! It does seem foolish, when we are only three to dinner.”
She must have noticed Antonia’s disappointed look, for she added, “Really, I ought to have asked Freddy to stay, when he called this mornin’. But I did not think of it, I confess. He is so frequently here, that I do not consider him a guest, you know! But he could have brought his friend, Mr. Lytton-Smythe. A most curious and charmin’ fellow, though to be sure, not what you are used to!”
Antonia was not sure what was meant by this, but the idea of any masculine company at all seemed so delightful to her at this moment that she found herself sorely regretting the company of young Mr. Howard. To be sure, he had not struck her as anything past tolerably amiable when she had first met him, but he was young, and jolly, and above all, a man.
“Oh, I wish you had, Aunt Winifred!” she exclaimed, revealing, she was afraid, rather more of her disappointment than she intended.
Lady Pendleton gave her one of those curious looks which seemed to bespeak something between confusion and shrewdness, and twittered on about something else. As she was passing on her way upstairs to dress, however, she stopped before Serena, who was standing quietly by, and patted her arm.
“Serena, dear,” said she, her hand resting upon the other’s drab green sleeve, “you ought to wear blue. It would so suit your eyes! Celeste says she wants to do your hair. So irritatin’! I can never persuade her to take any interest in my own!”
And with a kind look into the young woman’s eyes, she passed by to the stairway.
This little passage struck Antonia, as perhaps offering a hint to their seclusion. To determine if she was right, and perhaps to put a bee into her hostess’s bonnet, therefore, she followed Lady Pendleton to her chambers when she had dressed herself. Her ladyship greeted her very merrily, and bid her sit down whilst Celeste struggled with her ringlets. Taking a seat by the fire, Antonia observed in silence for a moment or two the really astounding skill of the little French maid. What seemed to be a profusion of silver hair was in fact, she now observed, a very moderate supply, but so skillfully curled and pinned that it tricked the eye. Certainly the style which her ladyship favored was not exactly to Antonia’s own taste, being very elaborate, and rather old-fashioned, but the ingeniousness of the dresser was unmistakable.
“Auntie,” she commenced, after a moment or two, “I thought I ought to tell you a little about Rena, since you did not have much opportunity to know her when you came to us in Philadelphia. She was, I think, only staying with us briefly.”
“Yes, poor lamb,” replied her ladyship, smiling encouragement into the glass, for she was prevented from turning round by a set of curling irons held firmly by Celeste. “She did not stay long. I think she was unhappy about somethin’?”
Antonia nodded. “I don’t believe I mentioned it then, for it had only just occurred, and Serena did not like to speak of it. But now, as it is nearly a year old, I think I may. You know she was in love with a gentleman in Baltimore, and became engaged to him. He broke it off shortly before the marriage was to have taken place, completely unexpectedly, and ran away with another girl.”
“No!” cried her ladyship, who had a most feeling heart. She endeavored in vain to turn about, but was held firmly by Celeste. “Poor lamb! Unthinkin’ men! They are so odious! Who was he, pet?”
“A William Fairfax, of the same family you mentioned the other afternoon. Did you notice how she went pale when the family was spoken of?”
“No, dear, I did not—but then, I notice so little, or so Freddy tells me. Poor Serena! I suppose I oughtn’t to have brought it up! I am not surprised, though, dear—
the whole family is made up of provokin’ flirts! Georgiana was, I’m positive. Poor Roland nearly broke his heart over her, I think. But just as well! If he had not, perhaps he should never have come home to marry me!”
“Oh, he would have done that, Auntie, despite half a dozen Georgianas!” replied Antonia, smiling at the rather comical picture of Lady Pendleton, sitting in a state of semi-undress, with several curling irons in her hair. “For you are unique, dear!”
“D’you think so?” demanded her ladyship, looking pleased. “How nice! I believe that is what Roland always used to say: ‘Winifred, you are unique!’ But my dear, I believe he only said it when he was in a state. Never mind, tell me about Serena. Poor lamb! Well, what shall we do about it? I used to know a girl, and the same thing happened to her. She cried for weeks, and said she would die of heartbreak! Now she’s a dowager countess, with two dozen grandchildren. Got over it, you know—they all do eventually!”
“I hope you are right, Auntie,” put in Antonia, with a rather doubtful look. “Serena is much more fragile than most of us, in that way. If it had happened to me, I should have turned my vexation into anger at the gentleman, but Serena does just the opposite. Ever since that time—yes, I believe it is really dating from then—she has been sinking more and more into herself. She used to be quite lovely, you know. And her shyness was delightful. But now she is so determined she is destined to be a spinster that she has taken to dressing and acting like one!”
“Yes, my dear—she certainly is drab!” commented her ladyship. “If only she could be persuaded to look a little more the thing! Tell me, did you have no success with Madame Violet?”
This being the very point Antonia had been leading up to, she did not hesitate to reply, “Why, that is what is so extraordinary! She ordered half the shop! I have never known her to be so extravagant, though she has got more money, since her father died, than she can know what to do with! In France, she could not be persuaded to buy so much as a pair of gloves, but suddenly, the other day, she took it into her head to order a dozen gowns! I must admit that I persuaded her as much as I could, else she might not have bought half so much. I saw her fitted for the most marvelous evening gown, Auntie—and you will be as amazed as I was, when you see her in it, I am sure.”
Contrary Cousins Page 7
