CHAPTER X
THE THRESHOLD OF WOMANHOOD
Onward floweth the water, onward through meadows broad, "How happy," the meadows say, "art thou to be rippling onward." "And my heart is beating, beating beneath my girdle here;" "O Heart," the girdle saith, "how happy art thou that thou beatest."
_Luteplayer's Song._
DUBLIN, _October 15th, 1814_.--This day do I, Molly de Savenaye, beginmy diary.
Madeleine writes to me from Bath that she has purchased a very finebook, in which she intends to set forth each evening all that hashappened her since the morning; she advises me to do so too. She saysthat since _real life_ has begun for us; life, of which everysucceeding day is not, as in the convent, the repetition of theprevious day, but brings some new discovery, pleasure, or pain, weought to write down and preserve their remembrance.
It will be so interesting for us to read when a new life once morebegins for us, and we are _married_. Besides it is the _fashion_, andall the young ladies she knows do it. And she has, she says, alreadyplenty to write down. Now I _should_ like to know what about.
When ought one to start such a record? Surely not on a day like this.
"Why _demme_" (as Mrs. Hambledon's nephew says), "_what the deyvil_have I got to say?"
_Item:_ I went out shopping this morning with Mrs. Hambledon, and,bearing Madeleine's advice in mind, purchased at Kelly's, in SackvilleStreet, an album book, bound in green morocco, with clasp and lock,which Mr. Kelly protests is quite secure.
_Item:_ We met Captain Segrave of the Royal Dragoons (who was soattentive to me at Lady Rigtoun's rout, two days ago). He looked verywell on his charger, but how conceited! When he saw me, he rolled hiseyes and grew quite red; and then he stuck his spurs into his horse,that we might admire how he could sit it; which he did, indeed, toperfection.
Mrs. Hambledon looked vastly knowing, and I laughed. If ever I try tofancy myself married to such a man I cannot help laughing.
This, however, is not diary.--_Item:_ We returned home because itbegan to rain, and to pass the time, here am I at my book.
But is _this_ the sort of thing that will be of interest to readhereafter? I have begun too late; I should have written in those dayswhen I saw the dull walls of our convent prison for the last time. Itseems so far back now (though, by the calendar it is hardly sixmonths), that I cannot quite recall how it felt to live in prison. Andyet it was not unhappy, and there was no horror in the thought we bothhad sometimes then, that we should pass and end our lives in the cage.It did not strike us as hard. It seemed, indeed, in the nature ofthings. But the bare thought of returning to that existence now, toresume the placid daily task, to fold up again like a plant that hasonce expanded to sun and breeze, to have never a change of scene, ofimpression, to look forward to nothing but _submission_, sleep, and_death_; oh, it makes me turn cold all over!
And yet there are women who, of their own will, give up the _freedomof the world_ to enter a convent _after_ they have tasted life! Oh, Iwould rather be the poorest, the ugliest peasant hag, toiling fordaily bread, than one of these cold cloistered souls, so that the freeair of heaven, be it with the winds or the rain, might beat upon me,so that I might live and love _as I like_, do right _as I like_; ay,and do wrong _if_ I liked, with the free will which is my _own_.
We were told that the outer world, with all its sorrows and trials,and dangers--how I remember the Reverend Mother's words and face, andhow they impressed me then, and how I should laugh at them,_now!_--that the world was but a valley of tears. We were warned thatall that awaited us, if we left the fold, was _misery_; that the joysof this world were _bitter_ to the taste, its pleasures _hollow_, andits griefs _lasting_.
We believed it. And yet, when the choice was actually ours to make,we chose all we had been taught to dread and despise. Why? I wonder.For the same reason as Eve ate the apple, I suppose. I would, if I hadbeen Eve. I almost wish I could go back now, for a day, to the coolwhite rooms, to see the nuns flitting about like black and whiteghosts, with only a jingle of beads to warn one of their coming, seethe blue sky through the great bare windows, and the shadows of thetrees lengthening on the cold flagged floors, hear the bells goingding-dong, ding-dong, and the murmur of the sea in the distance, andthe drone of the school, and the drone of the chapel, to go back, andfeel once more the dull sort of content, the calmness, the rest!
But no, no! I should be trembling all the while lest the blessed doorsleading back to that _horrible_ world should never open to me again.
