Her obsequious friends, of course, assured her that the greatest pleasure they could have was to go about with her. On again reaching the portico of this votary-thronged temple of fashion, Mrs. O’Donagough, in her usual unceremonious manner of settling all things in which the dear, good Perkinses were concerned, proclaimed that she did not wish them again to enter it with her, and taking Patty, with the footman and the box, mounted to the shrine, before which the priestesses were still performing their respective offices. The most exact and satisfactory orders were then given respecting the court-dress of Lady Susan Deerwell; with a hint, in conclusion, that her ladyship did not wish her ladyship’s bill to be sent in to her ladyship till Christmas, at which season her ladyship always settled all her ladyship’s accounts.
“Good gracious, mamma!” whispered Patty, as they descended the stairs, “how frightened the old woman will be when the bill is sent in; I thought you were going to make her a present of it all, and I am sure she thought so too.”
“I dare say she did, my dear,” replied Mrs. O’Donagough, “and I had my suspicions that you might fall into the same mistake, and it was just for that reason that I made you come up, and left the Perkinses in the carriage, because I hope it will be a useful lesson to you, Patty. When people have a great object in view, my dear, and your papa says our going to court is a very great object, they should always make use of every means in their power to bring it about. But when it is done, Patty, they of course owe it to themselves to take care that the sacrifices they have made to obtain it should become as little injurious to them as possible. This is the principle upon which I have just acted, and you may depend upon it, my dear child, that without firm and steadfast principles of action, no one will ever get honourably and prosperously through life.”
“That’s all very well, mamma,” replied Patty; “but I’ll bet you five pounds the old lady will never speak to you again after she finds out the trick you have played her.”
“Well, my dear,” returned her mother, with great dignity and composure, “and what difference will it make to me whether she does or no? I choose to have a person of title to introduce me at St. James’s: to obtain this, I submit to endure considerable annoyance, and to suffer many inconveniences. Good — I ought to do this; I should be unwise if I did not. But the object once obtained, should I be wise to submit still to these annoyances? No, Patty; what was wise before, would be folly after, and render me totally unworthy of the confidence your father reposes in me. Remember all this, my dear girl, and always act, as much as possible, in conformity to my example.”
At this moment Mrs. O’Donagough’s carriage, which had been obliged to make way for another, recovered its place before the door, and the mother and daughter entered it, the happier, and the better, for the delay; for the young lady felt that she had listened to what might be very useful to her, one day or other, while the elder one enjoyed the most delightful satisfaction that can warm a parent’s heart — namely, the consciousness of having established an excellent principle in the breast of a child.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Two of the most exciting events that her greatly-varied life had given rise to, were at this time rapidly approaching Mrs. O’Donagough. The first was being presented, together with her young daughter, at the court of her sovereign; the other, the giving her first ball at home.
After a very long deliberation, it was decided that both these momentous events should take place on one and the same day. There were some reasons against this arrangement, but there were more for it; and moreover, of the latter number were the two overpowering facts, first, that, with the exception of the train, the whole court dress might he worn by both ladies at the hall, and secondly, that having assembled together everybody they knew, no other opportunity would he so favourable for making the important circumstance of their presentation generally known.
