Isabella had taken up a book. “Cannot you read for our entertainment, Isabella, my dear, as well as for your own?” said her mother: “I assure you, I am as much interested always in what you read to me, as Mad. de Rosier herself can be.”
“I was just looking, mamma, for some lines, that we read the other day, which Mad. de Rosier said she was sure you would like. Can you find them, Matilda? You know Mad. de Rosier said that mamma would like them, because she has been at the opera.”
“I have been at a great many operas,” said Mrs. Harcourt, dryly; “but I like other things as well as operas — and I cannot precisely guess what you mean by the opera — has it no name?”
“Medea and Jason, ma’am.”
“The ballet of Medea and Jason. It’s a very fine thing, certainly; but one has seen it so often. Read on, my dear.”
Isabella then read a passage, which, notwithstanding Mrs. Harcourt’s inclination to be displeased, captivated her ear, and seized her imagination.
“Slow out of earth, before the festive crowds,
On wheels of fire, amid a night of clouds,
Drawn by fierce fiends, arose a magic car,
Received the queen, and, hov’ring, flamed in air.
As with raised hands the suppliant traitors kneel,
And fear the vengeance they deserved to feel;
“Thrice, with parch’d lips, her guiltless babes she press’d,
And thrice she clasp’d them to her tortured breast.
Awhile with white uplifted eyes she stood,
Then plunged her trembling poniards in their blood.
Go, kiss your sire! go, share the bridal mirth!
She cried, and hurl’d their quiv’ring limbs on earth.
Rebellowing thunders rock the marble tow’rs,
And red-tongucd lightnings shoot their arrowy show’rs:
Earth yawns! — the crashing ruin sinks! — o’er all
Death with black hands extends his mighty pall.”
“They are admirable lines, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt.
“I knew, mamma, you would like them,” said Isabella; “and I’m sure I wish I had seen the ballet too.”
“You were never at an opera,” said Mrs. Harcourt, after Isabella had finished reading; “should you, either of you, or both, like to go with me to-night to the opera?”
“To-night, ma’am!” cried Isabella, in a voice of joy.
“To-night, mamma!” cried Matilda, timidly; “but you were not well this morning.”
“But I am very well, now, my love; at least quite well enough to go out with you — let me give you some pleasure. Ring for Grace, my dear Matilda,” added Mrs. Harcourt, looking at her watch, “and do not let us be sentimental, for we have not a moment to lose — we must prevail upon Grace to be as quick as lightning in her operations.”
Grace was well disposed to be quick — she was delighted with what she called the change of measures; — she repeated continually, in the midst of their hurried toilette —
“Well, I am so glad, young ladies, you’re going out with your mamma, at last — I never saw my mistress look so well as she does to-night.”
Triumphant, and feeling herself to be a person of consequence, Grace was indefatigably busy, and Mrs. Harcourt thought that her talkative zeal was the overflowing of an honest heart.
After Mrs. Harcourt, with Isabella and Matilda, were gone to the opera, Favoretta, who had been sent to bed by her mother, because she was in the way when they were dressing, called to Grace to beg that she would close the shutters in her room, for the moon shone upon her bed, and she could not go to sleep.
“I wish mamma would have let me sit up a little longer,” said Favoretta, “for I am not at all sleepy.”
“You always go to bed a great deal earlier, you know, miss,” said Grace, “when your governess is at home; I would let you get up, and come down to tea with me, for I’m just going to take my late dish of tea, to rest myself, only I dare not let you, because—”
“Because what?”
“Because, miss, you remember how you served me about the queen-cake.”
“But I do not want you to give me any queen-cake; I only want to get up for a little while,” said Favoretta.
“Then get up,” said Grace: “but don’t make a noise, to waken Master Herbert.”
“Do you think,” said Favoretta, “that Herbert would think it wrong?”
“Indeed, I don’t think at all about what he thinks,” said Mrs. Grace, tossing back her head, as she adjusted her dress at the glass; “and, if you think so much about it, you’d better lie down again.”
“Oh! I can’t lie down again,” said Favoretta; “I have got my shoes on — stay for me, Grace — I’m just ready.”