The sorrows and trials of the world! I suppose the Reverend Motherreally meant it; and if I had gone on living there till my face waswrinkled like hers, poor woman, I might have thought so too, in theend, and talked the same nonsense.
Was it really I that endured such a life for seventeen years? O God! Iwonder that the sight of the swallows coming and going, the sound ofthe free waves, did not drive me mad. Twist as I will my memory, Icannot recall _that_ Molly of six months ago, whose hours and dayspassed and dropped all alike, all lifeless, just like the slow tac,tac, tac of our great horloge in the Refectory, and were to go on asslow and as alike, for ever and ever, till she was old, dried,wrinkled, and then died. The real Molly de Savenaye's life began onthe April morning when that dear old turbaned fairy godmother of ourscarried us, poor little Cinderellas, away in her coach. Well do Iremember my birthday.
I have read since in one of those musty books of Bunratty, that_moths_ and _butterflies_ come to life by shaking themselves out, onefine day, from a dull-looking, shapeless, ugly thing they call a_grub_, in which they have been buried for a long time. They unfoldtheir wings and fly out in the sunshine, and flit from flower toflower, and they look beautiful and happy--the world, the wickedworld, is open to them.
There were pictures in the book; the ugly grub below, dreary andbrown, and the lovely _butterfly_ in all its colours above. I showedthem to Madeleine, and said: "Look, Madeleine, as we were, and as weare."
And she said: "Yes, those brown gowns they made us wear were ugly; butI should not like to put on anything so bright as red and yellow.Would you?"
That is the worst of Madeleine; she never realises in the least what Imean. And she _does_ love her clothes; that is the difference betweenher and me, she loves fine things because they are fine and dainty andall that--I like them because they make _me_ fine.
And yet, how she did weep when she left the convent. Madeleine wouldhave made a good nun after all; she does so hate anything ugly orcoarse. She grows quite white if she hears people fighting; if thereis a "row" or a "shindy," as they say here. Whereas Tanty and I thinkit all the fun in the world, and would enjoy joining in the frayourselves, I believe, if we dared. I know _I_ should; it sets my bloodtingling. But Madeleine is a real princess, a sort of Ermine; and yetshe enjoys her new life, too, the beauty of it, the refinement, beingwaited upon and delicately fed and clothed. But although she hasceased to weep for the convent, if it had not been for me she would bethere still. The only thing, I believe, that could make me weep nowwould be to find one fine morning that this had only been a dream, andthat I was once more _the grub_! To find that I could not open mywindow and look into the wide, wide world over to the long, greenhills in the distance, and know that I could wander or gallop up tothem, as I did at Bunratty, and see for myself _what liesbeyond_--surely that was a taste of heaven that day when Tanty Rosefirst allowed me to mount her old pony, and I flew over the turf withthe wind whistling in my ears--to find that I could not go out when Ipleased and hear new voices and see new faces, and men and women who_live each their own life_, and not the _same_ life as mine.
When I think of what I am now, and what I might have remained, Ibreathe deep and feel like singing; I stretch my arms out and feellike flying.
Our aunt told us she thought Bunratty would be dull for us, and so itwas in comparison with this place. Perhaps _this_ is dull incomparison with what _may_ come. For good Tanty, as she likes us tocall her, is intent on do
ing great things for us.
"Je vous marierai," she tells us in her funny old French, "Je vousmarierai bien, mes filles, si vous etes sages," and she winks botheyes.
_Marriage!_ _That_, it is quite evident, is the goal of every properlyconstituted young female; and every respectable person who has thecare of said young female is consequently bent upon her reaching thatgoal.
So marriage is _another_ good thing to look forward to. And _love_,that love all the verses, all the books one reads are so full of;_that_ will come to us.
They say that _love is life_. Well, all I want is to live. But with agrey past such as we have had, the present is good enough to ponderupon. We now can lie abed if we have sweet dreams and pursue themwaking, and be lazy, yet not be troubled with the self-indulgence aswith an enormity; or we can rise and breathe the sunshine at our owntime. We can be frivolous, and yet meet with smiles in response, dressour hair and persons, and be pleased with ourselves, and with beingadmired or envied, yet not be told horrid things about death andcorruption and skeletons. And, above all--oh, above _all_, we canthink of the future as different from the past, as _changing_, be iteven for the worse; as unknown and fascinating, not as a repetition,until death, of the same dreary round.
