CHAPTER II.
HOW WE WENT TO THE WELLS.
Access to the polite world is more readily gained (by those who haveno friends) at one of the watering-places than in London. Consideringthis, we counselled whether it would not be better to visit one, orall, of the English Spas, rather than to climb slowly and painfully upthe ladder of London fashion.
Mrs. Esther at first inclined to Bath, which certainly (though it isa long journey thither), is a most stately city, provided with everyrequisite for comfort, possessing the finest Assembly Rooms and themost convenient lodgings. It also affords opportunities for making theacquaintance and studying the manners of the Great. Moreover, therecan be no doubt that its waters are efficient in the cure of almostall disorders; and the social enjoyment of the hot bath, taken in thecompany of the wits and toasts who go to be parboiled together in thatliquid Court of scandal, chocolate, and sweets, is surely a thingwithout a rival.
On the other hand, Tunbridge Wells is nearer London; the roads aregood; a coach reaches the place in one day; and, so amazing is therapidity of communication (in which we so far excel our ancestors),that the London morning papers reach the Wells in the evening, and aletter posted from the Wells in the morning can be answered in thefollowing evening. Also the air is fine at Tunbridge, the waterswholesome, and the amusements are said to be varied. Add to this thatit is greatly frequented by the better sort of London citizens, thosesubstantial merchants with their proud and richly dressed wives anddaughters, whom Mrs. Esther always looked upon as forming the mostdesirable company in the world. So that it was at first resolved to goto Tunbridge.
But while we were making our preparations to go there, a curiouslonging came upon Mrs. Esther to revisit the scenes of her youth.
"My dear," she said, "I should like to see once more the Wells ofEpsom, whither my father carried us every year when we were children.The last summer I spent there was after his death, in the dreadful yearof 1720, when the place was crowded with Germans, Jews, and the peoplewho flocked to London with schemes which were to have made all ourfortunes, but which only ruined us, filled the prisons and madhouses,drove honest men upon the road, and their children to the gutters. Letus go to Epsom."
Epsom Wells, to be sure, was no longer what it had been. Indeed,for a time, the place had fallen into decay. Yet of late, withtheir horse-racing in April and June, and the strange repute of thebone-setter Sally Wallin, the salubrity of the air on the Downs, theeasy access to the town, which lieth but sixteen miles or thereaboutsfrom Paul's, and the goodness of the lodgings, the fame of the placehad revived. The gentry of the country-side came to the Mondaybreakfasts and assemblies, when there was music, card-playing, anddancing; the old buildings were again repaired, and Epsom Wells for afew years was once more crowded. To me, as will presently be very wellunderstood, the place will ever remain a dear romantic spot, sacred tothe memory of the sweetest time in a woman's life, when her heart goesout of her keeping, and she listens with fear and delight to the wooingof the man she loves.
We went there in the coach, which took about three hours. We arrived inthe afternoon of a sunny day--it was a Friday, which is an unlucky dayto begin a journey upon--in the middle of July. We were presently takento a neat and clean lodging in Church Parade, where we engaged roomsat a moderate charge. The landlady, one Mrs. Crump, was the widow,she told us, of a respectable hosier of Cheapside, who had left herwith but a slender stock. Her children, however, were in good serviceand thriving; and, with her youngest daughter, Cicely, she kept thislodging-house, a poor but genteel mode of earning a livelihood.
The first evening we sat at home until sunset, when we put on ourhoods and walked under the trees which everywhere at Epsom afford adelightful shade during the heat of the day, and a romantic obscurityin the twilight. A lane or avenue of noble lime-trees was planted inthe Church Parade. Small avenues of trees led to the houses, and formedporches with rich canopies of green leaves. There was a good deal ofcompany abroad, and we could hear, not far off, the strains of themusic to which they were dancing in the Assembly Rooms.
"We have done well, Kitty," said Mrs. Esther, "to come to this place,which is far less changed than since last I came here. I trust itis not sinful to look back with pleasure and regret on the time ofyouth." Here she sighed. "The good woman of the house, I perceive withpleasure, remembers the name of Pimpernel, and made me a becomingcourtesy when I informed her of my father's rank. She remembers seeinghis Lord Mayor's Show. There are, it appears, many families of thehighest distinction here, with several nabobs, rich Turkey and Russianmerchants, great lawyers, and county gentry. She assures me thatall are made welcome, and that the assemblies are open to the wholecompany. And she paid a tribute to thy pretty face, my dear."
