CHAPTER XXXIV. In which Mr. Warrington treats the Company with Tea and aBall
Generous with his very easily gotten money, hospitable and cordial toall, our young Virginian, in his capacity of man of fashion, couldnot do less than treat his country friends to an entertainment at theAssembly Rooms, whither, according to the custom of the day, he invitedalmost all the remaining company at the Wells. Card-tables were set inone apartment, for all those who could not spend an evening without thepastime then common to all European society: a supper with champagne insome profusion and bowls of negus was prepared in another chamber: thelarge assembly-room was set apart for the dance, of which enjoymentHarry Warrington's guests partook in our ancestors' homely fashion. Icannot fancy that the amusement was especially lively. First, minuetswere called, two or three of which were performed by as many couple. Thespinsters of the highest rank in the assembly went out for the minuet,and my Lady Maria Esmond, being an earl's daughter, and the person ofthe highest rank present (with the exception of Lady Augusta Crutchley,who was lame), Mr. Warrington danced the first minuet with his cousin,acquitting himself to the satisfaction of the whole room, and performingmuch more elegantly than Mr. Wolfe, who stood up with Miss Lowther.Having completed the dance with Lady Maria, Mr. Warrington begged MissTheo to do him the honour of walking the next minuet, and accordinglyMiss Theo, blushing and looking very happy, went through her exercise tothe great delight of her parents and the rage of Miss Humpleby, Sir JohnHumpleby's daughter, of Liphook, who expected, at least, to have stoodup next after my Lady Maria. Then, after the minuets, came countrydances, the music being performed by a harp, fiddle, and flageolet,perched in a little balcony, and thrumming through the evening ratherfeeble and melancholy tunes. Take up an old book of music, and play afew of those tunes now, and one wonders how people at any time couldhave found the airs otherwise than melancholy. And yet they loved andfrisked and laughed and courted to that sad accompaniment. There isscarce one of the airs that has not an amari aliquid, a tang of sadness.Perhaps it is because they are old and defunct, and their plaintiveechoes call out to us from the limbo of the past, whither they have beenconsigned for this century. Perhaps they were gay when they were alive;and our descendants when they hear--well, never mind names--when theyhear the works of certain maestri now popular, will say: Bon Dieu, isthis the music which amused our forefathers?
Mr. Warrington had the honour of a duchess's company at histea-drinking--Colonel Lambert's and Mr. Prior's heroine, the Duchessof Queensberry. And though the duchess carefully turned her back upon acountess who was present, laughed loudly, glanced at the latter over hershoulder, and pointed at her with her fan, yet almost all the companypushed, and bowed, and cringed, and smiled, and backed before thiscountess, scarcely taking any notice of her Grace of Queensberry and herjokes, and her fan, and her airs. Now this countess was no other thanthe Countess of Yarmouth-Walmoden, the lady whom his Majesty George theSecond, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of theFaith, delighted to honour. She had met Harry Warrington in the walksthat morning, and had been mighty gracious to the young Virginian. Shehad told him they would have a game at cards that night; and purblindold Colonel Blinkinsop, who fancied the invitation had been addressed tohim, had made the profoundest of bows. "Pooh! pooh!" said the Countessof England and Hanover, "I don't mean you. I mean the young Firshinian!"And everybody congratulated the youth on his good fortune. At night, allthe world, in order to show their loyalty, doubtless, thronged roundmy Lady Yarmouth; my Lord Bamborough was eager to make her parti atquadrille. My Lady Blanche Pendragon, that model of virtue; Sir LancelotQuintain, that pattern of knighthood and valour; Mr. Dean of Ealing,that exemplary divine and preacher; numerous gentlemen, noblemen,generals, colonels, matrons, and spinsters of the highest rank, wereon the watch for a smile from her, or eager to jump up and join hercard-table. Lady Maria waited upon her with meek respect, and Madamede Bernstein treated the Hanoverian lady with profound gravity andcourtesy.
Harry's bow had been no lower than hospitality required; but, such as itwas, Miss Hester chose to be indignant with it. She scarce spoke a wordto her partner during their dance together; and when he took her to thesupper-room for refreshment she was little more communicative. Toenter that room they had to pass by Madame Walmoden's card-table, whogood-naturedly called out to her host as he was passing, and asked himif his "breddy liddle bardner liked tanzing?"