Grace, who was pleased with an opportunity of indulging this little girl, and who flattered herself that she should regain her former power over Favoretta’s undistinguishing affections, waited for her most willingly. Grace drank her late dish of tea in her mistress’s dressing-room, and did every thing in her power to humour “her sweet Favoretta.”
Mrs. Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw’s maid, was summoned; she lived in the next street. She was quite overjoyed, she said, at entering the room, to see Miss Favoretta — it was an age since she had a sight or a glimpse of her.
We pass over the edifying conversation of those two ladies — Miss Favoretta was kept awake, and in such high spirits by flattery, that she did not perceive how late it was — she begged to stay up a little longer, and a little longer.
Mrs. Rebecca joined in these entreaties, and Mrs. Grace could not refuse them; especially as she knew that the coach would not go for Mad. de Rosier till after her mistress’s return from the opera.
The coachman had made this arrangement for his own convenience, and had placed it entirely to the account of his horses.
Mrs. Grace depended, rather imprudently, upon the coachman’s arrangement; for Mad. de Rosier, finding that the coach did not call for her at the hour she had appointed, sent for a chair, and returned home, whilst Grace, Mrs. Rebecca, and Favoretta, were yet in Mrs. Harcourt’s dressing-room.
Favoretta was making a great noise, so that they did not hear the knock at the door.
One of the housemaids apprised Mrs. Grace of Mad. de Rosier’s arrival. “She’s getting out of her chair, Mrs. Grace, in the hall.”
Grace started up, put Favoretta into a little closet, and charged her not to make the least noise for her life. — Then, with a candle in her hand, and a treacherous smile upon her countenance, she sallied forth to the head of the stairs, to light Mad. de Rosier.—”Dear ma’am! my mistress will be so sorry the coach didn’t go for you in time; — she found herself better after you went — and the two young ladies are gone with her to the opera.”
“And where are Herbert and Favoretta?”
“In bed, ma’am, and asleep, hours ago. — Shall I light you, ma’am, this way, to your room?”
“No,” said Mad. de Rosier; “I have a letter to write: and I’ll wait in Mrs. Harcourt’s dressing-room till she comes home.”
“Very well, ma’am. Mrs. Rebecca, it’s only Mad. de Rosier. — Mad. de Rosier, it’s only Rebecca, Mrs. Fanshaw’s maid, ma’am, who’s here very often when my mistress is at home, and just stepped out to look at the young ladies’ drawings, which my mistress gave me leave to show her the first time she drank tea with me, ma’am.”
Mad. de Rosier, who thought all this did not concern her in the least, listened to it with cold indifference, and sat down to write her letter.
Grace fidgeted about the room, as long as she could find any pretence for moving any thing into or out of its place; and, at length, in no small degree of anxiety for the prisoner she had left in the closet, quitted the dressing-room.
As Mad. de Rosier was writing, she once or twice thought that she heard some noise in the closet; she listened, but all was silent; and she continued to write, till Mrs. Harcourt, Isabella, and Matilda, came home.
/> Isabella was in high spirits, and began to talk, with considerable volubility, to Mad. de Rosier about the opera.
Mrs. Harcourt was full of apologies about the coach; and Matilda rather anxious to discover what it was that had made a change in her mother’s manner towards Mad. de Rosier.
Grace, glad to see that they were all intent upon their own affairs, lighted their candles expeditiously, and stood waiting, in hopes that they would immediately leave the room, and that she should be able to release her prisoner.
Favoretta usually slept in a little closet within Mrs. Grace’s room, so that she foresaw no difficulty in getting her to bed.
“I heard! — did not you hear a noise, Isabella?” said Matilda.
“A noise! — No; where?” said Isabella, and went on talking alternately to her mother and Mad. de Rosier, whom she held fast, though they seemed somewhat inclined to retire to rest.
“Indeed,” said Matilda, “I did hear a noise in that closet.”
“Oh dear, Miss Matilda,” cried Grace, getting between Matilda and the closet, “it’s nothing in life but a mouse.”
“A mouse, where?” said Mrs. Harcourt.
“Nowhere, ma’am,” said Grace; “only Miss Matilda was hearing noises, and I said they must be mice.”
