In consequence of these plans and reflections, Mrs. Falconer began her new system of operations, by writing that note full of superfluous civility to Mrs. Percy, with which Commissioner Falconer had been charged: the pressing Caroline to play Zara or Marcia, the leaving to her the choice of dresses and characters, the assurance that Miss Georgiana Falconer would take the confidante’s part with pleasure, were all strokes of Mrs. Falconer’s policy. By these means she thought she could most effectually do away all suspicion of her own or her daughter’s jealousy of Miss Caroline Percy. Mrs. Falconer foresaw that, in all probability, Caroline would decline acting; but if she had accepted, Mrs. Falconer would have been sincerely pleased, confident, as she was, that Caroline’s inferiority to her Georgiana, who was an accomplished actress, would be conspicuously manifest.
As soon as Mrs. Percy’s answer, and Caroline’s refusal, arrived, Mrs. Falconer went to her daughter Georgiana’s apartment, who was giving directions to her maid, Lydia Sharpe, about some part of Zara’s dress.
“My dear,” said Mrs. Falconer, looking carelessly at the dress, “you won’t want a very expensive dress for Zara.”
“Indeed, ma’am, I shall,” cried Georgiana: “Zara will be nothing, unless she is well dressed.”
“Well, my dear, you must manage as well as you can with Lydia Sharpe. Your last court-dress surely she can make do vastly well, with a little alteration to give it a Turkish air.”
“Oh! dear me, ma’am! — a little alteration!” cried Lydia: “no alteration upon the face of Heaven’s earth, that I could devise from this till Christmas, would give it a Turkish air. You don’t consider, nor conceive, ma’am, how skimping these here court-trains are now — for say the length might answer, its length without any manner of breadth, you know, ma’am — look, ma’am, a mere strip! — only two breadths of three quarters bare each — which gives no folds in nature, nor drapery, nor majesty, which, for a Turkish queen, is indispensably requisite, I presume.”
“Another breadth or two would make it full enough, and cotton velvet will do, and come cheap,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Cotton velvet!” cried Miss Georgiana. “I would not wear cotton velvet — like the odious, shabby Miss Chattertons, who are infamous for it.”
“But on the stage, what eye could detect it, child?” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Eye, ma’am! no, to be sure, at that distance: but the first touch to any body that understands velvets would betray it — and them that is on the stage along with Miss Georgiana, or behind the scenes, will detect it. And I understood the ladies was to sup in their dresses, and on such an occasion I presumed you would like Miss Georgiana to have an entire cap a pie new dress, as the Lady Arlingtons and every body has seen her appear in this, and has it by heart, I may say — and the Count too, who, of course, will expect, to see Zara spick and span — But I leave it all to your own better judgment, ma’am — I am only just mentioning—”
“All I know is, that the play will be nothing unless it is well dressed,” cried Miss Georgiana; “and I never will play Zara in old trumpery.”
“Well, my dear, there’s your amber satin, or your pink, or your green, or your white, or — I am sure you have dresses enough. Lydia, produce them, and let me see.”
Lydia covered the bed with various finery; but to every dress that was produced some insuperable objection was started by the young lady or by her maid.
“I remember you had a lavender satin, that I do not see here, Georgiana,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“The colour did not become me, ma’am, and I sold it to Lydia.”
Sold! gave, perhaps some innocent reader may suspect that the young lady meant to say. — No: this buying and selling of finery now goes on frequently between a certain class of fashionable maids and mistresses; and some young ladies are now not ashamed to become old clothes-women.
“Vastly well,” said Mrs. Falconer, smiling; “you have your own ways and means, and I am glad of it, for I can tell you there is no chance of my getting you any money from your father; I dare not speak to him on that subject — for he was extremely displeased with me about Mrs. Sparkes’ last bill: so if you want a new dress for Zara, you and Lydia Sharpe must settle it as well as you can between you. I will, in the mean time, go and write a note, while you make your bargain.”
