Girlhood and Womanhood Page 3

  ON THE STAGE AND OFF THE STAGE.

  I.--THE "BEAR" AT BATH.

  The Place was old Bath, in the days immediately succeeding those ofAlexander Pope and William Hogarth, and dovetailing into those of HoraceWalpole and the Wesleys.

  The Age was one of rackets and reaction from morning till night, andBath was the head-quarters of the first--the scene of the pump-room, theraffle, the public breakfast, the junketing at mid-day, the ball atmidnight, the play, the ridotto.

  The Scene was a private room in the "Bear," when it was crowded withpeers, bullies, rooks, highwaymen, leaders of fashion, waiting-women,and stage stars. The "Bear" was held by great Mrs. Price, a hostesslarge, shining, portly--a friendly great woman, too magnificent to befussy, or mean, or spiteful. The "Bear" looked out on the Parade, withits throngs of beaux--veritable beaux, with Beau Nash at theirhead--wigged, caned, and snuff-boxed, and belles with trains borne byblack boys, cambric caps and aprons, and abundance of velvet patches. Inand out of its yawning doorway strutted fine gentlemen, chaplains, andwits, while grooms, public and private, swarmed round the house. Itsbroad stairs and low wide corridors, traversed by the more privatecompany, led to sitting rooms of all degrees, panelled with oak or linedwith cedar, with worked worsted wonders in the shape of chairs, andChina monsters by way of ornaments.

  The Person was a handsome woman, attired negligently in what was calleda sacque, with a mob-cap. She sat sipping a dish of tea, as sober womenwill after fatigue or in anticipation of exertion, and making occasionalreference to some shabby, well-worn volumes and printed sheets piled upbeside her. Her attitude was studious, for days when a chapter of theBible, a cookery recipe, a paper by Addison or Dick Steele, or a copy ofverses, included all the knowledge after which the gentler sex aspired;her retirement was remarkable at that gay era, and in that gaddingneighbourhood; and her morning dress, though it would not have offendeda Tabitha Tidy, looked plain among the silvered mazarines and thetippets of pheasants' tails.

  She was a woman of about five-and-twenty; but her beauty, though stillin its prime, showed the wear and tear of years. Had it not been thatits chief power lay in the intellect and goodness which sat on thecapacious but not cloudy brow, and gleamed out of the cordial darkblue eyes, and hovered round the somewhat wide and somewhat lined butnever sensual mouth--you would have said this was a faded queen whomthe world was mad to worship. As it was, she did look faded thisspring afternoon, and occasionally fretted audibly enough as sheturned over the leaves of her volumes, and sighed "heigho!" as shelooked at her repeater--not quite so common an appendage as the littleGeneva story-tellers, though a footpad carried always a goodly supply,and a gentleman's gentleman of very fine prestige would wear a couple,"one in each fob"--and sipped her tea; which, by the way, she drank,not out of one of the diminutive China cups, but out of an oldbattered, but very shining little silver tankard.

  Anon my lady rose and strolled to a back window. She looked across thenoisy, crowded stable-yard into the corner of a garden, where a lilacbush was budding into dusty dim purple and a hoary apple-tree blossomedwhite and pink like a blushing child, away over the green fields to afarmhouse upon a hill, where russet and yellow stacks proved thefarmer's command of ready money, or caution in selling. From just suchanother farmhouse as that on which our bright benevolent woman--even inthe dumps--was gazing wistfully, issued Caroline Inchbald, a beauty, anda generous, virtuous woman under great temptations, a friend and rivalon equal terms with Amelia Opie.

  But hark! an arrival in the next room: fresh guests--country people ofconsequence, for they were ushered in by Mrs. Price herself, whoreceived in person their orders for an incongruous meal, neither dinnernor supper, to recruit them for some gala in which they had the prospectof figuring, to judge from a torrent of exclamations which piercedthrough a convenient cupboard in the partition.

  "Make haste, girls," in bass tones.

  "Eat away, Fiddy," in treble, mimicking the bass.

  "Uncle, don't attempt the game-pie. We'll be too late, as sure as ourheads. Didn't you hear Mrs. Price say there was a power of companywanting seats; it would be too bad if we lost the sight after all."

  "What, Prissy, worse than Admiral Byng's defeat, or my spoilt medal?"

  "Oh! Uncle Rowland, how can you joke! Now, Fiddy, there's a dearcreature, don't have anything to say to the cream-tart. What althoughwe're as hungry as hawks, if we only get a good view to talk about atthe Vicarage and Larks' Hall."

  "There--Prissy, dear, then I've done. I'll just run and shake our myrtlecrapes and fresh pinch our stomachers."

  "Hold! no such thing, lasses. I'm not to be left here to feed insolitude, and without e'er a portfolio or picture. You little geese, itis two good hours to the exhibition. Are you to be frizzing, andpainting, and lacing, and mincing, and capering for two mortal hours,and your poor country uncle left to spoil his digestion for want ofsomething else to do than eat? Is that your gratitude, when here have Icome against my will to introduce you to the wicked, gay world, andspoil your Arcadian simplicity? Don't make faces, Prissy!"

  "Oh! Uncle Rowland; you are making base pretences."

  "Indeed, sir, I think you are as wild to see the wonders as we are."

  But the remonstrance had its effect, for the young ladies evidently satdown again, and, by the clatter of knives and forks, one could judgethey condescended to do some justice to the good things provided fortheir solace, while the conversation went on in more regular order.

  The lady in the Nankin sitting-room had decidedly the advantage in thissituation, as she did not soliloquize in private, and she heard throughthe cupboard and the locked door of communication the chat of herneighbours. They spoke no treason, and they ought to be more prudent ifthey told secrets: it was a real benefit to a lonely wight, a littleirritated in nerve and temper, to be a party to their lively,affectionate, simple intercourse; and, as the truth must be told, thelady in the Nankin sitting-room crossed her hands with a motion ofindolent interest and turned her head with an air of listless pleasure,nodding and beating her foot lightly on the floor now and then, ininterjection and commentary. She could figure the group perfectly. Tworosy little girls brought into the town for a day and a night's shoppingand gadding, as they would call it, under the escort of an indulgentuncle: a bachelor probably, else madam, his wife, would have been thereto keep them in order; and not so very elderly, for the good man was ofwhat is styled a sprightly turn, and though his nieces submitted to hisauthority, there was a decidedly modified amount of reverence in the wayin which they insisted,

  "You must comb out your curls, Uncle Rowland."

  "And I'll tie your cravat for you, sir, and make you quite smart. We arenot to appear abroad with a country bumpkin or a fright of a student,are we, Prissy?"

  And mutual jokes were bandied pretty freely.

  "Now, Prissy, are we to see the famous Traveller?"

  "No, sir, it is to be the Virtuoso, with the mock copper coins."

  "Bronze, child, bronze."

  "We're to have nobody in particular, only Lady Betty," chimed in themore girlish voice. "The company, the other gentlefolks, will be quitesufficient besides."

  "And Fiddy will scream when the blunderbusses are fired. Shall wetake the precaution of putting cotton in her ears beforehand?"derided the man.

  Then the single lady fixed further, that Prissy (Mistress Priscilla,doubtless, in company down in Somersetshire) was the cleverest and mostforward, and that Fiddy (Mistress Fidelia) was the shyest and, perhaps,the prettiest, for she was clearly Uncle Rowland's favourite. But then,for all her rosy cheeks, poor child! she was delicate, since there was aconstant cry from the conductor of the party, "Fiddy, you vain doll,remember your mantle; Madam is not here to wrap you up, nor Granny."

  "Oh, sir! we've lots of scarfs and shawls, all for Fiddy; and she is totie on her Iris hood against the draughts."

  "What! one of the poppies and bluebells that Will Honeycomb admired?She'll beat you, Prissy, out and out. I would sicken and b
ear hercompany."

  "I wonder to hear you, sir. I can tell you, Granny would not coddle meso. Granny is always preaching of hardening weakness."