"I thank your ladyship, I don't like tanzing, and I don't like cards,"says Miss Hester, tossing up her head; and, dropping a curtsey like a"cheese," she strutted away from the Countess's table.
Mr. Warrington was very much offended. Sarcasm from the young to the oldpained him: flippant behaviour towards himself hurt him. Courteous inhis simple way to all persons whom he met, he expected a like politenessfrom them. Hetty perfectly well knew what offence she was giving; couldmark the displeasure reddening on her partner's honest face, with asidelong glance of her eye; nevertheless she tried to wear her mostingenuous smile; and, as she came up to the sideboard where therefreshments were set, artlessly said:
"What a horrid, vulgar old woman that is; don't you think so?"
"What woman?" asked the young man.
"That German woman--my Lady Yarmouth--to whom all the men are bowing andcringing."
"Her ladyship has been very kind to me," says Harry, grimly. "Won't youhave some of this custard?"
"And you have been bowing to her, too! You look as if your negus was notnice," harmlessly continues Miss Hetty.
"It is not very good negus," says Harry, with a gulp.
"And the custard is bad too! I declare 'tis made with bad eggs!" criesMiss Lambert.
"I wish, Hester, that the entertainment and the company had been betterto your liking," says poor Harry.
"'Tis very unfortunate; but I dare say you could not help it," cries theyoung woman, tossing her little curly head.
Mr. Warrington groaned in spirit, perhaps in body, and clenched hisfists and his teeth. The little torturer artlessly continued, "You seemdisturbed: shall we go to my mamma?"
"Yes, let us go to your mamma," cries Mr. Warrington, with glaring eyesand a "Curse you, why are you always standing in the way?" to an unluckywaiter.
"La! Is that the way you speak in Virginia?" asks Miss Pertness.
"We are rough there sometimes, madam, and can't help being disturbed,"he says slowly, and with a quiver in his whole frame, looking down uponher with fire flashing out of his eyes. Hetty saw nothing distinctlyafterwards, and until she came to her mother. Never had she seen Harrylook so handsome or so noble.
"You look pale, child!" cries mamma, anxious, like all pavidae matres.
"'Tis the cold--no, I mean the heat. Thank you, Mr. Warrington." Andshe makes him a faint curtsey, as Harry bows a tremendous bow, andwalks elsewhere amongst his guests. He hardly knows what is happening atfirst, so angry is he.
He is aroused by another altercation, between his aunt and the Duchessof Queensberry. When the royal favourite passed the Duchess, her Gracegave her Ladyship an awful stare out of eyes that were not so bright nowas they had been in the young days when they "set the world on fire;"turned round with an affected laugh to her neighbour, and shot atthe jolly Hanoverian lady a ceaseless fire of giggles and sneers.The Countess pursued her game at cards, not knowing, or not choosing,perhaps, to know how her enemy was gibing at her. There had been a feudof many years' date between their Graces of Queensberry and the familyon the throne.
"How you all bow down to the idol! Don't tell me! You are as bad asthe rest, my good Madame Bernstein!" the Duchess says. "Ah, what a trueChristian country this is! and how your dear first husband, the Bishop,would have liked to see such a sight!"
"Forgive me, if I fail quite to understand your Grace."
"We are both of us growing old, my good Bernstein, or, perhaps, we won'tunderstand when we don't choose to understand. That is the way with uswomen, my good young Iroquois."
"Your Grace remarked, that it was a Chris
tian country," said Madame deBernstein, "and I failed to perceive the point of the remark."
"Indeed, my good creature, there is very little point in it! I meantwe were such good Christians, because we were so forgiving. Don'tyou remember reading, when you were young, or your husband the Bishopreading, when he was in the pulpit, how when a woman amongst the Jewswas caught doing wrong, the Pharisees were for stoning her out of hand?Far from stoning such a woman now, look, how fond we are of her! Any manin this room would go round it on his knees if yonder woman bade him.Yes, Madame Walmoden, you may look up from your cards with your greatpainted face, and frown with your great painted eyebrows at me. You knowI am talking about you; and intend to go on talking about you, too. Isay any man here would go round the room on his knees, if you bade him!"