“Bargain! Me, ma’am!” cried Lydia Sharpe, as Mrs. Falconer left the room; “I am the worst creature extant at bargaining, especially with ladies. But any thing I can do certainly to accommodate, I shall, I’m sure, be happy.”
“Well, then,” said Miss Georgiana, “if you take this white satin off my hands, Lydia, I am sure I shall be happy.”
“I have no objection, ma’am — that is, I’m in duty bound to make no manner of objections,” said Lydia, with a very sentimental air, hanging her head aside, and with one finger rubbing her under-lip slowly, as she contemplated the white satin, which her young mistress held up for sale. “I am really scrupulous — but you’re sensible, Miss Georgiana, that your white satin is so all frayed with the crape sleeves. Lady Trant recommended—”
“Only a very little frayed.”
“But in the front breadth, ma’am; you know that makes a world of difference, because there’s no hiding, and with satin no turning — and not a bit neither to new body.”
“The body is perfectly good.”
“I beg pardon for observing, but you know, ma’am, you noticed yourself how it was blacked and soiled by wearing under your black lace last time, and that you could not wear it again on that account.”
“I! — but you—”
“To be sure, ma’am, there’s a great deal of difference between I and you: only when one comes to bargaining—”
She paused, seeing wrath gathering black and dire in her young lady’s countenance; before it burst, she changed her tone, and continued, “All I mean to say, ma’am, is, that white satin being a style of thing I could not pretend to think of wearing in any shape myself, I could only take it to part with again, and in the existing circumstances, I’m confident I should lose by it. But rather than disoblige, I’ll take it at whatever you please.”
“Nay, I don’t please about the matter, Lydia; but I am sure you had an excellent bargain of my lavender satin, which I had only worn but twice.”
“Dear heart! — La, ma’am! if you knew what trouble I had with Mrs. Sparkes, the dress-maker, about it, because of the coffee-stain — And I vow to my stars I am ashamed to mention it; but Mrs. Scrags, Lady Trant’s woman, and both the Lady Arlingtons’ maids, can vouch for the truth of it. I did not make a penny, but lost, ma’am, last year, by you and Miss Bell; that is, not by you nor Miss Bell, but by all I bought, and sold to disadvantage; which, I am morally certain, you would not have permitted, had you known of it, as I told Mrs. Scrags, who was wondering and pitying of me: my young ladies, Mrs. Scrags, says I—”
“No matter,” interrupted Georgiana; “no matter what you said to Mrs. Scrags, or Mrs. Scrags to you — but tell me at once, Lydia, what you can afford to give me for these three gowns.”
“I afford to give!” said Lydia Sharpe. “Well, the times is past, to be sure, and greatly changed, since ladies used to give, but now it’s their maids must give — then, suppose — let’s see, ma’am — for the three, the old white satin, and the amber satin, and the black lace — why, ma’am, if you’d throw me the pink crape into the bargain, I don’t doubt but I could afford to give you nine guineas, ma’am,” said the maid.
“Then, Lydia Sharpe, you will never have them, I promise you,” cried the mistress: “Nine guineas! how can you have the assurance to offer me such a sum? As if I had never bought a gown in my life, and did not know the value or price of any thing! Do you take me for a fool?”
“Oh! dear no, miss — I’m confident that you know the value and price to the uttermost penny — but only you forget that there’s a difference betwixt the buying and selling price for ladies; but if you please, ma’am — I would do any thing to
oblige and accommodate you — I will consult the Lady Arlingtons’ women, Miss Flora, and Miss Prichard, who is judges in this line — most honourable appraisers; and if they praise the articles, on inspection, a shilling higher, I am sure I shall submit to their jurisdiction — if they say ten guineas, ma’am, you shall have it, for I love to be at a word and a blow — and to do every thing genteel: so I’ll step and consult my friends, ma’am, and give you my ultimatum in half an hour.”
So saying, whilst her young mistress stood flushed and swelling with pride and anger, which, however, the sense of her own convenience and interest controlled, the maid swept up the many coloured robes in her arms, and carried them up the back stairs, to hold her consultation with her friends, the most honourable of appraisers.