This point once settled, the whole body and soul of Mrs. O’Donagough were offered up with a sort of desperate intensity to the business of preparation. Far different indeed, and triumphantly did she remember the difference, were her preparations now, from what they had been the last time she anticipated the pleasure of seeing her “own relations,” as she ever described both families of Stephensons, as well as General Hubert’s. Perhaps the only point of resemblance was, that the “dear good Perkinses” were aiding and assisting at both; and here there certainly was no change, — for at Brighton they had devoted themselves wholly and solely to do Mrs. O’Donagough’s will and pleasure, and so they did now. Miss Matilda, indeed, was no longer the same animated creature she was then, for she had, ever since the unhappy affair of Mr. Foxcroft, entirely changed her style of dress, and her tone of manners. Instead of pale pink ribbons, and variegated wreaths of roses and geraniums, she now confined herself wholly to white muslin, and the dark, but gracious decoration of la fleur des veuves. Her style of conversation, and, indeed, her whole deportment, had undergone a change equally remarkable. She sighed a great deal, and very seldom laughed, and though it is possible that in her tête-à-tête intercourse with her ever-faithful Patty, some traces of her former gay disposition might recur, she had decidedly assumed to the eyes of all others that most interesting character, a disappointed young lady. Her first meeting with Mr. Foxcroft had been a little awkward, but the gentleman, avant pris sa partie, exhibited so little consciousness that anything particular had ever passed between them, that at length the two Miss Perkinses made up their minds not to care a farthing about it either; and had it not been that Miss Matilda had a little prematurely communicated to most of her friends and acquaintance the probability of her soon changing her name, the white dress and la fleur des veuves might have been altogether omitted. Perhaps, however, it was better that things should be as they were. The white gowns, and la fleur des veuves, produced together a sort of transition state, from which it was much easier for Miss Matilda to emerge again into the bright light of love and hope, than it would have been had their picturesque and gentle sadness never been assumed. Mrs. O’Donagough’s ball appeared extremely likely to restore the fair mourner to rainbow tints and frolic smiles, if anything could; and in fact, after a few days of doubtful gladness, during which she had listened almost in silence to Patty’s joyous anticipations of this day of days, her spirit yielded itself to the delicious impulse of reviving hope, and upon her young friend’s exclaiming, “We’ll waltz till five in the morning, Matilda! see if we won’t,” the mists of disappointed tenderness dispersed, like a cloud before the sun, and, phoenix-like, she rose from the ashes of the flame which had so nearly consumed her.
When the master of a house says, “I wish you to invite everybody you know, and that no expense be spared to make the thing go off well,” the thing, let it be ball, rout, fete, champêtre, or what not, is pretty sure, even in the hands of an ordinary female, to be a very dashing affair. What, then, was it likely to become in those of Mrs. O’Donagough? Time presses, and paper wanes, or whole pages might be filled in a very useful and interesting manner, by describing all the superb devices to which that high-spirited and tasteful lady had recourse in order to make her ball outshine all other balls. Mr. O’Donagough witnessed all this, but breathed not a single restraining syllable; indeed, it was quite evident that his object was to make a great display, and though his mind was a good deal occupied by affairs of a private nature, he from time to time found leisure to exclaim in the most encouraging tone, “Well done, my Barnaby!” On two points only did he offer any observation that could be construed into interference: the first was concerning the third drawing-room, which he informed her must be kept altogether sacred to the four or five card-tables which by great ingenuity it was made to accommodate: the second was concerning the champagne. “I will take care,” he said, “that it shall all be of a proper quality; but you must remember that a few dozens, which I shall set apart, and mark with a cross, are kept exclusively for the card-room. And you must remember, likewise, my Barnaby, that Richardson, the waiter, you k
now, that I have hired occasionally for that room, must not be called away for anything else; I will give him his orders as to the manner in which he is to wait upon us. And now, my dear, I shall trouble you with no further instructions; attend to these, and I will venture to predict that everything will go well, and perfectly to my satisfaction. I have already told you that the longer the dancing is kept up the better, and with Patty’s charming spirits, and yours, my dear, there will be no difficulty about that.”
“None at all, Donny, dear; never you fear about that,” replied his thrice-happy wife; “and as for the other things, you may depend upon it I will do my best. About Richardson, and the wine, and all that, of course there will be no difficulty, because you will give him your own orders, and he’s a fellow that understands at half a word. But about keeping this third room sacred, as you call it, I am afraid that won’t be quite so easy, for you know, Donny, that when the other rooms are full, people will be running in here for air, and for the comfort of the sofas in that beautiful recess, and I am sure I do not know how I shall prevent them.”