In the morning we were awakened, to our surprise and delight, by adelectable concert of music, performed for us, by way of salutationor greeting, by the band belonging to the place. They played, insuccession, a number of the most delightful airs, such as, "A-huntingwe will go," "Fain I would," "Spring's a-coming," "Sweet Nelly, myheart's delight," and "The girl I left behind me." The morning wasbright, and a breeze came into my open window from the Surrey Downs,fresh and fragrant with the scent of wild flowers. My brain was filledwith the most ravishing ideas, though I knew not of what.
"My dear," said Mrs. Esther, at breakfast, "the compliment of themusic shows the discernment of the people. They have learned alreadythat we have pretensions to rank, and are no ordinary visitors, nothaberdashers' daughters or grocers'."
(It is, we afterwards discovered, the rule of the place thus to salutenew comers, without inquiry at all into their rank or fortune. Werewarded the players with half-a-crown from madam, and two shillingsfrom myself.)
It is, surely, a delightful thing to dress one's self in the morningto the accompaniment of sweet music. If I were a queen, I would havea concert of music every day, to begin when I put foot out of bed: tosing in tune while putting on one's stockings: to dance before theglass while lacing one's stays: to handle a comb as if it was a fan,and to brush one's hair with a swimming grace, as if one was doing aminuet, while the fiddles and the flutes and the hautboys are playingfor you. Before I had finished dressing, however, Cicely Crump, whowas a lively, sprightly girl, with bright eyes, and little nose, aboutmy own age, came to help me, and told me that those ladies who wentabroad to take the air before breakfast wore in the morning an easydishabille, and advised me to tie a hood beneath the chin.
"But not," she said with a laugh, "not to hide too much of your face.What will they say to such a face at the ball?"
We followed her advice, and presently sallied forth. Although it wasbut seven o'clock, we found a goodly assemblage already gatheredtogether upon the Terrace, where, early as it was, the shade of thetrees was agreeable as well as beautiful. The ladies, who looked at uswith curiosity, were dressed much like ourselves, and the gentlemenwore morning-gowns, without swords: some of the elder men even worenightcaps, which seemed to me an excessive simplicity. Everybody talkedto his neighbour, and there was a cheerful buzz of conversation.
"Nothing is changed, my dear," said Mrs. Esther, looking about her withgreat satisfaction; "nothing except the dresses, and these not so muchas we might have expected. I have been asleep, dear, like the beauty inthe story, for thirty years. But she kept her youth, that lucky girl,while I--heigh-ho!"
Cicely came with us to show us the way. We went first along the Terraceand then to the New Parade, which was also beautifully shaded with elmsand limes. Between them lies the pond, with gold and silver fish, verypretty to look at, and the tumble-down watch-house at one end. Then sheshowed us the pump-room.
"Here is the spring," she said, "which cures all disorders: the bestmedicine in the world."
There was in the room a dipper, as they call the women who hand thewater to those who go to drink it. We were told that it was customaryto pay our footing with half-a-crown; but we drank none of the water,which is not, like that of Tunbridge Wells, sweet and plea
sant to thetaste. Then Cicely led us to another building hard by, a handsomeplace, having a broad porch with columns, very elegant. This, itappeared, was the Assembly Room, where were held the public balls,concerts, and breakfasts. We entered and looked about us. Mrs. Estherrecalled her triumphs in this very room, and shed a tear over the past.Then a girl accosted us, and begged permission to enter our names in agreat book. This (with five shillings each by way of fees) made us freeof all the entertainments of the season.
Near the Assembly Rooms was the coffee-house, used only by thegentlemen.
"They pretend," said Cicely, "to come here for letter-writing and toread the news. I do not know how many letters they write, but I do knowwhat they talk about, because I had it of the girl who pours out theircoffee, and it is not about religion, nor politics, but all about thetoast of the day."
"What is the toast of the day?" I asked.
Cicely smiled, like a saucy baggage as she was, and said that no doubtMiss Kitty would soon find out.
"Already," she said, "Mr. Walsingham is looking at you."
I saw an old gentleman already dressed for the morning, with laceruffles and a handkerchief for the neck of rich crimson silk, who saton one of the benches beneath the trees, his hand upon a stick, lookingat me with a sort of earnestness.
"Hush!" cried Cicely, whispering; "he is more than eighty years of age:he goes every year to Epsom, Bath, and Tunbridge--all three--and hecan tell you the name of the toast in every place for fifty years, anddescribe her face."
A "toast," then, was another word for a young lady.
As we passed his bench, the old gentleman rose and bowed with greatceremony to madam.
"Your most obedient servant, madam," he said, still looking at me. "Itrust that the Wells will be honoured by your ladyship with a longstay. My name is Walsingham, madam, and I am not unknown here. Permitme to offer my services to you and to your lovely daughter."
"My niece, sir." Madam returned the bow with a curtsey as deep. "Myniece, Miss Kitty Pleydell. We arrived last night, and we expect tofind our stay so agreeable as to prolong it."
