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•-
THE DowAGER
THE NEW SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
BY MRS. GORE,
AUTHoREss or º MRs. ARMYTAGE," " sToxEsHILL PLAcE,º
" THE ABBEY," & c.
º Un livre est une lettre adressée aux amis inconnus qu'on possède
dans le monde.º-ANcELoT.
4
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
PHILADELPHIA :
L E A AND BLANCH AR D.
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THE DOWAGER:
THE MODERN SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
CHAPTER I.
Titles are marks of honest men and wise,
The knave or fool that wears a title, lies . .
YOUNG -
A FAvorite complaint of foreigners against London, is
the tedious length of the streets. To an eye familiar only
with the picturesque irregularities of foreign cities, nothing
can exceed the monotony of such thoroughfares as Baker
Street, or Gloucester Place ;-traversing under varied de-
nominations, a whole parish, and carrying the eye along a
waste of weary brick walls perforated with windows, up to
the northern mists of the Regent’s Park. - -
There is too equable a sameness, even in the new streets of
the Belgrave quarter of the town. From such studied uni-
formity, a neighborhood derives something in grace and digni-
ty, but every house loses its specific character. Compare in
many of the German capitals, the court or modern quarter-its
formal streets rectangularly chequered, till “half the plat-
form just reflects the other,”—with the more ancient portion
—where the quaint facade of the palace shoulders the bur- .
gher's humble domicile, and a Juden Gasse, or some other
tortuous gangway, winds like a snake through the heart of
the city, assuming, at every turn, a new physiognomy. You
applaud the newly-risen quarter—you would select it as your
residence; but a few months after quitting the place you
have forgotten every shapely feature of its unmeaning aspect,
4 THE DOWAGER.
while the picturesque irregularities of the old one, cling to
your memory for ever.
But the old streets of the fashionable part of London are
gradually losing their physiognomy. Every year, we miss
some queer old mansion, which has been replaced by a pert
fronting of stuccoed brick, having French windows and bal-
conies, and presenting an insipid facsimile of its next-door
neighbor. Yet twenty or thirty years ago, even Grosvenor,
Brook, and Bruton Streets, were composed of what the auc-
tioneers call “genteel residences”—alike, but ah! how dif-
ferent ; some of red brick with vast coping stones, savoring
of the Low Dutch taste of William of Nassau, and few of
them of later date than the two first reigns of the house of
Hanover; square, cumbrous, high-shouldered edifices—
containing a good hall, and dining-room, with a roomy stair-
case between ; large nonsecutive drawing-rooms, lighted by
small narrow-paned windows; bed-rooms to match ; while
an attic-story, inserted into an angular red-tiled roof, render-
ed the rest of the ill-lodged domestics as uncomfortable by
night, as their service in dark damp offices, by day.
In such houses, from the porter’s chair and its grey-headed
tenant, to the japan-lacquered folding-screen, and glass lus-
tre with huge flat pendent drops in the drawing-room—every-
thing recalled the days when Chatham spoke and Horace
Walpole chattered. The proprietors installed themselves
in January, and took their departure in June, as per dictate
of the royal birthday; gave dinners in February, and balls in
May; enjoyed a pew in St. George's church, and were pretty
sure to send a member to one or other of the houses of par-
liament.
The new fangled semi Palladian structures supplanting
these old-fashioned family-houses, if free from the dark cor-
ners and light closets, the mousetrap attics and stone pan-
tries of their predecessors, present a certain anti-picturesque
and lodging-house-like trimness, which avouches that hoops
have never been rustled over the gay carpet, nor queues been
shaken in the political vehemence of Foxitism and Pittism,
beside their patent expanding dining-tables. *
If changes such as these be perceptible to the ordinary
saunterer, what must be the vexation with which one or two
THE DOWAGER. 5
antediluvian inhabitants of the neighborhood mark the pre-
gress of the times, and the work of demolition . There are
not many such. Most of the old leases have fallen in, and
tº most of the old mansions pranked themselves in the guise
of modern fashion. The elder residents have given way to
the grim tyrant death; and the hammer of the auctioneer
has adjudged their daily haunts and ancient neighborhood
to a younger generation. Only here and there may be seen,
lifted every sunshiny day into an old-fashioned chariot, some
decrepit old gentleman, whom nothing but the accuracy of
Lodge's Peerage convinces the world to be still extant on
its surface; and who, for the last twenty years, has been too
nearly in his dotage to admit of giving orders for the beauti-
fication of his house; or emerging from a mansion, lower
and dingier than the rest, with a heavy brass knocker on the
panelled door—an overhanging architrave above, flanked
with huge iron extinguishers, (which the desuetude of flam-
beaus has rendered superfluous)—and fire-escapes append-
ed to the upper window, issue a starch bevy of noble spin-
sters, who would consider it a sin against their caste to
modernize their houses after the fashion of those tenanted in
their vicinity by fashionable milliners and dentists.
Other causes sometimes intervene to keep standing the
dull, quaint commodious residences of former times. In
one of the streets already named, (by calling it Upper Gros-
venor Street, we may set at nought the curiosity of the pub-
lic,) stood, some years ago, a first-rate specimen of the old-
school residences in question ; having over its five narrow
drawing-room windows keystones of Portland stone—fune-
real looking vases of the same material, ranged along the
parapet masking the upper story—while a venerable jessa-
mine tree in the area completely clothed the basement.
For half a century it had not varied so much as the shaping
of the dwarf canvas blinds of the dining-room ; and for half
a century, it had been the dower-house of the Countess
Dowager of Delmaine.
Apparently, the neighborhood prided itself in the quaint
air of respectability of the old mansion; for among the ad-
vantages pointed out, as enhancing the value of the oppo-
site house when purchased, upon his marriage, by youpg
* †. ºf



6 THE DOWAGER.
Lord Gransden, was that of being so eligibly situated as to
be overlooked by that much respected personage, the Dow-
ager Lady Delmaine; while a very tolerable rent had actu-
ally been refused by a fashionable house-agent from a spec-º
ulator desirous of setting up an upholsterer’s shop next door,
on the plea that such a derogation would be a downright in-
sult to the Countess Dowager. It is true the proprietor of
the house resented the rejection, as arising solely from the
agent's apprehensions of rivalship from the new-comer; but
certain it is that, by custom immemorial, the whole street
looked up with a certain degree of deference to No. 34.
The motive which retained the old stone vases on the
parapet, and the keystones over the narrow window-cases,
was not, however, any aversion to innovation on the part of
the Dowager. She would have been pleased to see her
quizzical house rejuvenized to keep pace with the modern
elegance displayed by Lord Gransden. But this did not en-
ter into the views of the present Earl of Delmaine, who was
bound to keep the family dower-house in substantial repair,
but not to consult the whims of the incumbent. The Coun-
tess, it is true, might, out of the four thousand a year joint-
ure assigned her by her husband's will, have very well af.
forded a portico to her door, and new fangled balconies
above, after the fashion of the majority of her neighbors.
But she could not bear the idea of increasing, by a doit, the
value of Lord Delmaine’s property. She was only a tenant
for life; and though taking care to make her tenancy a long
one, was equally careful that not a brick or stone of her lay-
ing, should remain as a post obit memorial of her reign in
the old mansion in Upper Grosvenor Street.
From all this it may be inferred that her Ladyship's dow-
er was paid
By an unlineal hand,
No son of hers succeeding.
Lady Harriet Doyle had espoused, at seventeen, a wid-
ower, whose eldest son was two years her senior ; and who,
despite the charm of youth and beauty, by which she con-
trived to make and keep the old Earl her slave, cordially
defested both her and the offspring who alienated from him


THE DOWAGER. gy 7
the affections of his father. No sooner, however, had the
young Lady Delmaine favored him with a brother and two
sisters, than the sudden death of the Earl promoted him to
* the enjoyment of the family estates, hampered by the large
jointure aforesaid, and the payment of ten thousand pounds
each to the younger children. -
This contingency was not likely to stimulate his regard
for his father's second family. For he was now himself the
father of a son so nearly the contemporary of his younger
brother, that at his own death, twenty years afterwards, the
young Lord Delmaine, and his uncle, John Chichester, cel-
ebrated their coming of age by one and the same festival,
at Chichester Hall. • *sº
It was by this grandson of her husband, a man now fifty
years of age, that her Ladyship's jointure had been for the
last thirty years grudgingly paid. During his father’s life-
time, he had heard constant abuse lavished on the Dowager,
as a cunning schemer by whom the dotage of her husband
had been beguiled out of a provision for herself and her
children fatal to the interests of the Delmaine estate ; and
had begun by looking with a longing eye upon the dower-
house, as a charming residence for his own mother, and in .
process of time, on his mother’s decease, as a very suitable
one for himself. In the rare visits paid by his Lordship to
*the Dowager and his aunt, Lady Meliora Chichester, the
latter was too astute not to detect the eye of her grand-son-
in-law wandering over the premises, as if devising what al-
terations he would make on coming to the property; and
the Dowager, in the prime of life when this surmise first
entered her head, had vowed within herself that her age
should be doubled, before the wishes of the Earl were ac-
omplished. Providence so far favored her views, that
§. in her seventy-third year, she enjoyed better health
than the son of her stepson, who was just twenty years
younger. - - .
Lord Delmaine still continued his periodical visits, as if
determined to ascertain with his own eyes how much lon-
ger his patience was to be put to the proof. But his scru-
tiny was, directed rather to the countenance of the Dowager
than the aspect of her house ; and it was mortifying enough
8 T1HE DOWAGER,
to perceive, that while her consoles and girandoles grew
old-fashioned, and dilapidations were perceptible in every
quarter of the mansion, the health of the old lady remained
unbroken. She was as fresh as a rose, every tooth per- '8
fect, every faculty unimpaired ; while he was becoming a
mumbler, and had long exhibited the complexion of an ap-
ple in the receiver of an exhausted air pump. It was quite
clear, even to himself, that the Dowager was determined to
see him out.
The present Earl had married later in life than his two
predecessors; and his son, Lord Chichester, had only late-
ly come into parliament. One daughter, Lady Charlotte
Chichester, a pretty but affected girl of nineteen, completed
his family; and as the Earl was himself an only child, no
further incumbrances than John Chichester and his two sis-
ters impoverished the family estate. It had been augment-
ed, indeed, by his prudent marriage with an heiress; and
altogether, there was little excuse for the avidity with which,
like the clerk of an insurance-office, he came prying into
the Dowager’s stafe of health. The Earl owed more re-
spect to his grandfather’s widow, if only out of regard to his
early friendship with her son, his uncle John. But John
Chichester was not the man to resent the offence. Though
he still lived, and contrary to custom, with the Dowager, he
took no part in her defence or her offences. Exceedingly
deaf, the old bachelor existed in a visionary world; in peace
and charity with the one whose rumors reached him so faint-
ly, and consequently uninvolved in the feuds fermenting
among the other members of the Chichester family.
There was something, indeed, in the aspect of John Chi-
chester rendering it difficult to connect the idea of dissen-
sion with the proprietor of so good-humored a countenance.
He had been in his time a beautiful child—the model of
artists—a mamma’s darling—a cupid minus the wings.
But unluckily, the round fair face, so lovely in childhood,
had never-progressed into becoming manliness of feature.
The same round unmeaning blue eyes which had been charm-
ing at six years old, were silly at fifty; and the pink cheeks
and snub nose of poor Chichester, who rejoiced in the nick-
name of Johnny, were rendered yet more absurd by the
.* -- THE DOWAGER. 9
flaxen wig, wherewith he chose to replace the Antinous curls
of his boyhood. -
This simplicity of feature, combined with the vagueness
of countenance often to be observed in deaf people, gave
him the air of being half-witted. Yet many of the cleverest
men of the clubs had expressed an opinion that Johnny was
not near so great a goose as he chose to be considered ;
and that half his deafness, and all his dullness were assum-
ed, in order to escape being made a partizan in quarrels,
arºd an agent in manoeuvres. -
* For Lady Delmaine was a woman whose activity in these
respects brought her as near the discovery of perpetual ino-
tion as can well be imagined. Not even time, the univer-
sal tamer, had worn down her exuberance of animal spirits.
Nothing escaped her observation ; nothing was safe from
her intermedling. Incompetent to engage in the pursuits of
literature, or the society of literary lions which we have
seen afford occupation to other lively Dowagers, her con-
temporaries, she contented herself with establishing, instead
of a bureau d'esprit, a sort of bureau de renseignemens,
where every body's affairs were better known and under-
stood, than in their own houses. -
When any novice about town was desirous of learning
who was who, or what was what, they were sure to be re-
ferred to the Dowager. “Ask Lady Delmaine,” or “Lady
Meliora Chichester will be able to tell you,”—saved a world
of explanation to persons better employed. The result was
a daily increase of gossipping in her Ladyship's department;
for she took care that all who came to make inquiries should
impart information in return ; and, like a parrot, could not
be persuaded to utter a word without the bribe of an almond
in the shape of an anecdote or bit of scandal.
Not that the Dowager was an ill-natured woman. But
she had married young ; the spoiled child of a silly mother,
who judged education a superfluous torment to one so high-
ly born, and likely for her beauty's sake to be so well con-
nected ; and being endowed by nature, in a high degree,
with the organs yelept by phrenologists of “Marvellous-
ness,” and “Constructiveness,” her active mind, destitute
of proper governance, developed the former faculty by seek-
*
10 THE DOWAGER,
ing out all the monstrous scandals prevalent in society;
and the latter, by exaggerating and stringing them together.
Thanks to the influence of early habits, she could not read
—no, not even a novel; and all her unoccupied sympathies
were accordingly directed to the private histories of persons
with whom she was in no wise connected.
Want of occupation, in short, had made a gossip of her ;
but the Dowager might, perhaps, have remained merciful
and inoffensive in her gossiping, but for the detestation in
which she found herself held by her step-son and his de-
scendants. To know ourselves groundlessly hated, is a bad,
school for the heart; and just as mistrust and persecution
call forth the incipient ferocity of the brute creation, the
Dowager, on finding all her words and actions mis-repre-
sented by the Earl and Countess of Delmaine, became
gradually illiberal and spiteful.
The resentments originally limited to her kinsfolk, grad-
ually extended beyond the family circle. Aware that she
was represented to the world as having made an interested
match with a man double her years, to the ruin of his amia-
ble son, she grew callous to public opinion; became in
truth sordid and malicious, and, in the sequel, established
herself as one of those accredited telegraphs of London in-
telligence, which unconsciously transmit tidings of slaugh-
ter and signals of war, between those whom nature intended
to be at peace.
For a lapse of years John Chichester, a popular, agreea-
ble young man about town, had labored in vain to mod-
erate her colloquial vivacity and modify her powers of in-
vention; and till the marriage of her elder daughter, Lady
Mary Chichester, one of the most charming women of her
day, with Mr. Morison Langley, Member of Parliament for
one of the Northern Counties, Lady Delmaine had been too
much engrossed by her domestic affairs to busy herself with
those of other people. But as time wore away, and the
handsome Dowager, who had refused such an infinity of
offers, ceased to be courted on her own account or on that
of her pretty daughter, while in the peevishness of Lady
Meliora, who, being marked with the small-pox was over-
looked by the world matrimonial—Lady Delmaine gradu-
THE DOWAGER. 1 |
ally progressed into a manufacturer and retailer of scan-
dals; and Johnny Chichester took upon himself to become
deaf as a post.
It was in vain that Lady Mary Langley and her amiable
family strove to afford better employment to their relations.
Lady Meliora and the Dowager only laughed at them as
country cousins—poor stupid things, who knew nothing of
what was going on in society; while uncle John, when
shouted to on the subject by Augustus Langley and his
pretty sister Cecilia, shook his head with a pouting lip that
purported to say, “Let them alone, children —let them
alone—they are past all reformation of yours or mine !”
-
CHAPTER II.
a touch to deepen scandal's tints
e kind mendacity of hints.
BYRON.
f sº objects of interest to the Dowager (for her
º *to the Delmaine family was a thing apart) weré
her Grosvenor Street neighbors. She knew most of them,
not merely as acquaintances, but by heart—chapter and
verse—birth, parentage, and education ; and those within
immediate ken of the little sofa on which, under shelter of
the huge Japan screen, her mornings were passed, had very
little idea how accurately their comings and goings, their
changes of food and raiment, were noted by the Dowager.
Lady Delmaine's neighbors at numbers thirty-three and
thirty-five were comparatively out of favor, for she was forc-
ed to rise from her seat to ascertain who rang at their bells
or knocked at their doors; whereas the visitors of Lord and
Lady Gransden at number four, of Sir Henry Windsor at
number five, and General and Mrs. Knox at number six,
lay immediately under review. She could guess by long
habit, and the liveries of the footmen bringing notes, the
exact nature of their correspondence; knew precisely what
ar



I 2 THE DOWAGER,
mammas were making up for their daughters to the rich
bachelor baronet; could connect the number of knocks
about Christmas time at the General’s door with the profu-
sion of elegant bonfiets and turbans worn the preceding sea-
son by his young wife; while as to the Gransdens, between
the multitude of cabriolets, britskas, chariots and landaus,
crowding their doors with visitors, they were a providence
to the idle moments of the Dowager.
From the instant, however, that the daily hubbub of the
fashionable world commenced, Lady Delmaine's drawing
room was too full of her own guests to admit of retaining her
post of observation. Her fellow prattlers, who came to
seek or impart information, engrossed her time till the Dow-
ager coach rolled to the door, to enable her to circulate
through the town the rich gleanings of her morning; and af.
ter setting Johnny down at his club, and trying to pick a quar-
rel with him on the road for the stolid siréâce in which he
sat listening to some miraculous tale or in- ecdote,
she would rumble off to her dowager cor *QP, as
Johnny Chichester called it, the new sch's º
and fuse and confuse in the ever ready
Lady Dearmouth, or the gay widow of A.
the rich ore she had gathered. To the houses ºf ºl
in Harley Street, and of the former in Park Placeſ
old coach-horses seemed to amble without hint from bit or
thong.
All the season long, the Dowager was in daily habits of
communication with these and fifty others who, like herself,
could conjecture no enquiry more interesting than “any
thing new?”—and no answer worthy attention that was not
prefaced with “Oh, yes!—I have got a famous story for
you !”
Unluckily, the Dowager's stories were all “famous.”
She was very clever—too clever by halſ for any purpose
that was likely to be served by her ability; and Lord Dear-
mouth, who held her in abhorrence as the Hecate by whose
spells his own weird helpmate was tempted out on a broom-
stick, was sometimes heard to mutter in reply to his lady’s
citation of one of Lady Delmaine's extraordinary histories,
“A sad pity she can’t lie for her bread. There's a whole






THE DOWAGER. 13
novelist’s library in the brain of that hateful old Dowa-
ger !”
It was a pity; for such an exercise of her ingenuity might,
perhaps, have diverted her as much as the concoction of
tales that occasionally did irreparable harm. Ilady Del-
maine had not the pretext for spite and envy that might have
been pleaded by Lady Meliora. In her youth, she had been
singularly handsome ; through life, blameless and pros-
‘perous.-There was nothing to embitter her views of human
nature ; nothing to incite her to calumny, saving the influ-
ence of a malicious companion, operating upon an unen-
lightened mind.
For Lady Meliora Chichester was really malicious. Dis-
appointments of one kind or other had put her thoroughly
out of conceit with her fellow-creatures. She had been a
pretty girl—almost as pretty as Lady Mary ; when lo! just
as she attained to womanhood, the small-pox had distorted
her fair features; and it might almost be supposed her tem-
per alsºasinºsit was not till she grew ugly that people dis-
covereº ºfs of disposition. Previous to this disaster,
she hājºpposed to share so thoroughly in the high
endowmen f her sister, that till the moment of Morison
Langley's proposals, the Dowager was in doubt to which of
her two daughters the great match of the season was pay-
ing his addresses. But from that epoch no one, not even
her mother, was deceived as to the nature of her disposi-
tion ; and as Lady Meliora had no attractions of fortune to
make the world forget she was cross and disfigured, she
had remained in hopeless single blessedness, trying by spite-
ful insinuation to disgust others with themselves and the
world.
She had great influence with her mother. She could per-
suade the Dowager into anything except a rupture with John-
ny, whom Lady Meliora despised as a blockhead, having
gone through life without an object, an opinion, or a predi-
lection; who was neither to be taunted into a dispute, nor
thwarted into seeking an establishment of his own.
“I can’t think why it is, my dear,” Lady Meliora's gay
friend, Mrs. Crouch, would sometimes say to her, “that
you take so much pains to set Lady Delmaine against your
brother. Mr. Chichester seems a thoroughly harmless, in-
WOL. I. 2





14 THE DOW A GER,
significant person. He never has a word to say against any
one ; never asserts a will of his own.”
“Do I accuse him of either?” was her Ladyship's reply.
“I only assert him to be the greatest bore in the world.
Nothing is more tiresome than a single man perpetually
hanging on upon a set of women. One can’t discuss things
freely before him; one is never at one’s ease. There he
sits, without making an observation, pretending not to hear,
and by the inexpressive nature of his countenance, render-
ing it impossib'e to guess whether he hears or not ; though
from various circumstances, I verily believe not a syllable
escapes him, and that all the time, he is sitting in judgment
upon our proceedings I’’
“In that case,” observed Mrs. Crouch, who never al-
lowed an opportunity to escape of saying amiable things to
her amiable friend, “in that case, my dear, you ought to de-
termine Lady Delmaine to make Mr. Chichester such an
allowance as would enable him to set up a separate estab-
lishment. With his four hundred a year, wau_know, the
poor man could not enjoy the comforts to whº
accustomed, and to which the Earl of Delma,
tled. We must persuade the Dowager to séºé
dreds upon him out of her jointure; when he might take
chambers in the Albany, and enjoy his club and dinner-parties
as he does now. Johnny Chichester is one of the most
popular creatures with whom I am acquainted ; never in
want of engagements, either for London or the country.”
“And much profit they are to him, deaf as he is P’ cried
Lady Meliora, careful to avoid dwelling on the subject of an
allowance to her brother out of an income, the savings of
which were marked as her own. “He never has a word to
tell us on his return from even the plesantest party. With
his infirmity, he says, (and for once he is right,) he might
just as well be at home.”
“Johnny is not communicative, I admit,” replied Mrs.
Crouch. “But if he hears nothing —”
“If he hears nothing, and since he says nothing, he might
certainly just as well reside alone, and neither increase the
trouble of our establishment, nor form a restraint upon our
social circle.”
But though neither Mrs. Crouch nor Lady Dearmouth,




º THE DowAGER. . 15
nor any other of Lady Delmaine's intimate associates, cared
a rush whether Johnny Chichester were or were not retained
as the inmate of the Dowager, Lady Meliora's plans met
with steady though quiet opposition from her sister. Lady
Mary Langley, who dearly loved her brother, ànd was con-
vinced that the respectability of his family was concerned in
his continuing to reside with them in Upper Grosvenor
Street, invariably met the hints of the Dowager by an asser-
tion of the impossibility of the dismemberment of the family.
“It would give rise to so many unpleasant surmises,”
pleaded she, aware how influential was the verdict of the
world over the conduct of the Dowager. And by using
her ascendancy with Johnny to induce him to remain with
his mother, and by his presence afford some restraint upon
the gossippings of the coterie with which the family name,
and consequently family honor, were so intimately connect-
ed, and hinting to her sister that nothing but a handsome
allowance would justify a man of his age and connections
in setting up house for himself, she contrived to keep them
together. .
Lady Mary dreaded the thought of disunion in every
shape. Her own home was a mansion of peace; and she
trusted, with the fervency of the good, who have a knack
of trusting, that at some later period, Lady Delmaine might
be induced to adopt more serious habits of life. It was time,
indeed, at the advanced age of the Dowager (who had more
than attained the threescore years and ten allotted as the
span of mortal existence,) that the work of reformation
should begin ; and every season, for ten years past, Lady
Mary’s first visit in Grosvenor Street on arriving in town,
had been one of fear and trembling, so intent was she upon
discovering the opening dawn of a better day.
Her two children, the tardy blessings of a marriage, to
perfect the happiness of which they alone were wanting,
used vainly to represent to their mother the improbability of
such a change, and could scarcely resist rallying her on the
disappointment visible in her countenance, when she discov-
ered that the mornings of the Dowager were still devoted
to scandal, and her evenings to cards.
“My dearest mother, at her age, what would you have *
cried Augustus, a lively young fellow, who having distin-
16 THE DOWAGER, t
guished himself at college, had a somewhat too favorable
opinion of his abilities ; and was beginning to hint that the
country considered its representation too heavy for a man of
his father’s years and would fain see him abdicate in favor
of a younger member of the family. “What amusement
would the two old ladies find, were their coterie broken up?”
“I never expressed a wish, my dear Augustus, to see my
mother estrange herself from society, which, from long hab-
it, is essential to her comfort. All I desire is that she should
be surrounded with a circle more to the taste of my brother,
who has been forced to associate through life with a set of
persons most uncongenial to a man of his benevolent mind.
Johnny's inclinations ought to be in some degree consulted
in the choice of their society.”
“What can it signify to a man who is stone-deaf, wheth-
er he associate with Peter or Paul,-rational men or women,
or gossipping dowagers?” retorted her son.
“You must allow, Augustus,” interposed his sister, “that
my uncle is quite a different person when he comes down to
Langley Park, from what we find him on our return to town,
after spending the winter among these people.”
“Johnny is in better health, and hears better in the coun-
try. I have seen him enjoy himself, and even distinguish
himself in conversation with my father’s political associates.”
“And have you heard papa say how highly my uncle was
thought of at Oxford 7”
“Yes, John Chichester certainly left a name at Christ-
church,” said Augustus Langley, drawing up at the recollee-
tion.
“And how much was expected from him on his first en-
trance into life tº
“Yes. But he seems to have been checked on the thresh-
hold, by a disappointment of some kind or other.”
“The same illness which destroyed my poor sister’s
health: brought on his infirmity,” observed their mother, with a
sigh, not choosing to communicate the real nature of John
Chichester’s afflictions.
“Since which, thanks to natural indolence and a moder-
ate competence, he has sunk into a nonentity,” added Au-
gustus.
“My dear boy, do not attempt to sit in judgment upon
sº *
THE DOWAGER. 17
your uncle ! He has higher qualities and capacities than it
is easy for you to appreciate,” said Lady Mary, gravely.
“I don’t doubt it. But I cannot see why Johnny's qual-
ities and capacities, as you call them, are to drive the whist-
table out of his mother's drawing-room, or to compel Lady
Meliora to make a bonfire of her visiting list,” retorted Au-
gustus.
“Certainly not. But they might form some check upon
that idle spirit of gossipping, that dreadful taste for scandal,
in which Lady Dearmouth, Mrs. Crouch, Sir Jacob Apple-
by, and others of their clique, are incessantly indulging.”
“Come, come, mother, admit that la chère grandmaman
and my aunt are the worst of the set; and that half the ab-
surd stories current in society, may be traced back to the
manufactory of the Dowager Lady Delmaine !”
“Hervey d’Ewes calls grandmamma's house the scan-
dal factory,” observed Cecilia; “and my aunt Meliora the
mistress of the scandal-mint.”
“Because her Ladyship's coinage is of so deep a die?”
cried Augustus, with a laugh.
“Do not jest on such a subject, my dear children P’ said
Lady Mary, with a heavy sigh. “I have known such pain-
ful, such fatal consequences result from idle reports put into
circulation in the mere wantonness of a gossip's leisure, that
I tremble when I hear the subject treated with levity, more
especially by those who are dear to me.”
“I must say that, in general, the Dowager’s scandals are
of a very inoffensive milk-and-water character,” said Augus-
tus, more by way of solace to his mother to whom her chil-
dren were devotedly attached, than in advocacy of Lady
Delmaine.
“No scandals are inoffensive l’” said Lady Mary, vexed
at his persisting. “A pebble armed by a sling becomes a
deadly missile ; and the most trivial rumors may become
of vital import to a human destiny.”
“Well, well—there is no fear of the contagion spreading
in your own family,” cried Augustus. “Independent of the
lessons you have given us, I am too fond of my own amuse-
ment, and Cis yonder is too good-natured, or too idle, to
trouble herself with the affairs of her neighbors. I don’t an-
swer for what Chichester and his sister might become, if
2%
18 THE DOWAGER,
they were exposed to the infection. But there is no fear ;
Lady Delmaine seldom does more than leave a card at the
door of the Dowager.”
“A visit to the widow of her husband's grandfather would
be but a small sacrifice to propriety,” observed Lady Mary,
vexed to find her children notice the slight offered to her
mother.
“I assure you, mamma, Augustus is mistaken,” interpos-
ed Cecilia Langley, “I met Lady Charlotte Chichester call-
ing with her father in Grosvenor Street, the end of last sea-
son; and I have heard my aunt Meliora speak of Lord Chi-
chester as if perfectly acquainted with him. It is my broth-
er's mania to depreciate my cousins ; why, I cannot con-
ceive, unless he is jealous of Chichester's being already in
Parliament, and angry that so fashionable a girl as Charlotte
will not throw over her other partners when Mr. Augustus
Langley asks her to dance.”
“Nonsense, child—nonsense !” cried young Langley,
tapping her cheek. “I dislike Lady Delmaine as I do
every other compound of ignorance and affectation ; and her
son and daughter resemble her just sufficiently not to be
first favorites with me.”
“Resemble her ? Tax Lord Chichester with the sin of
ignorance P’ cried Cecilia, with indignation.
“Ay! with the sin of ignorance P’ replied her brother.
amused by his sister’s unusual vehemence, “inasmuch as
with all his erudition, he knows nothing worth a wise man’s
knowing.”
“Nothing worth Mr. Augustus Langley’s knowing, I pre-
sume.”
“Pho, pho, child. Trust me, I have just as much Latin
and Greek as is good for a country gentlem in. But wait
till Chichester gets up in the house, and you will see your jay.
in the borrowed feathers of classical scholarship stripped of
his plumes—and a very small bird in the main.”
“You always value men according to their importance in
the house !” cried Cecilia; and she was so far right, that Au-
gustus, like all boys reared at the table of an eminent mem-
ber, had acquired a sort of senatorial jargon, and been taught
to fancy that there is no salvation without the pale of parlia-
THE DowAGER. •19
*
ment. “Yet surely experience proves that a very clever per-
son may make an indifferent speaker?”
“I have no doubt, my dear, that your cousin Chichester
will make a second Windham | There—does that satisfy
you?” cried her brother. “And when his vanity is fully
satisfied with the cheers of parliament, I trust he will be con-
tent to resign some of the silly pretensions, with which his
mother’s folly and fortune have inspired him. At present,
Chichester is an arrant puppy. I bear him no ill will—I have
nothing to say against him. He is a good-looking fellow,
and agreeable enough when he likes; but an arrant puppy.”
“And just now, mother, Augustus was assuring you that
there was no danger of grandmamma’s taste for scandal ex-
tending in the family P’ cried Cecilia, in reply to an expres-
sion of Lady Mary’s countenance, which denoted vexation
at hearing her darling son so unusually censorius.
My dear Cis, my dear mother P-exclaimed young Lang-
ley, looking mysterious, “I have reasons of my own, which
at some future time I may explain, for not being anxious to
promote your 8vident predilection in favor of my cousin.”
“At some future time”—Cecilia was beginning. But
her father at that moment entered the room; and Mr. Lang-
ley was a man for whose presence his children entertained
too much respect, to disturb his leisure by discussions not
of his own suggesting.
CHAPTER III.
One who molests a harmless neighbor’s peace,
Insults ſall'm worth or beauty in distress;
Who loves a lie, lame slander heaps about,
Who writes à libel, or who copies out. PO PE.
“.WAUx ſ—the cards!” said Lady Delmaine, interrupting
a discussion between her daughter and her brother, as she
swept past them from the family coach to the staircase, on
the day in question. And Vaux, who was recently engaged
in her Ladyship’s service, went through his quotidian exer-
cise of bustling up to the hall table, and presenting on a sal-
20 THE DOWAGER.
ver to the Dowager, the vast assortment of visiting cards
accumulated during her absence.
“Any one else ?” she inquired, beginning slowly to as
cend the staircase, while the blue and yellow macaw chain-
ed to its stand in the hall, kept screaming to the utmost pitch-
of its voice to testify its joy at the sight of Lady Meliora.
“No one else, my Lady.” t
“ Not Henderson's man about the mignionette 7"
“Oh! yes my Lady. He called before the carriage
could have reached Park Lane.”
“Then why did you say no one else ?”
“I thought your Ladyship meant (quiet, Cocotte 1) no
other morning visitors.”
“You thought nonsense. Remember, Waux, I choose
to have an accurate account of every person whatsoever who
inquires for me or my daughter.”
“Your Ladyship always has, my Lady.”
“Don’t answer me. Where is your book? You know,
Vaux, I have uniformly desired you not tº let me be two
days without seeing your book.”
“Your Ladyship never is. Only as I thought that as
(quiet, Cocotte I)—I thought that as I have only had three
names to enter since October, your Ladyship might be tir-
ed of reading them over and over again. Most of the visi-
tors, my Lady, comes, according to your Ladyship's desire,
before three o’clock, so as to be sure of finding you at home,
and then, naturally, hasn’t no need to leave their names;
and as to the rest, (quiet, Cocotte l—quiet sir!) they leaves
their visiting ticket, and there’s an end on't.”
“I did not ask you for an harangue, sir, but for my visit-
ing book. And pray leave off hallooing to the bird, over
the bannisters, which is far more disagreeable than Cocotte’s
screaming, and what the poor macaw has never been used
to.”
“No, my Lady,” replied the well-powdered Mr. Waux, as
he deferentially attended the steps of the Dowager up stairs.
“Don’t answer me, sir. I detest a servant who answers.
It is a proof that he has lived in the lowest style of places.
Pray did not my daughter, Lady Mary, call here this morn-
ing with Miss Langley !” continued her Ladyship, stop-
ping short and panting on the landing-place.
THE DOWAGER. 21
*.
~~~
“Ye-e-s, my Lady. I conclude your Ladyship in this
case desires an answer?”
“I trust, sir, you are not presuming to be jocular !”
“My Lady, I only thought that—”
“I request there may be no thinking so long as you are
in my service. You are here to do as you are bid. Pray
why did you not inform me of my daughter's visit 7”
“I concluded, my Lady, from what Lady Mary Langley
said, that there was an understanding between you, (quiet—”
he checked himself in time, and the macaw screamed on.)
“Observe pray, that there is no such thing as what you
call understanding connected with any part of your duties
in this establishment. All I require of you, is your respon-
sibility for my plate, cellar, and footman ; your personal at-
tendance so long as I am in the house, your vigilance dur-
ing my absence, and an accurate account of my visitors on
my return. I met Lady Mary at Lady Halidown's or I
might never have been aware of her visit. Send Otley to
my room, and let me hear no more of these irregularities.”
Mr. Waux, warned against the vulgarity of reply, bowed
and retired. It was, perhaps, fortunate that Cocotte was
still screeching at intervals, so as to drown his muttered
soliloquy as he deliberately descended the stairs. But ere
he reached the last step, an impetuous ringing of the draw-
ing-room bell, recalled him to his attendance.
“Your Ladyship was pleased to ring 7" said he, in order
to attract the attention of the Dowager, who was standing
at the window, her spectacles on, and her observation in-
tently fixed upon the opposite house.
“Come this way, Waux,” she replied, in a voice subdued
to unwonted graciousness. “Pray do you happen to know
whose horses those are standing at Lord Gransden’s
door?”—
“Can't say, indeed, my Lady,” replied Mr. Waux, sup-
pressing a smile, while he pretended to cast a scrutinizing
glance upon two fine horses and a groom out of livery,
posted opposite. “I should say, my Lady, they were some
gentleman’s horses.”
“Of course. Have they been here long '"
“Really don’t know, my Lady. I was attending to my
business in the dining-room when your Ladyship drove up.”
22 THE DOWAGER.
*s
“Did you ever notice them here before, Vaux 7”
“Not as I knows on, my Lady. Nobody can keep less
of a look out for that sort of a thing than I do. No person
can say they ever saw me idling at the door. It wasn’t tº:
lerated by none of the gentlemen I have lived with. It
wansn’t considered respectable.”
The Dowager grunted her displeasure ; but being in want
of information, did not see fit to order Mr. Vaux out of the
I’OOIſl.
“The footmen, no doubt, are acquainted with Lord
Gransden’s people 7" she demanded.
“Really can't say, my Lady. As your Ladyship
doesn't allow no followers—” *
“Go and ask John whether he can tell me whose are
those horses,” interrupted her Ladyship. “If he don’t hap-
pen to know, inquire of the second footman,—I can’t help
thinking they are Lord Chichester’s.”
“Wery likely, my Lady.”
“Why likely : Did you ever hear of any particular in-
timacy between Lord Chichester and Lord Gransden's
family 7°
“Me? Oh! dear no, my Lady. I’m new in the neigh-
borhood, and keeps no company.”
“Then why did you say it was very likely the horses were
my Lord Chichester's " **
“Your Ladyship thought so. I knew your Ladyship
knew best ; and so I said “very likely.’”
“Another time, be more careful in giving an unmeaning
answer. And now, go and make the inquiries I desired you.”
“What inquiries, Ma'am!” demanded Lady Meliora,
who entered the room just as Mr. Waux took his departure.
