CHAPTER XX
By the following Sunday I judged that the Earl of Westport and hisfamily had returned to London, and so I walked abroad in the hopes ofcatching a glimpse of some of them among the brilliant gentry who onthis day thronged the public gardens. I had both Jem Bottles and Paddyaccompany me, for I feared that they would get into mischief if I leftthem to themselves. The innkeeper had told me that Kensington Gardenswas the place where the grand people mostly chose to walk and flirtand show their clothes on a clear Sunday. It was a long way to theseGardens, but we footed out bravely, although we stopped once to see afight between five drunken apprentices, as well as several times formuch-needed refreshment.
I had no idea that the scene at the Gardens would be so splendid.Outside, the road was a block of gleaming chariots and coaches withservants ablaze in their liveries. Here I left Paddy and Jem to amusethemselves as suited them.
But the array of carriages had been only a forecast of what my eyeswould encounter in the Garden itself. I was involved at once in aswarm of fashionable people. My eyes were dazzled with myriad colours,and my nostrils, trained as they were to peat smoke, were saluted by ahundred delicious perfumes. Priceless silks and satins swept againstmy modest stockings.
I suffered from my usual inclination to run away, but I put it downwith an iron will. I soon found a more retired spot from which I couldreview the assemblage at something like my leisure. All the highlyfashionable flock knew each other intimately, it appeared, and theykept off with figurative pikes attempts of a certain class not quiteso high and mighty, who seemed for ever trying to edge into situationswhich would benefit them on the social ladder. Their failures weredismal, but not so dismal as the heroic smiles with which they coveredtheir little noiseless defeats.
I saw a lady, sumptuously arrayed, sweep slowly along with herdaughter, a beautiful girl who greatly wished to keep her eyes fixedon the ground. The mother glanced everywhere with half-concealedeagerness and anxiety. Once she bowed impressively to a dame with acold, pale aristocratic face, around whom were gathered severalofficers in the uniform of His Majesty's Guards. The grand dame liftedher lorgnette and stared coolly at that impressive bow; then sheturned and said something amusing to one of the officers, whosmilingly answered. The mother, with her beautiful daughter, passedon, both pairs of eyes now on the ground.
I had thought the rebuff would settle this poor misguided creature,but in the course of an hour I saw three more of her impressive bowsthrown away against the icy faces of other women. But as they wereleaving the Gardens they received attention from members of the verybest society. One lordling nudged another lordling, and they staredinto the face of the girl as if she had been a creature of the street.Then they leisurely looked her up and down from head to toe. Notailor could have taken her measurements so completely. Afterward theygrinned at each other, and one spoke behind his hand, his insolentspeculative eyes fixed on the retiring form of the girl. This was thesocial reward of the ambitious mother.
It has always been clear to me why the women turn out in such cohortsto any sort of a function. They wish to see the frocks, and they areinsistent that their own frocks shall be seen. Moreover they takegreat enjoyment in hating such of their enemies as may come undertheir notice. They never have a really good time; but of this factthey are not aware, since women are so constituted that they are ableto misinterpret almost every one of their emotions.
The men, knowing something of their own minds at times, stealthilyavoid such things unless there are very special reasons. In my ownmodest experience I have seen many a popular hostess hunting men witha net. However it was plain why so many men came to Kensington Gardenson a Sunday afternoon. It was the display of feminine beauty. And whenI say "display" I mean it. In my old age the fashion balloons a ladywith such a sweep of wires and trellises that no Irishman could marryher because there is never a door in all Ireland through which hiswife could pass. In my youth, however, the fashion required alldresses to be cut very low, and all skirts to cling so that if afour-legged woman entered a drawing-room everybody would know it. Itwould be so easy to count them. At present a woman could have eightlegs and nobody be the wiser.
It was small wonder that the men came to ogle at Kensington Gardenson a fine Sunday afternoon. Upon my word, it was worth any younggentleman's time. Nor did the beauties blush under the gaze of banksof fastidious beaus who surveyed them like men about to bid at ahorse-fair. I thought of my father and how he would have enjoyed thescene. I wager he would have been a gallant with the best of them,bowing and scraping, and dodging ladies' skirts. He would have been inhis very element.
But as for me I had come to gain a possible glimpse of Lady Mary.Beyond that I had no warm interest in Kensington Gardens. The crowdwas too high and fine; many of the people were altogether too wellbred. They frightened me.
However, I turned my head by chance to the left, and saw near me asmall plain man who did not frighten me at all. It was Doctor Chord,the little scientist. He was alone and seemed to be occupied instudying the crowd. I moved over to him.
"A good day to you, sir," I said, extending my hand.
When he recognized me, his face broke into a beaming smile.