"The Wells, madam, will be delighted." He bowed again. "I hope to beof assistance--some little assistance--in making your visit pleasant.I have known Epsom Wells, and, indeed, Bath and Tunbridge as well,for fifty years. Every year has been made remarkable in one of theseplaces by the appearance of at least one beautiful face: sometimesthere have been even three or four, so that gentlemen have been dividedin opinion. In 1731, for instance, a duel was fought at TunbridgeWells, between my Lord Tangueray and Sir Humphrey Lydgate, about tworival beauties. Generally, however, the Wells acknowledge but onequeen. Yesterday I was publicly lamenting that we had as yet no oneat Epsom whom we could hope to call Queen of the Wells. Miss KittyPleydell"--again he bowed low--"I can make that complaint no longer. Isalute your Majesty."
"Oh, sir," I said, abashed and confused, "you are jesting with me!"
He replied gravely, that he never jested on so serious a subject as thebeauty of a woman. Then he hoped to see us again upon the Terrace or onthe Downs in the course of the day, and left us with a low bow.
"I told you, miss," said Cicely, "that it would not be long before youfound out what is meant by a toast."
She next took us to a book-shop, where we learned that for a crown wecould carry home any book we pleased from the shop and read it at ourease; only that we must return it in as good condition as we took itout, which seems reasonable. The people in the shop, as are all thepeople at Epsom, were mighty civil; and madam, partly with a view ofshowing the seriousness of her reading, took down a volume of sermons,which I carried home for her.
Next day, however, she exchanged this for a volume of "Pamela," whichnow began to occupy our attention almost as much as "Clarissa" haddone, but caused fewer tears to flow. Now is it not a convenient thingfor people who cannot afford to buy all they would read, thus to paya subscription and to borrow books as many as they wish? I think thatnothing has ever yet been invented so excellent for the spread ofknowledge and the cultivation of taste. Yet it must not go too fareither; for should none but the libraries buy new novels, poems, andother works of imagination, where would be the reward of the ingeniousgentlemen who write them? No; let those who can afford buy books: letthose who cannot buy all they can, and join the library for those theycannot afford to buy. What room looks more comfortably furnished thanone which has its books in goodly rows upon the shelves? They arebetter than pictures, better than vases, better than plates, betterthan china monkeys; for the house that is so furnished need never feelthe dulness of a rainy day.
There remained but two subscriptions to pay before our footing wasfairly established.
The leader of the music presented himself, bowing, with hissubscription-book in his hand. The usual amount was half a guinea.Madam gave a guinea, being half for herself, and half for me, writingdown our names in the book. I saw, as we came away, that a little groupof gentlemen quickly gathered round the leader and almost tore the bookfrom his hand.
"They are anxious to find out your name, miss," said Cicely. "Thenthey will go away and talk in the coffee-house, and wonder who you areand whence you came and what fortune you have. Yet they call us womengossips!"
Lastly, there was the clergyman's book.
"Heaven forbid," said madam, "that we pay for the music and let theprayers go starving!"
This done, we could return home, having fairly paid our way foreverything, and we found at our lodgings an excellent country breakfastof cream, new-laid eggs, fresh wild strawberries from Durdans Park,delicate cakes of Mrs. Crump's own baking, and chocolate, with Cicelyto wait upon us.
It was the godly custom of the place to attend public worship afterbreakfast, and at the ringing of the bell we put on our hats and wentto the parish church, where we found most of the ladies assembled. Theywere escorted to the doors of the sacred house by the gentlemen, wholeft them there. Why men (who are certainly greater sinners, or sinnersin a bolder and more desperate fashion, than women) should have lessneed of prayers than we, I know not; nor why a man should be ashamedof doing what a woman glories in doing. After their drinkings, theirduels, their prodigalities, and wastefulness, men should methinkscrowd into the doors of every church they can find, women leading themthereto. But let us not forget that men, when they live outside thefashion and are natural, are by the bent of their mind generally morereligiously disposed than women: and, as they make greater sinners, soalso do they make more illustrious saints.
When we came out of the church (I forgot to say that we were nowdressed and ready to make as brave a show as the rest) we found outsidethe doors a lane of gentlemen, who, as we passed, bowed low, hat inhand. At the end stood old Mr. Walsingham.
He stood with his hat raised high in air, and a smile upon his linedand crowsfooted face.
"What did I say, Miss Kitty?" he whispered. "Hath not the Queen of theWells arrived?"
I do not know what I might have said, but I heard a cry of "Kitty!Kitty!" and, looking round, saw--oh, the joy!--none other than myNancy, prettier than ever, though still but a little thing, who ran upto me and threw herself in my arms.
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