“Never mind, then, my dear; I’ll manage all that myself. I won’t have any candles lighted up in the recess, as there generally are; and then, as it is such an out-of-the-way corner, nobody will be likely to get to it. I know, however, as well as you do, that the room is sure to be full, particularly at the beginning of the evening; but that will be of no great consequence if you will take care to collect all the loiterers when you go down to supper. If we get too busy to relish further interruption, it will be easy enough to shut the doors while you are at supper, and lock them, too, if it was necessary; of course, if any observation was made, you would just mention that the gentlemen are at supper.”
Mr. O’Donagough knew his admirable wife too well to think that after this short colloquy there would be any occasion to say more. From that time his happy Barnaby had the delight of proceeding with her preparations unchecked and uninterrupted by a single observation from him.
Some speculative people may, perhaps, suspect that, among Mrs. O’Donagough’s widely-spread invitations, some might fail of their effect, and that she would have to sustain “many disappointments but all such are completely mistaken. The reasons which “all the world,” with wonderfully few exceptions, find for accepting an invitation to a ball known to be given on a large and handsome scale, are more various than “all the world” is itself aware of; whereas the effective objections to it, if the virtue of the fair inviter has never been impugned, and a few people of fashion are known to be expected, are few indeed.
As to Mrs. O’Donagough, though by no means of a doubting or timid temper, she herself hardly dared to anticipate the success which attended her. For some excellently good reason or other, almost everybody she had ventured to invite chose to come, and what with friends, and friends’ friends, her list of acceptances far exceeded her hopes.
So actively and admirably had this highly-gifted lady managed her affairs, that when the morning of the 29th arrived, she found herself perfectly at leisure to indulge in a most luxuriantly long toilet in preparation for her appearance at St. James’s. The woman who, as all well-informed persons know, even at the very outset of her career, had so well understood what the habits of people of fashion required, as to provide herself with a Betty Jacks, was not likely, in this full-blown and prosperous period of her existence, to want a lady’s maid perfectly accomplished in her profession. Mrs. O’Donagough was happy enough to have attached such a one to her service, and by halfpast eleven o’clock the two dear good Miss Perkinses, and Mrs. Bumpford (the Abigail) stood beside the bed, the sofa, and the chairs of Mrs. O’Donagough’s apartment, very nearly “in act to” worship the gorgeous paraphernalia thereupon displayed.
Fortunately, the bedroom of Patty was close beside, or rather close behind, that of her mamma, and thus the adoration, the sweet commotion, and, in a word, the whole operation of dressing, went on in the two rooms as if they had been but one.
To any person who loved the study of natural history, it would have been pleasing to see how prettily the generic features of the mother and her offspring displayed themselves. There was precisely the same movement of the different muscles, as the different causes of activity presented themselves. The nerves, and, indeed, each distinctive faculty, seemed moved by the self-same spring; and one might, almost, have persuaded one’s self that the existences of mother and child were one, so perfect was the Union in partition which they exhibited.
By degrees, however, the absorbing interests of each separate mirror compelled them to cease the delicious intercourse between room and room, with which the business had opened. Miss Louisa became fixed where she could gaze at and applaud Mrs. O’Donagough; Miss Matilda became fixed where she could gaze at and applaud Patty; while the almost omnipresent Bumpford glided from room to room, with rapture on her lips and pins between her teeth, till, one by one, every costly article of the multitudinous toilet was adjusted.
“Now, ma’am,” said the ladies’ maid, “I do think that everything is quite perfect. And, to be sure, I never did, in all my experience, see any ladies look so glorious in court-dresses as you and Miss Patty. Isn’t it true, ladies?” she continued, turning to the two faithful Miss Perkinses, who had never permitted an eye to wander during the whole process, “isn’t it true? Did you ever see anything so noble as my mistress? What a presence! I shall wonder if the Queen, and all the lords and ladies, don’t pay particular attention to her. How the plume sits, ma’am, don’t it? And then the spread of the petticoat, showing off so beautiful the embroidery and the bunches of flowers! I would not live with a lady as didn’t go to court, if they would double my wages.”