“My dear, I wanted to know whose fine horses those
are, standing at Lord Gransden’s. I noticed them there
yesterday and the day before ; and Vaux says he is certain
they are Lord Chichester's. A curious coincidence, you .
know. Do you remember hearing how earnestly he took
up Lady Gransden's defence the other morning, when Lady
Dearmouth happened to mention, before him, our having
told her of the scandalous hours kept by the Gransdens,
and the number of times we had seen Maradan's carrier go
in last year, the morning of the breakfast at Fern Lodge tº
THE DOWAGER, 23
“Yes—Lady Dearmouth said that he insulted her by
some remark to the effect that if people would attend to
their own business—”
“Ay, ay! I recollect —A prating coxcomb, never likely
to do much credit to the family. But I don't know why his
groom should be out of livery 3 It is not an undress livery,
you see, my dear:—not even pepper and salt, but actual-
ly a shabby blue coat l—Wery extraordinary l——Very in-
comprehensible !—Or rather, perhaps, only too comprehen-
sible ! When young gentlemen go about incog—John-
ny l’—pursued her Ladyship, raising her voice on seeing
Mr. Chichester enter the drawing-room and throw himself
on the sofa, “do come here, and tell me whether these are
your nephew’s horses. I conclude you know Lord Chi-
chester's horses by sight? What is his color?” she cotin-
ued, hobbling towards the sofa to insure being heard.
“Pale green,” replied Johnny, whose hand was raised to
his ear to meet her inquiries ; “and a thousand times pret-
tier since she left off ringlets.”
The Dowager shrugged her shoulders. “I asked you,”
cried she, in a still louder key, “whether you had ever seen
Loºt. Chithesler's horses 2" -
“I think she said, jobs,” replied her son, in his usual
quiet tone.
“Lord Chichester’s horses;–Mamma asked you the
color of Lord Chichester's horses 1”—cried Lady Meliora,
approaching her brother, and shouting so vociferously, that
it was impossible to blunder any longer.
“Oh! I beg your pardon. I thought you were talking
of Lady Mary's. I have been walking with Cissy Langley
in the park, and fancied the word color, alluded to her
pelisse. She is greatly improved since last year.”
“Yes—we met the Langleys in the Square on our way
to Harley Street. They dine with us next Saturday,” said
the Dowager, by way of dismissing the subject. “But
about these horses l—Do get up and tell me, if you can,
whose they are.”
“I fear I cannot satisfy you,” replied Johnny, as his
mother returned to her post at the window. “I have very
24 THE DOWAGER.
little acquaintance among quadrupeds, I am not on bowing
terms with a single pair in all London.”
“But these are not a pair—these are saddle-horses,”
cried Lady Meliora, indignant at his stupidity.
“Not even with a pair of single ones then. No doubt
they are Sir Henry Windsor’s.”
You know very well that we saw him drive off in his drag
this morning, before I went out,” cried the Dowager. “I
asked Vaux and the footman where he was gone, and John
said he thought to a dinner of four-in-hands at Greenwich.
Besides, these are waiting at Lord Gransden’s.”
“For an answer?” said Johnny, coolly. “It is very
wrong to keep people waiting for an answer; it puts a whole
establishment out of order. My niece tells me that they are
to have an—”
“How very extraordinary 1” interrupted the Dowager.
“Look—there is Lady Gransden standing at the window,
looking through her glass at the horses, as cooly as I am ||
—Pretty familiar terms she must be on with her visitor, to
stand staring from the window, while he, probably, is loll-
ing on the sofa :-I’d give something to know whose they
really are l—What can Waux be about ! He is certainly the
slowest servant that ever came into this house !” And an
eager ring at the bell again summoned the butler, who duly
made his appearance.”
* Well, Waux 2
“My Lady, it wants twenty minutes to seven.”
“I did not ask you the hour.”
“Your Ladyship desired me to send Otley to your room.
I concluded you wished to dress for dinner.”
“But I told you to ask the men-servants if any of them
knew the horses opposite 7”
“The coachman was round at the stables, my Lady.”
“The coachman—the coachman ſ—As if no one but the
coachman could answer such a question ſ”
“And before John could come back with the answer, my
Lady,” continued Vaux, not daring to trifle with his mistress
in the presence of her son, “Mr. Chichester came in, who
I thought would inform your Ladyship.”
“Mr. Chichester knows nothing about the matter. What
was the answer ?”
THE DOWAGER, 25
*
“Lord Gransden's compliments, my Lady, and he was
much obliged by your kind inquiries.”
“What is all this?” cried the Dowager, turning towards
her butler a countenance radiant with indignation. “You
don’t mean to say that you sent over to Lord Gransden to
make inquiries?”
“There was some misunderstanding between John and
the coachman,” replied Vaux, in an apologetic tone. “The
coachman thought that as the young man what met with the
accident, (Lord Gransden's groom was thrown in the park
the day-afore-yesterday, my Lady, which is the reason of
the helper bringing his Lordship's horses to the door in plain
clothes,) was brother to Mary, housemaid, your Ladyship
had the condescension to wish to know how he was going
on. But instead of answering for themselves, the servants
sent the message in to my Lord.”
“Well, I only hope Lord Gransden may have seen
through the occasion of your blunder?” cried the Dowager,
her chagrin at having incurred the chance of an exposure of
her impertinent curiosity to the Gransdens, giving way to
the satisfaction of finding such a mode of communication
open between the two houses, as the brother and sistership
of her housemaid and the Wiscount’s groom. “Go down,
Vaux. Another time, be more exact in the transmission
of my orders.”
“What misunderstandings do arise from the stupidity of
servants ſ” ejaculated Lady Meliora, shrewdly suspecting
that her mother’s inquisitive propensities were at that mo-
ment affording amusement, at their expense, to the Grans-
dens, or at least to their servants’ hall.
“And still more from their wanton misrepresentations,”
added the Dowager. “Waux certainly insinuated that those
were Lord Chichester’s horses. Now I might have run
away with the impression that Lord Chichester’s horses
were stationed half the day at Lady Gransden's door.”
“You were run away with by Chichester's horses from
Lady Gransden's door?” inquired Johnny, looking exceed-
ingly surprised. “I hope, ma'am, you sustained no inju-
727
“It is no use to answer him,”—said Lady Meliora, aside
to her mother. “He really grows more and more deaf eve-
WOL. I. 3
26 THE DOWAGER,
*
ry day !—Don’t forget,” said she, addressing him in her
usual tone, “that the Langleys dine here on Saturday.”
“I seldom forget an engagement that secures me the
company of Langley or his wife,” said he, immediately
hearing her. “Who is to meet them—or is it a family par-
t º
y “We must have one or two ; for as there is no House,
Mr. Langley will be expecting his whist.”
“I never saw Morrison Langley at the whist-table except
in his own house of a winter's evening in the country,” said
Johnny. “Besides, as I was going to tell you just now
when you interrupted me, they have an opera-box this sea-
son, on Cecilia’s account, and will be off early.”
“An opera-pox on Cissy's account?—Ay, ay!—I always
said that when my sister brought out her daughter, she would
adopt the whole system of matrimonial manoeuvring,” cried
Lady Meliora.
“Is there so much finesse, then, in indulging her daugh-
ter's taste for music—or perhaps I might say cultivating her
genius 7"
“Genius, indeed!—I hope, Johnny, you are not going
to put any nonsense of that kind into my grand-daughter's
head 7" cried the Dowager. “Of all the vulgarism of the
present day, there is none, in my opinion, more flagrant than
that of young women of family setting up for geniuses P’
“I quite agree with you. . They mostly require setting
down,” replied Johnny, gravely. “As to putting nonsense
into the head of Cissy Langley, it is so remarkably well-fill-
ed, that there is no room to receive it. But to return to our
mutton. Why not invite a few young people on Saturday
to meet my nephew and niece 3’’
“You are so fond of raw boys and girls P’ said Lady
Meliora, with a sneer.
“I plead guilty. I like them much better raw, than when
dressed a toute sauce. Supposing, mother, you were to ask
the Delmaines, and their son and daughter 7”
“I have not invited them these three years,” replied the
Dowager. “They used invariably to excuse themselves,
so I gave it up.”
“They had a very fair pretext for staying at home—La-
dy Delmaine's health.”
THE DOWAGER, 27
“Or affectation,” amended Lady Meliora.
“Or affectation—(most women are more or less affect-
ed.,)” continued Johnny with perfect sang-froid, “did not
admit of their accepting dinner invitations. But now that
Lady Charlotte has been presented, and the Somnabulist
has forbidden her mother to dine later than three, Lord Del-
maine takes out his daughter, and there is no longer a mo-
tive for refusing.”
“I should not be sorry if they were to dine here,” said the
Dowager, musingly, “The Langleys ought to be on bet-
ter terms with the Delmaines. Living in the same county,
it wears a strange appearance for Lady Mary to be so dis-
tant with the family; and yet, in compliment to me, to whom
they have been far from civil, she does not choose to make
advances. Besides, it would be a very good thing for Lord
Delmaine to assure himself, with his own senses, of the ne-
cessity of rebuilding the kitchen under the yard, as I have
a hundred times proposed to him. The smell of the stoves
during the half hour before dinner, will say more in my fa-
vor than half-a-dozen lawyer's letters.”
“I hope Wilson does not intend to keep us waiting half-
an-hour for dinner ?”—said Johnny, gravely. “If so, pray
don't invite Delmaine, who is punctuality itself.”
“I certainly shall invite him,” replied the Dowager, with
all the positiveness foreseen by her son. “Meliora, my
dear, remember to write the card, with a separate one for
Lord Chichester, the very first thing after dinner.”
“Yes, ma'am. Any other invitations tº
“We owe a dinner to poor Mrs. Crouch. She has not
dined here since we met the royal dukes at her house. But
don’t send a formal card to her.”
“No, mamma. And Sir Jacob Appleby ?”
“Yes, certainly, my dear. I shan’t be easy till I’ve
made up a match between him and our charming friend.”
“And Lord and Lady Dear”
“No, not the Dearmouths, or I cry off P’ exclaimed
Johnny. “Were they, the widow, and Sir Jacob to meet
at your table on Saturday, the rest of the party would not
hear themselves speak.” And already he repented having
proposed the invitation to the Delmaines, which afforded a
pretext for that of the scandalous coterie. “Besides, if the
28 - THE DOWAGER.
party be too large, there will be no opportunity for an im-
provement of acquaintance between Lord Delmaine and my
brother-in-law.”
“I don’t know how it is, or whether he have any ulterior
motive in it,” whispered Lady Meliora peevishly to her
mother, as they quitted the room together to prepare for din-
ner, “but my brother always makes the Langleys’ arrival
in town a signal of annoyance. To me, their stay is a pos-
itive season of penance. However, if the poor Dear-
mouths are not to be invited on Saturday, you must con-
trive to make up a party for them next week.”
l º Certainly, my dear. Johnny can dine that day at his
Club.
CHAPTER IV.
If, like a viper, to the heart she wind,
And leave the mischief there she did not find,
What marvel that this hag of hatred works
Eternal evil, latent as she lurks?
BYRON.
LADY Gransden, (who has been already adverted to, as
looking quietly out of her drawing room window to ascer-
tain whether the helper whom the groom’s accident was the
means of bringing so inauspiciously forward, could be tole-
rated as an attendant till his livery was ready,) was a very
pretty woman of two-and-twenty, who, after three years’
marriage, had scarcely exhausted the delight of hearing
herself hailed a viscountess; the husband through whom
the distinction was derived, being what is technically called
“the man of her choice.”
The phrase, interpreted, meant only that the second
daughter of Mr. Oakham of Hanbury Park, had refused a
Captain in the Guards, and a younger brother with good
expectations, before she joyfully accepted the hand of Lord
Grafisden ; a good-natured, well-looking young man, who,
being the only unmarried young nobleman in the county,
was of course an object of idolatry to all its young ladies.
THE DOWAGER, 29
At their race-balls and archery meetings, the young Wiscount
shone a superior being. His commonest sayings were
quoted by them as bon mots, his dress imitated by their
brothers, his addresses seconded by their papas; and when,
after a week's acquaintance in a chatty country house at
Christmas time, Laura Oakham was invited to become his
wife, she had every excuse for considering herself a peculiar
favorite of fortune.
The Oakham girls had been somewhat strictly brought
up by an excellent mother; who had no fault but the very
natural Pygmalion-like weakness of being desperately in
love with her performances. She, of course, considered
the handsome Wiscount and his handsome seat at Gransden
Hall, as a tribute due to the merits of her charming Laura ;
and the energy with which she enforced this upon her girl,
tended, perhaps, to fortify the genuine filial affection of
Lady Gransden, and to render the gentle flatteries of home
essential to her happiness, even when commanding, in after-
life, the more splendid homage of society.
Her elder sister was married to a country gentleman of
moderate fortune, and settled in Cheshire, at some distance
from Hanbury Park; and the Wiscountess, with the means
of travelling at her disposal, was consequently oftener with
her parents than poor Elizabeth. Mrs. Oakham loved,
however, to write to Mrs. Evelyn concerning her sister’s
brilliant position—her sister’s beauty and fashion—her
sister’s good sense and good feeling, which prevented her
being spoiled by such a rare combination of good gifts ;
and Mrs. Evelyn, trying not to be jealous, and striving to
forget that in former times she had always been º
handsomer than Emma, who was a year her junior, wrote
in return letters properly expressive of good will towards
her sister, and pride in the triumph of her family.
Unluckily, they all took too much pride; the recollection
of Laura’s triumph being ever uppermost. They bored
their neighbors with Lady Gransden's house in town ; La-
dy Gransden's villa at Boxhill; Lady Gransden’s seat in
shire; Lady Gransden's court dresses, opera box,
picture in the exhibition, and favor at court. It might have
been supposed there had never been a Wiscountess before,
and that there was no other pretty woman in the peerage.
3%
30 ** THE DOWAGEft.
All that Lady Gransden wrote to them was repeated. Aſ
she said, did, or thought, became a matter of laudation; and
when Lord Gransden, who in his bachelor days had been a
determined sportsman, took a hunting-box close to Melton,
the winter following his marriage, and Laura in her corres-.
pondence with her mother made a passing remark upon
the state of female society there which never ought to have
reached beyond the walls of the drawing-room of Hanbury
Park, Mrs. Oakham was so rash in thanking God, in the
ears of the whole neighborhood, for “the excellent princi-
ples of her daughter, which would secure the young Wis-
countess from corruption, even in the midst of the disso-
lute set into which she had been madly introduced by her
Lord P−the story soon transpired ; and Lady Delmaine
and Lady Meliora Chichester, who happened to be staying
in the neighborhood, took care, on their return to London,
to publish flourishing variations on the theme. Lady Grans-
den’s impertinent animadversions afforded a topic in all
their morning visits, –more especially to such persons as
had friends or connections among the Melton set.
Nothing could have been more unfortunate for a bride,
who had her own way to make in the fashionable world !—
London was not particularly pleased with Lord Gransden
for marrying an obscure country Miss, instead of one of
the hundred of Ladyships it had placed at his disposal;
and on finding that the new Lady Gransden had the audaci-
ty to set herself up as a prude, in judgment upon its ways
of going on, and to find fault with the fair creatures whose
follies are its boast, there was every probability that the
ung Wiscountess would undergo sentence of ostracism, on
i. very threshold of the grand monde.
Those of the Melton ladies whose conduct was really
amenable to censure, were the most angry. They were in-
dignant that a little provincial Wiscountess, whom they had
only condescended to admit into their society as “poor
Gramsden’s wife—poor, dear Gransden, who was such an
excellent creature, and such a capital seat,” should have
dared to pronounce so much as an opinion upon habits of
life totally new to her inexperience. She could not be a
competent judge ; and had she been as good a one as the
J oldest patroness of Almacks, nothing could exceed the mau-
**-,
ºf HE DOWAGER. 31
f
' vais ion of allowing herself to see things to which people of
the world were wisely blind; and concerning which, women
of delicacy wisely silent.
Poor Lady Gransden was amazed, on her arrival in town
for the season, shy, timid, and relying much for protection
upon her Melton friends, to find them grown reserved and
contemptuous. She could not, at first, surmise in what way
she had given offence, and dared not urge her inquiries, as
she knew Lord Gransden would, on the first hint of a slight
offered to his wife, fly offand demand satisfaction of those who
were responsible for the impertinence of their wives.
The secret, however, finally transpired ; (how could it
be otherwise, when the plaintiffs and defendants in the cause
were all of the feminine gender 7) and the Wiscountess had
the mortification of finding that she passed in the world for.
an impºrtinent scandal-monger.
A few of the really blameless women involved in what
men said to be her accusations, whose innocence left them
perfectly unconcerned on the subject, treated the matter as
a jest.
“So, my dear Lady Gransden l’’ cried the handsome La-
dy Sophia Ashford, the first time they met in town—“I
hear you say we are all shocking people at Melton ;-the
men bears, and the women unbearable !—Oh, fie, my dear !
I did not think you so ill-natured l—You are much too young
and too pretty to be censorious.”
“To whom did I ever utter anything of the kind?” cried
Lady Gransden, with indignation.
“Ay, there's the rub l—To some particular friend, who
does not appear to be particularly discreet. You said, it
seems, that the dear Countess and her sister were irretriev-
able gamblers ; and that Flora would be as bad as either,
if she did not find more amusement in her billets doux than
her betting-book.”
“My dear La—”
“You said,” continued Lady Sophia, not choosing to be
interrupted, “that I might as well put my children into the
Foundling Hospital at once, as keep them at nurse down at
Ashford Castle, which I never visit from one year's end to
another; nay, that I keep a list of their names in my pock-
et-book, lest they should altogether escape my memory.”
32 THE DOWAGER,
“My dear, dear La—”
“You added that my sister Harriet was fifty times worse
than myself; inasmuch as she not only contrived to forget
her children, but her husband, who, however, was not so
much to be pitied, since he managed to console himself
with the pretty Marchioness.”
“My dearest La—”
“You declared that Lady Medwyn kept a whist-score
with all the young men of the new club ; and that Mrs.
Maddington kept no score at all, but dipped into every bo-
dy’s purse as coolly as she had already done into her hus-
band's estates.”
“Nay, but I must be heard P’ cried Laura, unable longer
to repress her emotion. “I said none—no—not one of these
things —I know nothing of such charges, and am incapa-
ble of inventing them. I must have been lost to all delicacy
of mind—all womanly feeling—before I could have strung
together such a catalogue of infamies. On my word of
honor, dear Lady Sophia—' not guilty l’”
“I never thought you were, my dear,” replied her cava-
lier companion, “ or I should not come in this frank manner
to unburthen my budget. No l—You probably said some-
thing not particularly civil of us; that we were a frivolous,
flirting set, or something of that sort, (if not true to the let-
ter, certainly not altogether false,) and this has been mag-
nified by an enemy into the slander I have detailed to you.”
“But at my age, what enemy can I have 7” exclaimed
Lady Gransden, in despair.
“Why your age in itself creates a host!—Do you think
that such women as myself, Lady Medwyn, Mrs. Madding-
ton, and one or two others who find it convenient to dress our
bandeaux with pommade ficatoire of a dye as dark as the
Newgate Calendar, lest others should perceive, as clearly
as our waiting maids that our raven black is turning to
chinchilla—do you think we can forgive you the hair and
complexion of sweet eighteen 7”
“Or the awkward manners of unformed eighteen 7° de-
manded the Wiscountess, with a smile.
* “Rely upon it, you have loads of enemies,” resumed La-
dy Sophia; “and that one or other of them has done you
this ill turn. However, don't make yourself miserable. I
THE • DOWAGER. 33
believe the storm is blowing over. At first, the Countess,
and one or two of the others were furious, and wanted to
have a meeting of the club called on the subject, to insist,
through Lord Gransden, upon a public retraction. But at
last they began to remember that “plus on remue le fumier,
plus il infecte,’ and wisely determined to keep quiet, and for-
get what their resentment would alone cause other people
to bear in mind.”
“I shall certainly not be presented on Thursday !” ex-
claimed Lady Gransden, down whose cheeks tears of mor-
tification were forcing their way. “I will not go out this
season P’
“And why?”
“I have not courage to confront the unkindness in store
for me.”
“To shrink from it, my dear child, would be to plead
guilty. The longer you refrain, the greater will become
your difficulty,” said Lady Sophia. “Appear, therefore, at
once; and look down the malice of those who have so
shamefully traduced you. We are not all ill-behaved.
Many, besides myself, can afford to forgive, even if you
had said all imputed to you ; and many, besides myself,
are fully convinced that you did not. Moreover, the Mel-
ton set, if most fashionable is not the only fashionable one
in London. It is, perhaps, after all, safer for you to be
driven to find your associations among quieter people.”
Lady Sophia’s prognostications were justified. The an-
gry crew affected ignorance of all that had passed; and the
incident exercised the happiest influence in forming the
character of the young Wiscountess. Compelled to assume
greater dignity among those who were prepared to insult
her, and to rely upon her integrity as a resource against the
vexations of society, she grew more charitable towards per-
sons suffering under imputation, on her own knowledge of
the slight grounds upon which the world rests its condemna-
tions. Altogether, the persecution was of service to her
character and principles.
It was not so, however, as regarded her position in soci-
ety. . Fine ladies, even when they forgive, rarely forget;
and the Melton fine ladies and their satellites, though re-
solved to hold their tongues, neither forgot nor forgave.
34 THE DOWAGER.
They pretended to be “satisfied”—with all the magna-
nimity of a coward to whom the discharge of his antagonist's
pistol has brought instant conviction. But the scar of their
wounded self-love, though skinned over, was not healed ;
and like the whirlwinds which
Hus'hed in grim repose, expect their evening prey,
waited impatiently for Lady Gransden's first indiscretion, to
throw her into their hands for retaliation. It was useless to
keep up warlike demonstrations against the pretty, lively,
popular, Wiscountess ; but, from some people, peace is
more to be apprehended than war.
Such was Lady Gransden’s predicament, when her evil
destinies settled her as the opposite neighbor of the Coun-
tess Dowager of Delmaine. She had little support in her
husband, who was nothing more than a kind-hearted, good-
humored young man, wild for field-sports, easily excited,
and without ten grains of understanding for the governance
of his career. His weakness, indeed, was the chief origin
of the annoyance to which poor Laura had been subjected ;
for, on being first attacked by the Melton Countesses with
—“So, Lord Gransden —your wife, it seems, does not
consider us proper society for her ?”—The Wiscount, aware
that the sans facon habits of the fair Meltonians had, in the
first instance, astonished, if not disgusted, his rustic bride,
and ignorant how far his simple Laura might have commit-
ted herself, contented himself with replying—“ Indeed?—
We must teach her better! How should she know any
thing about the matter 7”
This slighting allusion to his wife was accepted by her
detractors as a hint to her disparagement; and they were
accordingly justified in predicting little good from a mé-
mage already unharmonious.
From the society of the Countess of Delmaine and her
daughter, her nearest country-neighbors at Gransden, the
Wiscountess derived little advantage. The mother was a
silly, peevish woman; whose importance as an heiress gave
her unlimited influence in her family, and whose egotism
caused her to profit by it only to ruin her health with ſash-
ionable nostrums; while the daughter, a pretty girl and in-
tended by nature for an agreeable one, was eaten up with
THE DOWAGER. 35
affectation inspired by the flatteries of her mother. From
Lady Gransden, when first emerging from Hanbury Park,
their high birth and fine position in the county, commanded
respect. It was only on eventually recognizing the flimsi-
ness of their minds and absurdity of their manners, that she
decided mere precedence to be a poor apology for folly.
Still, the society occasionally assembling at Chichester
Court, was an acquisition; and Lord Gransden’s old school-
fellow, Lord Chichester, when he returned from his travels,
proved an entertaining young man, whose conversation was
a resource amid the platitudes of a hunting county.
“You are acquainted with some relations of mine who
live on the borders of your county " was the Dowager’s
first question to the young Wiscountess on her arrival in
Grosvenor Street.
“The present Lady Delmaine !—One of my nearest
neighbors I”
“Yes ; during the few years I lived at Chichester Court,
I perfectly remember the gates and palings of Gransden
Hall,” resumed the Dowager. “But the place was shut
up—the family abroad.”
“Lord Gransden’s father—or grandfather, perhaps, was
then in possession of the property ("—said the Wiscountess.
“Oh! dear no!—Some very distant connection, or friend,
(I believe it was merely a friend,) who bequeathed it to Mr.
Brigson.”
“Mr. Brigson?”—reiterated her companion, in a tone of
surprize.
“Lord Gransden's grandfather, you know, who, on com-
ing into so fine a property naturally changed his name and
politics, (though considering the origin of the family—but
that is all over and forgotten now, and nothing to the pur-
pose.) Well, as I was mentioning, Mr. Brigson naturally
gave in his adhesion to ministers—ministers naturally cre-
ated him a peer; and as he was also at the trouble and ex-
pense of a change of surname—(anything may be bought
in commercial England!)—nothing soon remained of Mr.
David Brigson in Wiscount Gransden. His wife, who was
as shrewd as himself, contrived to marry their only son to
the daughter of a Scotch Duke; and Lord Gransden, your
husband, is consequently as well born as he is handsome and
36 - THE DOWAGER.
agreeable—which is more, by the way, than can be said of
my grandson's wife, Lady Delmaine, the daughter of a Glas-
gow weaver !”
“Lady Delmaine was an heiress, I fancy. We must
not look too closely at the pedigree of an heiress,” observed
Lady Gransden, who being herself of what ought to be
considered unblemished descent—that is, the daughter of
an ancient and irreproachable old English family, was pri-
vileged to be indulgent. “Perhaps on the whole, Lady
Delmaine's low-birth is an advantage to Lord Chichester;
who, being somewhat inclined to radicalism, avails himself
in his addresses to his constituents, of the high origin of
his maternal ancestors as children of the people.”
“A noble boast, truly 1” cried the Dowager in a rage.
“Just what might have been expected from the introduction
of a weaver’s treddles into the emblazonments of the Chi-
chester escutcheon.”
The arrival of strangers compelled her to discretion ;
but this conversation proved of no service to Lady Grans-
den. In the first place, it diminished her consideration for
the only woman of her neighborhood whose superior rank
acted as a check upon her pride; in the second, it inspired
her with mistrust of lord Gransden’s word. The Wis-
count, who attached small importance to the accident of
birth, and had been studiously kept ignorant of his equivo-
cal pedigree by the high-born and widowed mother by whom
his education was directed, entertained no intention of con-
cealment on the subject towards his wife. Yet Laura, who
in the early moments of their engagement had once or twice
reverted gratefully to his superiority of rank, without hear-
ing any allusion to the Brigson portion of his lineage, fan-
cied him guilty of a pitiful dis-ingenuousness in not reply-
ing at once, “I am only the representative of a new peer-
age, bought by the subservience of my grandfather, old Da-
vid Brigson.” She felt that, misled by his silence, she
should not again accord him implicit faith.
It is true that her next door neighbor, her husband's
friend, Sir Henry Windsor, at whose suggestion Gransden
had purchased the lease of the house in Grosvenor Street,
had placed her on her guard against Lady Delmaine, whom
he styled Grand Mistress of the Inquisition, and was always
THE DOWAGER, 37
prepared to amuse her with anecdotes of her Ladyship's
prying impertinence. But the Wiscountess made allowance
for the antipathy between a gay young baronet of four-and-
twenty, and a cross old dowager of seventy-three ; and as
she found, on enquiry, that Lady Delmaine's intelligence
respecting the Gransden family was strictly correct, prepar-
ed herself to profit, on future occasions, by the extraordina-
ry proficiency of Lady Meliora Chichester and her mother
in matters of family history and heraldic illustration.
It was in vain that Sir Henry, who occasionally saw his
pretty neighbor traverse the street for a morning visit to
the Dowager, renewed his warning.
“You not only lend your ears to her abominable roman-
ces,” said he to Lady Gransden, one night at the opera,
“but by your incautious frankness, supply her with the
groundwork of a thousand more. I will answer for it, that
in the course of half-an hour's téte à tête, the Dowager
picks out of your unsuspicious nature materials to set half
the families of your acquaintance together by the ears P’
“You are not very complimentary to my discretion,” re-
monstrated the Wiscountess.
, “I never think the worse of a man’s understanding for
seeing his handkerchief filched by a pickpocket,” he replied.
“But, believe me, since I have known you to be on intimate
terms with Lady Delmaine, I have hesitated to relate to you
the commonest news of the day.”
“But I am not on intimate terms with her l’”
“Come, come !—when ladies take to interchanging the
loan of new books and Berlin patterns! 59
“You, my dear Sir Henry, to complain of Lady Del-
maine's love of gossipping !—Why, you must be Paul Pry
in person to have ascertained all this P’ *
“I met Lady Meliora’s page coming out of your door
yesterday, laden with new novels, enough to sink a navy.”
“And the Berlin patterns ?”
“You promised, in my hearing, this morning, to lend my
sister, Mrs. Were, the new ones brought over by Halzettern,
as soon as you got them back from your neighbor, old
Lady Delmaine ! Is not that a true bill?”
“What is a poor woman to do, who receives the civilest,
of civil notes from a dowager thrice her age, asking a favor
WOLs I,
38 THE DOWAGER.
of so simple a kind? As to the books, if you had not abus-
ed me, before Lady Meliora, for the folly of wasting my
money in buying new novels, and my time in reading them,
she would not have annoyed me by sending to borrow “La
rose de Dékama’ before the pages were cut.”
“Don’t ask me to be penitent for having kept a French
hovel out of your hands. I would fain have my female
friends cut such pages altogether,” replied Sir Henry. “I
have no doubt Lady Meliora has been pointing out impro-
per passages to all her morning visitors, and significantly
turning to the name of ‘L. Gransden,’ on the title-page l’”
“You are so spiteful against poor Lady Meliora, that I
am beginning to give credit to the report of her having been
cruel to you,” said the Wiscountess, trying in her turn to
pique the self-love of Sir Henry.
“You are mistaken. It was my great grand-father for
whose hand she was once in treaty P’ replied he, in the
same tone. “But our feud has a more serious origin.
When my poor mother spent her last season with me in
Grosvenor Street, though Lady Delmaine saw the knocker
tied up, straw down, and three physicians in daily attend-
ance, (ºr nothing escapes her notice—things that others
might overlook are palpable enough to her,) she was the only
one of my neighbors who did not respect the dying moments
of one of the most charming women in England, by sup-
pressing the loud and incessant knocks at her door. The
noise of one of Lady Delmaine’s infernal drums, however,
prevented the last consolations of religion from reaching
the ear of my poor mother. The papers had announced
what was going on in my house; all London was crowding
there with inquiries; but, lest the Dowager should, by any
possibility, be ignorant; I addressed a letter to her, intreat-
ing her to put off her party till the following week, when the
cries of the link-boy might fall unnoticed on the ears of the
dead l–But, no l she persisted 1 and never shall I forget
my poor mother's imploring looks, when, long, after she was
speechless, the cutting-in of carriages, and slashing and
cursing of coachmen, disturbed the peace of her parting
soul!”
“I admit that you have a sufficient reason for your dis-
like P” said Lady Gransden in a low voice, not a little
THE DOWAGERs 39
touched by so unexpected a display of emotion on the part
of the volatile Sir Henry Windsor. “Still, in defence of
the poor Dowager, suffer me to say that the same disregard
of decency is evinced in half the streets of London.”
“Not where the parties are old acquaintance—living in
the same society—of the same rank ºf life. No! Lady
Delmaine acted like a brute, and as such——”
“Hush, hush be not uncharitable,” whispered Lady
Gransden; “and, above all, don't talk so loud ; for the vo-
taries of harmony have been casting angry glances from the
stalls to our box, ever since Grisi commenced her aria.”
CHAPTER W.
'Tis said, indeed a general complaint,
That no one has succeeded in describing
The monde exactly as they ought to paint;
Some say that authors only snatch by bribing
The porter, some slight scandals, strange and quaint,
To furnish matter for their moral gibing;
And that their books have but one style in common
My lady's prattle, filtered through her woman.
But this can't well be true just now, for writers
Are grown of the beau monde, a part potential ;
I've seen them balance in the scale with fighters,
Especially when young, for that's essential.
Why do their sketches fail then as inditers
Of what they deem themeselves most consequential
The real portrait of the highest tribe 7
'Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe.
BY RON.
THE day of the Dowager's dinner party arrived, and
Johnny Chichester seemed delighted to find that Lord Del-
maine and his son had accepted the invitation, while Lady
Charlotte excused herself on the plea of remaining at home
with her invalid mother. In spite of all he heard urged by
the Dowager against the Earl, in spite, perhaps, of being
aware that his Lordship had done little in his generation to
glorify the family honors, Johnny was too good a creature
not to experience a certain leaning towards every consan-
guineous thing. The name of Chichester was a passport,
40 THE DOWAGER,
if not to his affections, to his regard. Lord Delmaine, too,
was his contemporary; his Christ-Church chum—his broth-
er free-mason, and co-mate at Brookes's, as well as the rep-
resentative of his line; and, however, pitifully the Earl
might haggle with the Dowager touching Irish currency and
the rebuilding of Iºr kitchen flues, he was entitled, in a
thóusand ways, to consideration.
Johnny wanted to ascertain, too, more clearly than could
be ascertained by a nod in the street or a mumble over a
newspaper at a club, what sort of a fellow Lord Chichester
had returned from his travels. He was anxious to compare
his gland-nephew with his nephew, to match the young
Lord against Augustus Langley, of whose talents he was
vain, and of whose excellent qualities he was proud; and,
perhaps, though he would have turned his deafest ear had
such a supposition been hazarded by the Dowager, perhaps,
he wished to witness an interview between his pretty niece
and the future Earl of Delmaine ; in order to ascertain
whether there were any foundation for Lady Meliora's as-
sertion, than Cissy was over head and ears in love with
Lord Chichester, and Chichester most contemptuously in-
cognizant of the existence of so obscure a personage as the
daughter of Morison Langley the Member.
Johnny was glad to see Waux usher in the parties as
closely after each other, as if they had been fired to the
door in a platoon. Even General and Mrs. I(nox, who had
been invited that very afternoon as they stepped from their
traveling-carriage, with the project of making up to a doz-
en the Saturday party which the Dowager usually limited
to ten, were politely punctual. Mrs. Knox, young, pretty
and fashionable, looked somewhat disappointed on entering
the room, to find the party, (in honor of which she had hur-
ried to Devy’s for a new cap,) confined to the Langleys,
and the male portion of the Delmaine family; having un-
derstood that she was to meet the Countess and Lady Char-
lotte Chichester, whom, as she was easily fascinated by
the magic of fine names, she concluded must be charming.
Lady Mary Langley was a quiz, and Cecilia too young to
be a proficient in caps; and the vanity of Mrs. Knox being
of that harmless kind which finds its triumphs in the envy
of its own sex rather than the homage of the rougher moiety
THE DOWAGER. 41
of the human kind, Lord Chichester and Augustus Langley
were nothing more in her estimation than two empty boys,
who did not know Mechlin lace from Walenciennes.,
General Knox, on the contrary, was delighted with his
party. His vain young wife was so little of a companion to
him, that it was an agreeable surprise to be startled with a
dinner-invitation the moment he arrived in town ; and the
company of a man like Morison Langley, was an induce-
ment in itself. Even Lord Delmaine, without much to re-
commend him, was a pleasanter associate than a woman whose
tongue had all the monotonous insipidity of a sheep-bell;
for though like other men frequenting the best clubs, Lang-
ley might have little to say that was original, he must of
course be a proficient in the good things said by other peo-
ple. The General, too, was on his own part an acquisition,
by preventing the party from being confined to the family—
the thing of all others dullest and most awkward when so
little unity exists as among the honorable clan of Chichester.
Morison Langley, however, was a man whose high repu-
tation rendered it scarcely possible to meet him without
disappointment. He had immense influence in the House of
Commons, of which he had been nearly forty years a county
member. Considerable knowledge of the law.great prudence,
great patience, great diligence, had commingled his name
with almost all the important measures of modern times. He
had never been known to commit either himself or his consti-
tuents ; and his opinion was appealed to by all parties, in
every dilemma of precedent and usage. He was one with
whom the greatest statesmen had been proud to associate;
whose speeches, though devoid of all attempts at wit or elo-
quence, were listened to with respect, read with attention,
and translated into foreign journals, as containing the heart
of the matter they purported to illustrate. No striking point
or brilliant appeal ever carried away the house, or interrupt-
ed the progress of debate. But the vacillating made up
their minds and the trimmer shrank from his sneaking pur-
pose, after one of these efficient summings up of a question.
“De la droilure, dubon sens”—were the qualities accord-
ed to his views by continental journalists; and “solid pud-
ding and sound sense for ever !—Morison Langley’s the
man for my money!” resounded on the other hand in half
*;
42 THE DO WAGER,
country clubs in Great Britain. When to all this it is ad-
ded that the said Morison Langley had refused a peerage—
had been formly a crack sportsman, and in defiance of all
changes of fashion, sported leather gaiters and a broad-brim-
med hat—it will be understood that he was a man of emi-
nent worth and consideration.
Such a person as this is, however, the last likely to shine
at a London dinner-table. Accustomed to the slow course
of parliamentary exposition, and to address an auditory
where the influence of the eye either in imparting or imbib-
ing impressions is scarcely available, he was incompetent to
the quick ready interchange of remark and comment which
constitutes agreeable conversation. Like the Vicar of Wake-
field's Moses, who was for managing an argument “rational-
ly,” his arguments were apt to be as dull as they were con-
vincing. He chose to insulate facts and consider them in
every possible point of view ere he expressed an opinion, in-
stead of viewing them on the only side that reflected light on
the discussion. Wise, but not witty, he was the kind of man
whom youngsters blaspheme as a proser, and who forms
just such an obstacle in dinner conversation, as a hop-wag-
gon in a narrow lane.