"I think, madam, I know two or three who wouldn't!" says Mr. Warrington,with some spirit.
"Quick, let me hug them to my heart of hearts!" cries the old Duchess."Which are they? Bring 'em to me, my dear Iroquois! Let us have a gameof four--of honest men and women; that is to say, if we can find acouple more partners, Mr. Warrington!"
"Here are we three," says the Baroness Bernstein, with a forced laugh;"let us play a dummy."
"Pray, madam, where is the third?" asks the old Duchess, looking round.
"Madam!" cries out the other elderly lady, "I leave your Grace to boastof your honesty, which I have no doubt is spotless: but I will thank younot to doubt mine before my own relatives and children!"
"See how she fires up at a word! I am sure, my dear creature, you arequite as honest as most of the company," says the Duchess.
"Which may not be good enough for her Grace the Duchess of Queensberryand Dover, who, to be sure, might have stayed away in such a case, butit is the best my nephew could get, madam, and his best he has givenyou. You look astonished, Harry, my dear--and well you may. He is notused to our ways, madam."
"Madam, he has found an aunt who can teach him our ways, and a greatdeal more!" cries the Duchess, rapping her fan.
"She will teach him to try and make all his guests welcome, old oryoung, rich or poor. That is the Virginian way, isn't it, Harry? Shewill tell him, when Catherine Hyde is angry with his old aunt, that theywere friends as girls, and ought not to quarrel now they are old women.And she will not be wrong, will she, Duchess?" And herewith theone dowager made a superb curtsey to the other, and the battle justimpending between them passed away.
"Egad, it was like Byng and Galissoniere!" cried Chaplain Sampson, asHarry talked over the night's transactions with his tutor next morning."No power on earth, I thought, could have prevented those two from goinginto action!"
"Seventy-fours at least--both of 'em!" laughs Harry.
"But the Baroness declined the battle, and sailed out of fire withinimitable skill."
"Why should she be afraid? I have heard you say my aunt is as witty asany woman alive, and need fear the tongue of no dowager in England."
"Hem! Perhaps she had good reasons for being peaceable!" Sampson knewvery well what they were, and that poor Bernstein's reputation was sohopelessly flawed and cracked, that any sarcasms levelled at MadameWalmoden were equally applicable to her.
"Sir," cried Harry, in great amazement, "you don't mean to say there isanything against the character of my aunt, the Baroness de Bernstein!"
The chaplain looked at the young Virginian with such an air of utterwonderment, that the latter saw there must be some history against hisaunt, and some charge which Sampson did not choose to reveal. "Goodheavens!" Harry groaned out, "are there two then in the family, whoare----?"
"Which two?" asked the chaplain.
But here Harry stopped, blushing very red. He remembered, and we shallpresently have to state, whence he had got his information regarding theother family culprit, and bit his lip, and was silent.
"Bygones are always unpleasant things, Mr. Warrington," said thechaplain; "and we had best hold our peace regarding them. No man orwoman can live long in this wicked world of ours without some scandalattaching to them, and I fear our excellent Baroness has been no morefortunate than her neighbours. We cannot escape calumny, my dear youngfriend! You have had sad proof enough of that in your brief stay amongstus. But we can have clear consciences, and that is the main point!" Andherewith the chaplain threw his handsome eyes upward, and tried to lookas if his conscience was as white as the ceiling.
"Has there been anything very wrong, then, about my Aunt Bernstein?"continued Harry, remembering how at home his mother had never spoken ofthe Baroness.
"O sancta simplicitas!" the chaplain muttered to himself. "Stories, mydear sir, much older than your time or mine. Stories such as were toldabout everybody, de me, de te; you know with what degree of truth inyour own case."
"Confound the villain! I should like to hear any scoundrel say a wordagainst the dear old lady," cries the young gentleman. "Why, this world,parson, is full of lies and scandal!"
"And you are just beginning to find it out, my dear sir," cries theclergyman, with his most beatified air. "Whose character has not beenattacked? My lord's, yours, mine,--every one's. We must bear as well aswe can, and pardon to the utmost of our power."