“There, mamma! there! that was not a mouse, surely!” said Matilda. “It was a noise louder, certainly, than any mouse could make.”
“Grace is frightened,” said Isabella, laughing.
Grace, indeed, looked pale and terribly frightened.
Mad. de Rosier took a candle, and walked directly to the closet.
“Ring for the men,” said Mrs. Harcourt.
Matilda held back Mad. de Rosier; and Isabella, whose head was now just recovered from the opera, rang the bell with considerable energy.
“Dear Miss Isabella, don’t ring so; — dear ma’am, don’t be frightened, and I’ll tell you the whole truth, ma’am,” said Grace to her mistress; “it’s nothing in the world to frighten any body — it’s only Miss Favoretta, ma’am.”
“Favoretta!” exclaimed every body at once, except Mad. de Rosier, who instantly opened the closet door, but no Favoretta appeared.
“Favoretta is not here,” said Mad. de Rosier.
“Then I’m undone!” exclaimed Grace; “she must have got out upon the leads.” The leads were, at this place, narrow, and very dangerous.
“Don’t scream, or the child is lost,” said Mad. de Rosier.
Mrs. Harcourt sank down into an arm-chair. Mad. de Rosier stopped Isabella, who pressed into the closet.
“Don’t speak, Isabella — Grace, go into the closet — call Favoretta — hear me, quietly,” said Mad. de Rosier, steadily, for Mrs. Grace was in such confusion of mind, that she was going to call upon the child, without waiting to hear what was said to her.—”Hear me,” said Mad. de Rosier, “or you are undone — go into the closet without making any bustle — call Favoretta, gently; she will not be frightened, when she hears only your voice.”
Grace did as she was ordered, and returned from the closet in a few instants, with Favoretta. Grace instantly began an exculpatory speech, but Mrs. Harcourt, though still trembling, had sufficient firmness to say, “Leave us, Grace, and let me hear the truth from the child.”
Grace left the room. Favoretta related exactly what had happened, and said that when she heard all their voices in the dressing-room, and when she heard Matilda say there’s a noise, she was afraid of being discovered in the closet, and had crept out through a little door, with which she was well acquainted, that opened upon the leads.
Mrs. Harcourt now broke forth into indignant exclamations against Grace. Mad. de Rosier gently pacified her, and hinted that it would be but just to give her a fair hearing in the morning.
“You are always yourself! always excellent!” cried Mrs. Harcourt; “you have saved my child — we none of us had any presence of mind, but yourself.”
“Indeed, mamma, I did ring the bell, however,” said Isabella.
With much difficulty those who had so much to say, submitted to Mad. de Rosier’s entreaty of “Let us talk of it in the morning.” She was afraid that Favoretta, who was present, would not draw any salutary moral from what might be said in the first emotions of joy for her safety. Mad. de Rosier undressed the little girl herself, and took care that she should not be treated as a heroine just escaped from imminent danger.
The morning came, and Mrs. Grace listened, with anxious ear, for the first sound of her mistress’s bell — but no bell rang; and, when she heard Mrs. Harcourt walking in her bedchamber, Grace augured ill of her own fate, and foreboded the decline and fall of her empire.
“If my mistress can get up and dress herself without me, it’s all over with me,” said Grace; “but I’ll make one trial.” Then she knocked with her most obliging knock at her mistress’s door, and presented herself with a Magdalen face—”Can I do any thing for you, ma’am?”
“Nothing, I thank you, Grace. Send Isabella and Matilda.”
Isabella and Matilda came, but Mrs. Harcourt finished dressing herself in silence, and then said —
“Come with me, my dear girls, to Mad. de Rosier’s room. I believe I had better ask her the question that I was going to ask you. Is she up?”
“Yes, but not dressed,” said Matilda; “for we have been reading to her.”
“And talking to her,” added Isabella; “which, you know, hinders people very much, mamma, when they are dressing.”
At Mad. de Rosier’s door they found Herbert, with his slate in his hand, and his sum ready cast up.