With all this, Morisch Langley was a man of such high
moral worth, and public value, that people were proud to
know him—proud to invite him—proud to say they had din-
ed in his company the day before. In his own shire, he was
an oracle. His full length portrait was hung up in its town-
hall, and aqua-tinted copies in half its dining-rooms ; and
he was as sure of a monumental statue, as if the callipers
of Chantry had been already astride his nose.
But from the fact of country representation during two
thirds of his life, arose another peculiarity diminishing his val-
ue in general society. Langley had been so long engaged
in contemplating the interests of —shire, that the surface
of his mind seemed to present a picture of the county rais-
ed in relief like a map for the blind. Not a village but had
its counterpart in his memory; not a town but its population
and politics were noted ; not a canal but he had aided in its
progress; not a turn-pike-road but he had legislated in its
behalf; not a port but he had advocated its interests.
Now the capacity of man is finite; and from this exclu-
THE DOWAGER. 43
sive direction of Morison Langley’s perceptions, it followed
that much with which the “ingenuous youth of nations” is
familiar, had escaped his knowledge. He had thought and
acted for shire so long and vigilantly, as almost to for-
get there was a world elsewhere. The honorable member
was inadequately informed, for instance, on matters of for-
eign policy and too apt to consider .# movements of
the great and little powers of Europe, solely with reference
to their commercial relations with his country.
Such deficiencies as these, however, are but as a flaw in
the heel of the Farnesian Hercules, compared with the solid
worth of a Morison Langley, whether as a man or a leg-
islator. In his family, he was as much an object of affec-
tion, as of veneration in his county, and esteem throughout
the kingdom. His brother-in-law, John Chichester, in par-
ticular, who was aware of a thousand difficulties with which,
unknown to the public, he had coped, and who had seen
his influence exercise the holiest and best effects over both
individuals and districts, held him in the highest regard.
Johnny was proud that a sister of his should confirm the
domestic happiness of so good a man ; and would not easi-
ly have forgiven either his nephew or niece, had any error
of conduct harassed with private vexations the mind which
was of so much service to his country.
Little as Johnny interfered with the proceedings of the
Dowager, whenever he saw his mother intermeddle in aught
that remotely concerned the comfort of her son-in-law, his
hearing became, in a moment, as acute as a mole's ; and
he never rested till he had diverted, into some less offen-
sive channel, the activity of Lady Delmaine.
But while thus circumstantial in our description of the
Dowager's guests, her Ladyship's spring soup is cooling,
and Vaux standing perplexed betwixt Sherry and Maderia;
the Dowager's allusion to the merits of the latter, of which,
by the way, as having been fifty years in bottle, did not fail
to bring an envious twinge to the mind of the Earl of Del-
maine, recalling that “books, plate, and wine,” had been
conveyed, by an especial clause of his grandfather's will, to
his gossipping relict. • To be sure, unless consigned to the
soberallowance of a Dowager, the excellent East lndia Ma-
44 THE DOWAGER,
deira in question, would scarcely have been still extant, to
stimulate his appetite for the saddle of mutton.
Lord Delmaine, meanwhile, engaged readily in conver-
sation with his uncles-in-law upon county politics. The
Earl and his son—Johnny Chichester and the two Lang-
leys—talked shire, till General Knox began to feel
ashamed of having been born in any other county; and Mrs.
Crouch was left between the intermission of the entrées, to
sit and admire the cap of her opposite neighbor, Mrs. Knox,
while Mrs. Knox, equally bored, sat wondering how a woman
of Mrs. Crouch’s years could be guilty of such a breach of
propriety as to wear a Berthe of Guipure lace with sabots of
point d'Alençon. Lady Mary Langley, on her part, took care,
with wife-like devotion, not to divert the attention of her neigh-
bor, General Knox, from the holdings forth of Morison Lang-
ley, to which he was bending an ear; and Cecilia, if privately
of opinion that Lord Chichester would do well to show some
little attention to a pretty cousin, instead of displaying the
cloven foot of the pedant in quotations which called forth a
sneering smile from her brother, was placed too completely
between a fire of inquiries from the Dowager and her aunt
Meliora, to have leisure for pouting.
“So, my dear !—you have an opera-box this season, I
understand?” said the Dowager. “How came you, pray,
to let your mother choose the pit-tier ? But I forget; it has
its advantages for dancing young ladies!”
“Mamma chose it as moderate in price among the few
boxes remaining unlet."
“What number 7” inquired Lady Meliora. “Roman-
twenty—between the centre and the bead,” replied Miss
Langley.
“Just three, then, from Lady Gransden’s ''' observed
Mrs. Crouch, finding the gentlemen hopelessly engaged in
politics, and tired of holding her tongue.
“Towards which side is Lady Gransden's 7' inquired La-
dy Mary Langley.
“Towards the stage.”
“I am not acquainted with her; but there was a remark-
ably pretty woman on Tuesday night in the box to which
you allude.”
THE DOWAGER, 45
“Light brown hair and blue eyes º' inquired Lady Meli-
ora, with interest.
“I did not notice her in detail. She had a sweet coun-
tenance, and was, altogether, an elegant-looking person.”
“Lady Gransden is not easily to be mistaken,” observed
Mrs. Crouch, spitefully, “crane-necked, with a sort of rest-
less curiosity that keeps her head in perpetual motion l’’
“I can’t commend your prudence, Lady Mary, in having
taken a box so near her,” observed the Dowager, in the
same tone. “A lady so fond of chatting and so surrounded
with chatterers, is not the safest neighbor in the world at a
concert or an opera. But I am old fashioned enough to for-
get that people no longer go to the opera for the sake of the
music | Half those who have opera-boxes go to receive
visits, or for the sake of the crush-room.”
“We always have our carriage at the chair-door, and
Cissy has never yet entered the crush-room,” said Lady
Mary, with a good humored smile, that threw the Dowager
back on Lady Gransden.
“I must say I never saw a more loquacious young wo-
man ſ” said she ; “I have no objection to liveliness in its
proper place, but I hate giggling. Now, last summer, at the
close of the season, at the time when one is so glad to sit
with one's windows open, I protest Lady Gransden’s noise
obliged me, day after day, to close up mine, and stifle Iny-
self with the heat.”
“It was impossible to attempt any rational pursuit!” ad-
ded Lady Meliora. “I am sure, my dear Mrs. Crouch, you
must recollect mamma's whist-parties being spoiled last Ju-
ly, by the dreadful noise that was always going on at Lady
Gransden’s.”
“What do people deserve who are capable of whist in Ju-
ly ?” said Lord Chichester, in a low voice to his cousin
Cecilia, his attention having been attracted by the name of
his friend, Gransden.
“But let us do her Ladyship the justice to remember,”
chimed in the acrimonious Mrs. Crouch, “that the tumult
proceeded less from herself than from rattling, dissipated
young men with whom, under her husband's sanction, she.
lives surrounded.”
“Oh! to do her justice, I believe Lord Gransden fully
*
46 THE DOWAGER,
countenances her proceedings; probably because he is in
need of indulgence in return ſ” observed Lady Meliora.
“I am sorry for him, if his needs be as little considered
elsewhere as by his opposite neighbors,” added Lord Chi-
chester, in the same undertone as before.
“And then he has such a horrid set of people living up-
on him P’ cried Mrs. Crouch. “Lady Gransden's con-
nections, you know, were not such as to make it necessary
to close the door upon the wild connections of his bachelor
days; a pack of foolish boys, who—”
“Boys * interrupted Lady Meliora. “Why, that Mr.
Green—Beau Green—Dandy Green—Evergreen Green—
Verde Antico, as they call him, passed for an old man be-
fore I came out !”
“Lady Meliora must be talking of the Count de St. Ger-
main, or the wandering Jew,” observed Lord Chichester,
aside, to his cousin.
“What on earth the Gransdens can see in such a per-
son, to tolerate his society P’ ejaculated the Dowager, peer-
ing through her spectacles to ascertain whether the fondu
were smoking its way in due time into the room. “From
the city, I am told ! actually made his money in a counting
house, in Seething Lane !”
“Having, I dare say, a brass plate inscribed ‘GREEN AND
Co.” upon the door,” added Lord Chichester, with mock
solemnity.
“Made his money !” reiterated Lady Meliora; “I nev-
er heard of his making anything, except people laugh at his
good stories.”
“Mr. Green's good stories rather incline me to cry 1” ob-
served Mrs. Crouch. “But one is obliged to be civil to
his bon mots. There is no turning one’s back on an old
acquaintance.”
“It is true he is apt to repeat himself,” said Lady Meli-
ora. “But what would you have 2 There is nothing in
Mr. Green's anecdotes : but their very emptiness buoys
him up in society, like so many bladders. Unless for his
stories, people would not invite him at all ; and so one sees
him carry them about, from house to house, like a surgeon’s
case of instruments; which, as implements of his trade, he
l
THE EXOWAGER., 47
is obliged to take out every now and then, and expose to
the air, to prevent their growing rusty.”
“Reflect upon the miseries of having to pass one’s bon
mois on the hone once a month, like one’s razors ſ” said
Lord Chichester to Cecilia. “Poor Verde Antico 1—He
must live in perpetual terror of wearing out his gagne-pain
—as the French laborer calls his spade.” *
“He is much more likely to wear out his hearers 1” ob-
served Mrs. Crouch, good-naturedly.
“Mr. Green has an excellent excuse for taking care of
his good stories,” added Lady Meliora; “they are keep-
sakes from his friends !—One came to him from Sir Joseph
Copley—another from Lord Alvanley—a third from Mr.
O'Callaghan, and so forth.”
“Who would all be somewhat surprised, by the way, to
hear you style Verde Antico a friend of theirs,” cried Mrs.
Crouch. “Clubs make a man acquainted with strange
play-fellows P’ & #
“Mr. Green and the late Lord Gransden had many trans-
actions together, I believe,” said the Dowager, gravely. “It
is said that the estate was sadly dipped when this young
man came of age. Johnny! pray, was not your friend,
General Maxwell, young Gransden's guardian | Did you
ever hear him say whether the property was likely to come
round !” *
“Certainly, if they could down with the dust 1” replied
John Chichester, with his usual vacant expression of face.
“They really ought to water the King's Road this hot weath-
er; there is no riding in that direction.”
“I asked you whether Lord Gransden’s estates were
still at nurse 7" cried Lady Delmaine, raising her voice so
as to attract the attention of the other three elderlies, who
were laying down projects of rail-roads, grand enough to
over-awe the spirit of Rennie.
“The best South-down I have eaten this year,” he repli-
ed. “Shall I have the pleasure of giving you another
slice 7”
“Poor fellow !—he gets worse and worse every day” said
the Dowager, apologizingly to Lord Delmaine, who sat be-
side her. “Johnny is so obstinate 1 Nothing will induce
him to try any of these new inventions. I wanted him to
48 THE DOWAGER,
let me buy him an Eccaleobion, but he would not hear of
it.”
“An Eccaleobion for my uncle Johnny?” inquired Au-
gustus Langley, unable to repress a laugh.
“Your ladyship means a 75
“I mean one of those advertising things with a long
name, which enable people to converse from opposite sides
of the way,” interrupted the Dowager, peevishly. “Real-
ly, in these times, a chair is no longer a chair, nor a lamp a
lamp. Nothing will go down without Latin or Greek.
One hears of nothing but “Hippodromes,’ ‘Curriculums,”
(Lord Chichester ground his teeth) • Arboretums,’ ‘Pan-
technicons,” “Polycathedras,’ ‘Ellophons,’ ‘Colosseums,”
• Eidoramions,’ ‘Apollonicons,’ ‘Panharmonicons,’ ‘Pine-
tums,' ‘Salicetums,” and the Lord knows what!—But, as I
was saying, nothing will induce Johnny to try one of these
What-d’ye-call-ums. He declares that Sir Jonas Make-
peace, who had been leading a happy life for the last twen-
ty years, as deaf as a post, has been made miserable by be-
ing suddenly enabled to hear all the ill-natured retorts of his
wife. Sir Jonas, he says, has some thoughts of bringing
an action against the acoustician, for having destroyed the
peace of his life.”
“Acoustician l—what a long-winded calling !” whisper-
ed Lord Chichester to his neighbor ; “almost as unpro-
nounceable as the trade one sees announced in Paris un tel
—Zincg.eur.”
But though his Lordship flattered himself that, by this
wide détour, they had lost sight of the Gransdens, he found,
on lending his attention again to the general conversation,
that Mrs. Crouch and Lady Meliora were still pecking at
the Wiscountess. They would not leave so much as a feath-
er on their bird.
“I am assured by my friend, Lady Seldon, who is a neigh-
bor of Lady Gransden's sister Mrs. Evelyn, in Cheshire,
(that is, the Evelyns have an insignificant place near Sir
Thomas Seldon's family seat,) that Lady Gransden's let-
ters to her sister are something quite out of the common
way. Mrs. Evelyn, who fancies her sister a very fine
thing on account of the marriage she has made, often fa-
vors Lady Seldon with a sight of these epistles.”
THE DOWAGER, 49
“Well? anything remarkable 7”
“Lady Seldon, who is rather blue herself, says they are
mere pinchbeck Sévigné; but that if kept, they might be
entertaining enough a hundred years hence, with notes, bi-
ographical and historical, to let posterity into the secrets of
fine ladies of the present generation.”
“Heaven forbid that your friend should put such an idea
into the head of Mrs. Evelyn !” ejaculated Lady Meliora,
in a hypocritical tone. “The less seen and said about ,
such things, the better. That is the worst of the mésallian-
ces, which introduce into the grand monde people who know
nothing of society—who are amazed at everything—shocked
at everything—and fancy it a virtuous effort to hold up to
shame, for example sake, a thousand trifles better over-look-
ed altogether.”
“And I, who had always fancied your Ladyship one of
the moral reformers' cried Lord Chichester. “You seem so
scandalized just now at poor Lady Gransden's proceed-
ings —Yet, certainly, no one will accuse you of knowing
nothing of society, or being a parvenue.”
“,But is Lady Gransden a parvenue f" demanded Mrs.
Crouch, hoping to find another social sin added to the cata-
logue of the Wiscountess. “I fancied 25
“She was a Miss Oakham. Who knows anything about
a Miss Oakham 7”
“Oakham 7” repeated Lady Mary Langley. “The
Oakhams of Hanbury Park?” ſº
“Exactly.”
“Mr. Langley,” she continued, addressing her husband,
“ are not the Oakhams — shire people 7"
“The Oakhams of Hanbury?” he replied, dropping all
other conversation at an interrogatory from his wife. “Cer-
tainly. Highly respectable people. A very ancient fami-
| .”
“I was almost sure you were mistaken,” observed La-
dy Mary to her sister,in a reproachful tone.
“Oakham has a pretty family estate of about a thousand
acres,” continued Mr. Langley, “held by a curious fine of
the Warden of Corpus Christi. The Oakhams came into
the county in James the First’s time, but the charter is of
two centuries earlier. The estate came to them by mar-
riage with one of the Somerset family, somewhere about the
WOL. I. 5
50 THE DOWAGER.
last years of Elizabeth. In forty-five, Oakham of Hanbury
was High Sheriff, and had thanks from government for his
attention to the King's troops. The present Mr. Oakham
is a most respectable man, a good agriculturist, (he was one
of the judges at Smithfield a year or two ago). Oakham
lives wholly in the country; but as he is nearly fifty miles
from us, we do not see much of each other.”
“Are you answered yet?” inquired Lord Chichester, with
a smile, of the scandalous coterie. “An irreproachable
pedigree, indeed, as times go.”
“All I can say, then, is that the manners and habits of
Lady Gransden do little justice to her origin,” observed La-
dy Meliora, suppressing her vexation; and as the ladies at
that moment rose to repair to the drawing-room, Lady Mary
and her daughter trusted that some new topic of conversa-
tion would present itself. But Lady Gransden was, unluck-
ily uppermost in their thoughts, and, instead of discussing
the new fashions of the season, as Mrs. Knox was hoping
—Lady Meliora recommenced the conversation by remark-
ing aloud, “What a lamentable thing it is to see a man of
Lord Chichester’s age extinguish himself on the threshold
of public life, by a passion for a married woman —It is the
fashion to say, that in such cases the woman only suffers in
public opinion ; but, in my judgment, it is just as fatal to
her partner in guilt.” &
“But, my dear sister, surely you are presuming too far ”
remonstrated Lady Mary, little suspecting that half Lady
Meliora's object.”was to throw a chill on what she supposed
to be the Langleys’ projects for her niece. “Chichester
is Lord Gransden’s Eton chum and college friend ; what
can be more natural than that he should frequent his house ?”
“Just the pretext people find for the intimacy between
Lady Gransden with Sir Henry Windsor P’ observed Mrs.
Clouch, drawing up, settling her bracelets, and shaking her
lace into its place, as dressy, ladies of a certain age are apt
to do after dinner. *>
“And an excellent excuse, surely,” observed Lady Ma-
ry. “Most persons prefer the society of their contempora-
ries. At your house, my dear Mrs. Crouch, in the Admi-
ral's time, I remember having the pleasure of meeting the
most distinguished men of his profession.”
THE DOWAGER. § 51
“Don’t talk of it !” exclaimed the lady, shrugging her
shoulders. “Our dinner parties used to be weighed down
by Yellow Admirals!”
“At ours,” continued Lady Mary, “we see, of course,
abundance of parliamentary men. Nothing, therefore, can
be more natural than that the Gransdens should live sur-
rounded by young men of fashion. Their united ages do
ſ. equal any one of ours,” she continued, addressing her
sister and Mrs. Crouch ; “we cannot expect them to find
much pleasure in our society.”
Cecilia thanked her mother with a look ; then, to avoid
hearing more of Lady Meliora's sarcasms, took possession
of a seat beside Mrs. Knox, and began enlarging with her
upon those delectable topics of dress and fashion, which,
from the elaborate elegance of her appearance, there was
every reason to suppose might be acceptable.
She was still deep in Palmyre's last bulletin, and the
scandal-mongers were still at work upon Lady Gransden,
when the gentlemen came up to coffee.
CHAPTER WI.
And so, ere answer knows what question would
It draws toward supper in conclusion so,
And this is worshipful society'
SHARSPEARE.
THE dinner party was diversely discussed on the morrow.
Mrs. Crouch, on dropping in for her customary morning vi-
sit to Lady Dearmouth, observed that “it was not much
duller than other family dinners, and that, considering dear
Lady Delmaine had the most abominable cook in town, and
that her new butler had evidently made a market of all her
excellent old wine, things were really not so bad.”
“Certainly,” she added, “it would have been more cheer-
ful had dear Lady Meliora been in her usual spirits. But
those Langleys are such heavy people, that the moment they
arrive in town, the Dowager and her daughter cease to be
themselves.” p * {
52 THE DOWAGER.
“The Langleys are slow coaches, I admit,” replied the
hostess. “But when people pass their lives in struggling
to make a great show on a small income, their difficulties are
apt to put them out of temper, which they call being out of
spirits.”
“But are the Langleys in difficulties?” demanded Mrs.
Crouch, (who, in endeavoring to impose her Cheltenham
lodgings the night before upon Lady Mary, as “a place I
hired last year in Gloucestershire,” had been sorely perplex-
ed by her Ladyship’s matter of fact inquiries as to “what
part of Gloucestershire 7” and was, consequently, more
than usually spiteful.)
“I did not say that,” said Lady Dearmouth, drawing up,
in the certainty that any intelligence she might choose to af-
ford would go straight to Grosvenor Street. “I observed
only, that when people attempted to make a great show on a
small income, they were apt to get into embarrassments.”
“But do the Morison Langleys make much show !” de-
manded the widow, with affected candor. “They have no
house in town ; they merely hire one for the season.”
“A ruinous plan " exclaimed Lady Dearmouth. “Re-
member, my dear madam, that you got a thousand pounds
for yours last season.”
“Eight hundred guineas,” amended Mrs. Crouch.
“Was it only eight hundred? I could have sworn that
you told me a thousand | But no matter ; you cannot de-
ny that, taxes included, it stands you in only four hundred
per annum ?”
“Four hundred and seventeen, with the water-rate,” re-
plied Mrs. Crouch, provoked at being cross-examined.
“Which places four hundred a year in your pocket and
gives you a house, rent free eight months in the year !—a
proof that the Langleys are throwing away their money by
hiring ready furnished houses, season after season ; or,
rather, to put the thing into plain English, a proof that they
are hard up, and have not money to invest in a house of their
own.”
“Is not Morison Langley next heir to that curious old
Lady Conyngsby, who has the fine house in Berkely
Square * inquired Mrs. Crouch.
“And what then He has been coming to town, year
THE DOWAGER. 53
after year, for the last three-and-twenty ; so that a saving
in the total of the whole rent might have been effected for
his family, to the amount of nine thousand two hundred
pounds. JWine thousand, two hundred 1 A very pretty ada
dition it would have been to Miss Langley’s fortune 1”,
“You are such a close calculator,” said Mrs. Crouch.
“Still, I can't say I ever saw any extravagance on the part
of Lady Mary. I have known her venture on the same
court dress with new trimmings, three drawing-rooms run-
ning. The family diamonds, which are the only decent
things she ever has on, cost her nothing; and as to equi-
page, I am pretty nearly sure that their chariot is the same
Houlditch built for them on their marriage.”
“And ugly enough it always was,” cried Lady Dear-
mouth. “I detest wheels picked out with white How-
ever, I can inform you for certain, that Adams has a new
coach in hand for them. Lady Mary's mania for dragging
about her grown-up son, has obliged them to that piece of
expense. I was at Adam's yesterday, about new springs
to my blinds, (I like to look in there now and then when
the drawing-rooms have begun, and see what he is bringing
out,) and I saw a remaikably handsome chocolate-colored
coach—just the thing for a High Sheriff, or a county mem-
ber—which I took it into my head was for the marriage of
that old goose, Sir Wilfred Gascoign, who is going to take
a third wife by way of chaperon to his goslings. But the
foreman said “no,” it was not for a Sir Wilfred any body,
it was for a great parliament gentleman ; and just then, I
espied the Chichester quarterings, and guessed at once that
it was for Morison Langley. It would have been a long
time before a square-toes like old Langley thought of go-
ing to Adams; but you see, the young man is beginning to
have a voice in the family council, and the result of Eton
and Christchurch, is the throwing over of the old chariot.”
“Not literally, I trust?” cried Mrs. Crouch, affecting a-
larm, to which Lady Dearmouth replied by a negative shake
of the head. “But all this need not cause a mortgage of
the family estate,” resumed Mrs. Crouch, with a contempt-
uous air. . “A new carriage, once in twenty years, is not
exactly what one can call extravagance.”
“It is not the only instance in which they are launching
5%
54 THE DOWAGER,
out. They have a capital house this year in Eaton Square,
(Lady Moppletop’s which costs fifty pounds a month to
Colvill, to keep up the conservatories); they have, as I said
before, a new carriage—an opera-box—”
“Ahem a daughter to marry !—”
“Subscriptions to the ancient concert—”
“Of course! A county member, you know.” t
“Then young Langley has his clubs, and his horses.”
“Right enough An only son should keep up the fami-
ly respectability in the eyes of the world.”
“In short, from all I see and hear, I am convinced they
mean to cut some sort of figure this year; and as I said be-
fore, when the ways and means are not equal to the ways and
habits, papas are apt to get cross, and mammas nervous.”
“Does Lady Mary complain of being nervous !” cried
Lady Dearmouth. “Commend me to a nervous woman
five feet ten without her shoes!”
“God forbid! The present Lady Delmaine is nervous
enough for the whole Chichester family . She makes her
footmen wait at table in carpet shoes, and has all the muffin-
bells in the parish muffled. By the way, Lord Delmaine
mentioned to me yesterday, that she is getting on wonder-
fully under the Somnabulist, who will allow her to eat noth-
ing but fillets of smelts, and makes her mix chickweed wa-
ter with every thing she drinks.”
“She drank nothing but pale sherry last year. Chick-
weed water | What a potage 1”
“The Somnabulist tells her that all her illness proceeds
from a derangement of the digestive organs, caused by swal-
lowing the merry thought of a lark as she was traveling to
the north last year.”
“At Dunstable, perhaps ?”
“And so they give her the chickweed water as a solvent.
When the bone has totally disappeared, the Somnabulist
says she will be as well as ever. Lord Delmaine assures
me the Somnabulist told him the most extraordinary facts :
among other things, that he had not opened a book these
ten years.”
“Twenty might have been a better guess" added Lady
Dearmouth. “Ah! here is Sir Lucius Flimsy's carriage
driving up for Lord Dearmouth's daily guinea. My dear
ſº
THE DOWAGER, 55
Sir Lucius, good morning!” cried she, while Mrs. Crouch,
after a sly, significant nod of adieu, stole out of the room.
“I have another of the Somnabulist’s extraordinary cures
for you. Lady Delmaine (not the Dowager—the wife of
the present Earl,) was traveling through Dunstable fast
year, and having ordered for dinner a dish of the famous
iárks of the celebrated Oliver Crumbwell, (as poor Sefton
used to call him,) and eating in a hurry, as they were on-
ly stopping to dine, the wishing bone of one of the larks
stuck in her throat. Of course she returned immediately to
town, and called in the whole faculty ; but none of them
could afford her the smallest relief. They saw that she was
in a serious way. Some recommended her to try the south
of France; and your learned colleague, Sir Benjamin, de-
sired Lord Delmaine to prepare for the worst.”
“May I inquire when this event took place 7” inquired
the bland Sir Lucius, in a tone of mingled interest and de-
precation. “I had the honor of attending the Countess all
the winter, and it does not occur to my recollection that—”
“Oh you need not doubt my authority. My friend
Mrs. Crouch, (whom you just met on my stairs,) sat next
the Earl yesterday at the Dowager Lady Delmaine's, and
heard the whole story from his own lips.”
“Believe me, I was far from presuming to surmise that
your Ladyship was in error P’ said the meek physician,
with an air of profound conviction.
“Well, Sir, when every medical man in Ilonden had been
called in, and every remedy tried without success, some
one suggested the Somnabulist. An objection was of
course raised by the friends of the sufferer—(you profes-
sional men having taken care that the prejudices of society
should keep the means of cure out of our reach.)”
Sir Lucius shook his head with a sweetly reproachful
smile, as if touched by her Ladyship’s playful raillery.
“But at length, perseverance prevailed; when the Som-
nabulist, without having heard a syllable of Lady Delmaine's
case, having merely felt her pulse, stated at once that the
patient had been ill four months and three days ; that she
had a pain in her chest, accompanied with sleepless nights,
and that her illness arose from the merry-thought of a lark
sticking into the right pleura.”
56 THE DOWAGER.
“If I might venture, under correction, to assert the im-
possibility of such a contingency,” hesitated Sir Lucius.
“Sir, it is not impossible, since it is the fact. Lady
Delmaine has now been in the Somnabulist's hands six
weeks; the bone is nearly dissolved, and her health all but
re-established.”
“Still, it strikes me that a speedier process would have
been to—”
“Oh yes—I dare say! You would have had an opera-
tion l—You would have extracted it!—You would have kill-
ed Lady Delmaine selon les régles, to prove, on opening
the body, that the injury was to the right pleura not to the
left.” **
Sir Lucius could not wholly suppress an elevation of the
eyebrows.
“However, luckily for Lady Delmaine, she had strength
of mind to adhere to the new system ; and the consequence
is, that she is saved, instead of languishiºg for years, or dy-
ing outright of the ignorance of her . I believe I
told you the story of the wart 7”
“Has your Ladyship been affected with a wart? No! I
beg pardon, I thought, I understood—”
“Pho, pho, you understand nothing about the matter.
It was a friend of Lady Meliora Chichester's, who enter-
tains a particular horror of all the new schools—phrenolo-
gy, homoeopathy, animal magnetism, somnabulism, and all
that sort of thing.”
The Doctor bowed, as much as to say, “Get on ſ”
“This lady had a son very ill in India. She was ex-
pecting by every fleet to hear of his death.”
“A liver complaint ’’
“A liver complaint, or the cholera, or something that peo-
ple die of in India. Well, her friends wanted her to con-
sult the Somnabulist, but she would not hear of it. She had
a horror of all that sort of thing—”
“Your Ladyship already mentioned—”
“She had scruples on such subjects, religious scruples,
or philosophical scruples, or scientific scruples, or I don’t
know what. Well—after much plaguing and tormenting, and
a great many more letters from her son, stating that he was
given over, she was tempted to go to the Somnabulist ; not
THE DOWAGER, 57
with any'hope, as you may suppose; but by way of being
able to feel, when every thing was over, that she had left no
human means untried. Well, she went, of course, you
know, she could not take the invalid with her, he was in In-
dia; but she took a lock of his hair, as she had been advis-
ed—a lock of hair cut off when he was a lad at Harrow,
which she was assured would suit the Somnabulist as well
as seeing the patient himself, more especially if she submit-
ted to be put in relation, herself; the magnetic sympathies
between parents and children being so extraordinarily great.
Well, the moment she sat down opposite the Somnabulist
and placed the lock of hair in her hand, the Somnabulist
said—“This lock of hair belongs to a person who has a
wart on the bridge of his nose. He resides in a country
where there are cocoa nuts growing, and if he were to take
a grain of gum Benjamin every other day, for six weeks,
dissolved in a glass of Burgundy, he would recover. . As it
is, he is probably dead.” Well, the Lady shrieked—she
knew, of course, directly that her son was dead; for if you
will believe me, Sir Lucius, he had (when the lock of hair
was cut off) a wart on the bridge of his nose, and was flog-
ged by Dr. Butler for burning it off with lunar caustic, and
that was seven and twenty years before | Now, after such
an anecdote as this, affect to disparage somnabulism if you
will 122
“I do not venture to dispute—”
“Say as you said to me the other day, that whenever a
well authenticated fact was brought before you, proving that
a difficult cure had been effected by the Somnabulist, you
would be content to advocate the cause.”
“I am quite willing to adhere to—”
“Prove to me that any single member of the whole col-
lege of physicians ever ascertained from feeling a lock of a
man’s hair, that in his youth, he had suffered from a wart on
his nose, and I submit.”
“I shall be extremely happy,” cried Sir Lucius, looking
anxiously at his watch, “to argue the question with your
Ladyship some other time ; but unluckily I am to be at
Clermont House by three, and it only wants twelve mi-
nutes of that hour.”
“What Lord Clermont ill again? I knew how it would
58 THE DOWAGER,
be, when I heard of his being at the levee. What business
has a man of his years at the levee ſ”
“Lord Clermont occupies a high official appointment,
and may wish to prove to his sovereign that—but it is Lady
Clermont who is indisposed.”
“Lady Clermont? Why I never heard of her being ill
in her life | Quite a new freak |''
“A freak, which at seventy-four may—but l beg your
Ladyship's pardon—I am to meet Dr. Chambers. Cham-
bers is exact to a second P’
“Is he indeed ? I can assure you that he was two mi-
nutes after his appointment the very last time you called him
in to Lord Dearmouth.”
“. He was then in attendance on the palace. But just
now—may I ask whether Lord Dearmouth is likely to come
down º’’
“Lord Dearmouth has been waiting for you all this time
in his dressing-room, and I dare say is growing impatient.
But the truth is, my dear Sir Lucius, you are so fond of
hooking one in for a gossip. Brown show Sir Lucius
Flimsy up into your Lord's dressing-room. Sir Lucius,
pray don’t forget to tell that case of Lady Delmaine's, up-
on my authority, to the Clermonts.”
“It is certainly a very curious one, if authentic,” said
Sir Lucius, bowing his way out of the room, and recovering
his patience as he drew nearer towards his patient and his
fee. “Your Ladyship may rely upon my giving it my ut-
most attention.”
Lady Delmaine, meanwhile, (who, so far from recover-
ing her health under the hands of the Somnabulist, was sink-
ing still deeper into valetudinarianism under those of a
newer empiric,) was busily employed in inquiries of her
husband and son concerning the Dowager’s party. The
Countess, like many other fastidious people, was vastly fond
of sending excuses to invitations which she affected to dis-
parage and despise ; yet would afterwards evince the most
inquisitive interest in all that had happened at the party, and
all who were present.
From her son she could extract nothing, except a few
vague commendations of Cecilia Langley’s beauty and
manners, and the pleasing good sense of Lady Mary, high-
THE DOWAGER, 59
Q
ly provoking to his mother and sisters, who could not for.
give the Morison Langleys their sturdy independence, in
refusing to pay court to the head of the house of Chiches-
ter. But Iord Delmaine was more communicative. Lord
Delmaine was exceedingly out of sorts with every thing he
had heard and seen at the house of his grand-mother-in-law.
In the first place, the robust health and temperate habits
of the Dowager, whom not even the old East India Madeira,
the especial beverage of Dowagers, could bribe into excess,
convinced him that the jointure was likely to prove a per-
petual burthen upon his son's estate, as it had been upon his
own. Nay, so perfect were the old Lady's powers of mas-
tication and vociferation, that there was every probability
she might survive to rival in the records of the world’s won-
ders, that Methuselah in petticoats the Countess of Des-
mond; who, at a hundred and fifty years of age, bullied
King James out of a pension; or, perhaps, if no cherry-tree
stood in the way, attain a still more heinous longevity.
“And does she keep a better table than she used?” de-
manded the Countess. “I remember at the dinner the
Dowager gave us on our marriage, seven and twenty
years ago, there was roast mutton on the table in the
height of the venison season; and a turbott, when all the
rest of the world was eating turtle !”
“You had not then shaken off your Glasgow habits ſ”
observed the Earl, who did not like his parvenue Countess
to take the same liberties with the Chichester family he
took with them himself. “People notice those things less
in London. A dinner-party is not so much of an affair.
For my part, I think the Dowager lives in far greater style
than there is any occasion for. For a woman of her years
to keep a good table, is only to attract about her a set of
toadies and hangers on ; and Johnny does not understand
eating—does not care for a good dinner; or if he did,
might get it at his club. I am consequently confirmed in
my opinion, that four thousand a year is a most superfluous
provision for the Dowager of such a property as ours.”
“ Unless she happen to have increased it by a fine for-
tune of her own,” retorted the Countess.
“Certainly—certainly. You know, my dear, I never
made the slightest opposition to a jointure of five thousand
60 THE DOWAGER.
for yourself. It is your right. You have a claim to it.
But Lady Delmaine, who literally had a mere nobleman's
daughter's fortune of five thousand pounds !”
“She did not consider five thousand pounds a nobleman’s
daughter's fortune, when Lady Meliora and Lady Mary
were concerned ſ” said the Countess, languidly. “Re-
member the inconvenience it cost you, my dear, to raise
the thirty thousand to pay off theirs and Mr. Chichester’s
fortune !”
“She was always an artful, grasping woman Pejaculated
the Earl, with a sigh arising from his sense of ill-usage.
“If it had not pleased God to take my grandfather, the thir-
ty thousand was just as likely to have become sixty!”
“And those Langleys. Pray how does Lady Mary
wear? She is just your age, if I remember 7”
“A fine woman still. No change in her, that I can re-
collect, for the last twenty years.”
“An advantage peculiar to women of cold hearts and in-
different complexions,” observed the Countess, whose pink
and white had long progressed into the patchy red of erysip-
elas.
“Lady Mary has just the same serene expression of
countenance she used to have ; and no crows feet, no par-
entheses about the mouth, or cap-ribbons to conceal the
wrinkles under the chin.”
Seeing, or fancying she saw, personality in this allusion,
Lady Delmaine spitefully retorted:—“How should Lady
Mary Langley have anything of the kind? A woman
who has led an easy, healthy life; and who, if she had met
with the same trials as other people, has not the sensibility
to suffer under them Lady Mary Langley has no more
nerves than a ploughboy!”
It is probable that the Earl indulged in some mental re-
joinder on the subject of nerves ; inasmuch as the Coun-
tess's had cost him a younger brother's fortune in apotheca-
ries' bills, and visits to all the watering-places, new and old,
of Great Britain and the continent. But he said nothing;
and soon took himself off to a sulky ride round the Re-
gent's Park, for the cultivation of his ill-humor.
Morison Langley was a man whom Lord Delmaine
could not meet without imbibing a fit of the sullens. Like
THE DOWAGER. 61
all the rest of the world, the Earl had his sore place ; and
Langley, without intending it, was always “tickling the
raw.” &
Those who “do lack and suffer hunger”—those whose
purple and fine linen are purchased at the rag-shog, and
whose equipage consists in the old wheelbarrow that earns
their daily bread, have very little idea of the cares that jaun-
dice the cheeks of the wealthy. There is no man so rich
or so great, but is susceptible of envy of a greater or a rich-
er, unless sunshine be within. The duke would fain be a
king—the king an emperor—the emperor immortal; and
Lord Delmaine, with a princely fortune, a splendid family
seat, and a handsome, intelligent son to inherit it, was a
martyr to discontent. Independent of the two hundred
thousand pounds which the prolonged dowagerate of the old
lady in Grosvenor Street had abstracted from his pocket, he
labored under the mortification of playing a subordinate
part in his county.
By the improvidence of his ancestors, Chichester Court
stood in a shire in which the family property was inconsid-
erable. Either through predilection for a beautiful site, or,
perhaps, because the estates increased by prudent mar-
riages, by personal thrift, and royal favor, were originally of
small account, the domain by which it was surrounded was
scarcely worth speaking of; and neither royal predilection,
nor interested marriages could avail to eject from the adjoin-
ing estates, such proprietors as the Duke of Ancaster or
the Earl of Grandison.