In Mrs. Hambledon's parlour here are huge glasses at either end;whenever you look into them you see a never-ending chain of rooms withyourself standing in the middle, vanishing in the distance, every onethe same, with the same person in the middle, only a little smaller, alittle more insignificant, a little darker, till it all becomes_nothing_. It always reminds me of life's prospects in the convent.
I dislike that room. When I told Mrs. Hambledon the reason why, shelaughed, and promised me that, with my looks and disposition, my lifewould be eventful enough. I have every mind that it shall.
* * * * *
_October 18th._--Yesterday, I woke up in an amazing state ofhappiness, though for no particular reason that I can think of. Itcould not be simply because we were to go out for a visit to thecountry and see new people and places, for I have already learned tofind that most new people are cut out on the same pattern as those onealready knows. It must have been rather because I awoke under theimpression of one of my lovely dreams--such dreams as I have only hadsince I left my _grub_ state; dreams of space, air, long, long viewsof beautiful scenery, always changing, always wider, such as swallowsflying between sky and earth might see, under an exquisite andbrilliant light, till for very joy I wake up, my cheeks covered withtears.
This time, I was sitting on the prow of some vessel with lofty whitesails, and it was cutting through the water, blue as the sky, withwreaths of snow-like foam, towards some unknown shores, ever fasterand faster, and I was singing to some one next to me on the prow--someone I did not know, but who felt with me--singing a song so perfect,so sweet (though it had no human words) that I thought _it explainedall_: the blue of the heaven, the freshness of the breeze, thefragrance of the earth, and why we were so eagerly pressing onwards. Ithought the melody was such that when once heard it could never beforgotten. When I woke it still rang in my ears, but now I can no morerecall it. How is it we never know such delight in waking hours? Isthat some of the joy we are to feel in Heaven, the music we are tohear? And yet it can be heard in this life if one only knew where togo and listen. And this life is beautiful which lies in front of us,though they would speak of it as a sorrowful span not to be reckoned.It is good to be young and think of the life still to come. Everymoment is precious for its enjoyment, and yet sometimes I find thatone only knows of a pleasure when it is just gone. One ought to tryand be more awake at each hour to the happiness it may bring. I shalltry, and you, my diary, shall help me.
This is really _no_ diary-keeping. It is not a bit like those onereads in books. It ought to tell of other people and the events ofeach day. But other people are really very uninteresting; as forevents, well, so far, they are uninteresting too; it is only what theycause to spring up in our hearts that is worth thinking upon; and thatis so difficult to put in words that mostly I spend my time merelypondering and not writing.
Last night Mrs. Hambledon took me to the _play_. It was for the firsttime in my life, and I was full of curiosity. It was a long drama,pretty enough and sometimes very exciting. But I could see that thoughthe actress was very handsome and mostly so unhappy as to draw tearsfrom the spectators, there were people, especially some gentlemen, whowere more interested in looking at the box where I sat with Mrs.Hambledon. Indeed, I could not pretend, when I found myself before myglass that night, that I was not amazingly prettier than that Mrs.Colebrook, about whose beauty the whole town goes mad.
When I recalled the hero's ravings about his Matilda's eyes andcheeks, and her foot and her sylph-like waist, and her raven hair, Iwondered what _that_ young man would say of me if he were my lover andI his persecuted mistress. The Matilda was a pleasing person enough;but if I take her point by point, it would be absurd to speak of hercharms in the same breath with mine. Oh, my dear Molly, how beautifulI thought you last night! How happy I should be, were I a dashingyoung lover and eyes like _yours_ smiled on me. I never before thoughtmyself prettier than Madeleine, but now I do.
Lovers, love, mistress, bride; they talked of nothing else in theplay. And it was all ecstasy in their words, and nothing but _misery_in fact (just as the Reverend Mother would have had it).
The young man who played the hero was a very fine fellow; and yet whenI conceive _him_ making love to me as he did last night to Mrs.Colebrook, the notion seems really _too_ ludicrous!
What sort of man then is it I would allow to love me? I do not mindthe thought of lovers sighing and burning for me (as some do nowindeed, or pretend to) I like to feel that I can crush them with afrown and revive them with a smile; I like to see them fighting for myfavour. But to give a man the right to love me, the right to mysmiles, the _right to me_! Indeed, I have yet seen _none_ who couldmake me bear the thought.