  "Ah, the old mother is no milksop!"

  There, was she not right? Had she not full hints of the history of theVicarage and madam its mistress, the mother of these two littlegirls; and of the parish priest her husband, their father--the youngerbrother of the tolerably educated squire yonder, with his Larks' Hall;and of Granny, who kept house there still for her elder son, where shehad once reigned queen paramount in the hearty days of her homelygoodman. It was a scroll fairly unfolded, and perfectly legible to theexperienced woman.

  "Uncle Rowland," prefaced the soft voice, more quietly, "do you reallythink the gay world of the town so much more vicious than the soberworld of the country?"

  "Why, no, my dear," answered the manly voice, now graver, and with alittle sadness in its ring, "ignorance is not innocence, and depravityis vastly more general than any mode. Nevertheless, there are customs ofwhich I would greatly prefer Prissy and Fiddy to remain unaware, liketheir mother before them."

  "But Granny lived in the great world, and there is not one of us likeGranny."

  "The risk is too great, child; the fire is wondrous strong, though thepure gold be sometimes refined in the process--as your father wouldpreach."

  "And, sir, this Mistress Lumley, or Lady Betty, as they called herdownstairs, is as virtuous as she is clever."

  "You may depend upon that, Miss, or you had not come to Bath to see herplay. They term the poor soul Lady Betty because she has turned on herheel from the worthless London sparks, and taught them to keep theirdistance."

  "Uncle Rowland, I don't think you heartily sympathize with charming LadyBetty."

  "Tut! child, I have not seen her. You would not have me captivated ere Iever set eyes on my enslaver? But, to speak honestly, little Fiddy, Iown I have no great leaning to actresses and authoresses. There areperils enough in a woman's natural course, without her challenging theextremes of a fictitious career. More than that, Fiddy, I have not muchfaith in the passion that is ranted to the public; even if it werealways a creditable passion. Those who are sorely hurt don't bawl,child: deep streams are still."

  "I will play to him," the lady of the Nankin sitting-room says toherself, her lips parting with a slight smile, and her colour rising atthe same time. Your true woman is easily pained, and, the more fullyfurnished, the more finely skilled, she is all the more susceptible toblame as to praise, and so on that account the less qualified for publiclife. There was many a strong enough argument against the stage and thedesk which Master Rowland might have used instead of his weak one.

  Lady Betty, in that bubbling, frothing, steaming London--Mistress Lumleyin the provinces--was a young actress of great repute and goodcharacter, who had compelled success, like Mrs. Siddons after her, andreigned for several seasons, and still her fame was paramount and herrespectability unquestioned. In those very dissipated days of Queen Anneand the early Georges, the broad prejudices which darken the stage werelight in tint and slender in force. The great world was tumultuous,giddy, reckless, with innumerable victims falling suddenly into itsyawning chasms, like the figures from the bridge in Mirza's vision; andthe theatre was not a more exposed sphere than many another, and thatmade all the difference in the world. Very few save the strictestMethodists condemned it, when Henry Brooke wrote for it, and Dr. Johnsonstood with his hands behind his back in the green room.

  Mrs. Betty Lumley, tall, comely, high-principled, warm-hearted, andingenuous, was come of yeomen ancestors. She did not see a play in abarn and run away after the drama, like Caroline Inchbald; but on thedeath of her father and mother, she went up with an elder sister andyoung brother to London to seek for an employment and a livelihood.Encountering some person of dramatic pursuits--manager, stage-painter,ticket-taker, or the like, or the wife of one or other--she wasrecommended to the stage. She was supported in the idea by all herconnections, for then no one questioned the perfect respectability ofthe profession. She studied hard in new, though not uncongenial fields;she ventured; she tried again and again, with the "modest butindomitable pluck" of genius, and she at last won a position and aprospect of independence. In all this nobody blamed her; on thecontrary, the magnates of the hour--kings, councillors, bishops--awardedher great credit for her parts, her industry, her integrity, her honour.

  Not a lady of quality in London was more respected and admired, rightlyor wrongly, than Mistress Betty. At the same time it is possible that,having reached the goal, could she have turned back and begun her walkanew, she would have hesitated before following this thorny path. It wasa thorny path, for all its applause and success; nay, on account ofthem; even with a good woman like Mistress Betty it required all hersincerity, her sobriety, and, according to the prevailing standard, herreligion, to deliver her from imminent danger. Moreover, with theattainment of the object, had come the bitter drops which qualified thecup. Her plain, fond, innocent sister was in her grave; and so withinthe two last years was the young brother, for whom her interest hadprocured a post of some importance in the Colonies, whence he bequeathedto Mistress Betty, his dear distinguished sister, his little savings.She struggled to be resigned, and was not only weary, but tempted tograsp at material rewards. This was the turning-point of her life. Shewould be virtuous to the last. Her honest, clear character revolted atvice; but she might harden, grow greedy of power, become imperious andarrogant. For, remember, I do not say that Mistress Betty had contractedno contamination. No, no; she had suffered from her selfish fits, hervain fits, her malicious fits--she had experienced her hours of boldnessand levity--she had made her own way to eminence--she had struggled withunscrupulous rivals--she had heard much which we would have wished hernot to have heard--she had been a member of that wild, ultra-fine,coarse, scandalous society: but as we find saints in strange companysometimes, so the cordial, faithful, generous woman remained with only aslight coating of affectation and worldliness, thirst for praise, desireafter excitement, habit of command.

  "I'll play to this horrid country Justice," whispers Mistress Betty,quite roused, and looking animated and brilliant already. "I hear by thegentleness of his voice, when he speaks of the sins and sorrows ofmankind, and when he addresses his little girl, that the fellow has aheart; but he gave me no quarter, and he shall receive none in return.I'll conquer him. To come within sight and sound of the boards with hismuddy boots and his snarls, spoiling the enjoyment of the lasses!"

  Very true, Mistress Betty, it was neither very wise nor very gallant;but you ought to remember that the most loyal prejudices are sometimesas loyally abandoned.

  II.--LADY BETTY ON THE STAGE.

  The principal theatre of the queen of watering-places in her palmy dayswas filling fast, as it had done for the last two nights. Otherattractions lost their power. Ombre, basset, hazard, lansquenet, loo,spread their cards and counters in vain for crafty or foolhardy fingers.The master of the ceremonies found his services at a discount; no troopsof maidens, no hosts of squires, answered to his appeal; no double setswere forming to the inspiring strains of "Nancy Dawson." The worthy,charming, gifted Lady Betty had come down for three nights to improve,entertain, and enrapture, and this being her last night the theatreconstituted the only orbit in which the planets would revolve.

  The world was here in full-blown variety; sublime, languid peers, needyplacemen, hilarious foxhunters, brave tradesmen, aspiring mechanics,poor good-for-nothings; sober housewives, whose thoughts were still oftheir husbands' shirt-fronts and their hasty-puddings, and who neverdreamt that they were impugning their sobriety by attending a play; andabove all, fine ladies armed with their fans and their essences. As awhole, the audience was in a vastly respectful attitude--the gentlementapping their snuff-boxes meditatively, and desisting in a great measurefrom their loud laughter, their bets, their cursing and swearing; theladies only whispering behind their handkerchiefs, and moving to causetheir diamonds to sparkle, all in acknowled
gment of the vicinity of thefair and potent Lady Betty.

  The play was _Venice Preserved_, and Lady Betty entered in an earlyscene. Truly a fine woman--not so lovely as Anne Oldfield, not so superbas Sarah Siddons; but with a frank, fair, womanly presence--bright,genial, quick, passionate through the distress of Belvidera, therepudiated daughter and beggared wife.