Destined, therefore, to abide in insulated littleness, though
possessed of thousands of acres in bog and mountain in Ire-
land, rich farms in Devonshire, and a princely territory on
the Clyde, it was enough to make a man forswear his an-
cestral halls, to be stared at in the face by the woods of a
rival Earl, and unable to reach his hall-door unless by cross-
ing the bridge and river of a Duke.
His Lordship's father, during his brief enjoyment of the
title, and his Lordship's grandfather during his long, had
vainly attempted to buy out, beg out, barter out the enemy's
powers. It was all in vain. Even when the present Earl,
in the anguish of knowing that a fine wood clothing the op-
posite bank of the river, forming the chief embellishment
WOL., I, 6
62 THE DOWAGER,
of the landscape seen from the windows of his banqueting
hall, was condemned to the axe, offered in exchange for
Lord Grandison's estate, the choicest district of the Scot-
tish inheritance of the Countess of Delmaine with all its wa-
ter powers and other improvable faculties; his utmost sac-
rifices were unavailing. As if for malice sake, Lord Gran-
dison chose to consider his title in the shire property
inalienable. Though he had not a mansion nearer to it
than Chichester Court was to the Scottish farms, he would
not hear of parting with property which strengthened his
political interests.
The feeling which, independent of his repugnance to
Lady Mary as the offspring of the Dowager, had created a
coolness on the part of Lord Delmaine towards the Mori-
son Langleys, was the result of this false position. As the
proprietor of the finest seat in the county, and in possession
of a fortune that enabled him to grace it with extensive hos-
pitality, Lord Delmaine felt entitled to aspire to the digni-
ty of Lord Lieutenant. And yet he knew the pretension
to be insupportable. He knew that this piece of empty
patronage had been given away over the heads of his father
and grandfather; and that there was consequently no evi-
dence of ministerial slight towards himself, in the recent ap-
pointment to the Lieutenancy of the Duke of Ancaster,
whose family seat was in an adjoining shire, and who did
not inhabit, six weeks in the year, the shooting box append-
ed to his princely estates, extending over a fourth of the
county.
Lord Delmaine had, however, flattered himself that an
exception would be made in his favor; that the smallness
of his stake in the county would be overlooked, in favor of
the grandeur of his position, and his well known intentions
to illustrate the seat of his Lieutenancy, with all the house-
hold state assumed by the governors of the provinces of
France, in the days when departments were not; and his
disappointment was great, as it was unreasonable, when the
Gazette, among its manifold announcements of the risings
and fallings of mankind—the graces of royalty and the dis-
graces of Basinghall Street—proclaimed, with becoming
pomp and circumstance, that the Duke of Ancaster was the
Lord Lieutenant after the King’s own heart.
THE DOWAGER. 63
Now, as it was well known that Morison Langley, though
laboring under the stigma of being what is called an inde-
pendent member, (that is, a member of no value to either
party, and consequently, of small account in the eyes of
ministers,) did happen to enjoy, in a supreme degree, the
confidence of government; and as the jealous eyes of Lord
Delmaine had noted that on the very day succeeding the
demise of the late venerable Earl of Gandergoose, the de-
ceased Lord Lieutenant, Morison Langley, Esq., M. P. had
an interview with the Right Honorable Secretary for the
Home Department, albeit that interview related to the re-
prieve of a rogue under sentence of death for horse-stealing,
chose to surmise that it related to the disposal of the Lieu-
tenancy. As the sequel fell out, therefore, it was impossi-
ble not to feel mistrustful of his kinsman, in a degree almost
amounting to resentment.
The parties had not met since, though many months had
elapsed, till the dinner party given by their common relative,
the Dowager; and though the straightforward manliness of
Langley was such as must have won its way into any heart
of which the aperture was less narrow than that of Lord Del-
maine, the Earl rose from his claret with a conviction, that
half the things said in the frankness of his heart by Morison
Langley, were arrows barbed against himself.
The county member, who, on the contrary, was really
anxious to live on a more friendly footing with the father of
those who were cousins to his children, was unconscious of
having given offence. It was so much a part of his charac-
ter to think more reverentially of those who had ten acres
of land in shire, than those who had a hundred else-
where, that even his good will towards Lord Delmaine could
not utterly repress the demonstrations in which he was in
the habit of indulging. He spoke, for instance, in the high-
est terms of the Duke of Ancaster—his friend through boy-
hood and manhood—in sickness and in health; who sup-
ported in the Upper House the same line of politics to which
he devoted himself in the Lower; and Lord Delmaine, who
at that moment would scarcely have bidden his coachman
turn aside had it been his Grace's fate to fall under his char-
iot wheels, grew pale with irritation as he listened.
When Langley alluded to the satisfaction experienced by
**
64 THE DOWAGER.
the whole county in the Duke's appointment to the Lieu-
tenancy, Lord Delmaine, though his own hopes had been
shrouded in the reserve which enveloped both the greatest
and least of his proceedings, felt convinced that the spouse
of his kinswoman was triumphing in his mortificationſ
“There are, of course, two opinions on all such points,”
said the Earl, perceiving that Langley paused for a reply.
“Many people expected that Lord Grandison would have
been nominated.”
“Lord Grandison? A man who has no residence in the
county ?” cried Mr. Langley.
“He has very fine property there; and the appointment
would have tempted him to build on the Grandison estates.”
“Scarcely, I fear,” leplied Langley, with a smile which
Lord Delmaine found especially provoking. “Besides, be-
tween ourselves, had the appointment been offered to Łord
Grandison, he would not have accepted it.”
“I really cannot agree in your supposition,” coldly repli-
ed the Earl.
“It is no supposition,” persisted Langley mildly. “Gran-
dison is one of the oldest friends I have in the world. His
opinions are as well, perhaps better, known to me than my
own. I regret to say that his alienation from Government
becomes every day more confirmed; and should the Church
question but we need not plunge into the bottomless pit
of politics; suffice it, that I have Lord Grandison’s own
authority for what I have advanced.”
Lord Delmaine bowed stiffly. . He was doubly and tre-
bly vexed. It happened, that in spite of his desire to pro-
pitiate the Earl of Grandison with a view to the eventual
exchange of their properties, there existed between them a
sort of incipient feud, which, in former times, would have
exploded into a Capulet and Montagu antagonism. Though
they rarely met, save in that glorious house whose occupation
is to keep the drag-chain steady on the vehicle of the state
lest the velocity of its progress should become perilous, they
hated each other with a detestation as great as goodbreed-
ing would sanction. Their antipathy had its origin, howev-
er, only in the same pitiful spleens which originate the quar-
rels of so many country neighbors; the preservation of
game and quickset hedges—the adjustment of tithes-the
THE DOWAGER, 65
right of watercourses and pathways, and the precedence of
their agents' wives. Lord Delmaine's land-steward thought
him shamefully aggrieved by Lord Grandison; Lord Gran-
dison's auditor had not words to express his disgust at the
shabbiness of the Earl of Delmaine; and between the tale-
bearing and urging of both, nothing but chilliness of tem-
perament on one part, and tenderness of conscience on the
other, could have kept their principals, on more than one
occasion, from a hostile encounter.
Still, Lord Delmaine could not overcome his wish to be on
better terms with one on whose caprices depended the view
from his dining-room windows; and, ever and anon, be-
tween the skirmishes caused by the apprehension of poach-
ers, or the agitation of a boundary question, he would sidle
forward with attempts to ingratiate himself with the Earl.
He wished to believe that, even if the grand transfer of proper-
ty which was to grace Chichester Court with a domain ena-
bling its turrets to stretch their lazy evening shadows to the
utmost on ground of their own, did not take place in their
lifetime, it might in that of their immediate descendants.
There was, moreover, a contingency which had occasional-
ly glanced into the mind of the Earl of Delmaine, touching
the union of his only son with the eldest daughter of Lord
Grandison, that seemed to convey a hopeful promise; but
as Lady Alice de Wendover was scarcely seventeen years
of age—not presented—not out—he had not, even to the
projected bridegroom, ventured a hint upon the subject.
His jealousy of Morison Langley’s intimacy with the
Duke of Ancaster was aggravated, accordingly, by the dis-
covery of his close friendship with the Earl of Grandison.
Though it was scarcely likely that Langley should be de-
sirous of exchanging any portion of his charming estate—
an estate lying §§ a ring fence, against the coveted por-
tion of Lord Grandison's; it was not impossible he might
have views for his son similar to those of the Earl. His in-
fluence would work no evil in the matter of the disposal of
his friend's timber, but it might lay violent hands on that
of Lady Alice de Wendover.
Poor Lord Delmaine went pricking along the outer circle
of the Regent's Park, accordingly, with his horse's nose
scenting the earth, and his own the sky, as if trusting to read
6#
66 THE DOWAGER.
thereon whether to make a friend or an enemy of the Hon-
orable Member for shire. At length, having twice en-
tangled himself among the file of carriages waiting at the
Zoological Gardens, he directed his way homeward, resolv-
ed to court the friendship of the Langleys in the first in-
stance, leaving it for that wide word “hereafter,” to deter-
mine whether the intimacy, once formed, were worth pre-
$6.1 Wing,
CHAPTER WII.
Do not smile at me that I boast her off;
For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise,
And make it halt behind her.
8Fſ AIRSPEARE,
THE Earl of Grandison, though the fidus Achates of so
sober a character as Morison Langley the county Member
was what the world calls “a deuced odd fellow.” His
habits of conduct were strictly in accordance with the digni-
ty of his position; but his habits of thinking and speaking.
were somewhat more erratic. After commencing life with
the usual allotment of generous enthusiasm, the fatal dowry
of youth, the moment of disappointment which to some men
brings gloomy despair, had inspired Lord Grandison with a
kind of reckless jocularity, one of the many forms of mental
desperation. He affected a mood of Epicurean philosophy,
as if resolved to enjoy to the utmost his abundant share of
the good things of this world; though the supreme spirit of
excellence he had ascribed to them had been found wanting.
The disappointment which had brought him to this bitter
view of human life, was of a nature, névertheless, to inspire
more gentle repinings; of a nature, had Lord Grandison
been a man of religious conviction, to elevate his soul to a
higher sphere, rather than debase it to grovelling material-
ism. He had lost, in the prime of her youth and beatity, a
beloved wife; a woman congenial with all his thoughts and
associations—and in child-bed too—that still more distress-
ing bond of conjugal regret. Startled, almost stunned, by
THE DOWAGER, 67
the suddenness of the blow, Lord Grandison’s heart hard-
ened itself against the chastisements of God. He felt in-
jured by the affliction that had befallen him. Instead of
attempting to knit anew the broken chain of domestic hap-
piness, he resolved to explore a field whose enjoyments are
of a less casual nature. Instead of seeking consolation, he
sought diversion. In the bitterness of his soul, he began
to laugh and jest at the follies and hypocrisies of life; sparing
nobody, not even himself. But as his philosophy was far
from an ascetic nature, as his tub consisted of one of the
best houses in town, and his dish of herbs of the best dinner
served by the most profound cook, his Lordship's school
became wonderfully popular.
While conducting himself in all the great relations of life
with scrupulous propriety, Lord Grandison did not hesitate
to indulge in the most indecorous allusions;—laughing at
King and Constitution—the Mitre and the Wool-sack, with
complete unreserve. Still, there was one point on which he
observed such punctilious decency, as to justify the high
opinion in which he was held by Morison Langley. In all
that regarded the education of his daughters, the formalities
of his house were exemplary. In all respects, the intentions
of the late amiable Lady Grandison, towards her children,
were carried into effect. Nay, the poor widower, in the
first outbreak of his wretchedness, had gone so far as to in-
duce Lady Mary Langley to give up her claims upon the
excellent person who was then superintending the education
of Cecilia, for whom his wife had entertained a high opin-
10Il,
“You are able to preside over your child's training—to
afford her an example !” was the plea of the Earl. “Have
pity upon my motherless girls P’
And Lady Mary, aware that the late Countess had, in
truth, cited Mrs. Bennet, as the model she was desirous to
follow in seeking an instructress for Lady Alicia, benevo-
lently made the sacrifice. Alive to Lord Grandison's dis-
tracted state of mind, she considered it a Christian duty to
introduce into his household a person capable, amid the gen-
eral disorder, of affording a mother's counsels to the mo-
therless. -
She had never repented the act of self-denial. Her own
68 THE DOWAGER.
Cecilia, with a less accomplished preceptress, had been
thrown more into her hands; while the conduct of Mrs.
Bennet in the establishment of the eccentric Earl, proved
such as to justify the general prejudice in her favor. Lady
Alicia was expanding into womanhood, all that the doating
affection of her father could desire ; her two fair sisters
presented progressive portraits of herself; and the Earl of
Grandison had every excuse for the conviction, that had
their mother survived, she could not have directed with fon-
der care the formation of their minds and manners.
Lady Alicia was now advancing in her seventeenth year;
and was truly, as her father sometimes gratified himself by
asserting to his venerated friend Lady Mary, as pure and
lovely as an angel. She had derived, indeed, some advan-
tage from the bereavement so much deplored. Unspoiled
by indulgence—uninjured by premature encounter with the
flatteries of the world—unexcited by introduction into juve-.
mile fêtes or the meretricious pages of an annual—Alicia had
heard no commendations of her beauty, no encomiums of
her talents. During the London season, Lord Grandison
allowed his girls and their governess to take possession of
his old-fashioned family villa at Hanwell, so as to combine
the advantages of London masters and country air; and the
moment Parliament was up, away they all went again to his
seat in Cheshire, to inhale the sea-breezes, and expand into
the full development of girlish loveliness.
Not one of Lord Grandison's London associates had so
much as beheld his daughters. The little recluses were vis-
ited three or four times every spring by the Langleys, who
had given them such signal proofs of affection. But the
gay set with whom he lived, laughed, and jested, his co-
mates of the club and opera, Blackwall dinners, and pota-
tions of Hochheimer—had no more than a vague idea that
the bon vivant Earl was a family man. *
There was something almost affecting in the celerity with
which the sarcastic Lord Grandison was in a moment recall-
ed from worldly discussions, by the remotest allusion to his
daughters, or their lost mother. His “poor Mary” was still
enshrined in the innermost sanctuary of his heart. What-
ever weeds, might spring around the hallowed image, there
it still abided, stedfast upon its altar. In the height of the
THE DOWAGER, 69
orgie, in the wildest phrenzy of excess, a mere whisper of
the one loved name recalled him to himself. At sight of the
girls, a spirit of regeneration seemed to possess him. In
their presence he never uttered an unseemly jest, a reckless
sentiment. They were hers—they were “poor Mary’s,”
and, as such, dedicated to the most beatific holiness.
Of late, indeed, about the period when Lord Delmaine
fancied him ambitious of becoming Lord Lieutenant and
Custos Rotulorum of the shire of , (an honor for which,
par parenthèse, he cared no more than to have become a
compounder of the King's cheese-cakes,) he had begun to
entertain a new sense of parental inquietude, on noticing
the developed loveliness of his eldest daughter. Suitors
would soon present themselves for her hand. The eldest
of his co-heiresses was a match for a prince, even without
reference to Alicia's personal attractions; and how was he,
so little skilled in the mysteries of the female heart, so alive
to the worthlessness of the male, to discriminate between
merit and its semblance among the pretenders to her hand?
“Poor Mary” would have decided in a minute . He fan-
cied that a tender mother’s instinct must, in such cases, be
infallible. But how was a widowed father to venture, un-
assisted, upon Lady Alicia's introduction into the world;
how watch over and protect her there, when surrounded by
its temptations :
Anxieties of this description often rendered his pillow
sleepless. He had absolute reliance upon the excellent
wife of his friend Langley—“poor Mary’s” venerated com-
panion ; but could he hope that her Ladyship, with a grown
up daughter of her own, would devote much time or thought
to the introduction of another? No; nothing short of a mo-
ther could sympathize in the terrors with which he reflected
upon the influence of the next ſew years upon the happiness
of his child ! * *
Meanwhile, unconscious of the apprehensions of which
she was the object, Alicia grew and grew, till even Mrs.
Bennet thought it almost time she should exchange Mrs.
Marcet's conversations for those of the fashionable world.
Though tall and finely formed, there was something young-
er than her age in the appearance of the new beauty. By
constantly sharing the sports and avocations of sisters con-
siderably her juniors, Alicia retained the tastes and simplici-
f
70 THE DOWAGER.
ty of childhood, even after attaining a woman's grace and
intelligence. The transparency of her complexion, which
caused its tints to vary almost with every word—the charm
of the long black lashes veiling her dark grey eyes—the
vivid redness of her lips—all the freshness of extreme youth,
tended to enhance the natural graces of a deportment undis-
mayed by the embarrassments of artificial life.
“She,is too pretty to remain with us long, my dear Mrs.
Bennet,” cried the Earl, aside to his representative, when,
having arrived unexpectedly one morning at Hanwell, he
found the three girls amusing themselves upon the lawn,
#nd stood beside the governess watching their sports.
“ Hush, hush!” she exclaimed, “hush, I entreat you, my
Lord ; do not let such expressions escape your lips in her
hearing. I have brought her up without allowing her
thought to stray one single moment to the probability of any
change in her situation.”
Lord Grandison smiled indulgently at the good woman's
earnestness, as he proceeded to fold his children, one by
one, to his bosom ; but he smiled in other guise as he rode
homewards to a formal dinner at the Duke of Ancaster’s,
and reflected within himself that Mrs. Bennet's reserves
were, perhaps, too comprehensive.
“No man can be more disposed than I am to maintain
the purity of the female mind,” mused the Earl ; “but, by
Jove, this good woman seems a trifle inclined towards pru-
dery —My girls are not to be Utopians. They must abide
in the world as it is, and fulfil the duties incumbent on their
sex.—Another month or two; and Alice will perhaps be
wooed;—another year or two, and she will be a wife and mo-
ther;—and yet, according to Mrs. Bennet's system, this pos-
sibility has been kept out of her view as something unnatural
and monstrous. The poor child has seen only her governess
and masters—read nothing but her lesson-books;–is this fit-
ting preparation for the crowd into which, under governance
so unskilful as mine, she is about to be precipitated ? Oh!
my poor Maryl Had she lived to share with me this anx-
ious moment, I should not experience these panics P’
The result of the long train of reflections to which these
were a prelude, was a determination, on the part of the Earl,
that his girls and their governess should take up their abode
\
THE DOWAGERs 71
with him in Park Lane, in the course of a week or two.
Hitherto, he had never steadily contemplated the marriage
of his daughter. The sudden death of his wife had inspired
him with so profound a conviction of the precariousness of
human life, that when serious, he considered it unlawful to
project the future establishment of one who might be, at any
moment, snatched from his arms, and when in his ordinary
mood, he treated as a jest those providential arrangements of
parents for the future alliances of their children, which are
pretty sure to form the groundwork of mutual disgust.
But now that Lady Alicia stood before him in the maturi-
ty of her maidenly beauty, a sudden apprehension struck
him that he had, in some respects, neglected her interests.
He thought her too rare a creature to be left to the hazards
and courtships of a London season. It behoved him to
be trebly select in the choice of those who were to be fa-
miliarly admitted to his house. It was not alone that the
roués his boon companions, must be excluded so soon as
Lady Alicia came to preside at his table, but he must be
careful that none of the agreeable vauriens de bonne compag-
nie whose personal address too often recommends them to
the favor of an inexperienced girl, found their way to her
feet.
Glancing round the circle of his male acquaintance of an
age and condition to aspire to the hand of Lady Alicia de
Wendover, there was literally only one on whom his thoughts
could rest with complacency, as a partner for her, even in
the dance. There was only one young man on whose arm
he could bear the thoughts of seeing her traverse the glitter-
ing ball-room. Augustus Langley, who had grown up to
manhood under his eyes, the idol of the family the Earl
most respected in the world, was just such a son as he
would have chosen for himself. In the country, in London,
at college, Lord Grandison had anxiously watched his pro-
gress, as one upon whose well-doing in life depended in a
great measure the happiness of his friend; and he was forc-
ed to admit that the partiality of the Langleys, for this hope
of their house, was well founded, and the conduct of Augus-
tus unexceptionable.
“It would be the joy of my life to call that spirited lad
my son-in-law,” was his ultimate reflection. “With Au-
72 THE DOWAGER,
gustus Langley, I should have no reserves—no anxieties—
no inbreak into my domestic comfort. But such a project,
I am convinced, would never present itself to his father,
whose fortune scarcely justifies a proposal to the heiress of
ten thousand a year—and should Alice make a match that
suits me, of as much more. Young Langley, too, may have
other inclinations. He is moving in the world. He has had
plenty of leisure to look about him. He may be in love—
even engaged. On the whole, it would be as well perhaps
to lose no further time in making the young people acquaint-
ed with each other, and giving them, at least, a chance of
realizing my wishes. In a fortnight, Alicia will be seven-
teen ; and from that day, she shall take the head of my ta-
ble, and be presented at the next drawing-room. That fa-
vor I am sure of obtaining from Lady Mary. I must feel
my way afterwards ; and above all, not appear desirous to
force my girl upon her as a daughter-in-law.”
With regard to any other family than the Langleys, such
a supposition could have hardly presented itself. For La-
dy Alicia de Wendover was one of the most brilliant match-
es of the day; and it was only the strict seclusion of her ed-
ucation, that prevented her having been already invested by
& the newspapers with the disgusting publicity with which the
(English journals delightin desecrating the mysteries of aris-
tocratic life.
But it was not alone the gentle immortality of the Morn-
ing Post from which her name was withheld. Even those
who called themselves Lord Grandison's friends, even those
who for years had been laughing at his jokes, eating his
good dinners, and giving him bad ones in return—even the
most intimate of his intimates, knew nothing definitive con-
cerning his daughters. The peerage informed them that he
was a widower, and said nothing of the demise of the chil-
dren who figured there as the rapid result of his wedded life.
But there was so little of the family-man about him, that
these tender pledges might have evaporated from the face of
the earth, or were possibly not of a nature to gratify the
cravings of parental vanity. *
A few of those whose visits to Grandison House had ex-
tended beyond the day's battue to which twice or thrice,
in the shooting season, Lord Grandison's friends and neigh-
bors were invited, recalled to mind having occasionally,
THE DOWAGER, 73
crossed in the grounds three slips of girls in white frocks
and straw bonnets, escorted by a dowdy woman, either nurse
or governess, all four of whom curtsied on their approach;
and one or two had even caught a glimpse of Mrs. Bennet
or Alicia, emerging at an early hour from the library, where
they had been to consult some map or chart too large for
transportation to the school-room. But no one felt suf-
ficiently interested to make further inquiries.
Even Lord Delmaine, whose chimera of appropriating the
Wilsmere woodlands, by means of a marriage between his
only son and the daughter of the Earl, had never taken the
trouble to ask more º memory and the peerage sug-
'gested—namely, that Lady Alicia de Wendover had nearly
attained her eighteenth year. As for the gossiping coterie
in Upper Grosvenor Street, including all its ramifications,
her very existence was unknown to them. The Dowager
sometimes discussed Lord Grandison as “that horrid man
in Park Lane, who gives such famous dinners, and says
such infamous things ;” but of his progeny, she knew no-
thing.
$6 fay who was with your mother last night at the Opera !”
she inquired one day of her grandson Augustus, stopping
him in the Park for the purpose—though the pace at which
he was proceeding ought to have warned her that he was in
haste. .
“Last night at the Opera !—My sister, I suppose.”
“Cecilia, of course. But another lady was of the party.
Mrs. Crouch tells me that a stranger sat at the back of the
box,” #.
“ Indeed l—Shamefully rude of them —I will scold Cis-
sy for it. Good morning.”
“Don’t go yet ; I have a message for your mother. I
want to know where she gets—surely, you must have heard
her mention whom she was going to take to the opera!
Three women squeezed into a pit-box l—I never heard of
such a thing !”
“Nor Il-You said you wanted to know where my mo-
ther procured—what?—Pray tell me, for I am in haste.”
“Weren't you at the Opera, yourself then?”
“ Not last night.”
“You were wrong. A young man, who respects himself,
WOL., I, 7
74 THE DO WA GER,
should always be seen there on Tuesdays, during the first
act of the ballet.”
“Thanks for the hint. Last night I was at the House,
to hear my father speak on the Irish question; and, as the
debate was adjourned, I am hastening thither again.”
“The House—always the House !” angrily mumbled the
Dowager. “Treading in your father's steps, I see. Thir-
ty years has he made a slave of himself! And for what,
pray ?—What honors has he obtained ? What has the na-
tion done for him 7 And now, forsooth, his son is to chain
himself to the same oar !—The House, indeed ''
“Has your Ladyship any furthºcommands !” demanded
Augustus, uncertain what sort of"a litany his grandmother
might be reciting in the corner of her family coach.
“None, if you are on your way to the House of Com-
mons,” cried she, in a pet. “I have no interest, thank
God, in any such ‘black-guard bear-garden,” as your fa-
ther’s friend, Lord Grandison, called it the other night.”
“Did he Just like him Ah! by the way, if my mo-
ther had any one besides Cecilia with her last night at the
Opera, depend upon it, it was Lord Grandison's daughter.”
“Lord Grandison 3 Pho, pho! his girls are children.
He has no daughter out !”
“He has one just coming out. She is to be presented
at the next drawing-room.
“Indeed . . Are you quite sure? Very extraordinary
that I should have heard nothing of it! What sort of a girl
is she 7”
“Like other sorts of girls, I conclude.”
“Pretty 1"
“I have never seen her.”
“Never seen her ? and prefer ste wing yourself to rags
in the bad air of the gallery, to——”
“With the intimacy that subsists between the families, I
am not likely to want opportunities of seeing her.—Besides,
I am not partial to young ladies in pinafores,” cried Augus-
tus, growing impatient. “And now I must really wish you
good morning, for I am an hour after my time.”
It was, in truth, Lady Alicia de Wendover, who, on the
occasion in question, had been inaugurated under Lady Ma-
ry Langley's protection, into the enchantments of an Italian
THE DOWAGER, 75
Opera; and who had returned home, so excited by the joy
of hearing her favorite music executed with a degree of
perfection, such as her utmost imagination had never as-
cribed to the art, that poor Mrs. Bennet was actually terrified
at her enthusiasm.
On the Saturday following, Lady Mary, sympathizing with
her innocent joy, petitioned Lord Grandison that Lady Ali-
cia might again accompany her. But, even this second
time, Augustus saw nothing more than that the young lady
he jumped from the carriage to hand in by the light of the
lamps in Park Lane, was tall, and dressed in white. Af-
ter hurriedly escorting his mother's party,to her box, he with-
drew to his stall, or, if the truth must be told, to Lady Grans-
den's box, the centre of attraction to all the young men
of his set. Not that he was an especial admirer of the Wis-
countess—Augustus’s thoughts were far too much engross-
ed by the question of the preceding night, and debating it
over again with every public man he could coax into an ar-
gument, to agitate his mind concerning either black, brown,
or fair. His incentive to cultivate Lady Gransden’s smiles
was a sort of restless jealously of those she was said, by
the Dowager and Lady Meliora, to bestow upon his cou-
SIIl.
Almost every young man, on first entering into society,
selects some other, rather older and of higher condition than
himself, as an object of peevish rivalship. Lord Chichester
was at once the glass of fashion and the bête noire of Au-
gustus Langley. It was all the Dowager’s doing. From
the time her grandson reached his Horace and Homer, she
had taken delight in twitting the boy with the superior scho-
larship of her great grandson—his predecessor at Eton ;
and, though there was just the difference of age between
the two that ought to have rendered rivalship impossible,
young Langley, instead of applauding in his cousin the ac-
quirements to which he would have done enthusiastic jus-
tice in any other man, had scarcely patience to hear every
vacation, in Grosvenor Street, “At fifteen, Lord Chiches-
ter had accomplished so and so. At nineteen, Chichester
took his degree. Few young men of the day are likely to
distinguish themselves like Lord Chichester!”
Still more was he provoked, when the same partiality pur-
76 THE DOWAGER,
sued him to Langley Park. During the single winter pass-
ed by his cousin in —shire, previous to setting off on the
grand tour, he had become intimately acquainted with the
Langley family; and both Lady Mary and Cecilia were
now almost as fond as the Dowager of repeating, “ Chi-
chester does this,” or “Chichester says that.” Chichester
was already, par excellence, their admirable Crichton; and
Augustus grew more jealous of him than before. It was a
weakness—he was conscious of it—he was ashamed of it
—even before it had been pointed out to him by his sister.
Yet still, he continued to make Lord Delmaine's son the
object, not of his imitation, but his emulation. If Chiches-
ter wore a brown coat, he tried to look better in a blue ;-
if Chichester sported a new cab, Augustus contiued to per-
suade his father into a phaeton. They were excellent
friends. They walked arm in arm into the same club ; yet
still Augustus Langley was miserable whenever his cousin
excelled him in so much as a game of billiards. He was
beginning to wear his life out at tennis, simply because he
had heard Lord Chichester quoted at Oxford, as the best
racket in the university.
Such was the origin of his present attendance upon Lady
Gransden; and as the Wiscountess was really an agreeable
unaffected woman, it was no great sacrifice to his foible, to
sit Saturday after Tuesday, and Tuesday after Saturday in
her Opera box, till his attendance upon his mother, and sister
summoned him away. There, indeed, his duties interfered
with his pleasures; for while busy in escorting Lady Mary
to her carriage, Lord Chichester was receiving the thanks
of Lady Gransden for similar attentions. He was vexed,
therefore, on hearing that Lord Grandison's young daugh-
ter was frequently to, accompany his family, lest it should
entail the necessity of an earlier departure, and abridge his
attendance on the lady of Lord Chichester's thoughts.
“Did you ever see any one so perfectly lovely ſ” was
Cecilia's observation to her brother, as they stood together
a moment in the drawing room in Eaton Square, on the
Saturday night after returning from the Opera.
“She is very pretty, certainly. Those velvet dahlias in
her hair, were remarkably becoming.”
“Dahlias 7–you are dreaming. She had nothing in her
hair,” said Miss Langley, taking up her candlestick,
THE DOWAGER, 77
“You want to ascertain, eh Cecilia, whether I am as un-
observant as ever of women’s dress : But on this occa-
sion, catechize me as strictly as you will, I tell you she had
on crimson velvet dahlias with diamond centres.”
“And I assure you she had nothing at all. It would be
scandalous to disgrace those raven bandeaux, with the for
reign aid of ornament.”
“Bandeaux It is you, my dear Cecilia, who are dream-
ing !—Lady Gransden’s light brown ringlets are proverbial.
Ask your friend Chichester about Lady Gransden's silken
ringlets!”
“I was not talking of Lady Gransden.”
“Of whom, then 7”
“Of Alicia—of Lord Grandison's daughter. Sincere-
ly, don’t you think her the most beautiful girl you ever
saw 7”
“Sincerely you put me to the blush ; for to say the truth,
I never even looked at her?” cried Augustus. “One had
never heard her spoken of as a beauty; and I, therefore—”
“Mamma always said she would turn out handsome,”
observed Cecilia, proceeding to the door. “But who could
foresee that lovely countenance, that graceful figure I re-
ally could not keep my eyes on the stage.”
“Miss Cecilia Langley was afraid of being eclipsed, then,
that she kept her friend all the evening in the back ground?
—I did peep at you once from behind Lady Gransden’s
curtain, and could not get a glimpse of the stranger.”
“I,ord Grandison requested it might be so. Alicia is
not yet out, you know—not yet presented—and he does not
wish her to attract too much attention.”
“A very cool expectation on his part, upon my honor l—
One would imagine his daughter a second Helen.”
“And so she is l’” º
“Pho, pho, pho, pho!—You little misses are so charmed
to make miracles of each other P’ continued he, checking a
yawn, and accompanying his good night to his sister with
an affectionate kiss on the forehead. “However, I have
so much faith in my mother's prognostications, that I pro-
mise to sit out a whole act with you in honor of Lady Alicia
de Wendover, the first night she accompanies you to the
Opera.”
7%
78 THE DOWAGER,
CHAPTER WIII.
Tell me, daughter!
How stands your disposition to be married ?
Ju. It is an honor that I dream not of.
SHAKSPEARE.
Poor Mrs. Bennet!—It was a trying moment for her
when the lovely girl, whose thoughts, for fifteen years past,
she had been striving to detach from all perception of her
own loveliness, was carried off, arrayed in the enhancements
of fashion, to be exposed to the admiring gaze of thousands
of spectators Governesses are seldom endowed with a
comprehensive spirit; if they were, few of them would re-
main governesses. Their school-room philosophy contents
itself with exacting the daily performance of an incalcula-
ble number of tasks. Few of them look to the expansion
of the mind under their charge—still fewer to the ultimate
object of its expansion. Knowledge is made the end, and
not the means of wisdom; and grammar, geography, his-
tory, and Crossman's catechism, duly learned and well re-
collected, suffice as the groundwork of every social virtue.
Mrs. Bennet, in assuring Lord Grandison that his daugh-
ter was remarkably well informed for her years, meant only
that her memory was stored with historical events, and that
she played and painted better than most girls of her age :—
while the Earl, on the contrary, understood her to express
that Lady Alicia was qualified to take a part in general
conversation, to exercise a sufficient judgment in the little
emergencies of society—to act, in short, the part of one
whom a few months might invest with the responsible du-
ties of a wife.
In point of fact, no foreign damsel of distinction issuing
from the gates of her convent, to appear at the altar, could
be more ignorant of the minor morals of society, than Lady
Alicia de Wendover. In the case of the foreign damsel,
indeed, the deficiency would be comparatively unimportant,
nothing being required of her beyond a pretty simper, imply-
THE DOWAGER, 79
ing that at present she had no, opinions of her own ;-where-
as the freedom of speech and action allowed to English
girls, assigns them a place as members of society, and ex-
acts something of them in return.
All, however, that Mrs. Bennet suggested to her pupil in
deference to the usages of the world, was to be careful to
answer when spoken to, and to phrase her reply according
to the exact rank of the interlocutor; to offer seats to her
female visitants; and to dance her very best when so for-
tunate as to be favored with a partner. All else would fol-
low as a matter of course. As she was to remain on the
spot, for the care of Lady Helen and Lady Mary, all future
dilemmas might be referred to her judgment. The good
woman evidently fancied her authority was to be undimin-
ished; nay, that on the morning following her first Almacks,
Lady Alicia was to re-enter the school-room with all her for-
mer docile simplicity, and finish the chapters they had still
to go through together, for the completion of their course
of universal history.
Mrs. Bennet could scarcely, however, forgive Lord Gran-
dison the suddenness with which he had determined upon
introducing Lady Alicia a year earlier than had always been
decided between them. She was of opinion that her Lady-
ship's education was far from complete. There were three
or four of Herz's most impracticable sonatas, to which the
maestro declared her Ladyship still incompetent; Bochsa
admitted that he had three scholars who excelled her on the
harp ; and as to her easel, as it was only within the last six
months she had attempted oil-painting, it was impossible
there should be much proficiency. Under such circumstan-
ces, Mrs. Bennet was afraid the fashionable world would
decide her pupil to be shamefully deficient. There were
several departments in ancient history with which her youn-
ger sister, Lady Helen was more conversant. She only
trusted the poor dear girl might not disgrace herself. But
it was an anxious moment. She had bespoken the indul-
gence of Lady Mary Langley. She had apprized Cecilia
of Lady Alicia's weak point, concerning the Ptolemies; and
trusted her friends would refrain from questioning her on
the Egyptian chapter—bearing in mind that it still wanted
30 THE DOWAGER,
eight.months of the period originally assigned by Lord
Grandison as the conclusion of his daughter's education.
During the whole time of Lady Alicia's absence, that first
night of the Opera, Mrs. Bennet sat fidgetting herself to
death, with cold hands and flushed cheeks, lest her dear
Alicia should be pronounced unpardonably ignorant, and
disgracefully awkward. She remained up till her return,
actually trembling lest the poor girl should make her appear-
ance discouraged, dispirited, perhaps weeping from the neg-
lects or contempts she had undergone.
What, therefore, was her consternation, when, about mid-
night, her beautiful pupil bounded into the school-room ; her
cheeks flushed with smiles of delight—her eyes irradiated
with unwonted brilliancy, her air, her movements, as much
excited by the pleasures of the evening, as if an enchanter's
wand had vivified the automaton I For some time, Lady
Alicia could not speak articulately, for the eagerness of her
desire to communicate to her friend some notion of the spe-
cies of pleasure she had been enjoying. It was in vain
that the governess, by precipitate remonstrances, strove to
recall her to reason, strove to recall her to herself. All was
delirium in the bewildered brain of the startled recluse.
“Take off your shawl, my love, and sit down like a rea-
sonable being, while I prepare you a cup of teå,” said Mrs.
Bennet, putting a mark in Cuvier’s Theory of the Earth,
which she had been soberly perusing; nothing doubting
that the young girl’s excited state of mind, arose from gra-
tified vanity—from the admiration drawn forth by beauty,
which, till that moment, the governess had never appre-
ciated.
“Oh! my dearest Mrs. Bennet!”—cried lady Alicia,
unimpressed by her grave looks, and throwing down her
bournooz on the floor, with very little regard to the maxims
of Teresa Tidy, one of the favorite authorities of the school-
room. “If you could but have heard that divine quartette :
—I, who had always fancied one could understand music
by force of study l—I, who thought I knew Bellini—who
conceived I understood the Puritani, yet had actually ne-
wer heard Lablache—Rubini–Grisi !—Oh! that duet ! I
assure you, the tears, in spite of all I could do to restrain
THE DOWAGER. 81
them, would force their way. You never told me what an
enchanting creature I should find the Grisiſ”
“I never heard her, my dear. The papers say, she sings
charmingly.” \
“Sings 2 It is more than singing—more than acting—
more than anything I ever imagined How strange that papa
should not like the Opera ! Never mind He must have a
box I.wikl never let him rest till he has taken a box, that we
may all enjoy it together.”