“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Falconer, returning as she heard the maid quit the room, “have you driven your bargain for the loan? Have you raised the supplies?”
“No, indeed, ma’am — for Lydia is grown a perfect Jew. She may well say she is related to Sharpe, the attorney — she is the keenest, most interested creature in the world — and grown very saucy too.”
“Like all those people, my dear; but one can’t do without them.”
“But one can change them.”
“But, to use their own language, one is not sure of bettering oneself — and then their wages are to be paid — and all one’s little family secrets are at their mercy.”
“It’s very provoking — it is very provoking!” repeated Miss Georgiana, walking up and down the room. “Such an extortioner! — for my amber satin, and my white satin, and my black lace, and my pink crape, only nine guineas! What do you think of that, ma’am?”
“I think, my dear, you pay a prodigious premium for ready money; but nine guineas will dress Zara decently, I dare say, if that’s your object.”
“Nine guineas! ma’am,” cried Miss Georgiana, “impossible! I can’t act at all — so there’s an end of the matter.”
“Not an end of the matter quite,” said Mrs. Falconer, coolly; “for in that case I must look out for another Zara.”
“And where will you find one, ma’am?”
“The Lady Arlingtons have both fine figures — and, I dare say, would either of them oblige me.”
“Not they. Lady Anne, with her indolence and her languor — a lady who looks as if she was saying, ‘Quasha, tell Quaco to tell Fibba to pick up this pin that lies at my foot;’ do you think she’d get a part by heart, ma’am, to oblige you — or that she could, if she would, act Zara? — No more than she could fly!”
“But her sister, Lady Frances, would and could,” said Mrs. Falconer. “She is quick enough, and I know she longs to try Zara.”
“Longs! — Lord, ma’am, she longs for fifty things in a minute! — Quick! — Yes, but don’t depend on her, I advise you; for she does not know, for two seconds together, what she would have or what she would do.”
“Then I have resource in one who, I am persuaded, will not disappoint me or any body else,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Whom can you mean, ma’am?”
“Miss Caroline Percy. Count Altenberg put it into my head: he observed that she would look the character remarkably well — and I will write to her directly.”
Without power of articulating, Miss Georgiana Falconer fixed her eyes upon her mother for some moments.
“You think I have lost my senses this morning — I thought, and I am afraid so did many other people, that you had lost yours last night. Another such scene, your friends the Lady Arlingtons for spectators, you are ridiculous, and, of course, undone for life in the fashionable world — establishment, and every thing else that is desirable, irrevocably out of the question. I am surprised that a girl of your understanding and really polished manners, Georgiana, should, the moment any thing crosses or vexes you, show no more command of temper, grace, or dignity, than the veriest country girl. When things go wrong, do you see me lose all presence of mind; or rather, do you ever see me change a muscle of my countenance?”
“The muscles of some people’s countenance, ma’am, I suppose, are differently made from others — mine will change with my feelings, and there is no remedy, for my feelings unfortunately are uncommonly acute.”
“That is a misfortune, indeed, Georgiana; but not without remedy, I trust. If you will take my advice—”
“Were you ever in love, ma’am?”
“Properly — when every thing was settled for my marriage; but not improperly, or it might never have come to my wedding-day. Headstrong child! listen to me, or you will never see that day with Count Altenberg.”
“Do you mean, ma’am, to ask Miss Caroline Percy to play Zara?”
“I will answer no question, Georgiana, till you have heard me patiently.”
“I only hope, ma’am, you’ll put it in the play-bill — or, if you don’t, I will — Zara, Miss Caroline Percy — by particular desire of Count Altenberg.”
“Whatever I do, you may hope and be assured, Georgiana, shall be properly done,” cried Mrs. Falconer, rising with dignity; “and, since you are not disposed to listen to me, I shall leave you to your own inventions, and go and write my notes.”
“La, mamma! dear mamma! dear’st mamma!” cried the young lady, throwing her arms round her mother, and stopping her. “You that never change a muscle of your countenance, how hasty you are with your own Georgiana! — sit down, and I’ll listen patiently!”