  Dressed in the English fashion under the Georges, walked the maidenreared in the air blowing off the lagoons within the shadow of the grimlion of St. Mark, to such sentimental accompaniments as the dipping oarand the gondolier, and finished off with the peculiar whims of BettyLumley. She wore a fair, flowered brocade, for which William Hogarthmight have designed the pattern and afterwards prosecuted for paymentthe unconscionable weaver; a snow-white lace kerchief was crossed overher bosom and reached even to her shapely chin, where it met the littleblack velvet collar with its pearl sprig; her brown hair (which hadshown rather thin, rolled up beneath her mob-cap) was shaken out andgathered in rich bows with other pearl sprigs on the top of her head;her cheeks showed slightly hollow, but were so fresh, so modest, socool in their unpainted paleness, and on the smallest provocationacquired the purest sea-shell pink which it would have been a sin and ashame to eclipse with staring paint; the contour, a little sharper thanit had once been, was only rendered more delicate by the defect, and sosweet yet--so very sweet; her beautiful arms were bare to the elbow, butshaded with falls of cobweb lace; and in one hand, poised daintilybetween two fingers, she held a natural flower, a bunch of common ruralcowslips. At this period of the year such an appendage under any othertouch would have been formal as the Miss Flamborough's oranges, but itwas graceful in this woman's slight clasp.

  "Enchanting creature!" "Fine woman!" "Otway's devoted wife to the life!"murmured the company, in a flutter of genuine admiration--forgettingthemselves, these Sir Plumes and Belindas, once in a way.

  "I do hope the poor soul will not be deserted and undone--she's soeasy to serve--and all Bath, and, for that matter, Lon'on too, as Ibelieve, at her feet!" says Mrs. Price, emphatically, to youngMedlicot, whom she is patronizing for one night, because he knowssomewhat of plays and players; and who, in spite of his allegiance toswimming, simpering Clarissa, would give a fortune to paint that pose.Belvidera need fear no lolling, no sneering, no snapping at her littlepeculiarities this night.

  As she came on, "kind, good, and tender," telling poor distracted,misguided Jaffier, in his humiliation, that she joyed more in him thandid his mother, Lady Betty darted a sharp, searching glance through theboxes. Ah! yonder they were! The little girls the parson's daughters,with their uncle the squire, fault-finding, but honourable. Tworound-faced, eager, happy girls, intent upon the play, and the greatLondon star, beautiful, bewitching Lady Betty, who is now looking atthem--yes, actually staring them full in the face with her deep,melting, blue eyes, while she reassures her cowardly husband. How dareduncle Rowland disparage her?

  There was uncle Rowland, younger than Lady Betty had taken him for--notmore than five-and-forty--his coat trimmed with silver lace, a littleold-fashioned, and even a little shabby in such company, his Mechlin tierather out of date and already disordered, and his cocked-hat crushedbelow his arm. His face is bluff and ruddy among his pinched and sallowbrethren: that of a big English gentleman, who hunted, shot, or fished,or walked after his whistling ploughman every morning, and on occasionsdaringly dashed in amongst the poachers by the palings of his park orpaddock on summer evenings; yet whose hands were reasonably white andflexible, as if they handled other things than guns and fishing-rods,and whose eyes, at once clear and meditative, had studied more than thespire of his brother's church and the village street, more than quietcountry towns, and loud watering-places, and deep metropolises.

  Master Rowland had no family ties beyond the Vicarage; and was in nohurry to marry or settle, as the phrase went; though he was settled longago, and might have married once a year without any impediment from oldmadam, as Mistress Betty would have been swift to suppose. He perfectlyapproved of Mr. Spectator's standard of virtue--"Miss Liddy can dance ajig, raise a pasty, write a good hand, keep an account, give areasonable answer, and do as she is bid;" but then, it only made himyawn. The man was sinking down into an active-bodied, half-learned,half-facetious bachelor. He was mentally cropping dry and solid foodcontentedly, and, at the same time, he was a bit of a humourist. Heloved his little Prissy and Fiddy, as dear god-daughters, whom he hadspoilt as children, and whom he was determined to present with portionswhen he presided at their wedding dinners; but he had no mind to takeany of their fellows, for better for worse, as his companion, till deathdid them part.

  Then Lady Betty stepped upon the stage at Bath, and before a multitudeof frivolous and simple, or gross and depraved spectators, incapableof comprehending her, she played to the manly, modestly intellectualsquire.

  Master Rowland woke up, looked his fill, as open-mouthed as the rest,and while he did so, his system received a shock. Lady Betty wasrevenged to an extent she had not foreseen.

  The noble woman went with her whole soul into the sorrows of thedark-eyed, brown-faced sister whom Titian might have painted, and madethem accord with her fair English love of justice, her blue-eyeddevotion to her husband, her Saxon fearlessness and faith in the hour ofdanger: only she did look strange and foreign when, in place of lyingprostrate in submission and rising in chaste, meek patience to rear herorphan son, she writhed, like a Constance in agony, and died morespeedily from her despair than Jaffier by the dagger which on thescaffold freed Pierre. The assembly rose in whole rows, and sobbed andswooned. Mrs. Prissy and Mrs. Fiddy cried in delicious abandonment;Master Rowland sat motionless.

  "I declare I had forgotten the Justice," reflects Lady Betty, restingbehind the scenes. "I do believe I am that poor Belvidera for the lasthalf-hour. I meant to bring the man to tears. His blooming face was aswhite as a sheet;--poor, dear, good man, I hope he's none the worse ofit."

  Master Rowland knows full well that she is Mistress Betty Lumley thegreat London actress, not Belvidera the Venetian senator's daughter; buthe will never again turn from the chill of his stone-arched hall, wherehis fingers have grown benumbed riveting a piece of armour or copying anepitaph or an epigram, or linger under his mighty oak-tree, or advisewith his poor tenants, or worship in church, without the sickening senseof a dull blank in his heart and home.

  III.--MISTRESS BETTY BECOMES NURSE.

  Bath was sleeping as soundly as if it had been a quaker town: any soundsof riot were scattered and subdued. The dowager did not count her gainsas she clutched them, while borne along the street by the glare of thedropping flambeaux. Her son, who, like the young Duke of Marlborough andhis brother peer, carried no meaner change than golden guineas, did notclink them as he tossed them to the chairmen fighting for the prize.The "Bear" was reasonably still for a great public-house with twos andthrees of travellers departing at all hours, as waiters and ostlersstirred on their behalf, horses trotted out from adjoining stables, andcircles of chariots suffered displacement--all in addition to thedistinct and fervent sensation of the night coach.

  Suddenly a noise and a flurry arose in the grey light and its generalrepose. Accents of terror and anxiety are heard, and a movement of pityand distress arises and grows in the establishment. A young girl isattacked by violent illness--a life in its spring-time is threatenedwith sudden extinction; friends at hand are seeking remedies andbewailing the calamity--friends at a distance, all unconscious, arementioned with subdued voices and averted eyes.

  Mrs. Price was wiping her eyes and carrying up restoratives with her ownhands. "'Twas Mistress Fiddy, whom she had known from a child; the nieceof Master Rowland, who had always supported the house; and madam, hermother, away at the Vicarage, and the dear child, so good and quiet."

  "I will come, my good Mrs. Price. My sister had these fainting fits; I'mused to them. I'll revive the child: the poor child, I am sure she'llnot be offended at the liberty. Pooh! I can sit up as well as sleepafter playing. Dear! de
ar! Many a night I was happy to sit up with Deb,"pleaded an urgent, benevolent voice, waxing plaintive towards theconclusion of the speech.

  "Indeed you are too gracious, my lady--I mean madam," protested theperplexed, overwhelmed Mrs. Price; "but I dare not venture withoutMaster Rowland's consent: he will do everything himself, issue hisorders even, although Dr. Fulford's been upstairs lending his advicethese ten minutes."

  "A fudge for doctors when there's a helpful woman at hand, Mrs. Price?Convey my message to the squire; inform him that I've hadexperience--mind, experience--and am a full-grown, reasonable woman, andnot a fine lady. I know the poor little sister will be shaking like aleaf, and frightening the darling; and you are stiff in the jointsyourself, Mrs. Price, and a little overcome. I'm just the person, so letme in!"