And yet I think that I could love, and I know that the man that I amto love must be living somewhere till fate brings him to me. He doesnot think of me. He does not know of me. And neither of us, I suppose,will taste life as life is till the day when we meet.
CAMDEN PLACE, BATH, _November 1st_.--Bath at last, which, must pleasepoor Mrs. Hambledon exceedingly, for she certainly did _not_ enjoy thetransit. I cannot conceive how people can allow themselves to be soutterly distraught by illness. I feel I can never have any respect forher again; she moaned and lamented in such cowardly fashion, was sopeevish all the time on board the vessel, and looked so very begrimedand untidy and _plain_ when she was carried out on Bristol quay. Thecaptain called it _dirty_ weather, but I thought it _lovely_, and Idon't think I ever enjoyed myself more--except when Captain Segrave'sBlack Douglas ran away with me in Phoenix Park.
It was beautiful to see our brave boat plough the sea and quiver withanger, as if it were a living thing, when it was checked by some greatgreen wave, then gather itself again under the wind and dash on to thefight, until it conquered. And when we came into the river and the sunshone once more it glided on swiftly, though looking just a littletired for a while until its decks and sails were dry and clean again,and I thought it was just like a bird that has shaken and plumeditself. I was sorry to leave it. The captain and the mate and thesailors, who had wrapped me up in their great, stiff tarpaulin coatsand placed me in a safe corner where I could sit out and look, werealso sorry that I should go.
But it was good to be with Madeleine again and Tanty Donoghue, whoalways has such a kind smile on her old wrinkled face when she looksat me.
Madeleine was astonished when I told her I had loved the storm at seaand when I mimicked poor Mrs. Hambledon. She says she also thought shewas dying, so ill was she on her crossing, and that she was quite aweek before she got over the impression.
It seems odd to think that we are sisters, and twin sisters too; in somany things she is different from me. She has changed in manner sinceI left her. She seems so abs
orbed in some great thought that all herwords and smiles have little meaning in them. I told her I had triedto keep my diary, but had not done much work, and when I asked to seehers (for a model) Madeleine blushed, and said I should see it thisday year.
_Madeleine is in love_; that is the only way I can account for thatblush. I fear she is a sly puss, but there is such a bustle around us,and so much to do and see, I have no time to make her confess. So Isaid I would keep mine from her for that period also.
It seems a long span to look ahead. What a number of things willhappen before this day year!
BATH, _November 3rd_.--Bath is delightful! I have only been here twodays, and already I am what Tanty, in her old-fashioned way, calls_the belle_. Already there are a dozen sparks who declare that my eyeshave _shot death_ to them. This afternoon comes my Lord of Manningham,nicknamed _King of Bath_, to "drink a dish of tea," as he has it, withhis "dear old friend Miss O'Donoghue."
Tanty has been here three weeks, and he has only just discovered herexistence, and remembered their tender friendship. Of course, I knowvery well what has really brought him. He is Lord Dereham'sgrandfather on the mother's side, and Lord Dereham, who is the son ofthe Duke of Wells, is "the catch," as Mrs. Hambledon vows, of thefashionable world this year. And Lord Dereham has seen me twice, and_is in love with me_.
But as Lord Dereham is more like a little white rat than a man, andswears more than he converses--which would be very shocking if it werenot for his lisp, which makes it very funny--needless to say, my diarydear, your Molly is not in love with him--He has no chance.
And so Lord Manningham comes to tea, and Tanty orders me to remain andsee her "old friend" instead of going to ride with the widowHambledon. The widow Hambledon and I are everywhere together, and sheknows all the most entertaining people in Bath, whereas Madeleine,whom I have hardly seen at all except at night, when I am so deadtired that I go to sleep as soon as my head touches the pillow (I vowTanty's manner of speech is catching), Miss Madeleine keeps to her ownselect circle, and turns up her haughty little nose at _my_ friends.
So now Madeleine is punished, for Tanty and I have had the honour ofreceiving the _King of Bath_, and I have been vouchsafed the stamp ofhis august approval.
"My dear Miss O'Donoghue," he cried, as I curtsied, "do my sensesdeceive me, or do I not once more behold _Murthering Moll_?"
"I thought you could not fail to notice the likeness; my niece is,indeed, a complete O'Donoghue," says Tanty, amazingly pleased.