“And the dancing, my dear. I think I understood,
there was to be dancing after the Opera !”
“Yes, charming—magical dancing !—Taglioni—the Els-
lers—I never conceived that dancing could be so enchant-
ing ! Why did you not prepare me for the wonderful dis-
play of taste and talent I should find at the Opera!”
“It was rather my duty, my dear child, to repress your
undue value for such frivolous diversions !”
“And then the brilliant lights—the fine jewels—the beau-
tiful women P, cried Lady Alicia, not listening to a sylla-
ble. “And Lady Mary and Cecilia Langley so kind in
pointing out to me every thing worthy of notice —Oh! how
glad I am that papa has decided to bring me out this sea-
son ſ”
“And was Mr. Langley of your party?” inquired Mrs.
Bennet, conjecturing some latent motive for the exuberant
spirits of Lady Alicia, which it was the duty of her calling
to ferret out.
“Mr. Langley?—Dearest Mrs. Bennet !—as if so grave
a man ever went to places of public amusement ſ”
“I allude to Lady Mary’s son, my dear,” resumed the
governess, satisfied from what she conceived an evasion,
that she had now reached the heart of the matter.
“Augustus? do you mean Cecilia's brother ? Oh! yes
—he was there ; that is, he took care of us to the box, and
on going away, from the box to the carriage; but we saw
no more of him. It was no great loss. He fºes not seem
so agreeable as the rest of the family.” º
Recalling to mind all she had ever heard, or read of the
artifices of young ladies of seventeen, instead of relying up-
on the noble nature with which she had to deal, Mrs. Ben-
net settled it that Augustus was at the bottom of all ; and
f


82 THE DOWAGER.
having attended Lady Alicia to her room, and seen her
head laid upon her pillow likely to be rendered sleepless by
glowing visions of distressed princesses, contra basso co-
venanters, tender Sorrows in E minor, and triumphal entries
in four sharps, sylphs and figurantes, Bengal lights, and gar-
lands of cut paper—she retired to her own, convinced that
the urchin Cupid was the artist, by whose skill her pupil’s
eyes had been so instantaneously tinged with fire, and her
cheeks tinted with roses º
Next morning, she requested an audience before break-
fast of the Earl, to communicate her chimera; entreating
him, after a preamble as long as that of a bill in chancery,
to consider maturely before he threw Lady Alicia absolute-
ly into the arms of the Langley family—that one of its
members was a handsome young gentleman, only two-and-
twenty years of age.
“And what then?” inquired Lord Grandison, whose
dread of governess formalities had been one of his motives
for keeping the girls at Hanwell, and who was of opinion
that Mrs. Bennet's professional irritabilities were somewhat
premature.
“Merely that my pupil’s affections are likely to become
irrevocably engaged, before your Lordship is aware of it,”
was the anxious lady's reply.
“I will not for a moment do you the injustice to suppose
that your lessons have been so completely thrown away,”
said Lord Grandison with a smile. “Nor is my daughter,
I flatter myself, of quite so inflammatory a nature.”
“Nevertheless, if your Lordship”—
“My dear good Mrs. Bennet,” interrupted the Earl, “I
have great confidence in your good intentions, but equal
confidence in the good sense of Lady Mary Langley, and
the good feeling of Alicia. Such little matters as do not
settle themselves with regard to the new position of my
daughter, I apreontent to leave to their adjustment. I will
not burthén ºr time and responsibility, so far as to expect,
leº ºrding over the education of Helen and Mary,
ave an eye to Alicia's proceedings at balls
and operas. For the future, therefore, I shall not allow fier
to increase your anxieties. Beyond paying you the grate-


THE DOWAGER, 83
ful respect she owes to so valuable a friend, she will be no
further incumbrance on the school-room.”
Poor Mrs. Bennet understood the decree. Her authori-
ty was at an end—her wand broken—her child become a
woman | Her first impulse was to be affronted; her se-
cond, to regret having harassed Lord Grandison so soon with
the declaration of her fears; her third, to retire quietly to
the fufilment of her duties, retaining, at least, more influence
over the enfranchised Lady Alicia as a resident under the
same roof, than by a peevish resignation of office. Though
no longer her governess, she might remain her friend; sure
of being consulted, sure of being loved, even should Lady
Alicia be betrayed into so great an indiscretion, as a pen-
chant for one of the most unexceptionable young men in
society.
She was still unprepared for the worst. She had under-
stood that Alicia's was to be a partial introduction—a peep-
ing out, rather than a coming out. In spite of her polyglot-
erudition, the governess could not conceive all that is inclu-
ded in the word “presented.” She did not know that the
Alicia who was a child at sixteen years eleven months and
twenty nine days, became a woman when a day more ren-
dered her seventeen ; or that she who was a non-entity on
the third of May, could be a person of importance on the
fourth—and ever afterwards.
There was a person in the establishment who understood
all this far better. Mrs. Wallis, the confidential maid of the
late Countess, who still remained in the house as attendant
on her daughters. Twelve years had Lady Grandison been
in the grave, and poor Wallis's calling a blank; but the mo-
ment Lady Alicia's muslin frock was exchanged for a court
train, the instincts of her vocation became apparent. Her
first decree purported that the daughter of the Earl of Gran-
dison must conform to the fashions of the day; must be
elegantly dressed, and prepared at all hours to present her-
self in society. No prompting from the govgºess or La-
dy Mary Langley was needful. Wallis had carte blanche
from the Earl, and took care that all should be as it ought.
Neither did it astonish her to see her young lady's pretty
face expand into smiles when preparing for Almacks, or
flushed with delight when she returned. Nothing could be
84 THE DOWAGER.
more natural. The late Countess had been a great dancer
in her time; and what could Lady Alicia do better than fol-
low in the path of so good a woman;—first, as an ornament
to the gay circles of her sphere of life, and afterwards, as a
wife and mother? While Mrs. Bennet, on passing her
young charge in review ere she proceeded to some royal
fête, could scarcely distinguish the elegant outlines of her
figure for the tears that dimmed her eyes, Wallis looked
on exulting, as if triumphing in the success of her labors.
“Only seventeen Yet scarcely a day allowed her for
serious reflection P’ mused the mortified governess. “Poor
Alicia has not yet had leisure to finish those chapters of
Russell, nor a moment to look over her last numbers of the
Naturalist's Library. Always balls—always entertainments
—always folly and frivolity | Dresses to be ordered, dress-
es to be tried on, and dresses to be worn 1 The poor child
no longer looks upon a bonnet as a mere covering for the
head. It must be becoming—it must be fashionable—it
must match some favorite pelisse ! And Lady Mary to be
the instigator of all this dissipation 1—Many of the invita-
tions are actually procured by her ; and half the time she
officiates as Alicia's chaperoni. Heigho! perhaps she has
ulterior views. But the Earl will never consent to see Lady
Alicia the wife of a commoner.”
Thus much of Mrs. Bennet's aspirations were cordially
echoed by the waiting-maid. Wallis would not hear of any-
thing less than a coronet for her young lady. Lady Alicia,
a beauty and an heiress, had an indisputable right to straw-
berry-leaves; but if not fated to be a Duchess, must posi-
tively accept nothing under an Earl.
“Just please to see, Ma'am, the number of cards left for
my lady in the course of the week,” said she, having intrud-
ed into Mrs. Bennet's sanctum early one morning, some
weeks afterwards. “All these, besides four pages of entries
in the porter’s book!”
“Ah! Willis P’ replied the governess, with a mournful
shake of the fiead, still, however, casting a glance upon the
cards,
“All the great ladies in London, you see, Ma'am, as well
there ought to be—Duchesses, Marchionesses, ay, and for-
eign Princesses into the bargain P’

THE DOWAGERs 85
“Lord Grandison's high connections entitle his daughters
to move in the best circles,” replied the governess, trying to
speak with composure.
“To be sure, Ma'am ; and my young lady's beauty en-
titles her, full as much, to be the first in them. Pray did
you observe, Ma'am, what was said the other day in the pa-
per about my lady and—”
“I have no time for any such nonsense,” interrupted
Mrs. Bennet, ashamed to find herself on the brink of gos-
sipping with the waiting maid. “Lady Alicia is out of the
school-room now, Wallis; quite out of the school-room.
Lord Grandison does not seem to wish her to remember that
she ever was in it; which at seventeen—but no matter It
is no affair of mine !—His Lordship knows best.”
“Why, in course, my Lady hasn’t no time to dewote to
her studies now,” replied Wallis. “Between riding with
my Lord, morning-visiting, dinner-parties, plays, operas,
balls, and parties, to say nothing of the day shinays which
is just going to begin, (and for which I must be looking out,
without loss of time, for a half-dress breakfast coshtume,)
she has scarcely time, poor dear, to know her right arm
from her left. Well, God bless her, 'tis just her time for it!
Another season, maybe, and she'll be married, and grown
as grave as a judge.”
“Is there any talk then, pray, of a marriage for Lady
Alicia?” demanded Mrs. Bennet, in a tremulous voice, ap-
prehensive that a secret, so much her due, had transpired
first to the waiting-maid.
“Dearee me, no, Ma'am, not as I knows on,” replied the
good-natured Wallis. “For certain sure, my young lady
would be apt to consult you, Ma'am—you who have been a
mother to her—on such a pint, afore ever it came to be
talked about in the steward's room. To be sure, I have
heard say among the men-servants, as there was always a
crowd of young men pressing after her Ladyship to hand
her to her carriage, and to join my Lord's riding-party in the
park, and no thanks to them for their information; these
cards tell pretty much the same story,” she continued, plac-
ing under the eye of the governess half a dozen names, half
a dozen times repeated, of bachelor lords, and dashing young
men about town.
WQL, I, 8
86 THE DOWAGER,
“Alicia has mentioned all these to me as her partners,”
resumed the governess ; “but I am persuaded she has no
wish for a nearer acquaintance with any one of them.”
“Perhaps not, Ma'am. I knows my place too well ever
to venture a hint of such matters to my Lady; and my La-
dy has been too well taught, even to begin upon them with
the likes of me. Only, Ma'am, with your leave, it certainly
is whispered in the steward’s room, that a match—but I beg
pardon, Mrs. Bennet, Ma'am!—Zeal for my young lady
makes me forget myself so far as to come plaguing of you
with such things, forgetting that you have business so much
more serious to attend too.”
And Mrs. Wallis began to gather up the cards into her
apron, and was preparing to leave the room.
“Pray speak out, Wallis P’—cried the governess, detain-
ing her, and striving to unbend her usual solemnity so as
to thaw the reverence of the waiting maid. “I am sure we
feel alike, in regard to the young ladies. No person more
than yourself, can appreciate my affection for poor dear La-
dy Alicia.”
“You are very good, Mrs. Bennet. I’m sure then you’ll
forgive me, Ma'am, if I make bold to hint that they do say
(that is, one of my Lord's chief tenants in Cheshire, who
was up the other day for business with the steward, did cer-
tainly say,) that it was said in the country stranger things
had happened in the world than a match between Lady Ali-
cia, and the only son of Lord aud Lady Delmaine.”
“Lady Delmaine ! Not that worldly old lady, who lives
in Upper Grosvenor Street, and has Sunday evening conver-
sazioni?” cried Mrs. Bennet in consternation. T-1–
\* ford biºs you, no, Ma'am!—That’s the Dowager!—
All the son ever she’s got in the world, is that good natured
gamesome, dunny, old Mr. Chichester, (Johnny, my Lord
used to call him,) what was so often down at Grandison
. House, and the only gentleman ever admitted into the school-
room to the young ladies.”
“Lady Mary Langley's brother ?” exclaimed Mrs Bennet,
with a smile. “That was indeed a guess beside the mark :
But who, then, is this son of Lord Delmaine.”
“A fine spirity young gentleman,” they say, Ma'am, who
THE DowAGER. S7
is often after Lady Alicia, at the Opera and Almacks, and
where not—Lord Chichester. Perhaps, Ma'am, you’ve
heard my young lady speak of Lord Chichester?”
Mrs. Bennet strove to recall all she could remember of
Lady Alicia's panegyrics of her partners. But on such
points, the good woman’s mind was a chaos, in which dukes
and lords were inextricably interrupted with Alcibiades, Di-
omed, the Gracchi, Scipio Africanus, and Edward the Black
Prince. She could recollect nothing concerning Lord
Chichester.
“The men do say,” resumed Wallis, perceiving that the
governess's reminiscences amounted to nothing, “ that of
all the young lords which fetches Lady Alicia's shawls, and
rides with her of mornings, this Chichester is the most per-
sonable. Only, Ma'am, I have heard mentioned—but in
course I’ve no business to be troubling you with such non-
sense.” -
“Go on—Wallis pray go on!” cried Mrs. Bennet, in
breathless anxiety. w
“Well, Ma'am, since you're so indulgent, I may venture
(aunire noo) to admit that a gentleman, which frequents
the steward's room, (Mr. Waux, the Dowager Lady Del-
maine's out-of-livery,) assures me as Lord Chichester is a
foolish, gallanting married lady's young man ; that there
was a talk of his paying addresses to Lady Mary Langley’s
daughter, only that the family luckily discovered in time
as he was carrying on an affair with a wife of a young vis-
count, what lives opposite to the Dowager.”
An allusion such as this brought a blush to the chaste
cheeks of the governess, and instantly recalled her to the
impropriety of the colloquy in which she was indulging.
“I have no doubt the whole report is a gross fabrica-
tion,” said she, rising grandly from her chair, in token of
dismissal to the lady's maid; and Wallis, accepting the
hint, immediately pretended to hear the sound of Lady Ali-
cia's bell. 4
Mrs. Bennett had already resolved to abstain from all in-
terference in the Chichester chapter. She had not yet for-
gotten the rebuff which her hint concerning Augustus Lang-
ley had called forth from the Earl. It was impossible,
moreover, for her to suppose that any attention paid to his
º
88 THE DowAGER.
daughter, either by Lord Chichester or others, should escape
his notice ; for Lord Grandison was scarcely ever absent
from Lady Alicia's side. He who had so thoroughly en-
trusted to others the care of her education, seemed unwil-
ling to abandon, even to a Lady Mary Langley, her guidance
in the world. Dearly as he had ever loved her, as his
child, as the child of poor Mary, her uncommon charms and
the triumph they commanded in society, seemed to en-
hance his affection. He had not prepared himself to see
his timid recluse become, in a moment, the wonder and
admiration of London. He had not prepared himself to
find her a companion for him; lively and intelligent—full
of enthusiasm, full of freshness of mind—and above all, full
of womanly tenderness of heart and submission to his will.
From the moment all this became apparent to him, every
habit of his life was reversed. Clubs were forgotten, and
jovial parties renounced ; and Almacks, where for the last
twelve years he had never shown his face, boasted no cha-
peron more assiduous than the Earl of Grandison He low-
ed to look on—to trace the flying steps of his beautiful
daughter, to watch the varying tenor of her smiles, and as-
certain ſrom observation whether Augustus Langley ad-
vanced in her favor. There was something amounting to
idolatry in all this. But who could wonder that he should
idolize so endearing a creature, as the beautiful and affec-
tionate being who hung over his chair as be sat at break-
fast ; or exercised her influence over him, to obtain some
indulgence for Mary or Helen? Even the servants of the
house worshipped their young mistress; not alone the go-
verness and poor Wallis, who had watched over her from
her birth, but even the less confidential menials, to whom
she only occasionally addressed a word—one of those gen-
tle conciliating words, which fell like pearls from the lips
of the lovely Lady Alicia de Wendover. .
THE DOWAGERe 89
CHAPTER IX.
An' her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, there were no more
comparison between the women But, for my part, she is my kinswoman;
I would not, as they term it, praise her. But I would somebody had heard
her talk yesterday as I did.
\ SHARSPEARE,
IT was about a month after Lady Alicia's presentation at
court, that the coterie which usually assembled every Mon-
day night at the house of the Dowager Lady Delmaine, for
the enjoyment of a rubber or two ere they proceeded to
gayer parties, began, while waiting for the opening of the
card-tables, to pass in review the incidents of the preceding
week.
“It is getting quite impossible to obtain a glimpse of La-
dy Mary Langley,” observed, Mrs. Crouch to the Dowager,
“The tip of her aigrette is the most one ever catches sight
of in a ball-room, since she has taken upon herself the in-
troduction of the heiress.”
“What heiress tº interrupted Lady Delmaine. *
“Lady Alicia de Wendover.”
“No more an heiress than I am ſ” replied the Dowager.
“Not an acre of Lord Grandison's estates is entailed. He
may leave them to you, if he choose.”
“Well, the introduction of the new beauty, (that, at least,
is a title no one will refuse to Lady Alicia,) ever since, I
say, Lady Mary has been so surrounded with beaux, that it
is impossible to approach the footsteps of her throne.”
“Yes, the young men of the day, with their pretended
insouciance, know pretty well from what quarter the trade
wind blows " retorted Lady Delmaine. “It would be
long enough before they were found elbowing each other to
obtain the hand of some portionless girl, even if as fair as
Hebe.” * “º
8%
90 THE DOWAGER.
“But you said just now that Lady Alicia was not at
heiress.”
“Did I ? At all events, I am certain that my daughter is
unpardonable imprudent in encumbering her hands with a
beauty, such as Lady Alicia de Wendover, while her own girl
remains to be provided for. Cecilia is far from handsome
—scarcely even pretty; and by the side of a brilliant crea-
ture like this daughter of Lord Grandison, she sinks into
insignificance. It matters not a rush to his Lordship to
marry Lady Alicia. To his dull home, a daughter is an
embellishment; and what is such a man to gain by the ex-
tension of his connections : Lord Grandison is all he ever
will be—all he ever wants to be ; any change in his estab-
lishment, is for the worse. But a match for Cecilia Lang-
ley is of consequence to all her family. Though my son-
in-law has seen fit to refuse a peerage, his son will, I trust,
be wiser in his generation. Augustus has not his father's
pretence of inadequacy of fortune. When old Lady Co-
myngsby drops—”
“She is but sixty eight, and may live these fifteen years,”
interrupted the spiteful Lady Dearmouth, who was sitting
near them.
“Well, at all events, she can’t last for ever ; and at her
death, Augustus inherits twelve thousand a year, in addition
to his father’s estates.”
“But consider Mr. Morison Langley’s principles;” cried
Mrs. Crouch. “How could the son of a man of Mr. Mo-
rison Langley’s principles possibly accept a peerage 3 It
would be quite indecent—would it not, my dear Mr. Chi-
chester 7” she continued, addressing Johnny, who was steal-
ing off quietly to his club. “Can you conceive, I say, a
greater indecency!” e
“I hope no one has been guilty of any indecency in this
house º’’ said Johnny, gravely, raising his hand to his ear.
“I was observing,” shouted the lady, “that with the he-
reditary principles of the Langley family, it would be scan-
dalous for your nephew to accept a peerage.”
“I never consider it scandalous to accept anything,” re-
plied Johnny, “except an affront, and even that, it is better
to take coolly—returning an equivalent.”
THE DOWAGER, 91
“Mrs. Crouch was talking of the Langley's hereditary
principles as a bar to the peerage,” shouted his mother.
“I fancied that hereditary principles were abolished by act
of parliament 7” observed Johnny, with an uncomprehend-
ing face. “The peers of France voted the abolition of an
hereditary peerage.” " *
“But the question is not hereditary peerage; but hered-
itary principles” persisted Lady Dearmouth.
“The worst heirloom in the world, in my opinion!” re-
plied Mr. Chichester; finding that he must “speak or die”
—that is, answer or be stunned. “The boy is father to
the man, but the man does not inherit the opinions of the
boy; why, therefore, should the man inherit those of his
forefathers? Nay, now that steam is up all over the world,
public opinion progresses so fast, that it is much if to-day
inherit the opinions of yesterday.” *
“Opinions, Johnny, are not principles,” said the Dowa-
ger, fancying herself guilty of an aphorism.
“They are root and branch, or flower and fruit, if you
like it better,” argued Johnny.
“I like nothing of the kind. I would as soon be pelted
with orange-peel and rotten apples, as have tropes and fig-
ures thrown in my face. All we asked you was, in plain
English, whether you thought Augustus Langley ought to
be made a peer''' *.
“I leave such decisions to the wisdom of parliament,”
replied Johnny, intent only on making his escape from the
Dowager coterie. “My nephew stands six feet one in his
boots. I can conceive no obstacle to his elevation.”
And away he went on tiptoes, to escape further discus-
sion of the children of his sister, or Lord Grandison—the
objects dearest to him on earth.
fhere was something, indeed, more romantic than com-
ported with his physiognomy, his nick-name, or his homely
ood humor, in the feelings lavished by poor Chichester on
Lady Alicia de Wendover. Of the threshold of life, ere
that nick-name was bestowed, and while that physiognomy,
brightened by animation, was still the type of youthful beau-
ty, John Chichester had formed an attachment to the bosom
friend of his sister. Iord Grandison’s “poor Mary” was
92 THE DOWAGERs
the idol of Chichester’s boyhood; and from the hour of her
marriage with another, his life had been a blank. On learn-
ing from her own lips, the hopelessness of his suit, he had
not, indeed, indulged in the frantic exclamations with which
some men signalize their despair, and then hurry off in search
of another object of adoration ; but he had ceased to care
for himself—ceased to push his fortunes in life. Since Ma-
ry did not think him worthy her affection, he seemed to con-
sider himself unworthy his own exertions.
In vain did his two chosen friends, Morison Langley and
Lord Grandison, labor to stimulate him into the resumption
of his public career. Johnny Chichester felt that they were
no judges of his position in life. Langley, as the happy
husband of his dear sister, Grandison, as the happy husband
of one still dearer, one whom he could no longer trust him-
self to name, were alike unable to appreciate the absurdity
of toiling for the acquirement of fortune and distinction,
which here was none to share. “I am rich enough for the
limited sphere of my desires,” argued Johnny, smiling away
with his usual prompt benevolence, the anxiety of his friends.
“Don’t trouble your heads to make me greater or more op-
ulent than I am. Happy in your happiness, let that suffice
me. My clubs—a little friendly circle—or, in autumn, coun-
try visiting among my kinsfolk and acquaintance—and my
year is filled up. Why toil for the acquisition of affluence,
which, when it came, I should not know what to do with.”
And thenceforward, John Chichester resigned himself to
utter stagnation. He scarcely seemed even to grow old, so
complete was his inertion. Yet, in spite of the round, good-
humored face he wore to the world, and his apparent indif.
ference to every thing passing in it, those who knew him
best were aware that not the most heart-broken man alive
was ever more thoroughly the victim of an unfortunate at-
tachment. He had sacrificed the whole amount of his exis-
tence to the shadow of a shade:*
During the five years Wäch Lady Grandison survived her
marriage, Johnny had never entered the house of his friend,
or the circles where he was likely to meet her. Yet her
death fell upon him as heavily as if she had been still sin-
gle, and still an object of hope. The Langleys, his sole

THE DOWAGER, 93
|
confidants, kept him with them in the country, till the first
excess of his misery was tranquillized. From that period,
his friendship with Lord Grandison became more firmly knit
than ever. He spent weeks and weeks with him at Gran-
dison House ; and even in London, scarcely a day passed
that they did not meet. Johnny was the only person whom
the Earl ever admitted to a sight of the girls; and his good-
natured, inoffensive mirth, was the delight of the school-
room, and of Mrs. Bennet. He was like a relation—like
more than a relation. His praises stimulated the children;
his interest in their progress seemed greater than even that
of Lord Grandison ; and from the time this new tie to life
began to draw itself closer round his heart, Johnny grew a
new man; cheerful as ever, and, if possible, more benevo-
lent.
At the moment of Lady Alicia's introduction into socie-
ty, the tenderest mother could scarcely have betrayed great-
er anxiety. He loved his niece Cecilia; but there was no
comparison between his regard for the quiet, well trained
girl, introduced into the world under the charge of the most
judicious of mothers, and his feelings towards the lovely re-
cluse, snatched from obscurity into the full radiance of fa-
shionable life. He actually trembled when he saw her mov-
ing through the mazes of the gaudy crowd. How indeed
could it be otherwise?—The lovely girl, on whom every eye
at Almacks was riveted, presented an almost miraculous re-
semblance to the being whose every look and feature was
registered in the inmost recesses of his heart—to “poor Ma-
ry”—to the Countess of Grandison—to the being whom he
had adored uncomplainingly while living, and wept unseen
when removed to a happier world.
The Dowager, who knew no more of her son’s peculiar
feelings towards the family than that, in his youth, he had
been somewhat an admirer of his sister’s friend Mary Wil-
mot, but without noticing the change effected in him by her
marriage, mentioned in Johnny's presence, on reading in
the newspapers an announcement of Lady Alicia's presen-
tation at court, hērintention of leaving cards in Park Lane.
“I have not been there these dozen years,” said she, qui-
etly peeling an orange at desert. “Since Lady Grandi-
94 THE DOWAGER,
son's death, I have felt no inclination to keep up my ac-
quaintance with the Earl, who is grown such a brusque, dis-
agreeable sort of person, there is no knowing what to make
of him. But now this girl is come out, I suppose he will
fill his house, and give things like other people; so remind
me, Meliora my dear, to send my cards.”
Johnny longed to interfere, and assure his mother and sis-
ter, that Lord Grandison would give nothing ; and that in
the circle of that artless child there was nothing to attract
persons of their tastes and pursuits. For he actually dread-
ed to see poor Mary's girl exposed to the animadversions
of the Dowager and her set !—His clearer judgment had
discerned, from the instant of Alicia's appearance in the
world, although in had escaped the doating eyes of her fath-
er, that she was totally unversed in conventional usages;
that the same naïve simplicity which rendered her so charm-
ing, would entangle her in a thousand perplexities, an expose
her to a thousand malicious observations. He saw, there-
fore, that Lady Alicia was the last person to be allowed to
stray within the circle of Lady Delmaine's cabal. What
mischief might not Lady Meliora wring out of her innocent
words and actions! How surely would the widow Crouch
assign, motives, base as her own, to poor Alicia's thought-
less gaiety. How maliciously would Lady Dearmouth en-
large upon her gay self-possession, the result of perfect
guilelessness of heart | ſº
It was useless, however, to oppose the Dowager's pro-
jects of politeness. Disparity of years and pursuits, would
prevent the acquaintance from ripening into intimacy; and
the utmost Johnny could venture, in defence of his protégée,
was a hint to his sister Lady Mary.
“Don’t bring Grandison's girl to Grosvenor Street, if
you can help it,” said Johnny. “We have nothing there
likely to amuse her; and Ishould be sorry to see her feath-
ers lying on the ground, as I do those of other thoughtless
little birds pecked to pieces by the beaks of the Dowager's
scandalous coterie.”
But while Chichester was thus watchful over the well-be-
ing of Lady Alicia, his foresight was defeated by the incau-
tiousness of her father; who, anxious to afford her as many
THE DOWAGER, 95
opportunities as possible of becoming known to Augustus
Langley, rejoiced at the idea of her presentation to his re-
lations.
“Be careful, my dear,” was one of his charges to Lady
Alicia, “to omit no opportunity of showing respect to old
Lady Delmaine. You will find her a tiresome gossiping
old lady, to say the least of it. But as the mother of Lady
Mary Langley, she is entitled to the utmost attention. Call
upon her, whenever you have an opportunity, and let her
be invited with Johnny Chichester and his sister Lady Me-
liora, to our first dinner party.”
“Certainly, dear papa, certainly,” was Alicia's reply;
“but how can you suppose, I shall find dear Johnny Chi-
chester’s mother tiresome 2—If Lady Dehmaine be only a
hundredth part so good and so considerate as he is.”
“She is not a millionth part,” interrupted Lord Grandi-
son. “But no matter | She is an old acquaintance. La-
dy Delmaine has exercised, unwittingly indeed, the greatest,
influence over my destinies. It was at her house, my dear
child, that I first met your poor mother.”
“I will call on Lady Delmaine this very morning if you
please, papa,” cried Lady Alicia. And she went.
Johnny, on hearing at dinner time, in the anguish of spirit,
the slighting remarks of his sister and mother, upon the un-
formed manners of Lady Alicia de Wendover, and their own
amazement that one so little polished should have been ac-
cepted as an Almacks beauty, could scarcely restrain the
expression of his indignation, when they proceeded to tax
her with want of delicacy and decorum. O
“A vast deal too knowing for her age P’ was the verdict
of the Dowager. “Lady Gransden happened to look in,
while she was with me, (high time, you will say—having on-
ly contrived to call twice since her arrival in town () And
when, (out of compliment doubtless to me,) she desired an
introduction to Lord Grandison's daughter, her little Lady-
ship, instead of waiting for the married woman to commence
the conversation, immediately began expressing her plea-
sure in the acquaintance—because forsooth—I will leave you
the next two hours to guess I’’
John Chichester went on silently eating his fish, till his
mother grew out of patience.
96 THE DOWAGER,
“Well! have you no curiosity to learn why your young
paragon was satisfied to be introduced to the Wiscountess?”
cried she, at last.
“You gave me two hours to guess in,” replied Johnny,
coolly; “and you attack me for an answer in ten minutes.
I throw myself on the indulgence of the house.”
“Shall I tell you, then *
“Thank you—I fancy I am in the secret.”
“Indeed?—Well, what was her reason, pray ?”
“Because the sultan has decreed a cessation of hostilities
with Mahomet Ali,” replied Johnny, in the same bantering
tone.
“Because”—cried the Dowager, bursting with the mag-
nitude of the scandal, “ because, (I quote Lady Alicia’s
own words,) “because she had heard so much of Lady
Gransden from Lord Chichester P And she actually fixed
her eyes upon Lady Gransden’s face, to watch whether a
‘blush were raised by the allusion. Well ?”—resumed her
Ladyship, after a pause.
“Well?”—reiterated Johnny, in the same tone of interro-
gation.
“I only ask you what you think of such audacity at sev-
enteen years of age?” .
“I am waiting to know whether Lady Gransden blush-
ed at hearing her own praises, as you seem to have expect-
ed.”
“Nonsense ! You know very well that every body is
talking of the liaison between Lord Chichester and Lady
Graßsden ; and that Alicia wanted to shew herself com-
pletely au fait of the on dits of the day.”
“I know that your Ladyship, my sister, Mrs. Crouch, and
Lady Dearmouth, (I do not cite Sir Jacob Appleby, for
though a member of the coterie, he scarcely deserves to
pass for a sentient entity,) are apt to couple together the
names of Lord Gransden's wife, and Lord Delmaine's son,”
replied Johnny, a little excited. “But when you come to
remember the distance at which Lady Alicia's tender years
place her from your society, you are bound to admit the pro-
bability that my friend's daughter may have heard a charm-
ing woman, like Lady Gransden, named in complimentary
THE DOWAGER, 97
terms by one of her favorite partners, without being aware
that malice had laid its finger upon either of them.”
“Oh ho!—Lord Chichester is the favorite then " cried
the Dowager, unobservant of her son's unwonted spirit.
“Lady Delmaine's woman, who was drinking tea with
Wilson and Otley the other afternoon, certainly said wa-
gers were laid in their steward's room, the Grandison and
Delmaine estates would come together before they were
many months older. But I told Wilson at once not to lose
her money on any such idle lay; for that Lord Chichester
was well known to have other engagements; and that the
Delmaines might whistle for it, if that was their line of po-
licy.”
“I should have thought Lady Delmaine too fine a lady
to whistle for anything,” was all the answer to be extracted
out of Johnny ; but it wounded him deeply to find Lord
Grandison's affairs under the discussion of waiting-maids
and stewards' rooms. Without having interchanged a syl-
lable on the subject with his friend, he had a shrewd guess
at the Earl's inclinations in the choice of a son-in-law. Par-
tial, however, as he was to his nephew, he did not allow
himself to set his heart upon the marriage ; so painfully had
his own disappointments prepared him for the uncertainty
of woman’s affections.
His regard for Augustus Langley induced him, neverthe-
less, to mention a word on the subject to Lord Grandison,
as they sauntered along Pall Mall together, the following
day.
. So the gossips have been at work to find a husband for
Lady Alicia,” said he, with assumed sang-froid.
“Who told you so * demanded the Earl, hastily.
“I would say my own ears, but that you know them to
be treacherous informants,” replied Johnny.
“They have not played you false this time at all events,”
said Lord Grandison. “I have had two formal proposals
for her within this week. My dear Chichester, what old
'fellows all this makes us!—Doesn't it seem yesterday that
you were holding Alice in her little white frock, in the swing
in the Hanwell shrubbery, both of us encouraging her to
WOL, Ie
jºr
98 THE DQWAGER.
be brave; and both of us trembling lest the child should
tumble out and break her neck º’”
Johnny answered by a smile. He recollected well.
Those visits to Hanwell had afforded his first happy mo-
ments, after years of tribulation.
“And now, to see her followed as she is . The moment
we cross the threshold of Almacks, a crowd of young fel-
lows pushing forward to engage her to dance l’’
“Pushing enough, I daresay !” replied Johnny, with a
smile.
“A few months ago, and the possibility that she might
form an unsatisfactory connection, never presented itself to
my mind ſ” continued the Earl, secure of the sympathy of
his companion. “Her childhood, her girlhood, had passed
so smoothly, her education was so judiciously managed by
Mrs. Bennet, and, let me do her justice, the girl's temper
and disposition were so towardly, so faultless, that beyond
the little indispositions of childhood, I never experienced a
care on Alicia's account. Like her mother, she is an angel !
I sometimes fancy I see poor Mary Wilmot revived before
me in that girlſ”
John Chichester’s heart was too full to admit of reply.
“But now,” resumed Lord Grandison, “I am almost
beginning to understand the nature of a father's cares. Not
of Alicia’s inspiring, thank God, for a more dutiful child
never existed. But I tremble when I see these youngsters
thronging round her, trying to recommend themselves; a
few, no doubt, attracted by the personal merits of the love-
liest girl in London, but by far the greater number, by les
beaua yewa de sa cassetle. Prince Alvescalchi, for instance,
who very frankly told me when he made his proposals, that
his chief inducement to marry an English heiress and over-
look her being a heretic, was that he might repair and re-
furnish his palace at Genoa.”
“The fellow’s candor is his apology,” observed Johnny.
“Did he assign any inducement the English heretic might
have to expatriate herself for his sake?”
“‘ Un nom historique !” Ancestors who were heading
the Crusades, and hanging and heading their vassals at
home, when mine wére living upon hips, haws, and acorns,
*
THE DOWAGER, 99
tattooed like a New Zealand chief! Then there was young
Lapwing of the guards, whose grandfather made half a do-
zen millions in order that his posterity might be ashamed of,
and disown him. If you could but have heard him equivo-
cate concerning his pedigree, when, as I did not think it ne-
cessary to explain the real motives of my refusal, he chose
to fancy himself rejected for want of a grandfather ſ”
“The Lapwings have every right to set a high value on
their pedigree,” observed Johnny, gravely.
“And why, pray ?”
“It cost them four thousand pounds. Few people have
ever paid so largely to prove that ea nihil nihilo fit. The
late Mrs. Lapwing’s name, I am told, was omitted by par-
ticular desire, from the family-tree; but Alicia would proba-
bly have been honored with a golden pippin.”
“Trust me, she will never accept one from'such a Paris
as Captain Lapwing ! No sooner had I got rid of him, than
there comes a young Irish Lord, the most wretched whelp
ever kicked across a kennel, whom I shall certainly have to
fight when Alicia refuses him. I bespeak you, my dear
Johnny, for my second. I suspect his Lordship will hazard
an attempt to-night at the Opera.”
“And is my sister so poor a chaperon as to allow the cit-
adel to be assaulted under her eyes?”
“Alicia does not go with Lady Mary. Fancying herself
in the way, as third lady, she has plagued me into taking half
a box with Lady Gransden.”
“Indeed 7”—said Chichester, somewhat vexed. “How
long has this breach existed? Are the girls rivals —or is
my sister jealous of Lady Alicia's superior attractions !”
“Quite the reverse. The girls are fast friends, and the
mother still, as ever, the best, kindest, and most considerate
of human beings. But it seems some little bird or other
whispered to Alicia that she was the means of keeping Au-
gustus langley out of his mother's box; he having been
heard to swear at the clubs that he would renounce Iady
Mary's society so long as she remained my daughter’s cha-
peron, sooner than submit to be included in the catalogue of
sneaks who were making up to Lord Grandison's heiress.
The poor girl's pride took the alarm ; and, by Jove, I think
she was right.” *
100 THE DOWAGER,
“By Jove, I think she was wrong!” cried Johnny, in his
turn. “Girls have no business to listen to little birds;
more especially, when they affect to sing or say what has
been said or sung in a club-room, which can only have es-
caped through traitor's gate.”
“I suspect the tale-bearer, on this occasion, to have been
Madam Crouch. I met the gay widow descending my stairs
ten minutes before Alicia, with a blushing face, made her
petition to me concerning Lady Gransden’s box. She has
a grudge against me, you know, for not choosing to make
her Alicia's mother-in-law, a pretty successor, to be sure,
for my poor Mary !—and perhaps selected this occasion to
revenge herself by humiliating my poor child.”
“But are you quite certain,” inquired Johnny, with pecu-
liar emphasis, “that Alicia assigns the truth, the whole truth,
and nothings but the truth, as the motive of her restless-
ness?”