  Master Rowland, without his coat (for though he had an orderly turn ofhis own, he was not a methodical enough man to travel with a gown andslippers in his valise), was labouring to recover his niece; MistressPrissy, with her cloak huddled round her, was making magnanimousefforts to aid her uncle; while the poor little sufferer--guileless,affectionate Mistress Fiddy--lay pale, faint, and chill, with lifeflickering beneath her half-closed eyelids and in the gushes of herfitful breath. Master Rowland's trouble rendered him outwardly coldand hard, as it does some men; yet Mistress Fiddy's closing eyesturned trustfully to him, and her weak fingers clung tightly to hisstrong hand.

  "No, no; the fewer onlookers the better. What would a stranger do here,Mrs. Price?" he inquired angrily, remembering, with a pang, that certainnew, unaccountable, engrossing emotions had quite banished Fiddy fromhis thoughts and notice, when he might have detected the signs ofapproaching illness, met them and vanquished them before their climax.

  "Bid him speak a word with me, Mrs. Price, a gentleman cannot refuse. Ihave reasons which will excuse my importunity," reiterated thatsympathetic voice.

  He walked out doggedly, and never once lifted his eyes. "Madam, I amyour servant; but we do not need your help: my niece would be scared bythe presence of a stranger. Reserve your charity----" "for the poor" hewas about to add; but she put her frank hand upon his arm, and said,"Your worship, I believe I could nurse the young lady better thananybody: I have seen my dear sister afflicted, as I judge similarly. Donot stand on ceremony, sir, and deprive a poor girl of a benefit whichProvidence has sent her, if you would not regret it. I beg your pardon,but do let me succour her."

  He looked up. There she stood in her white wrapping-gown and cap, readyprepared for her patient; so appropriate-looking in dress and face, withher broad forehead full of thought, and her cheek flushed with feeling;an able tender woman in her prime, endeavouring to do Christian offices,longing to pour balm into gaping, smarting wounds, imploring to beallowed to fulfil her mission. He bowed, and stood aside; she curtsied,and passed in. He heard her voice the next moment, low, but perfectlyaudible, cheerful and pleasant, addressing Mistress Prissy. "My dearmadam, your uncle has permitted me to count myself a mature friend, likemadam your mother; and after this introduction you will excuse me fortaking care of you. Doctor, what drops do you favour? You have themthere; if you please, I'll offer them: I've administered them before."She spoke to the doctor very courteously; perhaps remarking that he wasyoung and somewhat agitated. "Mayn't I chafe Mistress Fiddy's hands,doctor? You're better, my dear?"

  Mistress Fiddy's head was on her arm; her eyes were raised to hernurse's face wonderingly but complacently, and, though quite conscious,Mistress Fiddy involuntarily sighed out "mother." Very motherly was theelder woman's assurance: "Yes, my dear, I'll serve as madam your motherin her absence, till madam herself comes; and she'll laugh at ourconfusion and clumsiness, I warrant."

  Mistress Fiddy smiled a little smile herself. Nature was reacting in itsown redemption; the necessary stimulus was obtained, and the little lasswas in a fair way of recovery.

  But Mistress Betty did not leave off her cares; she elected herselfmistress of the sick room--for she reigned there as everywhere else.She dismissed shivering, tearful, grateful Prissy with a hug, and awhispered promise that her dear sister Fiddy would be as lively as agrig in the morning; got rid of the doctor and Mrs. Price, and allbut routed Master Rowland, succeeding in driving him as far as thenext room.

  How light her foot was--light as her fingers were nimble; how cleverlyshe shaded the sick girl from the light, without depriving her of air!How resigned Fiddy was to be consigned to her! how quickly and entirelythe child had confided in her; she had hailed her as another mother!Mistress Betty was putting the chamber to rights, in defiance of allthe chamber-maids of the "Bear;" she was concocting some refreshingdrink, for which Mrs. Price had supplied the materials, over the fire,which she had ordered in case of mould and damp, even in thewell-seasoned "Bear." Once she began to sing softly what might have beena cradle-song, but stopped short, as if fearing to disturb Fiddy, andcomposed herself to perfect stillness. Then Master Rowland heardMistress Fiddy question Mistress Betty in her weak, timid voice, onFiddy's own concerns. "You said you had seen these fits before, madam?May I be so bold as to ask, did the sufferer recover?"

  There was a moment's silence. "It was my sister, Fiddy: she was mucholder than I. She had a complication of diseases, besides being liableto swoons all her life. My dear, she died, as we must all die when ourtime comes; and may we all be as well prepared as was Deb! In themeantime we are in God's hands. I have been taken with fainting fitsmyself, Fiddy, ere now. I think they are in my constitution, but theyare not called out yet, and I believe they will be kept under; as, Ifully trust, country air, and exercise, and early hours, will conqueryours."

  "And you will take great care of yourself, and go into the countrysometimes, dear Mistress Betty," pleaded the girl fondly, forgettingherself.

  Mistress Betty laughed, and turned the conversation, and finally readher patient to sleep with the Morning Lesson, given softly andreverently, as good Bishop Ken himself might have done it.

  The poor squire was a discomfited, disordered Sir Roger. He could notcope with this fine woman; and then it came home to him imperativelythat he was precisely in that haggard, unbecoming state of looks andcostume significantly expressed in those days by the powder being out ofa man's hair and his frills rumpled. So he absented himself for an hour,and returned freshened by a plunge in the river and a puff in his wig.But, alas! he found that Mistress Betty, without quitting MistressFiddy's bedchamber, and by the mere sleight of hand of tying on a workedapron with vine clusters and leaves and tendrils all in purple and greenfloss silks, pinning a pink bow under her mob-cap, and sticking in herbosom a bunch of dewy ponceau polyanthuses, had beat him mostcompletely.

  Mistress Fiddy was, as Mistress Betty had predicted, so farre-established that she could breakfast with the party and talk ofriding home later in the day; though wan yet, like one of those roseswith a faint colour and a fleeting odour in their earliest bud. AndMistress Betty breakfasted with the Parnells, and was such company asthe little girls had never encountered before; nor, for that matter,their uncle before them, though he kept his discovery a profound secret.It was not so pleasant in one sense, and yet in another it made him feellike a king.

  This was Mistress Betty's last day in Bath, and she was to travel up toTown in the train of my Lord and Lady Salop, by easy stages and longhalts; otherwise she must have hired servants, or carried pistols, andbeen prepared to use them, in the mail. Fortunately the Salops' chariotsand gigs did not start till the afternoon, so that Mistress Betty hadthe morning to spend with her new friends, and she was delighted tobestow it on them; though my Lord and Lady and their satellites wereperpetually sending lacqueys with compliments, conveniences, and littleofferings to court Mistress Betty,--the star in the plenitude of herlustre, who might emulate Polly Peacham, and be led to the altar byanother enslaved Duke of Bolton.

  How pleasant Mistress Betty was with the girls! Upon the whole, sheslighted "the Justice," as she had dubbed him. She saw with her quickeyes that he was something superior; but then she saw
many men quite aswell-looking, well-endowed, well-mannered, and with as fair intellects,and more highly cultivated than he.

  But she did not often find a pair of unsophisticated little girls won toher by her frankness and kindness, and dazzled by her goodness andgreatness. How she awoke Fiddy's laugh with the Chit-Chat Club and theSilence Stakes. What harmless, diverting stories she told them of highlife--how she had danced at Ranelagh, sailed upon the Thames, eaten herbun at Chelsea, mounted one of the eight hundred favours which cost aguinea a piece when Lady Die became a countess, and called upon LadyPetersham, in her deepest mourning, when she sat in her state-bedenveloped in crape, with her children and grandchildren in a row at herfeet! And then she told that she was born in a farmhouse like that onthe hill, and would like to know if they roasted groats and played atshovelboard there still; and ended by showing them her little silvertankard, which her godfather the jolly miller had given her, and out ofwhich her elder sister, who had never taken kindly to tea, had drunkher ale and her aniseed water. And Fiddy and Prissy had each a draughtof milk out of it, to boast of for the rest of their lives, as if theyhad sipped caudle out of the caudle-cup at a royal heir's christening.