“I wish, Bumpford, you would just see if you can’t tighten my body the least bit in the world; I look rather larger than I ought to do, don’t I, Matilda, about the small of the waist?”
“Oh! Patty, you are perfect!” exclaimed her enthusiastic friend, with hands clasped, and shoulders elevated, as “others use, who sport with” the plastic feelings of young ladies under similar circumstances.
“Very well, then,” returned Patty quietly, and for the moment, at least, perfectly satisfied—” very well, then, Bumpford; perhaps you had better let well alone. Of course I don’t want to be pinched any more, if I can help it — I know that I can hardly draw my breath as it is.”
“Nonsense, Patty!” exclaimed Mrs. O’Donagough, indignantly; “for mercy’s sake, don’t speak so like a vulgar housemaid. How do other ladies draw their breath, I should like to know?”
“Don’t you talk, mamma; I am sure it is quite impossible you can be tight-laced, such an enormous size as you are.”
“Oh! my dear Miss Patty! how can you say such a word?” cried Miss Perkins; “there is something so noble in your mamma’s look, that I am sure it would be all the pities in the world to alter it.”
“Lord bless me, Louisa! you need not fly out so,” responded Patty; “who told you that I wanted to alter anything? You had much better mind your own business, and not try to set mamma against me.”
“Hold your tongue, Patty,” said Mrs. O’Donagough, too happy to be angry at anything; “you never looked so well in your life. I should like nothing better than just to see Miss Elizabeth Hubert stand side by side with you, to-day; she is no more to be compared to Patty, than the sun to the moon — is she?” The good humour of Patty thus judiciously restored, the four ladies descended to the drawing-room, where the thoughtful Mrs. O’Donagough had ordered biscuit and wine to he placed, to beguile the few last moments before the clock announced that they might set out for the dwelling of Lady Susan.
- Like all other ladies who know what they are about, Mrs. O’Donagough and her daughter had been refreshed by a basin of soup during the progress of their dressing; nevertheless they both felt “thankful,” as Mrs. O’Donagough expressed it, “for a good glass of wine.” And a good, or at any rate, a full glass of wine she took, and another after it, as she remembered how ove
rpowering it must be to find one’s self face to face with the Queen; and then, as she stood with the open decanter in her liberal hand, urging the spinster sisters to take another glass, she once more replenished her own for the sake of saying, with becoming unction, “Well, Patty! here is good luck to us!” The few last moments of all were given to admiration of the drawing-rooms, prepared as they were for the festivities of the evening, and then the mother, drawing herself up before one pier-glass, and the daughter before the other, they awaited, with beating hearts, and radiant eyes, the arrival of their equipage.
“Here it comes! mercy on me! I almost wish it was over!
Just shake out my train once more, Bumpford: come along, Patty. Take care of yourselves, girls! I am glad we settled that you should stay all day, and dress here, for I know I shall be dying when I come back to tell you all about it. Now then!” And in another minute, the mother and daughter, placed opposite to each other, that each might gaze upon each, were on their way to Lady Susan Deerwell’s. The old lady made herself to be waited for so long, that Mrs. O’Donagough’s wrath out-blazed her rouge, and, together with her three glasses of wine, caused a redness of the nose, that by no means tended to tranquillise the florid tone of her general appearance. At length the tall pale figure of Lady Susan, perfectly well-dressed, but having discarded whatever needless decoration Madame Bonéton had bestowed upon her, entered the carriage, offering so remarkable a contrast to the two figures already in possession of it, that each of the three became aware of it. Their silent observations ran thus —
“What a quaker-like object!” thought Mrs. O’Donagough. “It is well Patty and I have some style about us, or the whole party would be passed over as horrid hum-drums.”
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 270