“If any man but yourself, my dear Chichester, were to
ask me such a question—”
“You would call him out, of course ; and you would
serve him right. But I, whom you know toºbe actuated to-
wards your daughter by an affection secondary only to your
own, may be forgiven for surmising that common fame speaks
truth.”
“Common fame is a greater fabler of fictions than the
dirtiest penny a liner going !” exclaimed Lord Grandison.
“But what has she fabricated, pray, with regard to Alicia P”
“That Lord Chichester is in love with her, and with eve-
ry prospect of return.”
“Aha! That is indeed news I was not prepared for l’’
cried the Earl, greatly annoyed. “The Delmaines, father,
mother, and daughter, are my bitter aversion.”
“I have little to urge in their favor,” replied Johnny.
“Saving their cousinship, I know no people whom I like
less. But Chichester is really a fine young man, and pro-
mises better things.” *
“He is a good-looking chap ;-I know no more of him,
nor do I wish it,” replied Lord Grandison, in a tone of vex-
ation. “As I am willing that my girl should marry young,
it behoves me to be doubly careful in the choice of the fam-
*
THE DOWAGERs 101
ily with whom she is to associate. Over such a mere child,
they will exercise the utmost influence; and by Jove, I
could almost as soon see Alicia's head off, as have her spy-
ing at me through her glass, after the fashion of that lacka-
daisical damsel, Lady Charlotte Chichester; or wasting her
life in the atmosphere of a druggist’s shop, like the Coun-
tess, her mother. I shall give orders, the moment I go
home, that none of the tribe are to be admitted into my house
again.”
“Of course then, you are bent upon seeing Lady Alicia
figure in the newspapers among the elopers to Gretna
Green 7” inquired Johnny, calmly.
“Because I turn my back on the Delmaines?”
“Because you would stir her up into a womanly spirit of
insubordination. No, no don’t make your high-mettled
filly rear by too savage a use of the curb —Lady Alicia pro-
bably fancies Lord Chichester, as being the young gentle-
man with the blackest eyes and chin tuft, and the greatest
quantity of Latin and Greek in his speeches as reported in
the Morning Post, of any of her acquaintance. Proscribe
him, and you make a hero of him at once. Proscribe him,
and she will be Lady Chichester before the season is up !”
“You have no very high opinion, I see, of the principles
instilled into my daughters by Lady Mary's protégée, Mrs.
Bennet !”
“I beg your pardon. She is as good a governess as ever
was invented I have no doubt she has taught your girls
everything that is right, precisely in the wrong way. I dare
say, she scolded herself hoarse to the last moment, about a
blot in Lady Alicia's copy-book and the confusion of her
colons and semicolons, without so much as discovering a
generous sentiment or strong opinion disfigured by the young
lady's misuse of the subjunctive mood. Rely upon it,
Grandison, my boy, the governess's task ends, and the pa-
rents’ begins sooner than we care to own. As far as my
experience teaches, an accomplished, highly educated young
lady, means a girl that has everything on earth to learn which
it is essential for her to know.”
“You are of opinion, in short, that Alicia has everything
to learn ?”
9%
102 THE DOWAGER,
“Everything that regards her conduct in the world. What
had she ever heard or seen of life, till, like an African magi-
cian, you lifted her out of her solitude, and plunged her
down-right in the middle of Almacks 7"
“My system was, perhaps, a bad one. What man knows
how to manage the education of girls?—Had my poor Mary
survived—”
“Even then,” sighed John Chichester, “Alicia might
have taken a fancy to Lord Delmaine's son ſ”
“But are you certain, my dear Chichester, are you posi-
tively certain that she has taken what you call a fancy to this
young man º’’ H
“Only certain that I have heard so.”
“After all I had hoped, all I had promised myself, to find
my domestic privacy opened to the familiarity of such a
sneaking ass as that fellow, Delmaine !” cried Lord Gran-
dison. “All, however, may not be lost. A whim, not a
passion, may prove the extent of the evil. At all events,
now my attention is called to the subject, I will exercise my
observation, at the balls of the next fortnight, to ascertain
the progress of the mischief.”
“Not a word more,” cried Johnny Chichester; “for
here comes our friend Delmaine, as small as life, bowing
and smiling, from a quarter of a mile distance, like a court
dancing-master, or city candidate P’
The Dowagek. 103
CHAPTER X.
Plainness and solidity unadorned, will do º: in the world. Mankind
has long been out of a state of nature, and the golden age of simplicity will
never return. Whether for the better or the worse, no matter—but we are re-
fined! Plain manners, plain dress, and plain diction, are as much out of place
in society, as acorns, herbage, and the water of the neighboring spring, at ta-
ble.
ČHESTERFIELD.
LoRD and Lady Gransden, in spite of the Dowager's an-
imadversions, were very pleasant people, at the head of what
is called in London, a very pleasant house ; that is, they
were not so overburthened with grandeur, wealth, or wis-
dom, as to find any difficulty in entertaining themselves and
their friends. Some one said of Woltaire, “qu'il avait plus
que personne l'esprit qu'a tout le monde l’—and it might be
said of Lord and Lady Gransden, that they enjoyed them-
selves uncommonly, in a common way.
Their houses, furniture, establishment, equipage, were
just such as never to excite a remark among their equals, ei-
ther laudatory or disparaging, The parson’s wife of their
parish, or the lady of Lord Gransden's London attorney, of
course, decided Lady Gransden’s boudoir to be “the most
tasty little thing they ever beheld”; and Mrs. Crouch and
one or two other pretenders chose to assert, in proof that
they were familiar with the beauties of Stafford House or
Chatsworth, that nothing could be more mesquin than her
Ladyship's suite of drawing-rooms. But people of good
taste saw that the Gransdens had no vulgar affectation of
luxury, but made good income subservient to their own com-
fort and convenience.
The Wiscountess, moreover, was a favorite. She had
just the eloquence of air and deportment which conciliates
more, and creates fewer rivalships, than absolute beauty.
104 THE Dow AGE.R.
She was never prominent in society—never made a matter
of discussion; never cited for the color of her dress, or
shape of her bonnet. If she called forth no enthusiasm,
she offended no prejudices—provoked no mockery. She
was, in short, exceedingly popular and welcome wherever
she went ; a circumstance the more fortunate, considering
the bitter enmity provoked against her in a little knot of
female adversaries, whose influence in the great world is
out of all proportion to their merit.
Unincumbered by the cares of a family or peremptory
pursuits or connections of any kind, the young Wiscountess
was easy of access. She was fond of receiving visitors.
Lord Gransden liked to see his house a rendez-vous for
the society of the young and fashionable. Musical morn-
ings prepared the way for rides in the park, or the envi-
rons of town ; and their way of living in Grosvenor Street,
was pretty nearly that of most agreeable houses in the
country.
No wonder that a lively, warm-hearted girl like Lady
Alicia de Wendover, should find pleasure in such society.
She had the greatest regard for the Langleys. But there
was something in the grave composure of Lady Mary—
something even in the formal set of her cap—calculated to
inspire awe in so young a person ; and as she never saw
Cecilia except in the presence of her mother, a certain de-
gree of reserve necessarily subsisted between them.
With the Wiscountess, on the contrary, she had been,
from the first moment, on the easiest terms. There was
everything to invite intimacy in the sweet countenance and
frank manners of Lady Gransden ; and Lady Alicia rejoic-
ed in having so good an authority to consult in all those
little matters of dress and etiquette, in which Mrs. Ben-
net and Wallis were at fault, and with which papa must not
be troubled. Her good-natured friend never derided her
simplicity, never wondered at her ignorance. It was not so
long since poor Laura herself was vainly looking round for
a bosom consultor in that flurry of London-life which leaves
no leisure to render service to our fellow creatures—to ad-
mit to her despising the perplexities of Alicia.
Such an acquaintance was sure to ripen into friendship,
THE DOWAGER. 105
At the close of a week or two, Lady Alicia did not feel
her day well begun till she had written a little note to Lady
Gransden, or received one in her turn, communicating the
programme of the day’s pleasures; and though Mrs. Ben-
net, who after Lord Grandison’s hint, judiciously restrained
her jurisdiction to the school-room, and contented herself
with inflicting the chronology of the Julian era upon Lady
Helen and Lady Mary, had never obtained a peep into
these volatile missives, they contained nothing that might
not have defied her scrutiny. Nothing could be more un-
exceptionable, either in orthography or sentiment. Lady
Alicia wrote “in great haste,” to entreat the Wiscountess
would send her Schubert’s Schone JMüllerinn; and Lady
Gransden dispatched her footman in a hurry to Park Lane
an hour or two afterwards, to know whether it would suit
Lord Grandison and his daughter to ride at four o'clock in-
stead of five, as she and the Wiscount were to dine early,
in order to go to the play. Their little correspondence
was, in short, as innocent and unmeaning as the letters
usually transmitted upon government stationary, between
the under secretary for the department, and the under
secretary for the affairs.
It was not so estimated, however, by the Dowager. La-
dy Delmaine, who had a hawk's eye, if hawks ever wore
spectacles, for a livery, took due note of the number of
times per diem that Lord Grandison’s Irish giant in green
and gold, rang familiarly at the bell of the Wiscountess; or
worse still—worse, as a direct affront to her advice on the
subject—worse, as an example to the neighborhood—slid
down the area steps, with a little billet in his hand.
It was clear that the said giant waited for answers to all
the notes he carried; for whatever might be the attractions
of Lord Grandison's table-ale and house-maids, he would
otherwise have slipped them into a letter-box, which the
original proprietor of the mansion, an Irish Bishop, had
left appended to the door. And what could be the motive
of such a waste of time, paper, and footman : The two
ladies were sure to meet once or twice every day, not
in the chance mêlées of fashionable life, but by especia
appointment. Lady Alicia and her father escorted Lady
106 THE DO WAGER.
Gransden on horse-back as far as her own door, almost
every day, in the midst of the Dowager’s plate of soup;
and then, at night—in the dead of night—or later still, in the
revivification of morning—how often was the old lady roused
from her heavy slumbers by the rattling knock of the cla-
morous Patagonian –That horrible Thomas . As she
oflán said, she could swear to the knock of Lord Grandi-
son's Irishman among ten thousand.
“Pray have you the least idea, my dear Ma'am,” inquir-
ed the Dowager of Mrs. Knox, to whom she slipped over
one morning in the nick of time to interfere with her trying
on a beautiful organdy dress from the infallible Mrs. Mur-
ray, “pray have you the least idea what brings Lady Alicia
de Wendover, day after day, to Lady Gransden's 77°
“They are very intimate, I suppose,” replied the matter
of fact Mrs. Knox, whose thoughts were just then confin-
ed within the plaits of her unfortunate gown,
“Of course. But what makes them so intimate, Ma'am
—that’s the question ?”
“The families have long been acquainted, I presume.”
“Families!—What has a man of Lord Grandison's age
and habits, in common with a young scape-grace like Lord
Gransden 7”
“Is Lord Gransden a scape-grace 7–He seems such
an amiable young man l—At the Doncaster races last year,
Lady Gransden wore two new dresses every day.”
“So used the Duchess of Campton, whose husband shut
her hand into the door of her calash, and was divorced for
cruelty. But rely upon it, the Grandisons and Gransdens,
or rather the Wiscountess and Lady Alicia, have not known
each other two months. You have it from the best authd-
rity, Ma'am, for I presented them to each other. The men
have probably kept up a sort of bowing, House of Lords’
acquaintance, which won't last long, I take it, for the To-
ries have got fast hold of young Gransden, and Lord
iºn is half radical—half worse. But as to the la-
ies—”
“It must be pleasant enough,” said Mrs. Knox, still sigh-
ing after her untried gown, “for a young person like Lady
Alicia to have an agreeable, well-dressed woman of Lady
THE DOWAGERs 107
Gransden's age to take the arm of, at Almacks. Except at
a royal party, it does not look so well for a girl to have no
chaperon but her father. Every body knows that a man of
Lord Grandison's age creeps off to his whist or his politics,
and does not catch sight of his daughter three hours in the
course of an evening.”
“Whereas, a woman of Lady Gransden’s age, creeps off
to her flirtations, and does not catch sight of the little Miss
entrusted to her charge, above once ; a consideration which
probably determined Lady Alicia de Wendover to throw
over my daughter, Lady Mary Langley.
“Has, she thrown over Lady Mary Langley 7. That was
very ungrateful ſ” said Mrs. Knox, satisfied that Mrs.
Murray's young woman, tired of waiting, must now be de-
scending the back stairs. “Lady Mary Langley has such
a respectable air. In a grey satin or white figured silk,
with a white crape turban, I know no one who cuts a better
figure among the chaperons.”
“There !—She must be gone now, I fancy,” said the
Dowager, rising in haste, and stumbling towards the win-
dow, “ for Lady Gransden has taken to her eternal piano |
—I vow I would as soon live opposite to Broadwood’s or
Tomkinson’s, and listen all day to the tuning of instru-
ments . No | I declare Lord Grandison’s chariot is still
at the door! Ah poor old coachman —He knows, by
this time, what it is to have a young lady out! A very dif-
ferent affair to take the Earl to his club—or his dinners,
and twice in the season, perhaps, to the levee, elderly gen-
tlemen of Lord Grandison’s turn of mind, you know, are not
fond of taking out their own carriage on all occasions, and
having their haunts spied out by their servants, and being
racketed about in all hours and weathers, at the caprice of
a child. To be sure, the set out proclaims the difference 1
Six months ago, no one had ever seen such a wig as that,
on the head of Lord Grandison's coachman ; and just look
at the off-horse !—Poor thing!—The whole veterinary col-
lege would not bring it round to what it was l—I’m surpris-
ed though, that Lady Gransden can find nothing better to
amuse her young friend with, than the rattling of the pi-
ano l’”
108 THE DOWAGER.
“But don't you hear the harp?” inquired Mrs. Knox.
“I have always wondered who it was that played duets so
charmingly with Lady Gransden.”
“And you never were at the pains to inquire 2° cried
the Dowager, full of contempt for her insensibility. “The
harp—duets P’ she continued, lending a more attentive ear.
“A pretty sort of duet ! Why there is a flute, my dear
Ma'am!—They are playing a trio 1—a regular harp, piano,
and flute trio !—Now who in the world can be playing that
flute 7”
“Lord Gransden, perhaps.”
“Lord Gransden –Did you ever hear him attempt Jim
Crow on the key bugle, Ma'am, in Sir Henry Windsor's
coaching-parties 3 The man don't know one note from an-
other P’
“Sir Henry Windsor then, perhaps ; Sir Henry is often
with the Gransdens.”
* Often, indeed,—too often, perhaps —But I suspect he
has found himself de trop lately. No! no!—of all Lady
Gransden's admirers, Lord Chichester, Ma'am, is just now,
the favorite against the field. Lord Chichester is—but I
am wrong perhaps in running on this ſ” said the Dowager,
pretending to check herself. “However, you may take
my word for it, Sir Henry Windsor is not of the practising
party Sir Henry Windsor is down at Dorking, cajoling
his old uncle, who has got another fit of the gout. I inquir-
ed of his own man yesterday where he was gone, as I had
seen post-horses at his door late the evening before ; and he
told me that his master had been sent for down to old
Mr. Windsor’s, who was very bad.”
“I hope Sir Henry will come into a good fortune,” said
Mrs. Knox, good naturedly, “and then, perhaps, he will
marry. It is a thousand pities he should remain single,
on account of the family diamonds. I have heard mamma
say, that the late Lady Windsor’s diamonds were the finest
at court, of any woman's under a peeress.”
“.Married ?–Sir Henry Windsor, married?” retorted
the Dowager, with a look intending to convey a whole
green bag of accusations.
“A propos to marriages,” observed Mrs. Knox, who
THE DOWAGER, 109
had now worked her way into her favorite vein—“I wonder
for whom they were making out sketches of diamond tiaras
yesterday, at Howell's 1–Who is there worth speaking of,
going to be married?”
“No one that I have heard of.” replied the Dowager.
“I was at Lady Dearmouth's last night, who mentioned
nothing of the kind; and she is always the first to hear of
marriages; I sometimes accuse her of bribing Gunter's
clerk for the earliest intelligence of orders for wedding-
cake.”
“The pattern selected,” resumed Mrs. Knox, in a con-
fidential tone, “was a couronne à la châtelaine, a diadem,
d fleurons, you know, like what most of the foreigners
wore at the coronation.”
“I seldom notice frippery of any kind; and was not at
the three last, coronations,” said the Dowager, sharply.
“But I fancy a wedding order is not indispensable for a
diamond tiara. There are other modes besides marriage,
of rising in the world. The wives of new ministers, for
instance, and new peers—ay, and sometimes more than
their wives, fancy it necessary to make themselves fine,
previous to their presentation. But it is a most unaccount-
able thing about the flute!”
“A charming performer, certainly 1” said Mrs. Knox,
mistaking her meaning, and suppressing a sigh at the
thought that no promotion in life to be achieved by the
general, was ever likely to necessitate the re-setting of her
diamond necklace.
“Well, if I were Lord Grandison,” cried the Dowager
again, “I certainly would not—but who knows—perhaps
it may be Lord Chichester ?—Lady Charlotte, I know, is
very musical, though I am not so sure about her bro-
ther. Ay, ay! it certainly is Lord Chichester; and Lady
Gransden is good natured enough to provide two strings
to her bow—to her beau, eh —at all events, Lady Alicia
has succeeded ! Commend me to the naïveté of the young
ladies of the present day—any one of whom is diplomate
enough to have been sent delegate to the congress at We-
rona." Good morning, my dear Madam. My best compli-
ments to the General. Pray thank him for exerting his in-
WOL. I. 10
º-
110 THE DOWAGER,
&
terest the other day at the United Service, in favor of our
friend Jubb ; and tell him that, after all, Lady Dearmouth's
nephew is likely to get the cornetcy, Good morning.”
And the Dowager, satisfied in her own mind not only
that Lord Chichester was in the habit of lounging away his
morning beside Lady Gransden's music-desk with his flute
in his hand, by way of pretext for his assiduity, but that La-
dy Alicia, aware of his weakness, was exerting herself to
the utmost with a view of supplanting her friend, hurried off
to Lady Delmaine with the intelligence.
But the Countess happened to be undergoing one of the
severe fits of indisposition with which she fancied herself af.
flicted every time opposition or neglect had put her out of
sorts with the world. “My Lady was confined to her
dressing-room;” she was not to be seen; she was attend-
ed by two physicians and an apothecary; she was announc-
ed by the morning papers to be in a very serious way; and
all because her only son had chosen to ride down to Dul-
wich college with a party, in which the Langleys were in-
cluded, instead of remaining in town to mount guard over
Lady Charlotte while doing the piquant behind the counter of
a Charity Bazaar, which had pin-cushions to sell “under the
immediate patronage” of all the royal personages in Great
Britain.
The Dowager, at sight of the muffled knocker, drove off
in haste ; though far from alarmed by what she perfectly un-
derstood, by the peculiar expression of the butler's face, to
be “only one of my Lady’s usual attacks.” She knew the
Countess of old. Long years ago, the Glasgow heiress,
whose thousand a year had run the gauntlet for several suc-
cessive seasons, of all the courtships of all the Irish Baro-
nets and insolvent peers that Cheltenham, Leamington,
Harrowgate, or Brighton could fling at her feet, had become
so accustomed to be wooed, that she could not bear to feel
that her power was departed, when at length an English
Earl became proprietor of herself, her bank-stock and Ayr-
shire estates. It was provoking enough to sink into a mere
woman, after being so long an angel. But it was useless
to repine; the deed was done—or more properly speaking,
THE DOWAGER, 1 II
signed ; her marriage contract being the instrument of her
moral destruction. -
It was impossible to hope that Lord Delmaine would
henceforth regard her as anything more than his wife : and
she was amazed to find that the world in which, so long as
she was unmarried and disposable, she had maintained some
consequence, cared nothing at all about her from the mo-
ment she became a Countess. The only chance of com-
manding attention, henceforward, she fancied, was by threat-
ening every now and then to die; which as a large portion
of her fortune depended upon life rents, was a matter of con-
siderable importance to her husband. For seven and twen-
ty years, therefore, had the Earl of Delmaine been kept in
agonized expectation by the impending loss of his spouse.
The Dowager, in the course of her various coolnesses
with the family of her late Lord, had been frequently per-
plexed by these attacks of her grand-daughter in law. It
was a species of defence against which no weapon was avail-
able. In such cases, the sympathies of the world are always
enlisted on the side of the invalid ; and to unmask the in-
postor, it is necessary to become a monster.
In this, as in every other instance, therefore, the Dowa-
ger was obliged to submit; and to drive off from the muffled
door, provoked beyond measure at losing an opportunity of
hinting to Lady Delmaine, that her son “had lost his chance
with one of the greatest heiresses of the day—thanks to a
foolish entanglement with the wife of his bosom friend.”
The fates, indeed, seemed thoroughly against her; for
when, as her carriage was driving through Berkeley Square,
on her return homewards, she caught sight of Lord Del-
maine leisurely working round the angle by Thomas’s Ho-
tel, she had the mortification to find, that the friend on whose
arm he was leaning, was no other than her son. To relate
a piece of scandal in Johnny's presence, in which was in-
volved the name of Lady Alicia de Wendover, was out of
the question: she was, therefore, compelled to have recourse
to some other mode of stirring up the parental ire of Lord
Delmaine. — -
“How d'ye do—how d'ye do!” cried she, having caused
her coachman’ to draw up, so as, to leave no possibility of
112 THE DOWAGER.
escape to the two gentlemen. “I am just come from your
house—grieved, I assure you, to find Lady Delmaine so ill.
But it is all her own fault, consulting homoeopathists, animal
magnetizers, and the Lord knows what other denomination
of assassins, instead of sticking, like a reasonable being, to
poor dear Sir Lucius Flimsy, who, to do him justice, never
injured a fly!”
“My wife is getting much better. I have very little
doubt, that she will be well enough in a day or two, to re-
ceive your Ladyship's visit,” replied the Earl, bowing him-
self off. }
“By the way,” screamed her Ladyship, in a key that
brought him back to the carriage door, “I no longer won-
der, my dear Lord Delmaine, at your ill-luck with minis-
ters P’
“What ill-luck with ministers?” ejaculated his Lordship,
turning pale at the idea that perhaps one of his hundred and
ten dirty schemes for entrapping the patronage of govern-
ment, had been discovered and exposed.
“I mean about the Lieutenancy,” replied the Dowager,
closing up her right eye, and peering cunningly into his face
with the left. “It is quite clear now, why it was given to
the Duke of Ancaster P’
“Simply because he had the best title to it,” replied the
Earl, assuming a tone of unconcern. “From the first, the
motives of the appointment were sufficiently apparent.”
“Then why did you ever apply for it !” demanded the
Dowager, as little restrained by the suggestions of good
breeding, as of good nature.
“I—I—that is—the expectations held out to me by go-
vernment,” stammered Lord Delmaine, taken thoroughly
aback by her unfeeling abruptness.
“The expectations held out to you by government, either
then or now, whatever they may happen to be,” resumed
the Dowager, “will assuredly never be fulfilled so long as
your son is seen, morning, noon, and night, in public, and is
known to be morning, noon, and night in private, the bosom
friend and associate of the most virulent Tories.”
“Do you call me a Tory?”—interposed Johnny Chiches-
ter, who, pitying the plight of his companion, had sauntered
THE DOWAGER. 113
back from the pavement to his defence. “Half a dozen
days in the seven, Lord Chichester associates with me.”
“I call you nothing 1° cried the Dowager peevishly 3–
“for nothing, you have always chosen to be. But I call the
Duke of East Looe a Tory, I call Lord Dulwich a Tory;
I call Lord Gateshead a Tory; I call the whole Hilsby fam-
ily, Tories; and above all, I call Lord Gransden a Tory—
Lord Gransden, with whom he passes his life.”
“I trust your Ladyship may be as much mistaken in ev-
ery case as in the last,” replied Lord Delmaine, drily. “I
have the honor to assure you that my young friend and coun-
try neighbor, the Wiscount, is anything but a Tory. He is
a conservative Whig, at the utmost, but on the whole, in-
clines towards liberalism.”
“Inclines, as a person with a broken back inclines to-
wards anything—because he is forced into it. Lady Grans-
den rules her husband with a rod of iron.”
“She is quite right. Spare the rod, and spoil the hus-
band P’ interposed Johnny Chichester.
“Wery likely. But Lord Delmaine, you see, does not
consider it right, when the influence of such principles proves
the means of depriving him of an honorable employment.
But for his friendship with those factious Tories, those brew-
ers of hell-broth, those ſomenters of discord, those nettle-
beds of disloyalty, those—”
“Hush, hush, my dear Madam —you forget you are not
on the Treasury Bench. Such language is far too parlia-
mentary for the King's highway !” interrupted Johnny Chi-
chester, vexed to perceive that the footman who stood at the
carriage door was stifling a laugh, while taking mental notes
of her Ladyship's words for the evening's amusement of
Mrs. Vaux and Lord Delmaine's out-of-livery, and trans-
mission to the Sunday papers.
“I have only to refer you to my son's vote last night, on
the malt question—the night before, on the Otaheitan busi-
ness—and in short, all the questions of the week,” observed
Lord Delmaine, preparing to hurry off, “in proof that you
have thoroughly and entirely mistaken Chichester’s princi-
ples. But I must wish you good morning. That is the post-
10%
1I4 THE DOWAG ſºft.
man's second bell, and Lady Delmaine's delicacy of health
compels me to be punctual.”
The Earl touched his hat, and scuffled off. But the in-
telligence he affected to deride, sank deep into his soul.
Aware that Chichester was, indeed, in the habit of frequent-
ing Lord Gransden's house, he determined to institute an
examination into the motives of his son’s visits, and the
principles, political of course—a young Wiscount is suppos-
ed to have no other, of Lord and Lady Gransden and Co.
CHAPTER XI.
The town, as usual, met him in full cry,
The town, as usual, knew no reason why :
But fashion so directs, and moderns raise
On fashion's mouldering base their transleht praise,
cFEURCH1 r. L.
OF the sum total of that honorable house, wherein one
might suppose the curse of Babel, the confusion of tongues,
amplified into that of a confusion of intellects, it is incon-
ceivable how few appear to watch the progress of the ses-
sion. They are acquainted with the event of the debate of
the preceding night—they prognosticate that of the night to
come ; they shake their heads and look wise, while pro-
nouncing of some far off motion that it is to decide the fate
of ministers, or give back to the Tories their long lost as-
cendancy; but unless enlightened by the harassing attacks
of some factious newspaper, seldom discover that weeks and
months have elapsed without fulfilling a single promise to
their constituents, or redeeming a single pledge to the na-
tion.
Now Augustus Langley, warm with at the freshness of
youth, was precisely of an age and in a position to discover
this ; and inconsiderate enough to comment upon it in times
and places exeeedingly inconvenient. His father, though
proud of his talents and his honesty, did not fail to remind
THE DOWAGER. 115
him that no good cause is served by these outbreaks of pe-
tulance ; that, as yet unfamiliar with the springs of the ho-
rologe, it became him not to pronounce too contemptuously
upon the errors of the dial-plate; and that, above all, he
should abstain from playing the critic on a party which in-
cluded in its majority the name of Morison Langley.
Augustus blushed at the rebuke, but smiles soon overpow-
ered his blushes ; and in spite of his better reason, the
liveliness of his temper prevailed, and every now and then
broke out some bitter jest on the banian-tree-like nature of
the administration, whose branches, instead of bearing their
fruit upwards, were evermore dropping and enrooting them-
selves more firmly to their places. Not a measure escaped
his censure;—not a speech, his mockery :-not a debate,
his critical analysis. From his detached vantage ground,
he could espy defects of outline which nearer inspection
might have converted into beauties of detail; and as his
father had no reason to surmise that all this petulance arose
from boyish jealousy of the advantages enjoyed in public
life by his cousin, he had of course little patience to hear his
own son renew at his own table, the attacks lavished upon
his party by the opposition journals.
There was a person, however, to whom the vivacity of
Augustus recommended him, almost as much as it disturbed
the solemn gravity of the honorable member for shire.
Lord Grandison delighted in his enthusiasm, and was amus-
ed by his sallies. To his partial eye, there was much of the
bonhommie of Johnny Chichester in his nephew, enhanced
by the sound patriotism and practical excellence of old Lang-
ley. The Earl foresaw the making of a great and good
man in the petulant boy ; and above all, he never failed to
applaud certain rash irregularities of speech upon political
matters, singularly accordant with his own prejudices.
Since Lady Alicia's introduction into the world, the Earl
had put a watch upon his words, lest peradventure some un-
guarded remark might provoke enmities against his child.
But this self-restraint annoyed him. He longed to talk and
jest as of old; and rejoiced in those biting sarcasms against
the state and its statesmen, which he little suspected to be
the safety-valve of poor Augustus's animosities.
116 THE DOWAGER.
“Go it, my boy!”—was no unfrequent encouragement of
Lord Grandison, when young Langley pretended to work
John Chichester into a passion by reviling the inactivity or
incompetency of the Whigs; by declaring that the Cabi-
net ministers, like the nine books of Herodotus, were each
dedicated to a muse, and above all vulgar comprehension ;
and that though, like Fluellen, they “uttered as brave 'ords
at the bridge as you shall see in a summer's day,
Yet he that trusts them,
Where he should find them hons, finds them hares;
here foxes, geese!”
“The lad is full of mettle—full of promise,” was ever-
more the remark of the Earl to Johnny Chichester, when
dining together at Morison Langley's, or lunching together
at the club.
“For God's sake, don’t put him too much into favor with
himself!” was the uncle's wiser reply. “Augustus is clev-
er, certainly, and more amiable than his pertness seems to
imply. But he will not be worth a farthing, either as a man
or a politician, till the conceit has been taken out of him by
heavy punishment.”
“Pho, pho, phol—you make no allowance for his age.
You expect his beard to sprout white. Augustus has no fault
but those peculiar to two and twenty, and I respect
him for them. I abhor a Solon in swaddling clothes.
A boy who thinks, feels, and talks like a man, is to me, a
moral deformity; ugly as a dwarf; unnatural as the little
knotty abortive oaks with which the Chinese decorate their
flower-stands. Give me a tree that is a sapling when it
ought to be a sapling, and matures when it ought to ma-
ture.”
“But it never will mature, if you force the sapling into
artificial growth !” cried Johnny.
“My dear fellow, he who is not a coxcomb at two and
twenty, will be a bore at fifty,” argued the Earl.
“Likely enough. But you will make him both bore and
coxcomb, if you encourage him to fancy himself neither.”
“As you please,” cried Lord Grandison, never out of
THE DOWAGER, 117
humor with Chichester’s remonstrances. “I like him as he
is, and I dare say shall like him as he is to be ; more partic-
ularly, if he continues to play so successful a fire into the
enemy's camp as he did last night. Did you hear his persi-
flage of old Gateshead tº
“I heard some schoolboy squibbing, which I suppose you
call irony; and which, had it been levelled at anything but
a noodle,_who always reminds me of a cod’s head and
shoulders, with its parboiled eyes, green parsely riband of
St. Patrick, and a napkin tucked under its chin, -I should
have called sauciness.”
“You are amazingly fastidious,” retorted Lord Grandi-
son. “What right have you to expect perfection ?”
“I don't ask for perfection. Perfection in a human be-
ing would be too humiliating to its fellow creatures. But
I am sorry to see you admire Augustus Langley as the In-
dians worship their idols—precisely for his deformities.”
“Drolleries, my dear fellow, you mean drolleries . The
boy amuses me ; which, in this dullest of worlds, is confer-
ring a serious obligation. By the way, do I meet you all
to-morrow at the Delmaines?”
“Aha! you dine with them, then 7–What a discovery
for the Dowager l—My poor mother has been racking her
brains this week past, to find out Delmaine's motive for in-
viting me, as a bachelor, after the family clan had been rég-
ularly fed off for the season ; more particularly, as Lady
Delmaine is in one of her last agonies.”
“And what is the motive 7”
“A compliment to your Lordship. They can’t ask you
to meet a dozen strangers; and you and Delmaine don't Hve
in the same set.”
“In that case, they would have invited the Langleys;
which, I am sorry to find from Lady Mary, is not the case.”
“Lady Mary has a pretty daughter, Chichester's cousin-
ly regard for whom they are beginning to mistake for an
attachment; and I can see clearly that Lady Charlotte and
her mother are on tenterhooks whenever he is amongst us.”
“But what better could Lord Chichester do than marry
his cousin!”
118 THE DOWAGER,
“Marry Lady Alicia de Wendover—if you have no par-
ticular objection.”
“I have a very particular objection.”
“They will never believe it, unless from your own lips.
And what is still more extraordinary, and would be to the
Delmaines fifty times more incredible, I am convinced
that Langley is of your way of thinking, with respect to his
girl. Lady Delmaine is the sort of overbearing woman
who would not rest without exercising the utmost influence
over her daughter-in-law; and the last in the world calculat-
ed to exercise it with discretion.”
“We shall see Alicia in company with young Chiches-
ter to-morrow,” observed Lord Grandison ; “after which,
I trust you will admit yourself wrong, in at least half your
supposition.”
In the half which purported that the dinner-party was giv-
en with the exclusive view of conciliating Lord Grandison,
Johnny Chichester, however, was decidedly in the right.
On that point, the Delinaines were unanimous; they differ-
ed only in the means of accomplishment. Both were anx-
ious to form their party of what they conceived to be the
best company; but the Earl cared only for great wealth, or
great rank; while the Countess had lived long enongh in
the London world to understand the value of fashion.
Though conscious of her disqualifications to become the
leader of an exclusive coterie, she acknowledged nothing
grander in human nature than those who were so privileged.
Nay, she would have given the world to be admitted on any
terms as a member of what appeared par eacellence the
fashionable set. It was neither that of the court, nor that
of the high-Tory, high-dowdy, or Doomsday Book associa-
tion. Each had its presiding Duchess; each its bench of
peeresses. But her worship was dedicated to a little knot
of sayers and doers of nothings—the worshipped of Crock-
fords—the divinities of Melton and Newmarket; “sport-
ing-ladies,” they have been named by a distinguished for-
eigner;-the latest to arrive in town, and the last to leave
it ;—renowned for their taste in equipage and experience
on the turf.
Without either gusto for their pursuits, or claim to be in-
THE EXOWAGER. 119
º
cluded in their circle, or ring, Lady Delmaine had been in-
cited by the apparent difficulty of the undertaking, to pre-
tend to the honor. Though her valetudinarian habits form-
ed the antipodes of their rattling activity;—though a daugh-
ter to marry was an incumbrance rarely admitted into their
clique ;-though Lord Delmaine was a Whig, and they af.
fected pure conservatism;—though a quizzical coach, and
a three year old britzka, with two pair of the worst bred iron ,
greys in town, bounded her stable-yard ambitions, by dint of
humble perseverance, the Countess had actually worked her
way to toleration in the jockey set !—Her pains-taking zeal
in opening her house to them at a time of year when most
others were shut—in marshalling her little parties according
to their loves and likings—in seeing through their eyes and
hearing through their ears, and above all, hearing nothing
when it suited them she should become deaf-pleaded such
wonders in her favor, that, at the end of eight years' hard
labor in the hulks of fashionable subserviency, she attained
the point of getting them at rare intervals to her parties;
and still more rarely—far more rarely—of getting them to
invite her in their turn. *
This was a great concession in her favor ; for it is one of
the essentialities of such a coterie, as indeed of all coteries,
that the union should be close and perpetual—a fashionable
clique being, perhaps, the only real form of republican go-
vernment still extant. Not but that its fair members would
have shrunk from such an allusion; their principle and prac-
tise being in all things sublimely aristocratic. But the fact
spoke for itself.
Now in Lady Delmaine's zeal to offer to Lord Grandison,
with his venison and pine-apple, the crème de la crème of
society, the moyau, the élite, unattainable to a mere country
gentleman, though he happen to be an Earl, she had actu-
ally persuaded half a dozen of the jockey set to honor her
table with their presence, even in the height of the season—
even when other dinner-parties were to be had. She had se-
lected, luckily, the least offensive of the set. There were
Lady Sophia Ashford and her husband, and Lord and Lady
Medwyn ; with the coaching Sir Henry Windsor, and
Claude Hartington, the lady-killer. It happened that the
120 THE DOWAGER,
ſ
society thus selected for the satisfaction of Lord Grandison,
was one of the butts upon which he had been long in the
habit of exercising his irony. Having formed his model of
feminine attraction after that of the gentle Mary Wilmot,
the jockey ladies, with their phaetons, betting-books, and
incomprehensible shibboleth, were his utter aversion. He
could not admire even their beauty; he could not admire
even their liveliness, so disfigured were both, in his estima-
tion, by the habits of the parties. Within a few days, more-
over, his dislike to the clique had been refreshed, by learn-
ing from his daughter the persecutions they had formerly in-
stituted against Lady Gransden.
Some parliamentary emergency having increased the val-
ue of votes in the upper House, they had condescended to
conciliating overtures, and were besieging Lord Gransden
with every species of cajolement; and when Lady Alicia,
an eye-witness of their attempts, had asked an explanation
of her friend, the éclaircissement offered was such as, when
repeated to the Earl, provoked his utmost indignation.
It had been unnecessary for him, on occasion of his
daughter’s debut, to put her on her guard against the attacks
of this crack regiment of the exclusives; for he was aware
that Lady Alicia and himself were alike unworthy of their
notice. But he was not the less certain that, were any un-
foreseen circumstance to procure for Alicia the disadvan-
tage of their civility, nothing would induce him to sanction
her forming so dangerous an acquaintance.