  Mistress Betty made the girls talk, too,--of their garden, the oldparish clerk, the housekeeper at Larks' Hall, granny, madam, the vicar,and, to his face, of Uncle Rowland, his horses and colts, his cows andcalves, his pictures and cabinets. They spoke also of Foxholes, of Lettyand Grizel, of Sedley and Bearwood, and Dick Ashbridge--at whose namePrissy laughed saucily, and Fiddy bit her lips and frowned as fiercelyas she was able. With what penetration Mistress Betty read theirconnections, and how blithely and tenderly she commented upon them!

  Mistress Betty promised to send her young friends sets of silk for theirembroidery (and kept her word); she presented Prissy with her enamelsnuff-box, bearing an exact representation of that ugly building of St.James's; and Fiddy with her "equipage"--scissors, tablets, and all,chased and wreathed with tiny pastorals, shepherds reclining and pipingon sylvan banks, and shepherds and shepherdesses dancing on velvetlawns.

  Mistress Betty kissed the girls at parting, and wished them health,peace, and good husbands; she held out her hand to Master Rowland, whotook it with a crimson cheek, and raised it to his lips: pshaw! shenever once looked at him.

  The poor bachelor squire drove off, but for his manhood, groaninginwardly. Lady Betty had acted, and caught not only her share of MasterRowland's ticket, to which she was fairly entitled, but the cream of hisfancy and the core of his heart; with which she had no manner ofbusiness, any more than with the State Papers and the Coronation-jewels.

  IV.--MASTER ROWLAND GOES UP TO LONDON.

  In the green-room of one of the great London theatres--David Garrick's,perhaps--the stage company and their friends were waiting the call-boyand the rising of the curtain.

  As strange boards as any--as broad contrasts. Here a king, with hiscrown cast down; there a beggar, with his wallet laid aside. But kingsand beggars are not affording the glaring discrepancies of Hogarth's"Olympus in a Barn," but suggesting and preserving the distinctions farbelow the buskins, the breastplate, the sandals, the symars. Here areheroes, with the heroism only skin deep; and peers, like their Graces ofBolton and Wharton, with less of the lofty, self-denying graces and theancient chivalry, than the most grovelling of ploughmen.

  Among the crowd, Lady Betty is biding her time, very _nonchalant_, and alittle solitary in her state. Ladies who are independent, exclusive, andinflexible, however admired and respected, are generally left to enjoytheir own opinions unmolested and at their leisure, whether behind thestage curtain or elsewhere.

  Just then a country gentleman, whose murrey coat has a certain countrycut, while his complexion breathes of hay-fields and hedge sides, isintroduced, gazes round, and steps up to her. Mistress Betty cries out,"La!"--an exclamation not a whit vulgar in her day--"the Justice!" Andshe holds forth both her hands. "How are dear Mistress Prissy andMistress Fiddy? Have you come up to town for any time, sir? I wishprosperity to your business."

  He has not held such kind, unaffected, friendly hands since they parted;he has only once before held a hand that could have led a Jaffier toconfess his conspiracy--that could have clung to a crushed man, andstriven to raise him when calamity, like a whirlwind, cast him down.

  The squire is sensibly moved, and Mistress Betty vindicates herwomanliness by jumping at a conclusion and settling in her own mind thathis brain is addled with this great London--its politicians, itsmohawks, its beggars in Axe Lane, its rich tradesmen in CranbourneAlley, its people of quality, fashion, and taste in their villas atTwickenham.

  He asks if she is on in Belvidera, and when he hears that it is anotheractress's benefit, and that she has only consented to appear in asecondary part in a comedy of Sir John's, who is now a greatcastle-builder, he does not trouble himself to enter a box; at which sheis half flattered, half perplexed. He waits, hot and excited, until hershort service is over. He will not call upon her at her lodgings,because, in his delicacy, he has so keen a remembrance of her exposedposition.

  In the corner behind the curtain, bounded by the refreshment table, andfilled with the prompter's monotonous drawl,--far, far from his barleyripe for the mowing, his boxwood peacocks, his greyhaired Hal and hisbuxom milkmaids; far from old madam, the pedantic, formal vicar, youngmadam, brisk, hot, and genial, and his old charmers Prissy andFiddy,--the squire told his tale of true love. The man threw down thecosts and besought Mistress Betty Lumley, Lady Betty, to renounce thestage, forsake fame, quit studies, rehearsals, opening-nights, andconcluding curtsies amidst the cheers of thousands, to go down with himto rural Larks' Hall, to grow younger, happier, and better every day,and die like Lady Loudon in her hundredth year, universallyregretted,--above all, to fill up the gulf which had yawned in themarket-place of his existence since that night at Bath.

  It was a primitive proceeding. Lady Betty was amazed at the man'sassurance, simplicity, and loyalty. He spoke plainly--almostbluntly--but very forcibly. It was no slight or passing passion whichhad brought the squire, a gentleman of a score and more of honourabledescents, to seek such an audience-chamber to sue a pasteboard queen. Itwas no weak love which had dislodged him from his old resting-place, andpitched him to this dreary distance.

  Mistress Betty was taken "all in a heap;" she had heard many alove-tale, but never one with so manly a note. Shrewd, sensitiveMistress Betty was bewildered and confounded, and in her hurry shemade a capital blunder. She dismissed him summarily, saw how white hegrew, and heard how he stopped to ask if there were no possiblealternative, no period of probation to endure, no achievement to beperformed by him. She waved him off the faster because she becameaffrighted at his humility; and got away in her chair, and wrung herhands, and wept all night in the long summer twilight, and satpensive and sick for many days.

  In time, Mistress Betty resumed her profession; but she was unusuallylanguid: she played to disappointed houses, and cherished always, withmore romance, the shade of the brave, trustful, Somersetshire squire andantiquary. Suddenly she adopted the resolution of retiring from thestage in the summer of her popularity, and living on her savings and herpoor young brother's bequest. Her tastes were simple; why should shetoil to provide herself with luxuries? She had no one now for whose oldage she could furnish ease, or for the aims and accidents of whoserising station she need lay by welcome stores; she had not even a nephewor niece to tease her. She would not wear out the talents a generous manhad admired on a mass of knaves and villains, coxcombs and butterflies;she would not expose her poor mind and heart to further deterioration.She would fly from the danger; she would retire, and board with hercousin Ward, and help her with a little addition to her limited income,and a spare hand in her small family; and she would jog-trot onwards forthe rest of her life, so that when she came to die, Mistress Prissy andMistress Fiddy would have no cause to be ashamed that so inoffensive,inconspicuous, respectable a person had once been asked to stand to themin the dignified relation
of aunt. The public vehemently combated Mrs.Betty's verdict, in vain; they were forced to lament during twice ninedays their vanished favourite, who had levanted so unceremoniouslybeyond the reach of their good graces.

  V.--MISTRESS BETTY TRAVELS DOWN INTO SOMERSETSHIRE.

  A formal but friendly letter came to Mistress Betty, when her life wasone of long dusty exertion, and her heart was very thirsty and parched.The shabby-genteel world and the tradesman's life, unless in exceptionalcases of great wealth, were different things a hundred and fifty yearsago from what they are now. The villas at Twickenham, the ruralretreats, the gardens, the grottos, the books, the harpsichords, thewater-colour drawings, belonged to the quality, or to the literarylions: to Lady Mary or Pope, Horace Walpole or his young friends theBerrys. The half-pay officer's widow, the orphan of the bankrupt in theSouth Sea business, the wife and family of the moderately flourishinghaberdasher, or coach-builder, or upholsterer--the tobacconist rose farabove the general level--were cooped up in the City dwellings, andconfined to gossip, fine clothes, and good eating if they could affordthem. A walk in the City gardens, a trip to Richmond Hill, and theshows, were their pastimes, and Mr. Steele's 'Christian Hero,' 'AnAdvice to a Daughter,' and De Foe's 'History of the Plague,' were theirmental delectation.