Mrs. Falconer seated herself, and Miss Georgiana prepared to listen patiently, armed with a piece of gold fringe, which she rolled and unrolled, and held in different lights and varied festoons whilst her mother spoke, or, as the young lady would say, lectured. Mrs. Falconer was too well aware of the impracticableness of her daughter’s temper to tell her upon this occasion the whole truth, even if her own habits would have permitted her to be sincere. She never mentioned to Georgiana that she had totally given up the scheme of marrying her to Count Altenberg, and that she was thoroughly convinced there was no chance of her winning him; but, on the contrary, she represented to the young lady that the Count had only a transient fancy for Miss Caroline Percy, which would never come to any serious proposal, unless it was opposed; that in a short time they should go to town, and the Count, of course, would return with Lord Oldborough: then the game would be in her own hands, provided, in the mean time, Georgiana should conduct herself with prudence and temper, and let no creature see or suspect any sort of anxiety; for that would give such an advantage against her, and such a triumph to Caroline and her friends, who, as Mrs. Falconer said, were, no doubt, all on the watch to “interpret,” or misinterpret, “motions, looks, and eyes.” “My dear,” concluded the mother, “your play is to show yourself always easy and happy, whatever occurs; occupied with other things, surrounded by other admirers, and encouraging them properly — properly of course to pique the jealousy of your Count.”
“My Count!” said Georgiana, with half a smile; “but Miss — You say this fancy of his will pass away — but when? When?”
“You young people always say, ‘but when?’ you have no idea of looking forward: a few months, a year, more or less, what does it signify? Georgiana, are you in such imminent danger of growing old or ugly?”
Georgiana turned her eyes involuntarily towards the glass, and smiled.
“But, ma’am, you were not in earnest then about getting another Zara.”
“The offer I made — the compliments I paid in the note I wrote this morning, were all necessary to cover your mistakes of the night.”
“Made! Wrote!” cried the young lady, with terror in her voice and eyes: “Good Heavens! mother, what have you done?”
“I had no doubt at the time I wrote,” continued Mrs. Falconer, coolly, “I had no other idea, but that Miss Caroline Percy would decline.”
“Oh! ma’am,” cried Georgiana, half crying, then stamping with passion, “Oh! ma’am, how could you imagine, or affect to imagine, that that girl, that odious girl, who was born to be
my plague, with all her affected humility, would decline? — Decline! — no, she will be transported to come sweeping in, in gorgeous tragedy — Zara! Marcia! If the whole family can beg or borrow a dress for her, we are undone — that’s our only chance. Oh! mother, what possessed you to do this?”
“Gently, pretty Passionate, and trust to my judgment in future,” putting into her daughter’s hands Mrs. Percy’s note.
“Miss Caroline Percy — sorry — out of her power! — Oh! charming! — a fine escape!” cried Georgiana, delighted. “You may be sure it was for want of the dress, though, mamma.”
“No matter — but about yours, my dear?”
“Oh! yes, ma’am — my dress; that’s the only difficulty now.”
“I certainly wish you, my darling, to appear well, especially as all the world will be here: the two Clays — by-the-bye, here’s their letter — they come to-morrow — and in short the whole world; but, as to money, there’s but one way of putting your father into good-humour enough with you to touch upon that string.”
“One way — well, if there be one way — any way.”
“Petcalf!”
“Oh! Petcalf is my abhorrence—”
“There is the thing! He was speaking to your father seriously about you, and your father sounded me: I said you would never agree, and he was quite displeased — that and Mrs. Sparkes’ bill completely overset him. Now, if you had your wish, Georgiana — what would be your taste, child?”
“My wish! My taste! — Oh! that would be for a delicate, delicate, soft, sentimental blue satin, with silver fringe, looped with pearl, for my first act; and in my last—”
“Two dresses! Oh! you extravagant! out of all possibility.”
“I am only wishing, telling you my taste, dear mamma. You know there must be a change of dress, in the last act, for Zara’s nuptials — now for my wedding dress, mamma, my taste would be
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 136