It was difficult, therefore, for him to put a civil counte-
nance on the matter when, in the course of the evening,
Lady Delmaine whispered to him, how happy she felt in
being able to present her young friend, Lady Alicia de
Wendover, to two such charming women as Lady Sophia
Ashford, and Lady Medwyn.
“It is not every unmarried lady they would choose to
meet,” she continued with a smile of conscious superiority.
“Systematically, you know, they set their faces against
irls.”
wº
“Afraid of exciting their blushes, perhaps,” observed the .
Earl, drily. ſº
“It would not do to have an eternal tribe of Misses among
_ THE DOWAGER. 121
all those young men,” continued the Countess, unsuspicious
of his meaning. “There never would be a moment’s
peace or quiet. Whereas, nothing can be more smooth
and well-bred than their ways of going on.”
“Smooth as glass, though not quite so transparent,” add-
ed Lord Grandison.
- “In favor of my daughter, Lady Charlotte, they kindly
make an exception, because she happens to be the amie de
coeur of the daughters of the Duchess of Woolwich, who
may be said to be the head of the set. But I can assure
you, my dear Lord Grandison, that had I not expressly made
a point of it, they would have avoided the acquaintance of a
young person absolutely new to society, such as my charm-
ing little friend, Lady Alicia.”
“My daughter has reason to be grateful for your Lady-
ship's interſerence in her favor,” said Lord Grandison, with
an expression of countenance not to have been mistaken
by any woman less self-occupied than the Countess.
“I’ll tell you how I managed it,” said she, wholly mis-
taking his meaning. “These kind of things, you know,
are never to be accomplished without a little management.
The Medwyns and Lady Sophia, I say nothing of Mr.
Ashford, who says so little for himself, were exceedingly
anxious that I should invite the Gransdens to meet them.
Of course, going so rarely as they do out of their own set,
the least I could do was to give them a list of my party.
So when, on perusing it, Lady Medwyn good-naturedly
observed, ‘I will certainly come to you, -though, as you
are well aware, there are not ten houses in London in which
I ever permit myself to dine,—provided you ask the Grans-
dens. Medwyn wants to be better acquainted with Lord
Gransden. To say the truth, as he seems to be but a luke-
warm politician, our party are in hopes of getting hold of
him. I immediately agreed to do my best, (though from
the sort of animosity existing between the Wiscountess and
the Melton set, I had little hope of succeeding,) provided
that on their part they made no objection to a single name
previously on my list. Lady Medwyn promised.—And
thus it was that I obtained a dispensation for your daugh-
ter.”
VOL. I. 11
122 THE DOWAGER,
“A dispensation from what vows, may I ask?” inquired
Lord Grandison, gravely.
“I mean that, on such conditions, the Medwyns and
Ashfords made no objection to meeting any one I might
propose. The hardest of my task, however, was still to
accomplish Lady Gransden having been inadvertently
apprized by my son, (who is an intimate visitor at her
house,) of the importance attached by her former friends to
a meeting, she would not hear of the party Two excuses
did she successively send me; and any woman but myself
would have been discouraged. But I thought of dear La-
dy Alicia, and persevered. So having reflected that, per-
haps, your company might be the best inducement to the
Wiscountess, I let her know that Lady Alicia de Wendo-
ver was engaged to us; and my third invitation was accept-
ed. No! don’t thank me ; I see you are going to thank
me ; but pray believe that I would make any sacrifice likely
to conduce to the advantage of my young friend.”
“I could wish that, on future occasions, your Ladyship
might prove less generous,” said Lord Grandison, with
something as nearly resembling hauteur as he was capable
of assuming.
“The fact is,” resumed Lady Delmaine, in a still more
confidential tone, “we do not exactly content ourselves with
the humdrum society that suits the Langleys, and others of
our country noighbors. The time is past for visiting-lists
in eight and forty pages, comprising half the court guide,
and all the led book. London has outgrown itself, or at
least outgrown our patience ; and the great, huge, old-fa-
shioned thing, formerly called society, which a Roman am-
phitheatre would scarcely have contained, has in compassion
to its coach-horses, broken itself up into sets and coteries.
The time for even grand fêtes, is exploded. Everything
now-a-days must be chosen and select. On that point, we
enjoy peculiar advantages.”
Lord Grandison wanting to get off, muttered something
about the eligibility of Lady Delmaine's position in the
world.
“Oh as regards rank, you know,” interrupted the Coun-
tess, “that absolutely counts for nothing. Look at the
THE DOWAGER, 123
Duchess of Dowdy, look at the Marchioness of Gateshead,
look at Lady Dulwich, look at half-a-dozen others of the
same quality. Who cares to visit them : Who goes to
their parties except their country neighbors and the baro-
nets' wives, who will go any where to have it said they go
every where. No, no rank will not do—riches will not
do—that is, they will not do alone—they will not do without
fashion—or, rather, they will not do without some one of the
extrinsic advantages which serve to bring people into fa-
shion.”
“Your Ladyship talks too learnedly on these abstruse mat-
ters for my poor comprehension,” observed the Earl, drily.
“Now, as I said before,” resumed Lady Delmaine, no
whit discountenanced : “we enjoy, on such points, peculiar
advantages. No one can decide beforehand what is likely
to bring people into fashion. A feather—or less—will some-
times turn the scale l—You will never surmise, for instance,
what has been the means of bringing us within the cabalis-
tic circle ! My son—Lºg Chichester:”
“I am sorry to find yºu estimate so fine a young man at
less than a feather,” replied Lord Grandison, gravely. “Your
Ladyship, perhaps, means, that Lord Chichester is the fea-
ther in your cap 3”
“Exactly. You have guessed right. Chichester so hand-
some, so agreeable, so clever, so looked up to in the House
as the future leader of a party, happens to be a person of
the utmost consequence in the eyes of those whom the world
is pleased to calk the jockey set. They want to make him
their own. An only son, with such prospects, public and
private, is a prize worth securing. Between ourselves, La-
dy Medwyn and Tady Sophia are moving heaven and earth
to get hold of Chichester and Lord Gransden.”
“Is your Ladyship certain that it is only heaven and
earth they are moving 7” gravely demanded the Earl. “I
had been assured their interest lay in a contrary direction—
and may’ſ inquire what they propose doing with the young
gentlemen when they have caught them —Is the design on
their votes or estates ? their purses or persons? You really
make me tremble! Uncertain at what age or after what con-
sistency of whiggism, the business of conversion is consid-
*
124 THE DOWAGER.
...”
ered hopeless, I am beginning to repent having ventured
within beau shot of these designing dames P’
“ Hush hush —I would not for the world that Chiches-
ter overheard you !” exclaimed the Countess. “Too young
at present to know what is for his good, my son is very re-
fractory on certain points. I can’t get him to assume the
place that belongs to him in society. I can’t get him to
profit by the advantages courting him on all sides. He can’t
bear the Medwyns, detests Mr. Ashford, and only puts up
with Lady Sophia because, on some occasion or other, she
acted a friendly part by Lady Gransden. You will scarce-
ly credit it, my dear Lord Grandison, but I verily believe,
my son finds more amusement with those country cousins of
ours, those stupid Langleys, than in the midst of the brilliant
circle that courts his acquaintance.” wº
“Does he 7 I honor him l’’ cried Lord Grandison.
“But I don’t consider the case hopeless,” continued La-
tº dy Delmaine, not heeding the ejaculation. “In time, I
i. dare say, we shall bring him ..". In time, he will be ev-
erything the fondest mother's heart can wish ! I assure
you it is a very great comfort to a poor invalid like myself,
to feel that, while confined to the sofa of sickness, my fami-
ly is represented in society by a young man so looked up
to as Chichester.”
“In my time,” observed Lord Grandison, drily, “a fami-
ly was supposed to be represented by the father, rather than
the son. It almost reconciles me to having only girls, to
discover that a Lord Wendover would have been privileged
to send me to Coventry.” *
“May it be very many years before a Lord Wendover is
in existence P’ cried the Countess. “Your barony is, I
understand, entailed on the female line. Lady Alicia 3.3
“Will never be Lady Wendover. The barony is in
abeyance at my death; a circumstance which H trust makes.
no great difference in your appreciation of my daughter's
merits. Perhaps these ladies of the jockey set, might not
have consented to meet her had they been aware that she
was never to be a peeress in her own right !”
“Ah! my dear Lord Grandison—what strange ideas you
have l—Believe me, no accession of rank would in the slight-
.*
THE EXOWAGER. 125
est degree influence my feelings, or my son's feelings, to-
wards Lady Alicia de Wendover.”
Lord Grandison smiled at the lady's inadvertence in this
cool exposure of her game. But at that moment, her tedi-
ousness was interrupted by a sudden announcement ºf
“Prince Massimo Mazzini.”
“Prince Massimo Mazzini? It must be a mistake—I
never invited him ; I know no such person P’ cried Lady
Delmaine.
“I asked him here, my dear Lady Delmaine,” said Lady
Medwyn, leaning over from the sofa. “I(nowing you were
to be at home this evening, I took the opportunity of pre-
senting him to you. He is the head of one of the greatest
i. in Europe, you know; a Neapolitan—or Sicilian-
I forget what—but a man with excellent introductions, whom
every body is to know. Bon Soir, Prince 1 Que je vous
présente à mon amie, JMadame la Comtesse de ºC
Ladi Charlotte, sa charmante fille—Le Prince Massim
JMazzini.-Vous arrivez tard; voilà deur heures que je vous
garde une place près de moi.” -
And taking immediate possession of the young gentle-
man, whose Byronian head was garnished with such a shrub-
bery of black moustaches and favoris, that he well deserved
his fashionable sobriquet of le roi des charbonniers, she
would fain have appropriated him to herself for the remain-
der of the evening, had not Lady Delmaine, who, with the
true instinct of the English parvenue, pricked up her ears at
the whisper of a “Prince”—determined to secure so valua-
ble a partner for Lady Charlotte for the remainder of the
season, by devoting to Prince Massimo Mazzini the most
abject attentions. Lady Charlotte Chichester was summon-
ed from listening to the praises of Augustus Langley and
Cecilia, with which her brother was delighting the ears and
heart of Lady Alicia, in order to interrupt Lady Mºyn’ſº
flirtation with her bad French, and excruciate “the Prince’
by accompanying on the guitar a succession of barcaroles,
exceedingly familiar to the street corners of Naples, which,
had he been musically inclined, poor Massimo might have
heard fifty times better performed by his courier.
Altogether, Lady Delmaine was a happy woman. A frac-


11%
126 THE DOWAGER.
tion of the jockey set dining familiarly at her house—a Nea-
politan prince undergoing polite martyrdom at her daughter’s
guitar—and her son smiling familiarly in a corner with the
great heiress, Lady Alicia de Wendover ! A significant nod
passed between the Lady and her lord, implying that the
prospects from the dining-room windows of Chichester
Court was safe.
They might have altered their opinion, perhaps, had they
suspected that the conversation of Lord Chichester and La-
dy Alicia commenced with a warm laudation by the latter of
Miss Langley’s admirable style of singing Handel !
“Yes! dear Cecilia is fairly entitled to her name,” ob-
served Lady Alicia. “When she sings to the organ, I could
fancy I was listening to an angel.” *}.
It was in order to reply to this observation, that Lord Chi-
chester had taken a seat by her side. And Lady Gransden,
assisting to keep up the conversation between them, they
Cº. as gaily together as if overtures werealready on the
tapis for an alliance between Chichester Court and the wood-
lands of Wilsmere farm.
CHAPTER XII.
Slander is fruitful in expedients, both to disguise and satiate itself. But
if these smoother weapons out so sore, what shall we say of open unblushing
scandal, subjected to no caution, tied down by no restraints 3
STERENE.
“So you did not dine at the Delmaines the other day?”
said the Dowager, to Lady Mary Langley, who, -on paying
& morning visit in Grosvenor Street, had the vexation to
nd the scandalous coterie already assembled.
“We were not invited.”
“Of course not. They are sending you to Coventry;
just as that flippant little personage, Lord Grandison’s coun-
try hoyden did about the opera-box. I must say, you take
very little pains to get Cecilia on in town.”
THE DOWAGER, 127
“By get on, I suppose you mean get off,” interposed
Lady Dearmouth, with a sneer.
“I have no motive to attempt either one or the other,”
observed Lady Mary. “A pretty amiable girl, well-born,
and with a good fortune, is not likely to prove an incum-
brance to her family. Had we been inclined to part with
her, Cecilia has had more than one occasion to settle ad-
vantageously. But fortunately, she is in no haste to leave
us.”
“No haste to accept some country squire, perhaps,” cri-
ed the Dowager, indignant at not having been consulted
concerning the proposals addressed to her grand-daughter,
and hoping to pique Lady Mary into further avowals. “But
I suppose we should not see her so difficult were anything .
worth having to fall in her way.”
“I don’t consider my daughter ambitious,” said Lady Ma-
ry, calmly.
“I am sorry to hear it. Nothing I like less in a girl #
*#.
*
•wº
than poorness of spirit.”
“Nor I,” replied Lady Mary, resolved not to be baited in-
to a retort, for the amuseffient of Lady Dearmouth and Mrs.
Crouch. “You know, my dear mother, how often you
have accused me of spoiling poor Cis, by encouraging her
love of independence.”
“Well, I only hope Miss Langley's envy may not be ex-
cited when she finds that Lady Charlotte Chichester has se-
cured a prince ſ” said the Dowager, with a malicious
nod.
“Of the blood 7" inquired Lady Mary, with a smile.
“No, no! You know very well what I mean : a for-
eign prince, of very high extraction.”
“But there is not a single foreign prince just now in so-
ciety, except Esterhazy,” cried Lady Dearmouth.
“Lady Charlotte Chichester’s man is just arrived—has
not yet been presented,” said the Dowager.
“And, ten to one, never will,” cried Lady Dearmouth.
“Half the adventurers who come over to sell Eau de Co-
logne, or Asphalte shares, princify themselves now-a-days :
There was a man called on Lord Dearmouth the other day,
with smuggled cigars, who called himself a marquis I”
#:
--

128 THE DOWAGER,
“Perhaps he was one,” replied Lady Mary. “Poland,
Spain, France, all countries recently revolutionized, must
have emigrants or refugees in distress.”
“Ay, ay! You want to infer, that Lady Charlotte Chi-
chester's prince is an emigrant in distress | But I can tell
you, it is the sort of distress that arrives at Mivart's in a
carriage and four,” cried Lady Delmaine, angrily.
“Easy enough to arrive. Take care that it don’t go
away in a hackney coach P’ observed Lady Dearmouth.
“l remember a Count St. Ildefonso, living for six weeks in
Mivart's apparlement des princes ; and when pay-day came
there was nothing in return for all the turtle and venison,
green geese and forced asparagus but a plated nécessaire and
three sets of shirt-studs.”
“That is, about twenty pounds’ worth of trumpery to
pay for—let me see—six times eighty-four hundred and
eighty pounds’ worth of hotel bill !” added the calculating
Mrs. Crouch-
“I take it, that the Medwyns and Ashfords, and all that
set, would scarcely undertake the introduction of a penniless
adventurer,” rejoined the Dowager, fiercely.
“The Medwyns—the Ashfords (”—cried Mrs. Crouch,
submitting without a struggle to the fiat of fashion. “God
bless my soul who can this prince possibly be 2 If they
have anything to do with him, it must be some person whose
name ought to be on one’s visiting list. I should like to
get him for Lady Rushington's ball. I have the inviting
of the men, and she is wild to secure a few good names.
The thing don't look right in the Morming Post without
foreign titles. There is that attaché with the long name,
the man who unduked himself when he was made secretary,
is worth his weight in gold for a ball paragraph; in a list
he seems to count for ten. You don’t happen to remem-
ber the name of Lady Charlotte Chichester’s prince t” she
continued, addressing the Dowager.
“Johnny called him “Smashimo' something or other.
But Johnny's hearing is to be so little depended upon P’
“Or his talking either,” muttered Mrs. Crouch.
“However you need not long be in uncertainty,” resum-
ed the old lady. “A foreign prince, patronized by Lady
Medwyn, will be everywhere, and fêted by everybody.
THE DOWAGER, 129
Lady Rushington must, in fact, speak in time, if she means
to engage him.”
“Mivart ought to keep a register, like a box book-keep-
er's for his distinguished foreigners,” sneered Lady Dear-
mouth ; “ or ball-giving ladies might be allowed to put
down their names for them at Andrews's or Ebers’s.”
ºf the present instance, at Lady Delmaine's,” said
** Oº
the Dowager.
“But are you sure, my dear mother, that there is anything
serious between this foreigner and Lady Charlotte 7"
“I don't know about serious. She was twanging her
guitar at him after the dinner party, till everybody’s head
ached.” *
“I have always understood, from Lord Chichester, that
his father had a particular objection to foreigners.”
“Foreign servants, perhaps—not a foreign son-in-law.
Besides, who on earth would ever think of consulting Lord
Delmaine about anything.”
“His wife and daughter, I should imagine.”
“At least they would not acquaint that prig, Lord Chi-
chester, with the result of their consultations.”
iš ºpf favor this morning,” said
F I heard you vaunting him
as the first young man of the
Lady Mary, with a stºº.
the other day to Augustus;
day.”
“ For Latin and Greek, no doubt, he is ; but who cares
for Latin and Greek?—Lord Chichester took a high de-
gree, and came from college a pedant instead of a roué–
of two bad things, the best ; but ever since he began to
make such a fool of himself about Lady Gransden—”
“My dear mother l’”
“And ever since he grew such a Tory, I have quite giv-
en him up.”
“Tory!—Lord Chichester a Tory? Believe me, no
man can be more faithful to his principles.” *
“To Lady Gransden’s principles you mean.”
“Inquire of my brother whether Chichester's vote was
even heard of against Ministers.”
“If iſºhasn’t been, it will be soon, I can tell you ; for
* -º-º: * :
fansden has already gone over to the opposition ;
p








130 THE DOWAGER,
and the Gransdens boast that they can do precisely what
they like with Chichester.”
“When I hear that he votes with the Tories, I shall
know that he has proved false to the Whigs,” said Lady Ma-
ry, calmlv, rising to take leave. “Till then, I am scarce-
ly prepared to believe, that the influence of a reckless
woman like Lady Gransden, would suffice to děº
from his party.”
“Nothing so incurable as wilful blindness,” was the Dow-
ager's remark after her daughter had quitted the room.
“The Langleys evidently look forward to Lord Chichester’s
proposing for their daughter; and no doubt it would be a
vastly agreeable thing for them to net the best match in the
country, in spite of the folly of his father and the vulgarity
of his mother. But I can tell them, they may wait one
while, if they wait for Lord Chichester. Between Chi-
chester Court and Langley Park, there stands a certain man-
sion called Gransden Hall, which will prove an insuperable
obstacle.”
“You think, then, there is really something between Lord
Chichester and the little Wisgauntess?” inquired Mrs.
Crouch. º
“Think 2 I am sure of it.’ “
“Because I can assure you,” resumed the widow, “that
your grandson Augustus was by her side all last night, at-
the Duchess of East Looe’s ball.”
Ah! the Gransdens, then, were at the house of the head
of the Tories,” cried the Dowager. “I guessed as much.
As to my grandson, that intimacy only confirms my suspi-
cions concerning Lord Chichester, of whom Augustus is so
envious, that I really believe, if Chichester were to catch the
plague, Augustus Langley would choose to have it also.”
“Let him have a care of trying to supersede his cousin
with Lady Gransden,” observed Lady Dearmouth, looking
solemnly significant. “I have always observed that it is
never the first lover who provokes a husband's jealousy.
The first lover only serves to open his eyes to his wife's
conduct ; but he falls full pounce upon the second.”
“God forbid!” ejaculated Lady Meliora. “My sister
has brought up her son and daughter as a model yºung gen-
§





THE DOWAGER, 131
tleman and lady; and it would be a sad mortification should
Master Scipio fall into such grievous backslidings.”
“But Lady Gransden has no thoughts at present of a
successor to Lord Chichester,” cried the Dowager. “Re-
ly upon it, a man must be in high favor still, who is made a
morning pet of, to eome, day after day, and accompany her
on the flute.”
“Bless my soul | Spend his mornings playing duets
with Lady Gransden P’ cried Mrs. Crouch. “No wonder
his mother complains that poor Lady Charlotte is kept con-
stantly at home, because her brother can never be persuad-
ed to ride or walk with her. But what says Lord Gransden
to these duets : It is true, he passes for the most good-
natured fellow in London; but it is carrying his good nature
rather far, to spend all his time in billiards at Crockford’s,
in order that the coast may be clear for Lord Chichester and
his music-book.”
“I did not say exactly that the coast was clear,” amend-
ed the Dowager; “nor did I mention, if I remember, the
word duet. No, no ; Lady Gransden has out-grown her
country missishness. She is not quit so young—not quite
so naive as you suppose. She would not do anything out-
rageously palpable, to provoke the observations of servants,
or, indeed, of her next-door neighbors.”
“Her next-door neighbors consist of Sir Henry Wind-
sor, who, when not with her and Lord Gransden, is al-
ways on his coachbox; and of Mrs. Knox, who has no
eyes for anything but what comes out of a bandbox or a
jewel-case,” cried Lady Dearmouth, spitefully.
“You should say her opposite neighbors, my dear Lady
Delmaine,” added Mrs. Crouch, with a saucy nod.
“Well, her opposite neighbors, then ; it does not much
signify to which. The only difference is, that the next-door
neighbor hears when the opposite only sees. However, it
happened to be in General Knox's house that I over-
heard —” *
“Overheard 7–what, what ?”—inquired the two gossips,
drawing their chairs nearer to the Dowager’s.
* Only what I have already related to you—Lord Chi-
chester accompanying Lady Gransden on the flute l’’

132 THE DOWAGER.
“But you said, just now, my dear Lady Delmaine,”
cried the circumstantial Mrs. Crouch, “that the Wiscount-
ess was grown too cunning to hazard her reputation by a
tête-d-téte.”
“Well, my dear soul, do I contradict myself? You
do not listen to my conclusion. I say that, in order to se-
cure her assignations with Lord Chichester, she has the
baseness to make a cat's-paw of that foolish girl of Lord
Grandison’s. There they are, day after day, shut up to-
gether ; Lady Alicia seeing and understanding nothing that
is going no, and flattering her little silly self that Lord Chi-
chester is paying his addresses to her. To a young lady,
and with matrimonial intentions !—Lord Chichester, who
was travelling in Italy last year, with the Hilsbys and their
roué set.”
“And is Lord Grandison actually so indifferent to his
poor motherless daughter's interests, as to be ignorant of
all this 7" cried Mrs. Crouch, with indignation.
“Ignorant? Not he But Lord Grandison is a philos-
opher, you know—a laughing philosopher. Lord Grandi-
son thinks nothing of things that Imake other people’s hair
stand on end. If you’ll believe me, he so thoroughly sanc-
tions the whole affair, that he has not only allowed Lady
Alicia to throw over my daughter Lady Mary, and engage
an opera-box jointly with this giddy Wiscountess ; but it was
only yesterday I saw them all return from riding in the Park
together; and as Chichester did not happen to be of the
party, I can assure you that Lord Grandison was as assid-
uous in taking his daughter's friend from her horse, as if he
had been only five-and-twenty, instead of near upon three
score.” *r
“Well, it certainly is extraordinary the face that some
people put upon their *. !” cried Mrs. Crouch. “I
declare, there was LadyºGransden looking as pretty, smil-
ing, and innocent, last night at the Duke’s ball, as if un-
aware that anything was amiss; as if there was absolutely
nothing on her conscience And then to see the Duchess,
and the Hilsbys, and the Marchioness of Gateshead, who
is propriety itself, making up to her in such an outrageous
tº
THE BOWAGER, 133
manner, merely because they want to bring Lord Grans-
den round.”
“The Medwyns and Ashfords were there, then, if it
was by way of a political affair f" º
“They just looked in, as they do into, parties out of
their clique, but connected with their politics; and having
shown the sparkle of their diamonds sufficiently to satisfy
the Duke and the newspapers, went off to their whist.”
“The Langleys were not there, of course,” inquired
Lady Meliora.
“Oh, no At such a house as that, you know, Mr.
Morison Langley's politics were no recommendation;
and Lady Mary affects the country gentleman’s wife, and
pretends to nothing beyond her own humdrum set and the
ministerial houses.”
“But Augustus?”
“Mr. Langley was there, but only as the attendant of
Lady Gransden.”
“That unfortunate young woman is really becoming too
notorious !” sighed Lady Meliora. “It is really a pity
that her relations or at least some one possessing influence
over her wind, is not apprized of her danger.”
“I think I could get at her elder sister,” observed Mrs.
Crouch.
“Then I am sure it would be a charity so to do,” re-
sponded the Dowager; and upon this hint, on pretence of
good-will towards an inexperienced young creature, about
to fall a victim to the temptations of the great world, did
Mrs. Crouch forthwith proceed to beg a frank, in order to
transmit to her friend Lady Seldon, to be transmitted to
her neighbor Mrs. Evelyn, such an account of poor Lady
Gransden's transgressions, as was intended to induce
them to suppose the young Wiscountess lost for ever;
name and fame, credit and honor; a ready self-sacrifice
to the levities of fashion.
“The heroine of the mischievous epistle, meanwhile,
was enjoying, with the high spirit produced by prosperity,
good health, and an easy conscience, all the best bless,
ings of life. , Lady Gransden had returned to town from
an Easter visit to her parents at Hanbury Park, delighted
WOL. I. 12 /
134 THE DOWAGER,
to find her presence as much as ever a source of pride
and pleasure to her adoring mother. By the Oakhams,
whom she had not seen since her return from the conti-
nent early in the spring, she had been welcomed with all
the admiration due to her developed beauty, her softened
manners, her more refined accomplishments; and their
exclamations of delight at her singing, her dress, her gai-
ety, her elegange, had not subsided, when they were call-
ed upon for their parting embraces on her return to town.
Lady Gransden knew, when she bad them adieu, that,
till she saw them again, their conversation by the fireside
would be chiefly of their darling Laura; that their letters
to her two brothers, the one at Cambridge, the other with
his regiment in Canada, would relate chiefly to her; and
that the prospect of visiting her at Gransden in the au-
tumn, was to be the château en Espagne of their sum-
II) er.
This happy intellude to her season in town, had pre-
pared her most agreeably for the renewal of her London
pleasures. Lord Gransden was really attached to her
father and mother, really gratified by their evident appre-
ciation of her happy marriage. His visits to Hanbury,
unlike those of most young men to their fathers-in-law,
were any thing but a bore to him ; and so thoroughly
did he sympathize in the April tears let fall by Laura on
quitting her family, that on returning home, he seemed to
think it necessary a double share of diversion should be
provided for her consolation. *
On all occasions, he studied her comfort and happi-
ness; but now, her very whims must be considered. She
had expressed a dislike to the color of her horse; a new
one, the handsomest that money could procure, was pur-
chased for her as an agreeable surprise. The Opera-box,
so often adverted to by Lord Grandison, had been hired
without her knowledge. The very piano, the fatal origin
of so much scandal, was a new one on an improved princi-
ple, which made its appearance unannounced in her draw-
ing-room one morning before breakfast—a present from
her husband. He insisted that she should purchase a
suit of beautiful point for the birth-day. He would not
THE DOWAGER, 135
hear of her missing a single fête, a single pastime. Sa-
tisfied, from his knowledge of her character and previous
conduct, that her deportment in all times and places was
consistent, not only with his honor but with perfect self-
respect, he was delighted to see his wife receive the ho-
mage of society, enjoying life with all the hilarity of her
joyous temper.
Lord Gransden loved his dear Laura, if the truth must
be told, far better than at the epoch of his marriage. In
the alliances formed by persons of his degree and turn of
mind, there is always to the last moment, so much uncer-
tainty, so much chance that the lawyers or grasping rela-
tions will throw obstacles in the way—nay, to be quite
candid, there is so much vacillation of choice, that in the
earliest period of married life, the youthful parties are still
harassed by the doubts previously suggested by the offi-
ciousness of friends: and should any little misunderstand-
ing arise from the difficulty of bringing two tempers not
wholly known to each other into instantaneous agreement,
it is impossible not to revert to the possibility that, with
another, all might have been harmony; or to the evil pro-
phesies hinted by the malicious concerning the results of
the match.
But all these little clouds, inseparable from the bright-
est marriage, had blown over for the Gransdens. They
now thoroughly understood and valued each other's good
qualities; and could avoid such trivial causes of offence,
as are easily found when people are disposed to quarrel,
and easily shunned when desirous of mutual happiness.
Their joy, in short, was in each other, without disparage-
ment to their share in the pleasures and duties of society.
One source of this mutual satisfaction was their predi-
lection for each other's friends. Lord Gransden retained,
as a man, the friendship formed at Eton and Oxford for
his two chums, “Harry Windsor” and “Chichester.”
The former had induced him to become his neighbor in
town ; and seldom did a day pass without his having been
in Lord Chichester's society. Lady Gransden liked them
both ; liked them as she would have done her husband’s
brothers, had he been blest with such inconvenient append-
&
136 THE DOWAGER.
ages. She preferred Sir Henry as a lively, rattling, kind-
hearted young man, who would take any trouble to render
service to his friend. She valued Lord Chichester as a
higher order of person, whose advice in any emergency
was of the utmost importance to Lord Gransden. But the
society of both was agreeable to her, and absolutely at her
command, whenever the course of her husband’s engage-
ments prevented his officiating as her escort and protec-
tor.
Nor was Lord Gransden less kindly disposed towards
the two associates of his wife. After their avoidance, by
common consent, of the Melton set to which he had
thoughtlessly introduced her, she had become intimate
with Mrs. Were, the clever lively sister of Sir Henry
Windsor—a charming addition to their society ; and the
Wiscount was scarcely less fascinated than his wife by the
frank, unworldly character of Lord Grandison's daughter.
He did not wonder that Laura was so fond of the enthu-
siastic, affectionate Lady Abicia. He never found her
in the way; was never cross, after the fashion of husbands
in general, when his carriage or servants were occupied
in her behalf. Not being of the tender susceptible nature
which cannot brook the interposition of a third person in
its domestic felicity, he found his home only the more
agreeable when Lady Alicia was in Grosvenor Street,
a laughing and chatting with himself and his wife.
But, if thus unanimous in their affections, their dislikes
were equally in common. Both of them detested the Dow-
ager and all her clan. Both of them regarded the square
brick house opposite, with its five narrow prying drawing-
room windows,as the greatest nuisance in the neighborhood.
Both of them returned the bows of Lady Dearmouth and
Mrs. Crouch as stiffly, and their cards as rarely, as was
compatible with the forms of society. Both of them re-
gretted that so good a creature as Johnny Chichester
should be comprehended in such a circle ; and both scru-
pulously withheld their belief of an anecdote cited as eman-
ating from its precincts.
They regarded the scandalous coterie, indeed, with less
consideration than was altogether prudent; and laughed
THE DOWAGER. 137
heartily when instances were reported to them of the sort
of inquisition exercised by the Dowager over their domes-
tic arrangements and the affair of the groom with the bro-
ken arm. But they laughed, because still unaware of the
pestilential vapors emitted by the breath of slander.—They
laughed because little dreaming how easily the trailing
serpent finds its way into the peaceful bowers of a domes-
tic Eden
CHAPTER XIII.
An indiscreet person is more hurtful than an ill-matured one; for the latter
attacks only his enemies, while the former injures indiscriminately both friend
and foe.
AID DISON,
“INvited again to the Delmaines 7–Oh! yes!—Go, by
all means !” was Lady Medwyn's reply to the inquiries of
Prince Massimo Mazzini. “They are stupid sort of peo-
ple, not worth knowing—not in our set ; that is, only in
our set at certain times, on certain terms. But you are
likely to meet the heiress there, so it may be as well not
to send an excuse.”
Prince Massimo bowed and went ;-went and dined;—
dined again and again. The dinner was so far better than
his daily fare at Mivart's or the Travelers, that it was gra-
tuitous ; and the Prince's eye was not yet sufficiently fa-
miliarized with the shades and varieties of London socie-
ty, to be aware that aught was amiss with the showy-look--
ing men and women whom he met at the table of the Earl
of Delmaine. There was nothing in them ostensibly dif-
fering from the people with whom he dined at the Duke of
East Looe's, the Marquis of Gateshead’s, the Hulsby’s,
and many others, whom his oracle, Lady Medwyn pro-
nounced to be unexceptionable. Their talk, like the talk
of the jockey set, was of whigs, tories and race-horses;
and it was impossible for him to distinguish whether they
12%
138 THE DOWAGER,
talked of horses like asses, or of political parties like coin-
mon-councilmen.
The Earl of Delmaine occupied a handsome house in
Belgrave Square, furnished in the most showy manner, and
abounding in luxurious display. Lady Delmaine, who was
fond of expense, and of asserting her right as an heiress to
its indulgence, finding it impossible to reconcile her love
of finery with her pretensions to elegant valetudinarianism,
had taken, early in her marriage, to purchasing fine furni-
ture in lieu of fine clothes. It was under the gaudy reign
of George the Fourth that she had achieved greatness ;
and the tastes then ascendant had been too eagerly adopt-
éd by the new Countess to be readily laid aside. All her
care was for the fripperies of life, and having her belong-
ings admired and wondered at. With ostentatious vulgar-
ity, she would canvass her visitors for applause of her mar-
quetrie-tables or Sallandrouze carpets; and was never hap-
pier than when she had excited the envy of some guest as
trifling and narrow-minded as herself.
She had fixed herself in a quarter of the town peculiarly
favorable to such displays; a quarter where, more than in
others, the toe of the parvenu “comes so near the heel of
the courtier that he galls his kibe;” a quarter uniting the
wealth of Young England with the dignity of Old—the
aristocracy of the commercial worl with that of the throne.
In such a neighborhood, it requires more tact than the
Countess possessed, to steer unharmed between her love
of astonishing the low, and her love of consorting with the
high ; and as, even while pretending to the sublime socie-
ty of the Melton and Newmarket belles, she could not
quite renounce her parvenue taste for exchanging dinners
on weighty services of plate, with those who were proud to
see their venison and turtle eaten by the family of an earl,
Johnny Chichester and other close observers noted with a
smile that, after entertaining the House of Peers, she had
no objection to entertain the India House, or other monied
houses ; and that Lombard Street succeeded, by swift
transition, to Park Lane and Berkeley Square.
Among the parties stigmatized by Lady Medwyn to
Massimo Mazzini as “not in our set,” and “the Lord,
THE DOWAGER. g- 139
knows who,” there were accordingly persons whose word
was able to influence the Exchange of any nation in Eu-
rope; in whose strong boxes were deposited half the title-
deeds of half the peerage ; and who, in truth, constitute
the dry-nurses of the British constitution, now weaned,
unswaddled, and estranged from childish things, it has be-
gun to totter alone.
Had Prince Mazzini-been aware of their financial po-
tentiality, he would have treated them with a degree, of
deference calculated to amaze the high caste of East
Looes, Medwyns and Co.; for to say the truth, so low is
the estimation of foreigners of the purity of English no-
bility, that, like the Genoese suitor dismissed by Lady Alicia
de Wendover, the Neapolitan prince saw very little diffe-
rence between English lords and English bankers. He
reckoned them all new people together—all upstarts;
much as we are apt to confound the classes and distinc-
tions of the United States. Mazzini had seen English
merchants and bankers admitted on the continent into the
best society, and by their manners and habits doing
as much honor to their country as the premier duke ; los-
ing their thousands at whist with a sang-froid that Talley-
rand might have envied—not only riding their own hurdle
chaces, but hazarding a blood horse and a fortune on the
event; and was accordingly prepared for the wondrous
discrepancy between the bankers of his own country,
chiefly Jews and usurers, and the well-bred, well-born mo-
ney-dealers of a city where money-making is classed
among the fine arts, or practical sciences;—men whose
cooks, picture-galleries, and studs far exceed those of half
the poverty-stricken, or rather vice-impoverished barons
of Magna Charta. He was prepared to bow the knee to
Mammon on finding the Cacodemon dressed in one of
Burghart's coats, and curled by Muddiman ; and instead
of taking such pains to Italianize into unintelligibility the
names of her father’s guests when they happened to be-
long to the monied thrones and dominions of the Belgrave
quarter, Lady Charlotte Chichester would have done well
to pronounce them boldly, as among the chief notabilities
of the reformed empire of Great Britain. As it was, the
140 * THE DOWAGER,
Prince only confounded them with the mob of unfashion-
able nobility so much contemned by his friend and in-
structress, Lady Medwyn.
Massimo Mazzini was a younger son of one of those
ancient Italian princedoms, which know better where to
look for a Guido or a Titian, than for a dinner. Like
others of his countrymen, he had been glad to flit round
the glaring torch of English ostentation, flaming every
winter in the high circles of Rome and Naples; and had
eaten, drunk, and danced at the expense of the Great
British, till he had almost begun to fancy their purse his
own. The only mode short of brigandry, to make it so
permanently, he fancied, was by marrying an English
heiress. It was an approved system. All the cities of
the continent boast their duchesses and princesses, whose
gold has purchased their way to Catholic toleration ; and
on hinting his views to the Hilsbys, a family of high-flying
English, who dash their way to the Chiaja and back again
almost every year of their lives, they had promised to
launch him in the London world, and redeemed their pro-
mise, by a most flattering presentation to Lady Medwyn,
a woman of high fashion, whom nobody had ever loved
and everybody liked ; one of those who, what is called,
“say everything,” and who consequently listen to no-
thing.