  But Mistress Betty had the soul of a martyr; she had resigned herself tosinking down into the star of cousin Ward's set, who went on holidays tothe play--mostly honest, fat and fatuous, or jaunty and egotisticalfolk, who admired the scenery and the dresses, but could no more havemade a play to themselves than they could have drawn the cartoons. Shehelped cousin Ward, not only with her purse, but with a kinswoman'sconcern in her and hers: she assisted to wash and dress the children ofa morning; she took a turn at cooking in the middle of the day; shehelped to detain Master Ward at the tea-table, and to keep his wig andknee-buckles from too early an appearance and too thorough a soaking ofhis self-conceit and wilfulness at his tavern; and she heard the ladstheir lessons, while she darned their frills before supper.

  Then arrived the summons, over which Mistress Betty, a little worn byvoluntary adversity, shed "a power" of joyful tears. To travel down intoSomersetshire, and stroll among the grass in the meadows, and the gorseon the commons, which she had not seen for twelve months; to feed thecalves, and milk the cows, and gather the eggs, and ride Dapple, and tieup the woodbine, and eat syllabub in a bower; to present "great friezecoats" and "riding-hoods" to a dozen of the poorest old men and women inthe parish; to hear prayers in a little grey church, through whose openwindows ivy nodded, and before whose doors trees arched in vistas; tosee her sweet little Prissy and Fiddy, who had taken such a fancy toher, and the vicar, and madam, and granny, and find them all perfectlyagreeable, and not slighting her or doubting her because she had been awoman of fashion and an actress; and Master Rowland well disposed ofelsewhere; Larks' Hall deserted by its master--the brave, generous,enamoured squire--heigho! Mistress Betty, for all her candour, goodhumour, and cordiality, had her decent pride, and would not have thrownherself at any man's head.

  Somersetshire, in spite of Bath, was as antediluvian a hundred and fiftyyears ago as the lanes and coombes of Devonshire. Larks' Hall, Foxholes,Bearwood, the Vicarage of Mosely, and their outlying acquaintances,their yeomen and their labourers, lived as old-fashioned and hearty alife as if the battle of Sedgemoor had never been fought.

  Down in Somersetshire, among its orchards, nutteries, and blackberrythickets, poor little Mistress Fiddy was drooping, as girls would pinesometimes, even in the days of Will Shakspeare, ere cloth-yard shaftswere abolished from merry England, when there were still mayings amongthe hyacinths, and milkmaids' dances under the thorns, and mummings whenthe snow fell. And Dick Ashbridge shot and fished in the mostdisconsolate abandonment, though the girl yet ran past him "like aghost" when the beetle and bat were abroad, and he was still mooningabout the vicarage meadows.

  Neither of them knew for certain, and nobody could predict exactly, thatshe would live to wed Dick, bear him children, and leave him a sorrowfulwidower, whose heart was chastened--not torn. No; nor could the goodfolk in Somersetshire understand how closely Lady Betty and little Fiddywere bound up together, and how little Fiddy was to return Lady Betty'skindness, in the days when the little girl should be the teacher, andthe fine woman the scholar, and the lesson to be learnt came fromregions beyond the stars.

  In the meantime, Fiddy was a sick, capricious, caressed darling in acambric cap and silk shawl, on whom fond friends were waiting lovingly:whom nobody in the world, not even the doctor, the parish clerk, or thehousekeeper at Larks' Hall, dreamt of subjecting to the wholesomemedicine of contradiction--unless it might be Granny, when she came inwith her staff in her hand. She would laugh at their excess of care, andorder them to leave off spoiling that child; but even Granny herselfwould let fall a tear from her dim eyes when she read the register ofthe child's age in the family Bible.

  "Ah!" sighs whimsical little Mistress Fiddy, "if only Lady Betty werehere--great, good, kind, clever, funny, beautiful Lady Betty--who curedme that night at Bath, papa and mamma, I would be well again. She knowsthe complaint; she has had it herself; and her face is so cheering, herwit so enlivening, and she reads the lessons so solemnly and sweetly. Omamma! send for Mistress Betty; she will come at once; she does not playnow; the prints say so. She will be the better of the country air too.Send for Mistress Betty to Mosely."

  Madam was in a difficulty. An actress at the vicarage! And MasterRowland had been so rash. He had dropped hints, which, along with hishurried visit to London, had instilled dim, dark suspicions into theminds of his appalled relations of the whirlpool he had just coasted,they knew not how: they could not believe the only plain palpablesolution of the fact. And Granny had inveighed against women of fashionand all public characters, ever since Uncle Rowland took that jaunt totown, whence he returned so glum and dogged. But then, again, how couldthe mother deny her ailing Fiddy? And this brilliant Mistress Bettyfrom the gay world might possess some talisman unguessed by the quietfolks at home. Little Fiddy had no real disease, no settled pain: sheonly wanted change, pleasant company, and diversion, and would be plumpand strong again in no time. And Mistress Betty had retired from thestage now; she was no longer a marked person: she might pass anywhere asMistress Lumley, who had acted with success and celebrity, and withdrawnat the proper moment, with the greatest dignity and discretion. AndMaster Rowland was arranging his affairs to make the grand tour in theprime of life: his absence would clear away a monstrous objection. Whatwould the Vicar say? What would Granny say?

  The Vicar ruled his parish, and lectured in the church; but in theparsonage he thought very much as madam did, and was only posed when oldmadam and young madam pulled him different ways.

  And Granny! Why, to madam's wonder, Granny required no wheedling,but--apprised of the deliberation, by the little minx Prissy, who inFiddy's illness attended on Granny--she sent for madam before madam evenknew that the proposal had been so much as mooted to her, and struck herstick on the ground in her determined way, and insisted that MistressBetty should be writ for forthwith and placed at the head of the child'ssociety. Granny, who had soundly rated fine ladies and literary womennot two days before! It was very extraordinary; but Granny must have herway. The children paid her affectionate duty, young madam did herhalf-grateful, half-vexed homage, the Vicar and Master Rowland deferredto her in her widowhood and dependence, and with little less grace andreverence than what she had taught them to practise when they were ladsunder tutelage. She was, in fact, the fully accredited mistress ofLarks' Hall.

  And Granny, in reality, presided at the vicarage; not oppressively, forshe was one of those sagacious magnates who are satisfied with thesubstance of power without loving its show. Notwithstanding, sheprevented the publication of more than two calf-skin volumes at a timeof the Vicar's sermons; she turned madam aside when she would have hungthe parlour with gilt leather, in imitation of Foxholes; and sherestricted the little girls to fresh ribbons once a
month, andstomachers of their own working. And so, when Granny decreed thatMistress Betty was to be invited down to Mosely, there was no morequestion of the propriety of the measure that there would have been ofan Act of Council given under the Tudors; the only things left to orderwere the airing of the best bedroom, the dusting of the ebony furniture,and the bleaching on the daisies of old madam's diamond quilt.

  Down to Somersetshire went Mistress Betty, consoling cousin Ward withthe gift of a bran-new mantua and a promise of a speedy return, andbraving those highwaymen who were for ever robbing King George's mail;but the long, light midsummer nights were in their favour, and theirmounted escort had to encounter no paladins of the road in scarlet coatsand feathered hats.