"You may. It's your cloth, you know; but, by George, I won't!" cries Mr.Warrington, and again goes down the fist with a thump on the table. "Letany fellow say a word in my hearing against that dear old creature, andI'll pull his nose, as sure as my name is Harry Esmond. How do you do,Colonel Lambert? You find us late again, sir. Me and his reverence keptit up pretty late with some of the young fellows, after the ladieswent away. I hope the dear ladies are well, sir?" and here Harry rose,greeting his friend the Colonel very kindly, who had come to pay hima morning visit, and had entered the room followed by Mr. Gumbo (thelatter preferred walking very leisurely about all the affairs of life),just as Harry--suiting the action to the word--was tweaking the nose ofCalumny.
"The ladies are purely. Whose nose were you pulling when I came in, Mr.Warrington?" says the Colonel, laughing.
"Isn't it a shame, sir? The parson, here, was telling me that thereare villains here who attack the character of my aunt, the Baroness ofBernstein!"
"You don't mean to say so!" cries Mr. Lambert.
"I tell Mr. Harry that everybody is calumniated!" says the chaplain,with a clerical intonation; but, at the same time, he looks at ColonelLambert and winks, as much as to say, "He knows nothing--keep him in thedark."
The Colonel took the hint. "Yes," says he, "the jaws of slander are forever wagging. Witness that story about the dancing-girl, that we allbelieved against you, Harry Warrington."
"What, all, sir?"
"No, not all. One didn't--Hetty didn't. You should have heard herstanding up for you, Harry, t'other day, when somebody--a littlebird--brought us another story about you; about a game at cards onSunday morning, when you and a friend of yours might have been betteremployed." And here there was a look of mingled humour and reproof atthe clergyman.
"Faith, I own it, sir!" says the chaplain. "It was mea culpa, meamaxima--no, mea minima culpa, only the rehearsal of an old game atpiquet, which we had been talking over."
"And did Miss Hester stand up for me?" says Harry.
"Miss Hester did. But why that wondering look?" asks the Colonel.
"She scolded me last night like--like anything," says downright Harry."I never heard a young girl go on so. She made fun of everybody--hitabout at young and old--so that I couldn't help telling her, sir, thatin our country, leastways in Virginia (they say the Yankees are verypert), young people don't speak of their elders so. And, do you know,sir, we had a sort of a quarrel, and I'm very glad you've told me shespoke kindly of me," says Harry, shaking his friend's hand, a readyboyish emotion glowing in his cheeks and in his eyes.
"You won't come to much hurt if you find no worse enemy than Hester, Mr.Warrington," said the girl's father, gravely, looking not without adeep thrill of interest at the flushed face and moist eyes of his youngfriend. "Is he fond of her?" thought the Colonel
. "And how fond? 'Tisevident he knows nothing, and Miss Het has been performing some ofher tricks. He is a fine, honest lad, and God bless him!" And ColonelLambert looked towards Harry with that manly, friendly kindness whichour lucky young Virginian was not unaccustomed to inspire, for he wascomely to look at, prone to blush, to kindle, nay, to melt, at a kindstory. His laughter was cheery to hear: his eyes shone confidently: hisvoice spoke truth.
"And the young lady of the minuet? She distinguished herself toperfection: the whole room admired," asked the courtly chaplain. "Itrust Miss--Miss----"
"Miss Theodosia is perfectly well, and ready to dance at this minutewith your reverence," says her father. "Or stay, Chaplain, perhaps youonly dance on Sunday?" The Colonel then turned to Harry again. "Youpaid your court very neatly to the great lady, Mr. Flatterer. My LadyYarmouth has been trumpeting your praises at the Pump Room. She saysshe has got a leedel boy in Hannover dat is wery like you, and you are asharming young mans."
"If her ladyship were a queen, people could scarcely be more respectfulto her," says the chaplain.
"Let us call her a vice-queen, parson," says the Colonel, with a twinkleof his eye.
"Her Majesty pocketed forty of my guineas at quadrille," cries Mr.Warrington, with a laugh.
"She will play you on the same terms another day. The Countess is fondof play, and she wins from most people," said the Colonel, drily. "Whydon't you bet her ladyship five thousand on a bishopric, parson? I haveheard of a clergyman who made such a bet, and who lost it, and who paidit, and who got the bishopric.