“May I bring this little man in with me?” said Mrs. Harcourt to Mad. de Rosier—”Herbert, shake hands with me,” continued his mother: “I believe I was a little impatient with you and your Cyrus last night; but you must not expect that every body should be as good to you as this lady has been;” leading him up to Mad. de Rosier.
“Set this gentleman’s heart at ease, will you?” continued she, presenting the slate, upon which his sum was written, to Mad. de Rosier. “He looks the picture, or rather the reality, of honesty and good humour this morning, I think. I am sure that he has not done any thing that he is ashamed of.”
Little Herbert’s countenance glowed with pleasure at receiving such praise from his mother; but he soon checked his pride, for he discovered Favoretta, upon whom every eye had turned, as Mrs. Harcourt concluded her speech.
Favoretta was sitting in the furthest corner of the room, and she turned her face to the wall when Herbert looked at her; but Herbert saw that she was in disgrace. “Your sum is quite right, Herbert,” said Mad. de Rosier.
“Herbert, take your slate,” said Matilda; and the young gentleman had at length the politeness to relieve her outstretched arm.
“Send him out of the way,” whispered Mrs. Harcourt.
“Go out of the room, Herbert, my dear,” said Mad. de Rosier, who never made use of artifices upon any occasion to get rid of children—”go out of the room, Herbert, my dear: for we want to talk about something which we do not wish that you should hear.”
Herbert, though he was anxious to know what could be the matter with Favoretta, instantly withdrew, saying, “Will you call me again when you’ve done talking?”
“We can speak French,” added Mad. de Rosier, looking at Favoretta, “since we cannot trust that little girl in a room by herself; we must speak in a language which she does not understand, when we have any thing to say that we do not choose she should hear.”
“After all this preparation,” said Mrs. Harcourt, in French, “my little mouse will make you laugh; it will not surprise or frighten you, Matilda, quite so much as the mouse of last night. You must know that I have been much disturbed by certain noises.”
“More noises!” said Matilda, drawing closer, to listen.
“More noises!” said Mrs. Harcourt, laughing; “but the noises which disturbed my repose were not heard in the dead of the night, just as the clock struck twelve — the c
harming hour for being frightened out of one’s wits, Matilda: my noises were heard in broad daylight, about the time
‘When lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake.’
Was not there music and dancing here, early yesterday morning, when I had the headache, Isabella?”
“Yes, mamma,” said Isabella: “Herbert’s dulcimer-boy was here! We call him Herbert’s dulcimer-boy, because Herbert gave him two buns the other day; — the boy and his father came from gratitude, to play a tune for Herbert, and we all ran and asked Mad. de Rosier to let him in.”
“We did not know you had the headache, mamma,” said Matilda, “till after they had played several tunes, and we heard Grace saying something to Herbert about racketing upon the stairs — he only ran up stairs once for my music-book; and the moment Grace spoke to him, he came to us, and said that you were not well; then Mad. de Rosier stopped the dulcimer, and we all left off dancing, and we were very sorry Grace had not told us sooner that you were ill: at that time it was ten — nearly eleven o’clock.”
“Grace strangely misrepresented all this,” said Mrs. Harcourt: “as she gave her advice so late, I am sorry she gave it at all; she prevented you and Isabella from the pleasure of going out with Mad. de Rosier.”
“We prevented ourselves — Grace did not prevent us, I assure you, mamma,” said Isabella, eagerly: “we wished to stay at home with you — Herbert and Favoretta were only going to see the royal tiger.”
“Then you did not stay at home by Mad. de Rosier’s desire.”
“No, indeed, madam,” said Mad. de Rosier, who had not appeared in any haste to justify herself; “your children always show you affection by their own desire, never by mine: your penetration would certainly discover the difference between attentions prompted by a governess, and those which are shown by artless affection.”
“My dear madam, say no more,” said Mrs. Harcourt, holding out her hand: “you are a real friend.”
Mad. de Rosier now went to call Herbert, but on opening the door, Mrs. Grace fell forward upon her face into the room; she had been kneeling with her head close to the key-hole of the door; and, probably, the sound of her own name, and a few sentences now and then spoken in English, had so fixed her attention, that she did not prepare in time for her retreat.
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 393