  Mistress Betty's buoyant spirit rose with the fresh air, the greenfields, and the sunshine. She was so obliging and entertaining to aninvalid couple among her fellow-travellers, an orange nabob fromIndia and his splendid wife, that they declared she had done them moregood than they would derive from the Pump-room, the music, and thecards, to which they were bound. They asked her address, and pressedher to pay them a visit; when they would have certainly adopted her,and bequeathed to her their plum. As it was, half-a-dozen years later,when, to her remorse, she had clean forgotten their existence, theyastounded her by leaving her a handsome legacy; which, with theconsent of another party concerned--one who greatly relished the merename of the bequest, as a proof that nobody could ever resist LadyBetty--she shared with a cross-grained grand-nephew whom theautocratic pair had cut off with a shilling.

  VI.--BETWEEN MOSELY AND LARKS' HALL.

  At Mosely Mistress Betty alighted at last, entered the wicket-gate, andapproached the small, weather-stained, brick house. She made her curtsyto madam, asked the Vicar's blessing--though he was not twenty-fiveyears her senior and scarcely so wise--hugged the little girls,particularly sick Fiddy, and showered upon them pretty tasteful towntreasures, which little country girls, sick or well, dearly love.Fiddy's eyes were glancing already; but she did not leave off holdingMistress Betty's hand in order to try on her mittens, or to turn thehandle of the musical box. And Mistress Betty finally learned, with somepanic and palpitation, which she was far too sensible and stately awoman to betray, that the Justice was not gone--that Master Rowland, inplace of examining the newly-excavated Italian cities, or dabbling instate treason in France, was no further off than Larks' Hall, confinedthere with a sprained ankle: nobody being to blame, unless it wereGranny, who had detained Master Rowland to the last moment, or UncleRowland himself, for riding his horse too near the edge of the sandpit,and endangering his neck as well as his shin-bones. However, MistressBetty did not cry out that she had been deceived, or screechdistractedly, or swoon desperately (though the last was in herconstitution), neither did she seem to be brokenhearted by the accident.

  But Granny's reception of her was the great event of the day. Granny wasa picture, in her grey gown and "clean white hood nicely plaited,"seated in her wicker seat "fronting the south, and commanding thewashing-green." Here Granny was amusing herself pickinggooseberries--which the notable Prissy was to convert intogooseberry-fool, one of the dishes projected to grace the town lady'ssupper--when Mistress Betty was led towards her.

  It was always a trying moment when a stranger at Mosely was presented toold Madam Parnell. The Parnells had agreed, for one thing, that it wouldbe most proper and judicious, as Mistress Betty had quitted thestage--doubtless in some disappointment of its capabilities, orcondemnation of the mode in which it was conducted,--to be chary intheatrical illusions, to drop the theatrical _sobriquet_ Lady Betty, andhail their guest with the utmost ceremony and sincerity as MistressLumley. But Granny turned upon her visitor a face still fresh, in itssmall, fine-furrowed compass, hailed her as Lady Betty on the spot, andemphatically expressed all the praise she had heard of her wonderfulpowers; regretting that she had not been in the way of witnessing them,and declaring that as they escaped the snares and resisted thetemptations of her high place, they did her the utmost honour, for theyserved to prove that her merits and her parts were equal. Actually,Granny behaved to Lady Betty as to a person of superior station, andpersisted in rising and making room for the purpose of sharing with herthe wicker seat; and there they sat, the old queen and the young.

  Young madam had been quite determined that, as Uncle Rowland was sounfortunate as to be held by the foot at Larks' Hall from his tour, heshould not risk his speedy recovery by hobbling over to Mosely, when shecould go herself or send Prissy every morning to let him know how theinvalid was. But the very day after Mistress Betty's arrival old madamsecretly dispatched Tim, the message-boy, to desire the squire to orderout the old coach, and make a point of joining the family party eitherat dinner or at supper. Young madam was sufficiently chagrined; but thenthe actress and the squire met so coldly, and little Fiddy was flushingup into a quiver of animation, and Mistress Betty was such delightfulcompany in the slumbrous country parsonage.

  It is pleasant to think of the doings of the Parnells, the witcheries ofMistress Betty, and the despotism of old madam, during the next month.Indeed, Mistress Betty was so reverent, so charitable, so kind, sogentle as well as blithe under depressing influences, and so wittyunder stagnation, that it would have been hard to have lived in the samehouse with her and have been her enemy: she was so easily gratified, soeasily interested; she could suit herself to so many phases of thismarvellous human nature. She listened to the Vicar's "argument" withedification, and hunted up his authorities with diligence. She scouredyoung madam's lutestring, and made it up in the latest and most elegantfashion of nightgowns, with fringes and buttons, such as our own littlegirls could match. She made hay with Prissy and Fiddy, and not onlyaccomplished a finer cock than weak Fiddy and impatient Priss, butsurpassed the regular haymakers. And she looked, oh! so well in herhaymaker's jacket and straw hat--though young madam was always sayingthat her shape was too large for the dress, and that the slight hollowsin her cheeks were exaggerated by the shade from the broad-brimmedflapping straw.

  Of course Mistress Betty performed in the "Traveller" and "CrossPurposes," and gave out riddles and sang songs round the hearth of arainy evening, or about the cherrywood table in the arbour, of acloudless twilight, much more pat than other people--that was to belooked for; but then she also played at love after supper, loo andcribbage for a penny the game--deeds in which she could have no originalsuperiority and supremacy--with quite as infectious an enthusiasm.

  To let you into a secret, young madam was in horror at one time thatDick Ashbridge was wavering in his allegiance to her white rosebud,Fiddy; so enthralling was this scarlet pomegranate, this purple vine.But one evening Mrs. Betty turned suddenly upon the mad boy, to whom shehad been very soft, saying that he bore a great resemblance to hercousin's second son Jack, and asked how old he was? and did he not thinkof taking another turn at college? This restored the boy to his sensesin a trice, and she kissed Mistress Fiddy twice over when she bade hergood night.

  But old madam and Lady Betty were the chief pair of friends. Granny,with her own sway in her day, and her own delicate discrimination, acuteintellect, and quick feelings, was a great enough woman not to bejealous of a younger queen, but to enjoy her exceedingly. Madam Parnellhad seen the great world as well as Lady Betty, and never tired ofreviving old recollections, comparing experiences, and tracing the fatesof the children and grandchildren of the great men and women hercontemporaries. Prissy and Fiddy vowed over and over again, that thestirring details were more entertaining than any story-book. For thisreason, Granny took a personal pride in Lady Betty's simplest feat, aswell as in her intellectual crown, and put her through every stage ofher own particular recipes for cream cheese and pickled walnuts.

  "The dickons!" cried a Somerset yeoman: "The Lon'on madam has opened thefive-barred gate that beat all the other women's fingers, and gatheredthe finest elder-flowers, and caught the fattest chicken; and they tellme she has repeated verses to poor crazed Isaac, till she has lulled himinto a fine sleep.
'Well done, Lon'on!' cries I; 'luck to the finelady:' I never thought to wish success to such a kind." Granny, too,cried, "Well done, Lon'on! Luck to the fine lady!" If all Helens werebut as pure, and true, and tender as Lady Betty!

  Granny would have Lady Betty shown about among the neighbours, andmaintained triumphantly that she read them, Sedleys, Ashbridges, andHarringtons, as if they were characters in a printed book--not that shelooked down on them, or disparaged them in any way; she was far moretolerant than rash, inexperienced Prissy and Fiddy. And Granny orderedLady Betty to be carried sight-seeing to Larks' Hall, and made minutearrangements for her to inspect Granny's old domain, from garret tocellar, from the lofty usher-tree at the gate to the lowly

  "Plaintain ribbed that heals the reapers' wound"

  in the herb-bed. No cursory inspection would suffice her: thepragmatical housekeeper and the rosy milkmaids had time to give up theirhearts to Lady Betty like the rest. Master Rowland, as in courtesybound, limped with the stranger over his helmets and gauntlets, hiswooden carvings, his black-letter distich; and, although she was notoverflowing in her praises, she had seen other family pictures byGreuze, and she herself possessed a fan painted by Watteau, to which hewas vastly welcome if he cared for such a broken toy.