"Likeness, ma'am," cried the old wretch, bowing again, and scatteringhis snuff all over the place, while I sweep him another splendidcurtsey, "likeness, ma'am, why this is no feeble copy, no humbleimitation, 'tis _Murdering Moll herself_, and glad I am to see heragain." And then he catches me under the chin, and peers into my facewith his dim, wicked old eyes. "And so you are Murdering Moll'sdaughter," says he, chuckling to himself. "Ay, she and I were verygood friends, my pretty child, very good friends, and that not so longago, either. Ay, _Mater pulchra, filia pulchrior_."
"But I happen to be her grand-daughter, please my lord," said I, andthen I ran to fetch him a chair (for I was dreadfully afraid he wasgoing to kiss me). But though no one has ever accused me of speakingtoo modestly to be heard, my lord had a sudden fit of deafness, and Isaw Tanty give me a little frown, while the old thing--he must be mucholder than Tanty even--tottered into a chair, and went on mumbling.
"I was only a boy in those days, my dear, only a boy, as your goodaunt will tell you. I can remember how the bells rang the threebeautiful Irish sisters into Bath, and I and the other dandies stoodto watch them drive by. The bells rang in the _belles_ in those days,my dear, he, he, he! only we used to call them 'toasts' then, and yourmother was the most beautiful of 'the three Graces'--we christenedthem 'the three Graces'--and by gad she led us all a pretty dance!"
"Ah, my lord," says Tanty, and I could see her old eyes gleam thoughher tone was so pious, "I fear we were three wild Irish girls indeed!"
Lord Manningham was too busy ogling me to attend to her.
"Your mother was just such another as you, and she had just such apair of dimples," said he.
"You mean my grandmother," shouted I in his ear, just for fun, thoughTanty looked as if she were on pins and needles. But he only pinchedmy cheek again and went on:
"Before she had been here a fortnight all the bucks in the town wereat her feet. And so was I, so was I. Only, by gad, I was too young,you know, as Miss O'Donoghue here will tell you. But she liked me; sheused to call me her 'little manny.' I declare I might have marriedher, only there were family reasons, and I was such a lad, you know.And then Jack Waterpark, some of us thought she would have had _him_in the end--being an Irishman, and a rich man, and a marquis toboot--he gave her the name of _Murthering Moll_, because of herkilling eyes, young lady--he! he! he!--and there was Ned Cuffe readyto hang himself for her, and Jim Denham, and old Beau Vernon, ay, anda score of others. And then one night at the Assembly Rooms, after thedancing was over and we gay fellows were all together, up getsWaterpark, he was a little tipsy, my dear, and by gad I can hear himspeak now, with that brogue of his. 'Boys,' he says, 'it's no use yourtrying for her any more, for by God _I've won her_.' And out of hisbreast-pocket he pulls a little knot of blue ribbon. Your mother, mydear, had worn a very fine gown that evening, with little knots ofblue ribbon all over the bodice of it. The words were not out of hismouth when Ned Cuffe starts to his feet as white as a sheet: 'It's adamned lie,' he cries, and out of his pocket _he_ pulls another littleknot. 'She gave it to me with her own hands,' he cried and glaresround at us all. And then Vernon bursts out laughing and flourishes athird little bow in our eyes, and I had one too, I need not tell you,and so had all the rest, all save a French fellow--I forget hisname--and it was he she had danced with the most of all. Ah, MissO'Donoghue, how the little jade's eyes sparkle! I warrant you havenever told her the story for fear she would want to copy her mother inother ways besides looks--Hey? Well, my pretty, give me your littlehand, and then I shall go on--pretty little hand, um--um--um!" andthen he kissed my hand, the horrid, snuffy thing! but I allowed it,for I did so want to hear how it all ended.
"And then, and then," I said.
"And then, my dear, this French fellow, your papa he must havebeen--so I suppose I must not abuse him, and he was a very fine youngman after all, and a man of honour as well--he stood and cursed usall."
"'You English fools,' he said, 'you braggards--cowards.' And heseized a glass of wine from the table and with a sweep he dashed it atus and ended by flinging the empty glass in Lord Waterpark's face. Itwas the neatest thing you ever saw, for we all got a drop exceptWaterpark, and he got the glass. 'I challenge you all,' said theFrenchman, 'I'll fight you one by one, and I shall have her into thebargain.' And so he did, my dear, he fought us all, one after theother; there were five of us; he was a devil with the sword, but NedCuffe ran him through for all that--and he was a month getting overit, but as soon as he could crawl again he vowed himself ready forWaterpark, and weak as he was he ran poor Waterpark through the lungs.Some said Jack spitted himself on his sword--but dead he was anyhow,and monsieur your father--what was his name? Kerme-something--was offwith your mother before the rest of us were well out of bed."