"Why, sir," he cried, "I am very glad to see you, sir. Perchance, likeme, you have come here for an hour's quiet musing on fashionablefolly."
"That's it, sir," said I. "You've hit it exactly."
I have said that he was a bashful man, but it seemed that his timiditywas likely to show itself only in the presence of other greatphilosophers and scientists. At any rate, he now rattled on like alittle engine, surveying the people keenly and discoursing upon theirfaults.
"There's the old Marquis of Stubblington," observed my friend. "Hebeats his wife with an ebony stick. 'Tis said she always carries alittle bottle of liniment in the pocket of her skirt. Poor thing, heronly pleasure in life is to talk scandal; but this she does on such aheroic scale that it occupies her time completely. There is young LordGram walking again with that soap-boiler and candle-maker. 'Tisdisgraceful! The poor devil lends Gram money, and Gram repays him byallowing him to be seen in his company. Gram gambles away the money,but I don't know what the soap-boiler does with his distinguishedhonours. However, you can see that the poor wretch is delighted withhis bargain. There are the three Banellic girls, the mostill-tempered, ugly cats in England. But each will have a largemarriage portion, so they have no fears, I warrant me. I wonder theelder has the effrontery to show her face here so soon if it is truethat the waiting-woman died of her injuries. Little Wax is talking tothem. He needs one of those marriage portions. Aye, he needs allthree, what with his very boot-maker almost inclined to be insolent tohim. I see that foreign count is talking to the Honourable Mrs.Trasky. He is no more nor less than a gambler by trade, and they sayhe came here from Paris because he was caught cheating there, and waskicked and caned with such intense publicity that he was forced toleave in the dead of night. However, he found many young birds hereeager to be plucked and devoured. 'Tis little they care, so long asthey may play till dawn. Did you hear about Lady Prefent? She wentafter her son to the Count's rooms at night. In her younger days shelived rather a gay life herself, 'tis rumoured, and so she was not tobe taken by her son's lies as to where he spent his evenings and hismoney. Ha, I see the Countess Cheer. There is a citadel of virtue! Ithas been stormed and taken so many times that I wonder it is not inruins, and yet here it is defiant, with banners flying. Wonderful.She--"
"Hold!" I cried. "I have enough. I would have leave to try and collectmy wits. But one thing I would know at once. I thought you were a shyscholar, and here you clatter away with the tongue of an old rake. Youamaze me. Tell me why you do this? Why do you use your brain toexamine this muck?"
"'Tis my recreation," he answered simply. "In my boyhood I was allowedno games, and in the greater part of my manhood I have been too busy.Of late years I have more leisure, and I often have sought here alittle innocent amusement, something to take one's mind off one's ownaf
fairs, and yet not of such an arduous nature as would make one'shead tired."
"By my faith, it would make my head tired," I said. "What withremembering the names of the people and all the different crimes, Ishould go raving mad." But what still amazed me was the fact that thislittle man, habitually meek, frightened and easily trodden down inmost ordinary matters, should be able to turn himself upon occasioninto a fierce and howling wolf of scandal, baying his betters, waitingfor the time when an exhausted one fell in the snow, and then buryinghis remorseless teeth in him. What a quaint little Doctor Chord.
"But tell me truly," said I. "Is there no virtuous lady or honestgentleman in all this great crowd?"
He stared, his jaw dropping. "Strap me, the place is full of them," heejaculated. "They are as thick as flies in a fish-market."
"Well, then," said I, "let us talk of them. 'Tis well to furbish andburnish our minds with tales of rectitude and honour."
But the little Doctor was no longer happy. "There is nought to say,"he answered gloomily. "They are as quiet as Bibles. They make norecreation for me. I have scant interest in them."
"Oh, you little rogue, you!" I cried. "What a precious little bunch ofevil it is! 'They make no recreation for me,' quoth he. Here's agreat, bold, outspoken monster. But, mark you, sir, I am a youngerman, but I too have a bold tongue in my head, and I am saying that Ihave friends among ladies in London, and if I catch you so much aswhispering their names in your sleep, I'll cut off your ears and eatthem. I speak few words, as you may have noted, but I keep myengagements, you little brew of trouble, you!"
"Strap me," whimpered the little Doctor, plucking feverishly at thebuttons of his coat, rolling his eyes wildly, not knowing at all whathe did. "The man's mad! The man's mad!"
"No," said I, "my blood is cold, very cold."
The little Doctor looked at me with the light of a desperateinspiration in his eye. "If your blood is cold, sir," said he, "I canrecommend a gill of port wine."
I needs must laugh. "Good," I cried, "and you will join me."
The O'Ruddy: A Romance Page 20