  She fancied the head of one of the Roman emperors to be like his Graceof Montague; she had a very lively though garbled familiarity with thehistories of the veritable Brutus and Cassius, Coriolanus, Cato,Alexander, and other mighty, picturesque, cobbled-up ancients, intowhose mouths she could put appropriate speeches; and she accepted aloan of his 'Plutarch's Lives,' "to clear up her classics," as she saidmerrily; altogether poor Squire Rowland felt that he had feasted at anintellectual banquet.

  At last it was time to think of redeeming her pledge to cousin Ward;and, to Mistress Betty's honour, the period came while Master Rowlandwas still too lame to leave Larks' Hall, except in his old coach, andwhile it yet wanted weeks to the softening, gladdening, overwhelmingbounty of the harvest-home.

  Then occurred the most singular episodes of perverseness and reiteratedinstances of inconsistency of which Granny had been found guilty in thememory of man, either as heiress of Larks' Hall or as old madam of thevicarage. At first she would not hear of Mistress Betty's departure, andasked her to be her companion, during her son's absence, in his house ofLarks' Hall, where all at once she announced that she meant to take upher temporary residence. She did not approve of its being committedentirely to the supervision of Mrs. Prue, her satellite, theschoolmaster's daughter who used so many long words in cataloguing herpreserves and was so trustworthy: Mrs. Prue would feel lonesome; Mrs.Prue would take to gadding like the chits Prissy and Fiddy. No, shewould remove herself for a year, and carry over her old man Morris alongwith her, and see that poor Rowley's goods were not wasted or hiscuriosities lost while he chose to tarry abroad.

  Master Rowland stared, but made no objection to this invasion; Mrs.Betty, after much private rumination and great persuasion, consented tothe arrangement. Young madam was obliged to be ruefully acquiescent,though secretly irate at so preposterous a scheme; the Vicar, good man,to do him justice, was always ponderously anxious to abet his mother,and had, besides, a sneaking kindness for Mistress Betty; the girls wereprivately charmed, and saw no end to the new element of breadth,brightness, and zest, in their little occupations and amusements.

  When again, of a sudden, after the day was fixed for Master Rowland'sdeparture, and the whole family were assembled in the vicarageparlour--old madam fell a-crying and complaining that they were taking_her_ son away from her--robbing her of him: she would never live to seteyes on him again--a poor old body of her years and trials would notsurvive another flitting. _She_ had been fain to gratify some of hiswishes; but see if they would not destroy them both, mother and son, bytheir stupid narrow-mindedness and obstinacy.

  Such a thing had never happened before. Who had ever seen Grannyunreasonable and foolish? The Vicar slipped his hand to her wrist, inexpectation that he would detect signs of hay-fever, though it was afull month too late for the complaint--there had been cases in thevillage--and was shaken off with sufficient energy for his pains.

  "Mother," exclaimed Master Rowland, haughtily, "I understand you; but Ihad a plain answer to a plain question months ago, and I will have noreversal to please you. Pity craved by an old woman's weakness! favoursgranted in answer to tears drawn from dim eyes! I am not such a slave!"

  The others were all clamouring round Granny, kissing her hand, kneelingon her footstool, imploring her to tell them what she wanted, what shewould like best, what they could go and do for her; only the squirespoke in indignant displeasure, and nobody attended to him but MistressBetty.

  It did appear that the squire had been too fast in repelling advanceswhich did not follow his mother's appeal. Mistress Betty gave notoken--she stood pulling the strings of her cap, and growing first veryred, and then ominously white, like any girl.

  Perhaps the squire suspected that he had been too hasty, that he had notbeen grateful to his old mother, or generous to the woman who, howeverfine, and courted, and caressed, was susceptible of a simple woman'sanguish at scorn or slight. Perhaps there flashed on his recollection acertain paper in the 'Spectator,' wherein a young lady's secretinclination towards a young gentleman is conclusively revealed, not byher advances to save his pride, but by her silence, her blushes, herdisposition to swoon with distress when an opportunity is afforded herof putting herself forward to attract his notice--nay, when she is evenurged to go so far as to solicit his regard.

  Master Rowland's brow lightened as if a cloud lowering there hadsuddenly cleared away--Master Rowland began to look as if it were a muchmore agreeable experience to contemplate Mistress Betty nervous andglum, than Lady Betty armed at a hundred points, and all butinvulnerable--Master Rowland walked as alertly to her side as if therewere no such things as sprains in this world. "Madam, forgive me if Ihave attributed to you a weak complacency to which you would nevercondescend. Madam, if you have changed your mind, and can now toleratemy suit, and accord it the slightest return, I am at your feet."

  Assuredly, the tall, vigorous, accomplished squire would have beenthere, not figuratively but in his imposing person. Family explanationswere admissible a century and a half ago; public declarations weresometimes a point of honour; bodily prostration was by no meansexploded; matter-of-fact squires knelt like romantic knights; SirCharles Grandison and Sir Roger de Coverley bent as low for their ownpurposes as fantastic gauze and tinsel troubadours.

  But Mistress Betty prevented him. "I am not worth it, Master Rowland,"cried Mistress Betty, sobbing and covering her face with her hands; and,as she could not have seen the obeisance, the gentleman intermitted it,pulled down the hands, kissed Madam Betty oftener than the one fairsalute, and handed her across the room to receive Granny's blessing.Granny sat up and composed herself, wished them joy (though she had thegrace to look a little ashamed of herself), very much as if she hadobtained her end.

  There is no use in denying that young madam took to bed for three days,and was very pettish for a fortnight; but eventually gave in to thematch, and was not so much afflicted by it as she had expected, afterthe first brunt. Granny, in her age, was so absurdly set on the_mesalliance_, and so obliging and pleasant about everything else--theVicar and the little lasses were so provokingly careless of the wrongdone them and the injury to the family,--that she knew very well, whenher back was turned, they formed as nonsensically hilarious a bridalparty as if the wedding had concerned one of themselves and not thebachelor uncle, the squire of Larks' Hall. And Mistress Betty ordereddown the smartest livery; and the highest gentry in Somersetshire wouldhave consented to grace the ceremony, had she cared for their presence,such a prize was she in their country-houses when they could procure hercountenance during their brief sojourn among sparkling rills andwoodland shades. Altogether, young madam, in spite of her vanities andhumours, loved the children, the Vicar, Granny, the bridegroom, and even(with a grudge) the bride
, and was affected by the sweet summer seasonand the happy marriage-tide, and was, in the main, too good to prove akill-joy.

  Master Rowland and Mistress Betty were married by Master Rowland's ownbrother in the Vicar's own church, with Fiddy and Prissy and the Sedleysfor bridesmaids, and Dick Ashbridge for a groom's-man. Cousin Ward,brought all the way from town to represent the bride's relations, wascrying as if she were about to lose an only daughter. For Granny, shewould not shed one bright, crystal tear on any account; besides, she wasever in state at Larks' Hall to welcome home, the happy couple. Ah,well, they were all happy couples in those days!

  At Larks' Hall Mistress Betty bloomed during many a year; for a finewoman knows no decay; she only passes from one stage of beauty andexcellence to another, wearing, as her rightful possession, allhearts--her sons', as their father's before them. And Master Rowland nolonger sat lonely in his hall, in the frosty winter dusk or under theusher-oak in the balmy summer twilight, but walked through life brisklyand bravely, with a perfect mate; whom he had not failed to recognize asa real diamond among the bits of glass before the footlights--a diamondwhich his old mother had consented to set for him.

  Our squire and Lady Betty are relics of a former generation. We havesquires as many by thousands, as accomplished by tens of thousands; butthe inimitable union of simplicity and refinement, downrightness anddignity, disappeared with the last faint reflection of Sir Roger deCoverley. And charming Lady Betty departed also with early hours,pillions, and cosmetics--that blending of nature and art, knowledge ofthe corrupt world and abiding true-heartedness, which then existed--asort of marvel.