"Fie, fie, my lord," said Tanty, "you should not recall old stories inthis manner!"
"Gad, ma'am, I warrant this young lady is quite ready to provide youwith a few new ones," chuckled my lord; and as there was no more to beextracted from him but foolish old jokes and dreadful smiles, Icontrived to free my "pretty little hand," and sit down demurely byTanty's side like the modest retiring young female I should be.
But my blood was dancing in my veins--the blood of MurtheringMoll--doddering old idiot as he is, Lord Manningham is right for once,I mean to take quite as much out of life as she did. That indeed isworth being young and beautiful for! We know nothing of our family,save that both father and mother were killed in Vendee. Tanty neverwill tell us anything about them (except their co
ats of arms), and Iam afraid even to start the subject, for she always branches off uponheraldry and then we are in for hours of it. But after Lord Manninghamwas gone I asked her when and how my grandmother died.
"She died when your mother was born, my dear," said Tanty, "she wasnot as old as you are now, and your grandfather never smiled again, orso they said."
That sobered me a little. Yet she lived her life so well, while shedid live, that I who have wasted twenty precious years can find in myheart rather to envy than to pity my beautiful grandmother.
* * * * *
_November 5th._--It is _three o'clock in the morning_, but I do notfeel at all inclined to go to bed. Madeleine is sleeping, poor prettypale Madeleine! with the tears hardly dry upon her cheeks and I canhear her sighing in her sleep.
I was right, she is in love, and the gentleman she loves is notapproved of by Tanty and the upshot of it all is we are to leave dearBath, delightful Bath, to-morrow--to-day rather--for some unknownpenitential region which our stern relative as yet declines to name. Iam longing to hear more about it; but Tanty, who, though she talks somuch, can keep her own counsel better than any woman I know, will notgive me any further information beyond the facts that the delinquentwho has dared to aspire to my sister is a person of _the name ofSmith_, and that it would not do at all.
I have not the heart to wake Madeleine to make her tell me more, thoughI really ought to pinch her well for being so secretive--besides, myhead is so full of my own day that I want to get it all written down,and I shall never have done so unless I begin at the beginning.
Yesterday, then, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon Lord Dereham's coachand four came clattering up to our door to call for me. Mrs. Hambledonwas already installed and Lady Soames and a dozen other of the_fashionables_ of Bath. My little Lord Marquis had kept the box seatfor me, at which the other ladies, even my dear friend and chaperon,looked rather green. The weather was glorious, and off we went with aflourish of trumpets and whips, and I knew I should enjoy myselfmonstrously.
And so I did. But it was the drive back that was the _best_ of all. Wenever started till near nine o'clock, and Lord Dereham insisted on mysitting beside him again--at which all the ladies looked daggers _atme_ and all the gentlemen daggers _at him_. And then we sang songs andtore along uphill and down dale, under the beautiful moonlight,through the still air, till all at once we found we had lost our way.We had to drive on till we came to an inn and we could make inquiries.There the gentlemen opened another hamper of wine, and when we setoff again I promise you they were all pretty _lively_ (and most ofthe ladies too, for the matter of that). As for me, who never drankanything but milk or water till six months ago, I have not learnt tolike wine yet, so, though I sipped out of the glass to keep the fungoing, I contrived to dispose of the contents, quietly over the sideof the coach, when no one was looking.
It was a drive to remember. We came to a big hill, and as we weregoing down it at a smart pace the coach began to sway, then the ladiesbegan to screech, and even the men looked so scared that I laughedoutright. Lord Dereham was perfectly tipsy and he did not know theroad a bit, but he drove in beautiful style and was extraordinarilyamusing; as soon as the coach took to swaying, instead of slackeningspeed as they all begged him, he _lashed_ the horses into a tearinggallop, looking over his shoulder at the rest and cursing them withthe greatest energy, grinning with rage, and looking more like alittle white rat than _ever_.
"Give me the whip," said I, "and I shall whip the team while youdrive."
"_Cuth me_," cried he, "if you are not worth the whole coach-load adozen times over."