"Ah! who will lend me the five thousand? Will you, sir? asked thechaplain.
"No, sir! I won't give her five thousand to be made Commander-in-Chiefor Pope of Rome," says the Colonel, stoutly. "I shall fling no stonesat the woman; but I shall bow no knee to her, as I see a pack of rascalsdo. No offence--I don't mean you. And I don't mean Harry Warrington,who was quite right to be civil to her, and to lose his money withgood-humour. Harry, I am come to bid thee farewell, my boy. We have hadour pleasuring--my money is run out, and we must jog back to Oakhurst.Will you ever come and see the old place again?"
"Now, sir, now! I'll ride back with you!" cries Harry, eagerly.
"Why--no--not now," says the Colonel, in a hurried manner. "We haven'tgot room--that is, we're--we're expecting some friends." ["The Lordforgive me for the lie!" he mutters.] "But--but you'll come to uswhen--when Tom's at home--yes, when Tom's at home. That will befamous fun--and I'd have you to know, sir, that my wife and I love yousincerely, sir--and so do the girls, however much they scold you. And ifyou ever are in a scrape--and such things have happened, Mr. Chaplain!you will please to count upon me. Mind that, sir!"
And the Colonel was for taking leave of Harry then and there, on thespot, but the young man followed him down the stairs, and insisted uponsaying good-bye to his dear ladies.
Instead, however, of proceeding immediately to Mr. Lambert's lodging,the two gentlemen took the direction of the common, where, lookingfrom Harry's windows, Mr. Sampson saw the pair in earnest conversation.First, Lambert smiled and looked roguish. Then, presently, at a fartherstage of the talk, he flung up both his hands and performed othergestures indicating surprise and agitation.
"The boy is telling him," thought the chaplain. When Mr. Warrington cameback in an hour, he found his reverence deep in the composition of asermon. Harry's face was grave and melancholy; he flung down his hat,buried himself in a great chair, and then came from his lips somethinglike an execration.
"The young ladies are going, and our heart is affected?" said thechaplain, looking up from his manuscript.
"Heart!" sneered Harry.
"Which of the young ladies is the conqueror, sir? I thought theyoungest's eyes followed you about at your ball."
"Confound the little termagant!" broke out Harry. "What does she mean bybeing so pert to me? She treats me as if I was a fool!"
"And no man is, sir, with a woman!" said the scribe of the sermon.
"Ain't they, Chaplain?" And Harry growled out more naughty wordsexpressive of inward disquiet.
"By the way, have you heard anything of your lost property?" asked thechaplain, presently looking up from his pages.
Harry said "No!" with another word, which I would not print for theworld.
"I begin to suspect, sir, that there was more money than you like to ownin that book. I wish I could find some."
"There were notes in it," said Harry, very gloomily, "and--and papersthat I am very sorry to lose. What the deuce has come of it? I had itwhen we dined together."
"I saw you put it in your pocket," cried the chaplain. "I saw you takeit out and pay at the toy-shop a bill for a gold thimble and workbox forone of your young ladies. Of course you have asked there, sir?"
"Of course I have," says Mr. Warrington, plunged in melancholy.
"Gumbo put you to bed--at least, if I remember right. I was so cutmyself that I scarce remember anything. Can you trust those blackfellows, sir?"
"I can trust him with my head. With my head?" groaned out Mr.Warrington, bitterly., "I can't trust myself with it."
"'Oh, that a man should put an enemy into his mouth to steal away hisbrains!'"
"You may well call it an enemy, Chaplain. Hang it, I have a great mindto make a vow never to drink another drop! A fellow says anything whenhe is in drink."
The chaplain laughed. "You, sir," he said, "are close enough!" And thetruth was, that, for the last few days, no amount of wine would unsealMr. Warrington's lips, when the artless Sampson by chance touched on thesubject of his patron's loss.
"And so the little country nymphs are gone, or going, sir?" asked thechaplain. "They were nice, fresh little things; but I think the motherwas the finest woman of the three. I declare, a woman at five-and-thirtyor so is at her prime. What do you say, sir?"
Mr. Warrington looked, for a moment, askance at the clergyman. "Confoundall women, I say!" muttered the young misogynist. For which sentimentevery well-conditioned person will surely rebuke him.
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