On we went; the coach rocked, the horses galloped, and I knew at anymoment the whole thing might upset, and I flourished my whip andlashed at the steaming flanks and I never felt what it was to reallyenjoy myself before.
Presently, although we were tearing along so fast, the coach steadieditself and went as straight as an arrow; and this, it seems, it wouldnever have done had not Lord Dereham kept up the pace.
And all the rest of the drive his lordship wanted to kiss me. I wasnot a bit frightened, though he was drunk, but every time he grew tooforward I just flicked at the horses with the whip, and I think he sawthat I would have cracked him across the face quite as readily if hedared to presume.
No doubt a dozen times during the day I could have secured a coronetfor myself, not to speak of future 'strawberry leaves,' as my auntsays, if I had cared to; but who could think of loving a man like_that_? He can manage four horses, and he has shot two men in a duel,and he can drink three bottles of wine at a sitting, and when onetries to find something more to say for him, lo! that is all!
When we at length arrived at Camden Place, for I vowed they must leaveme home the first, there was the rarest sport. My lord's grooms mustset to blow the horns, for they were as drunk as their master, whileone of the gentlemen played upon the knocker till the whole crescentwas aroused.
Then the doors opened suddenly, _and Tanty appears_ on the threshold,holding a candle. Her turban was quite crooked, with the birds ofParadise over one eye, and I never saw her old nose look so hooked.All the gentlemen set up a shout, and Sir Thomas Wrexham began to crowlike a cock for no reason on earth that I can think of. The servantswere holding up lanterns, but the moon was nigh as bright as day.
Tanty just looked round upon them one after another, and in spite ofher crooked turban I think they all grew frightened. Then she caughthold of me, and just whisked me behind her. Next she spied out Mrs.Hambledon, who had been asleep inside the coach, and now tumbledforth, yawning and gaping.
"And so, madam," cries Tanty to her, not very loud, but in a voicethat made even me tremble; "so, madam, this is how you fulfil theconfidence I placed in you. A pretty chaperon you are to have thecharge of a young lady; though, indeed, considering your years, madam,I might have been justified in trusting you."
Mrs. Hambledon, cut short in the middle of a loud yawn by this attack,was a sight to see.
"Hoighty-toighty, ma'am!" she cried, indignantly, as soon as she couldget her voice; "here's a fine to-do. It is my fault, of course, thatLord Dereham should mistake the road. And my fault too, no doubt, thatyour miss should make an exhibition of herself riding on the box withthe gentlemen at this hour of night, when I implored her to comeinside with me, were it only for the sake of common female propriety."
"Common female indeed!" echoed Tanty, with a snort; "the poor childknew better."
"Cuth the old cats! they'll have each other'th eyeth out," here criedmy lord marquis, interposing his little tipsy person between them. Hehad scrambled down the box after me, and was listening with an air ofprofound wisdom that made me feel fit to die laughing. "Don't you mindher, old lady," he went on, addressing Tanty; "Mith Molly ith quiteable to take care of herself--damme if she'th not."
Aunt Donoghue turned upon him majestically.
"And then that is more than can be said for you, my poor young man,"she exclaimed; and I vow he looked as sobered as if she had flung abucket of cold water over him. Upon this she retired and shut thedoor, and marched me upstairs before her without a word.
Before my room door she stopped.
"Mrs. Dempsey has already packed your sister's trunks," she said, in avery dry way; "and she will begin to pack yours early--I was going tosay to-morrow--but you keep such hours, my dear--it will be _to-day_."
I stared at her as if she had gone mad.
"You and your sister," she went on, "have got beyond me. I have takenmy resolution and given my orders, and there is not the least usemaking a scene."
And then it came out about Madeleine. At first I thought I would gointo a great passion and refuse to obey, but after a minute or two Isaw it was, as she said, no use. Tanty was as cool as a cucumber. ThenI thought perhaps I might mollify her if I could cry, but I couldn'tpump up a tear; I never can; and at last when I went into my room andsaw poor Madeleine, who has cried herself to sleep, evidently, Iunderstood that there was nothing fo
r us but to do as we were told.
And now I can hear Tanty fussing about her room still--she has beenwriting, too--cra, cra, cra--this last hour. I wonder who to? Afterall there is some fun in being taken off mysteriously we don't knowwhere. I should like to go and kiss her, but she thinks I am abed.
The Light of Scarthey: A Romance Page 12