*And so, like the Lord in Knowles's play, you ‘come
here to be married ?’” was her first salutation to Prince
Massimo. “But, alas ! heiresses are not so plentiful as
they used to be, or are sooner snapt up. A dozen or two
of the most valuable have been smuggled to the continent
already ; and of those that remain, like the last birds of a last
year's covey, they have been shot at till they are shy.
However, after all the Hilsbys and nature have said and
done in your favor, we must do our best for you. There
is one charming creature lately come out. Do you care
about charming creatures 7”
“I was in hopes my eyes had rendered that question
superfluous,” was Mazzini's gallant reply.
“But unluckily,” continued Lady Medwyn, who loved
THE DOWAGER, 141
a bet far more than a compliment, “her heirship is con-
ditional. Her father’s estates are unentailed.”
“Of course, he would be content to settle them for an
equivalent ; for a high alliance for instance.”
“No ; he is himself one of the first noblemen in the
kingdom.”
“The first nobleman in this kingdom, perhaps,” added
Prince Massimo, with an ineffable smile. “But under
your favor, what sort of distinction is that ?—The heralds
of the empire will assure you that not a family of Great
Britain can prove its sixteen quarterings. Luckily,
however, the days of chivalry are past; and it matters
little now-a-days whether, in the twelfth degree, one has
the luck to inscribe a king or a cobbler.”
“Then why suppose Lord Grandison likely to yield
his daughter and estates to a penniless ancient title 7"
“Because, though a man so highly descended as my-
self sets small account upon antiquity of nobility, rôturiers,
like your English Lords, (ſor after all, with few exceptions,
their recent ennoblement may be accounted rôture,) are
apt to think more highly of it. It is amazing what absurd
court I have seen paid by the English in Italy, to the mere
semblance of rank;—really distressing—really humiliat-
ing. I have, therefore, a right to conclude that a man
like myself, whose ancestors headed the first crusade—”
“The crusades ha, ha, ha, ha!—all that sort of thing
is with us accounted melodrama,” cried Lady Medwyn,
laughing heartily. “Such genealogies class, in our esti-
mation, with children’s story-books—Mother Bunch, or
La Bibliothèque Bleue. We have scarcely faith in any-
thing anterior to the Reformation.”
“You will not, at least, deny your national predilection
for high birth?”
“For rank—for titles. We never pause to inquire
where they come from : we care for the bulk, not for the
quality. I, for instance, am an earl’s daughter—a vis-
countess's wife. If you were to kill me, I could not date
the creation of either ſ—I can tell you after whom I walk-
ed at the coronation, because I shall never forget the
effect produced on my risible faculties by old Lady Ra-
142 T HE DOWAGER,
venswell's overgrown coronet, perched on her bay wig;
but whether Lord Medwyn springs from a warrior, a states-
man, or a retired haberdasher, believe me, I never was at
the pains to inquire.” *
“If the latter, I suspect, Miladi would have been more
than once unpleasantly reminded of the fact,” replied
Prince Massimo Mazzini, with a smile.
“Why, yes. I suppose if Lord Medwyn were a nobo-
dy, I should have him always parading on the subject of
birth, and declaring himself the most aristocratic of the
aristocratic. On the continent, people of family attach
importance to such things;—in-England, parvenues. Look
at the prodigious armorial bearings on the cits’ carriages
look at the seals sported by tradespeople !—and above all,
listen to the holdings forth of the nobodies. That young
Lapwing of the guards, who talked to you so learnedly
last night about rouge-dragon and toison d'or, is the grand-
son of a ship’s-chandler, or some such abomination.”
“You think, then, that I have no chance of bartering
my old parchments for a lent-roll!” inquired the prince.
“Well, I shall go back disappointed in my errand ; but
with the gratifying recollection of having been most hos-
pitably welcomed by the most wonderful nation in the uni-
verse.”
“What do you mean by wonderful?—I am convinced
you use the word ironically.”
“In the first place, as regards commerce. I shall nev-
er forget the impression made upon me by sailing up the
Thames through whole fleets of trading vessels; besides
passing, every half-minute, a steamer, which people seem-
ed to call like a hackney coach from a stand; and, at
length, arriving at a noble city standing in the midst of a
forest of masts. That is what I meant by wonderful.”
“Then, ‘I guess,' you would find the ‘go ahead’ nation,
with its eight hundred thousand miles of railroad, a ‘tarna-
tion' deal more “wonderful’ than ourselves,” said Lady
Medwyn, with a hearty laugh. “However, we are busy
little folks, and much obliged to you for the civility of no-
ticing it. I even hope that we may deserve your better
opinion by supplying you with an heiress. But to speak
THE DOWAGER, 143
the truth, and in commercial language, princes are looking
down among us; not exactly on account of the Reform
Bill; on the contrary, government protests that nobility
has risen in value since the views of the country became
liberalized. But we have had some shocking specimens
of foreign princes here ; and John Bull, not very discrim-
inating, and recollecting that he has been half a dozen
times taken in by titled swindlers, is beginning to be sus-
picious in the wrong place. If you want to be well receiv-
ed, and looked upon as a safe man I recommend you,
above all, to shave off your whiskers and mustachios.”
Prince Massimo, already indignant at the cavalier tone
assumed towards him by Lady Medwyn, reddened at this
insinuation. He was a remarkably handsome fellow, very
vain of his personal appearance, and as tenacious of his
beard as a Persian.
“I don't mean to assert that it is absolutely necessary,”
resumed Lady Medwyn, amused to see a flush gradually
overspread his usually colorless cheek; “but I can assure
you, that, with your present appearance, monied people
will take you for an adventurer. We have had a dozen
such among us, trading on their good looks, and with em-
inent success.”
It was, while still smarting under this rebuff, that Prince
Massimo Mazzini was presented to the Delmaines, and
received by the Countess and Lady Charlotte, with the
most flattering deference. There was something in his
euphonous title that tickled the ear of the former; some-
thing in his fine person, that fascinated the eye of the lat-
ter. A prince, and a handsome prince, had every chance
among such people. To be called “Princess P-there
was no resisting such a sound !—To take precedence of
the Duchess of Eastlooe, the Marchioness of Gateshead,
and all the grandees of their set ! To look down on La-
dy Medwyn, and have the entrées at court. Lady Char-
lotte flew to Godfrey's, to secure a new bottle of salts, so
languidly fine did she grow on the mere anticipation ; and
lifted up her glass contemptuously, even at her brother, the
first time she passed him in the street.
Again and again was Prince Massimo Mazzini invited
144 THE DOWAGER,
to dine in Belgrave Square ; till he must have been fa-
miliarly acquainted with the various devices on Lord Del-
maine's costly dessert service of Worcester china. Lord
Chichester liked the young foreigner. The travelers and
the jockey set avouched him to be of unblemished de-
scent; and there was everything in his really good man-
ners and ingenuous curiosity concerning the country he
was visiting, to recommend him to the young member.
Chichester was conscious that when at Naples, some years
before, he had evinced a far less laudable interest in the
characteristics of the land; that he had lived Englishwise
among his own country-people; and that beyond Wesuvi-
us, Pompeii, and Wirgil's tomb, San Carlos and the carni-
vals, he had seen nothing of the capital of the two Sicilies.
It was really a gratification to him, therefore, when the
air of anxious attention and polite interjections of interest
with which well-bred foreigners listen to the prosiest of
stories, led him to believe that Massimo Mazzini was pro-
foundly interested in the constitutional questions with
which the young member was unsophisticated enough to
bother his comprehension.
In the height, however, of Massimo's popularity in the
family, just as Lady Medwyn was beginning to threaten
him with forfeiture of caste if seen so often with the hum-
drum set in Belgrave Square, the Earl suddenly issued a
decree that the Italian should be invited no more. Lady
Delmaine naturally insisted upon knowing why; and on
Ieceiving a vague answer, which conveyed, and intended
to convey no information, she retired to her chamber for
another severe fit of indisposition; and this time, Lady
Charlotte was almost as well inclined to take to fillets of
smelts and chickweed water, as herself.
Even to his son, Lord Delmaine did not deign to exºr
pound the motives of Massimo's exclusion. It was in
vain that Lord Chichester wearied himself with asserting
that the Prince was really a man of family—really a man
of character. His father did not deny it. His father, be-
fore he was invited to Belgrave Square at all, had ascer-
tained from the Neapolitan ambassador and the Foreign
Office, all that popr Chichester was at such pains to ren-
THE DOWAGER, 145
der apparent. But to his son's representations he sim-
ply replied, “I don’t choose to have my house infested
by these d d foreigners.”
Such happened to be the phrase and tone in which Lord
Delmaine had heard the Earl of Grandison decline, some
nights before at a charity ball, the acquaintance of an Io-
nian Count, with a pair of mustachios long enough to have
made a sash-line, who had been pestering Lady Alicia de
Wendover with his insolent attentions; and being a poor
discriminator, his Lordship was of opinion that what was
good for Peter was good for Paul; and that Massimo
Mazzini was just as “d-–d a foreigner” as Count Al-
drocantaro Metrapodoros. It was his business to con-
ciliate, at all cost, the father of Lady Alicia de Wendover
—the proprietor of the Wilsmere woodlands; and as his
Lordship remembered with regret, that on the very day
of Lady Alicia's dining in Belgrave Square with her fa-
ther, the “d d foreigner” had made his first appearance
under Lady Medwyn's patronage within his gates, he be-
gan to fear that the extreme coldness with which his over-
tures were received by Lord Grandison, arose from the
alarm thus given to his parental caution. But it was not
yet too late. The porter had his orders, and the Countess
and his daughter theirs, and Prince Massimo Mazzini was
never again to be admitted in Belgrave Square.
Now, purposed incivility without a cause, or resulting
from caprice, is a thing so utterly incomprehensible to a
foreigner of any condition of life, that there was no danger
the Prince should suspect the “not at home,” with which
he was daily accosted by Lord Delmaine's servants, to
be the result of ill-will. He saw the knocker tied up.
He understood that the Countess was seriously indispos-
ed. He saw no Lady Charlotte Chichester at his nightly
balls. And his object in frequenting the house being
simply a lounge, (the matrimonial designs imputed to him
by the young lady with the salt's bottle, never having en-
tered his head), he quietly resigned himself to lose sight
of the family till the family chose to recover its health, and
resume its parties.
It is, in fact, one of the many happy results of the classi-
WOL's I. 13
146 The Dowager.
fication of society in the old countries of the continent,
that the system of taking up and letting down acquaint-
ance, so common in England, is a rudeness undreamed
of Every person’s place in society is so definite, the cir-
cle is comparatively so limited, and formed upon such fixed
principles, that, except in cases of some enormous breach
of propriety, no person, once established, can ever be ex-
pelled. Unless for cogent reasons, he would not have
been there at all; and so often as the lady of the house
receives visitors, he has a right to return there uninvited,
and to be well received. There is no talk of “cutting.”
Such an outrage would reflect on the perpetrator rather
than on the person “cut.” There is no talk of “at home
to the Count This, but not at home to the So-and-Sos.”
An exclusion of this kind would be classed among the
flagrant acts of indecorum. All the vulgar caprices con-
sequent upon a shifting state of society, in short, are un-
known in those capitals where people meet, and eat ices,
and play cards in the same apartments to-day where their
grandfathers and grandmothers met, ate ices, and played
cards two or three centuries ago.
Lady Medwyn, meanwhile, who understood the phases
of English impertinence somewhat better than the Prince,
looked on, and was amused. She saw clearly that the
Delmaines had closed their doors upon him—had “sent
him to Coventry.” Why, she could not conceive;—un-
less he had been foolish enough to propose to Lady Char-
lotte. Now, she had explained to him, from the first,
that Lady Charlotte was not a person to be proposed to ;
that she had not the one thing needful. If, therefore, in
spite of her warning, Massimo had taken a fancy to the
affected young lady, and committed himself, he deserved
his fate and she did not pity him. Nay, he had commit-
ted her as well as himself; for she had pledged her word
to the Hilsbys to marry him to an heiress—her word,
which none of the fashionable world ever took the liberty
of disputing; and it would have been a downright insult to
her authority, had he contented himself, pour tout potage,
with the grand-daughter of a Glasgow weaver, having a
miserable pittance of fifteen or twenty thousand pounds.
THE DOWAGER, 147
As the Prince had evidently no suspicion that he was
la jeune France calls éconduit, (that is, bowed to the door
of the ante-chamber by the master—a ceremony which,
unless when paid to a royal personage, is a signification
to return no more,) she was careful not to enlighten him
or draw forth the remarks of others; as the report of his
having been refused might be a serious obstacle to his
eventual success with Lady Alicia de Wendover. She
affected, on the contrary, to believe him, when he stated
that he never went to Belgrave Square now, “parce que
cette pauvre chère Comtesse était vit time d'une maladie de
langueur,” and occupied herself with finding a better open-
ing for him elsewhere.
Her Ladyship, on her own part, had succeeded in
making her peace with the Gransdens: there were few
things, in fact, to which she made up her mind in which
she did not succeed ; and in addition to inveigling the
Wiscountess as much as possible to her house, she now
determined to introduce Prince Massimo Mazzini into
that of the Wiscountess, as a shorter cut than Belgrave
Square, to the acquaintance of Lady Alicia de Wendover.
--
CHAPTER XIV.
There are a set of malicious, prating, prudish gossips, both male and fe-
male, who murder characters to kill time; and will rob a young fellow of
his good name before he has years to know the value of it.
SHE RIID.A.N.
“I can’t make out,” said the Dowager, one morning,
as she sat occupying her favorite post of observation, to
Lady Meliora, who was busy behind her tapestry frame,
deciphering the innuendos contained in the preceding Sun-
day's newspaper, which she had borrowed from Mrs.
Crouch,-" I can’t make out who the foreigner can be who
has been coming so often of late to the Gransdens.”
“How do you know that it is a foreigner?”
“By the cut of his mustachios and coat.”
148 THE DOWAGER.
“I dare say it is Mrs. Were's courier. Though she has
been in England six months, she affects to retain her for-
eign servants.”
“No, it is not a courier.”
“How can you tell, Ma'am 7–There is no difference
now-a-days between the dress of gentlemen and their ser-
vants; except indeed, that contrary to old custom, the
gentlemen seem to wear their valet's cast off clothes.”
“I don’t judge by personal appearance, Lady Meliora,
lest, as I am not fond of finery, I should be judged by it
myself. But if this man were a menial, Lord Gransden's
butler would address him less deferentially.”
“Then I dare say it is some Opera singer. Lady
Gransden, you know, is bit with the prevailing music-mad-
ness; and perhaps this man may come to her house so of
ten to convert the trio into a quartette.”
“By no means, I assure you. There never is a note of
music going on while he remains in the house. The draw-
ing-room windows have been regularly opened every morn-
ing, since the beginning of May—I can answer for the
fact.”
“Perhaps it is one of the corps dilomatique.”
“I think not. One knows them by sight. The corps
diplomatique are as inevitable at all the parties of the sea-
son, as Gunter's ices. No 1 it is certainly not one of the
corps diplomatique.”
“Mrs. Wilson desired me to inquire of your Ladyship,
on what morning it would be convenient for your Lady-
ship’s dressing-room chimney to be swept, my Lady?” in-
quired Vaux, who had entered the room on tip-toes to de-
liver a note to Lady Meliora, with the intention of picking
up any thing that fell in his way of the Dowager's private
conversation with her daughter.
“On Friday or Saturday;-or, let me see—tell Wilson
I will speak to her about it. Walk this way, Waux, and
pray tell me whether you happen to know the name of the
gentleman who is knocking at Lord Gransden's door?”
“The gentleman in the dust-colored gaiters, my La-
d º
y There is but one.”
THE DO WAGER, 149
“No, my Lady, I can’t say as I do. It is no one as
visits here ; and I’m not in the habit of asking questions
out of your Ladyship's establishment. It warn’t coun-
tenanced by none of the gentlemen where I’ve lived. It
warn’t considered respectable. I dare say, my Lady, Ma-
ry the housemaid might happen to know ; because, as I
once mentioned to your Ladyship, her brother lives groom
with Lord Gransden. Shall I send her up, my Lady ?”
“TNo. It is no manner of consequence, I though the
gentleman bowed to me, and that it was an acquaintance.
Go down, Waux.”
And just as Mr. Waux expected, scarcely had he reach-
ed the housekeeper's room, to enjoy a laugh with Mrs.
Wilson over the incorrigible prying of the Dowager, when
the drawing-room bell rang twice, and the housemaid, un-
used to appear in those hallowed precincts at that hour of
the day, except once a-year, or to receive a reprimand for
a duster left forgotten in a corner or the dust on a marble
console, trembled as she tied on a clean apron to be “car-
peted” by the Countess.
“It is a very extraordinary thing, Mary,” the Dowager
began, the moment the poor frightened woman made her
appearance, “that I can never induce you to obey my or-
ders about apprizing me when you have accidentally bro-
ken the china or any of the little ornaments about the
room '''
“Indeed, my Lady, whenever I have been unlucky, I
always make it a pint to mention it to Mrs. Wilson.”
“That cracked dragon, for instance. Did you ever in-
form me that it had lost an ear?”
“Oh I dear, my Lady! Surely your Ladyship must
remember that the white dragon had but one ear when I
came into your Ladyship's service : I remember, as well
as if it war yesterday, when I war going over the
rooms the first morning with the housekeeper, says I,
* Mrs. Wilson, I hope Ma'am, you’ll be pleased to remark
that there is sun stains in the crimson silk curtains—that
the muslin curtains is shamefully darned in more places
nor one,—that the hallublaster warses is as yellow as a
1.3%
150 THE DOWAGER,
guinea, and that the chayney dragon have had its right ear
cimented on and won’t be like to last whole, no time.”
“Enough, enough—I don’t want to be troubled with
these foolish particulars ; you must come to an under-
standing about it with Mrs. Wilson. You are often at
Lord Gransden’s, I find 7”
“Oh dear no, my Lady. They belied me to your
Ladyship as said so. I can assure you, my Lady, that if
there warn’t no greater company-keepers in the house
than I am—”
“But your brother, I understand, is in his Lordship's
establishment; and though it is a rule in my house to ad-
mit no followers, yet in the case of such near relation-
ship—” -
P I’m sure I’m humbly obliged to your Ladyship,” re-
plied Mary, curtseying. “Sartainly, so far as asking
brother now and then to step in of an evening after a hard
day’s work, and chat for half an hour in the still room,
when I was looking up the house linen for Mrs. Wil-
son—”
“Well, well—I dare say, Mrs. Wilson made no objec-
tion, and I am sure I don't!”—cried the Dowager, dis-
gusted with the circumstantiality of Mary, who would have
been instantly dismissed had not her gossipping promised
‘more hereafter.” “But I want to know whether you
ever happened to hear your brother mention the name of
a gentleman who—your brother attends Lady Gransden,
I fancy, in her rides 7"
“Lady Gransden, my Lady ?”
“Yes—Lord Gransden's wife—the lady who lives op-
posite,” explained the Dowager, in compassion to her
housemaid’s stultified looks.
“Lord bless you, my Lady ſ—John havn't been in my
Lord's service these five weeks. John had a few words
with Mr. Smith, my Lord's head groom, about the acci-
dent, 'cause some mischievous person had put it into Mr.
Smith's head as my brother must have been misusing the
horse, which was’nt by no means 'customed to rear ; on-
ly it happened that day when brother was riding it, that as
ill-luck would have it, Punch—”
º
THE DOWAGERs 151
“In short, your brother does not live any longer with
lord and Lady Gransden 7°
“Oh! dear no, my Lady. He's got an excellent
place (thirty guineas and three suits a-year, washing and
beer-money,) with Sir Jonathan Bell, the great counsellor,
in Bloomsbury Square ; and John tells me—”
“I’m glad to hear he has got a good situation. But if
you’ve any regard for your brother, Mary, don’t tempt him
to come idling his time to the west end of the town, which
only leads to drinking and low company.”
“The West end leads to drinking and low company, my
Lady ?”—demanded the astonished housemaid. But her
vocation was gone. Her brother lived in Bloomsbury
Square. She had no longer any thing to tell about Lady
Gransden ; and her Ladyship instantly recalled to mind
that she was only Mary the housemaid, and ignominiously
dismissed her to the lower regions. It was only very pro-
voking to the Dowager, that she should have taken the
trouble to have recourse to the broken ear of the white
dragon, by way of extorting information, which she might
as well have attempted to extract out of the door-knocker.
Ere she had recovered her vexation, or heard to an end
the lecture vouchsafed her by Lady Meliora, Johnny Chi-
chester looked in, with his hat upon his head.
“I am going to meet Grandison at Chalon's, and beg
you will not wait dinner for me to-day,” said he ; “I dine
with the Langleys.”
“You might just as well have told me so last night.
Poor Wilson sent up twice to know whether you dined at
home—something about some red mullets.”
“Ay, ay!—I dare say she intended to serve you some
red mullets, in case I dined out; because she knows I am
apt to play the gourmand with my favorite dish. My com-
pliments to Wilson, and two will do to-day.”
“ Nonsense. But what has Lord Grandison to do at
Chalon’s 7 Is Lady Alicia sitting for her picture? For
whom, pray ? Going to be married, I suppose ?—No.
Then I'll lay my life she is to be in the Book of Beauty—
the Young Lady's Yearly Advertiser. How is she to be
drawn?”
152 T H E POWAGER,
“She is neither to be drawn nor quartered. We are
going to Chalon's to see Lady Gransden's picture.”
“Ah! it is Lady Gransden, then, who is to figure in
the Annual 7”
“Neither figure nor face, I assure you. Her picture
is a birthday present for her mother ; and Lady Alicia is
anxious that her father—”
“Do come this way a moment,” cried the Dowager, in-
terrupting him. “Can you tell me the name of the gen-
tleman just coming out of Lord Gransden's house 7"
“That man in the green coat, whose white face and
black mustachios look like the ebony and ivory of a draught-
board ' Yes! I believe I can inform you,” replied Johnny,
unable to resist his desire to baffle the inquisitive propen-
sities of his mother, and certain that should she discover
the stranger to be Lady Charlotte Chichester’s Prince Mas-
simo, she would ground a whole catechism on the fact.
“But it is a profound secret,” he continued, lowering his
voice to a more confidential tone;—“a secret which,
should it transpire, might be productive of the most seri-
ous evils to Church and State, in this and other nations.”
“God bless my soul!” cried the Dowager, sorting out
a better pair of glasses from her table-drawer, for the ex-
amination of the mysterious stranger; while Lady Melio-
ra, having carefully laid out of sight her newspaper, crept
round to the window, and peeped from behind the crimson
silk curtains, the plight of which had been so strenuously
pointed out by poor Mary. “There certainly is some-
thing very peculiar about him,” murmured the old lady,
afrer a minute investigation.
“You may well say sol” answered Johnny, in the
same tone. “Quiet and inoffensive as he now appears,
that man is supposed to have massacred more victims with
his single hand, than any other individual attached to the
army of Don Carlos P’
“A Spaniard?—We might have guessed as much from
his complexion,” observed Lady Meliora. “Is he apoli-
tical refugee ?”
“The unavowed plenipotentiary of the Carlists in this
country, supposed to be charged with a secret mission to.
THE DOWAGERs 153
the Carlton Club,” replied Johnny, with earnest solemni-
ty. “The Conservatives know more of this Don San-
chez Gaspardo di Torres Wedras, than they care to own.
It is said that he has unlimited credit upon two of the
leading city bankers; and when seen coming out of Aps-
ley House, the Stock Exchange confesses the influence
of the visit.”
“And is he seen coming out of Apsley House 7” in-
quired the Dowager, quitting the window, now that Mazzi-
ni was out of sight.
“Have you not yourself seen him quit Lord Grans-
den's—who, you informed me yesterday, was thoroughly
in the hands of the Tories 7”
“It is altogether a very mysterious affair,” mused the
Dowager; when Johnny, rejoicing in the success of his
mystification, had stolen off to rejoin Lord Grandison. “I
was sure there was some mischief on foot, when I heard
of Lady Medwyn and the Duke of East Looe laying
such close siege to Lord Gransden and Lord Chichester.
Goodness defend me ! if they should get hold of young
Chichester, as they did of Lord Ranelagh, and induce him
to volunteer in the cause of Don Carlos, what a stroke
for his family l—An only son, and with such expectations !
After all the care and anxieties of Lord and Lady Del-
maine, to have it come to that l”
“But it is not come to that yet,” calmly rejoined Lady
Meliora. “I consider it far more likely that he will join
Lady Gransden in persuading the Viscount to volunteer.
Consider,” she added, with a sneer, “that poor Lord Chi-
chester has to attend to his duties in parliament.”
“A secret emissary of Don Carlos P’ again ejaculated
the Dowager, unable at once to recover the shock of be-
coming depository of such a secret. “This might be
considered very important intelligence at the Foreign Of-
fice. But I’m sure I don’t know why I should trouble my-
self to render a service to Ilord Palmerston, who would
see me hanged before he showed the smallest civility to
me. I wrote to him once to get Wilson's brother-in-law
appointed Consul at Lima, and he never so much as an-
,swered my letter; and last year, when we spent a month
154 THE DOWAGER.
withing two miles of Broadlands, he had not even the civi-
lity to ask us to dinner P’
“Besides,” observed Lady Meliora, “ the thing was
confided to us by my brother; and we are by no means
certain to what extent he might be compromised, should
the secret transpire.”
“Nonsense, nonsense !—you very well know that John-
my could never suffer by any catastrophe occurring to the
Tories. My son's politics are heinously liberal. Mrs.
Crouch does not hesitate to call him a virulent Radical.”
“I suspect the business was confided to him by Lord
Chichester,” resumed Lady Meliora ; “ in which case, it
really might not be amiss to inflict some punishment on the
young man’s dereliction from the family principles.”
“We will think of it,” replied the Dowager, ringing for
Otley, to prepare for her daily drive. “Nothing material
can take place without our knowledge. I have my eye
constantly on Lady Gransden. Not a soul goes into her
house or comes out of it without my knowledge; and
should I see anvihing unusual carried in, (anything, for in-
stance, resembling concealed arms to be exported to the
army in Spain,) rely upon it, no silly promise to my son
shall prevent my placing the discovery in the hands of the
government. What a mercy it may prove, that the Grans-
dens were induced to take a house in Upper Grosvenor
Street !”
“Supposing we go and see Lady Mary; I want to tell
her that her candidate for admission into the Blind School
was the last on the list,” said Lady Meliora, as they were
stepping into the carriage, “She ought to know it; for
the father is a constituent of Mr. Langley's ; and I know
they were anxious the girl should succeed. But what sig-
nifies being anxious, if people won’t take the trouble to go
through the requisite canvass.”
“I am aware that Sarah Smith failed this time,” was Lady
Mary Langley’s reply, on receiving her sister's friendly in-
“telligence. “A candidate seldom succeeds till the third
attempt; but my poor protégée has friends who are deter-
mined not to give up the point.” And Lady Meliora per-
ceived her sister look so significantly at a heavy-looking
THE DowAGER. 155
woman with two thick daughters, who were sitting in Ea-
ton Square when they arrived, that, for their edification,
as interested in the matter, she could not help adding—
“Well, I’m sure I hope poor Sarah Smith has those
sufficiently anxious in her favor to take some trouble.
You know I repeatedly warned you and Cecilia, that un-
less you wrote separate solicitations—backed by recom-
mendations from friends—to all the governors—you had
- not the smallest chance of getting the poor girlin.”-
“And you may remember I answered that, were we to
write a thousand notes of solicitation, the result would be
the same ;—all the votes not engaged to us, being pre-
viously promised.” gº
Lady Meliora, however, chose to persist in her accusa-
tions; and her sister, aware how little was to be gained in
such a case, checked the conversation by remaining wise-
ly silent. But when the heavy woman and her two thick
daughters had taken their departure, Lady Mary explained
to her sister that she was wife to the mayor of the county-
town of the shire represented by Mr. Langley, and that
Sarah Smith was unluckily a protégée of the mayor.
“I fear she will make mischief out of your remarks, on
her return to the country,” said Lady Mary, mildly.
“How could I possibly surmise that she had the small-
est interest in the case ?” retorted her sister. “It all aris-
es from your bad habit of not introducing people. It
may be very well for the Duchess of East Looe, Lady
Gateshead, and people of that class, not to introduce;
because, in their circles, the whole society is acquainted.
But in the house of a county member 1–How is it possi-
ble for any one to know all the quizzes who abound in
the house of a county member 7”
“It was for that very reason I did not introduce Mrs.
Threlkeld to you. When staying at Langley Park, you
have so often complained of the promiscuous society we
are compelled to receive.”
“Certainly. In a country-house, where one sees peo-
ple all day long, it would have been a great nuisance to
know your Mrs. Threlkeld. But as I am never likely to
see her face again in London, here it would not have sig-
*
156 THE DOWAGER,
nified a straw. Pray where is Cecilia?—Doesn't she
choose to show, when you are receiving your country con-
stituents?”
“Poor girl! She is suffering from a bad head-ache
this morning, and is lying down.”
“At Almacks last night, I suppose ?” interrupted the
Dowager, throwing down some specimens of work she
had taken from the table to examine. “You should not
let the poor girl.stay so late at balls. It is dreadful bad
style, particularly during her first season, to be seen drink-
ing the dregs of every second-rate cotillon.”
“Cis never danced the cotillon in her life. We never
stay any where after supper, on account of being in time
for her fagher's breakfast at ten; and last night, we did
not even go to Almack's. Cecilia was so poorly all the
morning, that I sent back our tickets.”
“I dare say she laces too tight. Girls with small
waists are always suffering from head-aches P’ observed
Lady Meliora, good-naturedly.
“But Cecilia does not lace at all. Don't you remem-
ber how angry you used to be about it last year at Lang-
ley Park?—how you fancied she was growing awry, and
how my mother insisted upon sending to London for a
corset for her ?”
“Well, that corset may be the cause of the mischief!”
cried Lady Delmaine.
“But she never wore it !”
“That was grateful of her, after all the trouble taken
by the grandmamma!” cried Lady Meliora.
“Her father has always interdicted stays. Mr. Lang-
ley considers exercise and riding a far more important
assistance to the shape.”
“Upon my honor, I think Mr. Langley would do far
better to attend to his public business than interfere with
his daughter's toilet !” sneered the Dowager.
“Have you sent for Sir Lucius Flimsy to her ?” in-
quired Lady Meliora.
“A physician?—Thank God she is not at present so
much indisposed as to need advice,” said Lady Mary.
“Hot rooms and too much dancing, I fancy, nothing
THE BOWAGERe 157
more! She will be as well as ever when we get down to
Langley Park.”
“It will be one while before that, I can tell you!” cried
the Dowager. “Johnny assures me it will be the longest
session ever known.”
“If she were to get worse then, I would take her down
for a week to Brighton,” said Lady Mary, not to be terri-
fied by all these evil prognostications. “But I am sure
nothing of the kind will be necessary.”
“Can I see her ?—Shall I go up to her ?” inquired La-
dy Meliora, fancying that the whole truth was not yet ex-
plained.
“I believe we had better leave her to herself. The
heat of the weather makes her nervous.”
“Nervous !—at eighteen —You had better follow La-
dy Delmaine's example at once, and consult the Somna-
bulist ſ” cried the Dowager.
“No, for I have not the least faith in the Somnabulist;
and am convinced that a cool quiet room is the best reme-
dy for a nervous head-ache.”
“I see how it is, and I have suspected it for some
time !” exclaimed Lady Meliora. “Cecilia is in love 1°
“I hope not; for I will not vouch that such a malady is
curable by a cool quiet room,” replied Lady Mary Lang-
ley, with a smile. “But what makes you imagine such a
thing, which I confess, never entered my head.”
“It never does enter the heads of fathers or mothers,
till too late,” added the Dowager.
“In the first place, her age makes it exceedingly like-
ly,” added Lady Meliora. “In the next, how do you
know that she had not taken a fancy to one or other of the
men whom you were boasting the other day you had re-
fused for her 7”
“If that be your supposition, I am satisfied P’ cried La-
dy, Mary, cheerfully. “Both were rejected at Cecilia's
particular desire.” f
“And Lord Chichester t Have you rejected him at
Cecilia's particular desire?” retorted Lady Meliora.
“He has not proposed,” replied Lady Mary, coolly.
WOL., I, 14
158 THE DOWAGER,
“No, nor ever will, though I am convinced you have
been expecting nothing else for the last three months.”
“I will not answer for others; but I can assure you
that I am guiltless of any such expectation,” replied Lady
Mary. “I am aware, indeed, that the Delmaines have
other views for their son.”
“What signify their views 7–Lord Chichester has an
attachment—a decided attachment.”
“I sincerely trust it is worthy of him,” said Lady Mary,
striving to speak with composure—“ for we have seen a
great deal of him, and he is a young man in whose happi-
ness I am interested.”
“And Cissy, too, depend upon it.”
“I hope not,” replied the mother, unable wholly to re-
press a change of color. “For such an attachment
might become a source of great misery to my poor girl.”
“Then why not check it at once : Why allow her to
be lying down and complaining of head-aches, and fancy-
ing herself fifty times worse than she is, when she ought
to be dancing at Almacks, or riding in the park 7 Can't
you understand the disadvantage it would be to your daugh-
ter, if it came to be said about London, “What's the mat-
ter with Cissy Langley, that one never sees her now !”
* Oh! don't you know?—She is desperately in love with
her cousin, Lord Chichester, and he has thrown her over?’”
“But he has not thrown her over. Chichester never
paid her more than the common attentions of a cousin; and
you have no cause to say that she is desperately in love 1°
“It is not what I say. It is what other people will sur-
mise.”
“Neither of them are of sufficient consequence to set
the curiosity of the world into a ferment.”
“Don’t allow Cecilia to imagine that | Lether suppose
that people's curiosity is excited. Let her suppose it her
duty to exert herself. Let her not have a minute's lei-
sure to indulge in dangerous reveries and romantic remin-
isences !”
“God knows, poor child, she is anything but roman-
tic ;” said Lady Mary, “and I have many reasons for
flattering myself you are mistaken. At all events, dear
THE DOWAGER, 159
sister, be not offended if I intreat you to abstain from make-
ing to others the remarks which I am bound to believe
you are instigated by kind motives in making to me.”
Lady Meliora reddened. Conscience “did make a
coward of her ſ” for she knew that her motives were any
thing but kind; and that she had already confided to Lady
Dearmouth, Mrs. Crouch, and Sir Jacob Appleby, her
conviction that Cissy Langley was dying in love for her
flirting, dissipated cousin, Lord Chichester.
To screen her confusion, she reminded the Dowager,
that they had a visit owing to Mrs. Were, who resided in
the neighborhood; and poor Mrs. Were, who detested
Lady Meliora and her mother for the same motive which
caused them to be held in abhorrence by her brother, Sir
Henry Windsor, had only just time, on espying the Chi-
chester liveries, to issue a sentence, the frequency of which
might induce one to suppose the English the most gadding
people in the universe, i. e. the favorite and most decep-
tive veto of “not at home.”
CHAPTER XW.
Great God of love, that with thy cruel darts
Dost conquer greatest conquerors on ground,
And set'st thy kingdom in the captive hearts
Of kings and Caesars to thy service bound ;
What glory or what guerdon hast thou found
In feeble ladies tyrannizing sore ?
And adding anguish to the bitter wound
With which their lives thou tamedst long afore,
By heaping storms of trouble on them, daily more.
SPENSER.
LADY Mary Langley, usually so happy when left alone,
sat down dispirited and forlorn on the departure of her vi-
sitors. . The Dowager's cutting remarks seemed to have
suddenly enlightened her mind. She was beginning to see
matters around her in a new point of view. She was be-
ginning to reflect that she was mother to a daughter of
eighteen, and to tremble at the reflection.
\,
160 THE DOWAGER,
t
If, after all, the Dowager and Lady Meliora should be
right. If her darling child should be suffering from the
pangs of wounded affection—of hopeless passion—of un-
requited love ; what a prospect for her on whose young
heart not a sorrow had ever yet shed its withering influ-
ence—for whom life had been a garden of flowers—a dream
of holy and gratified attachment —Father, mother, bro-
ther—all doted upon her. Other girls might shine in a ball-
room, and adorn the festivals of a court; but it was at
home that Cecilia was appreciated—it was at Langley she
was worshipped—it was in the bosom of her family she
dwelt a ministering angel !
And all this should be in vain. If she should be fated
to a life of disappointment Lady Mary could appreciate
the effects of disappointment on a kind and tender heart.
Under similar circumstances, her good brother had under-
gone a moral wreck, by which his whole nature was me-
tamorphosed. But Cecilia’s dispositions were of a still
softer nature; and a blow, such as had tortured poor John
Chichester, would, perhaps, seal the fate of his niece.
Lady Mary cast her eyes round the room and shudder-
ed. A thousand secrets seemed revealed to her in that
single glance 1 There stood Cecilia’s favorite instrument
—which she now recollected had been for days, almost for
weeks, suffered to remain untouched. There lay her port-
folio—with dust gathering on the edges. There her work-
box, of late made a pretext of occupation, perhaps only to
conceal her anxious looks and tearful eyes. How, how
could all this have so long escaped the notice of the ten-
derest of mothers ?
For a moment, Lady Mary hesitated what system to
pursue ; whether, still pretending ignorance, to follow the
Dowager's advice, rally Cecilia into cheerfulness, and in-
sist upon her defying the suspicions of the world, by rush-
ing into the pleasures of society; or whether to seek her
child, and, as on all previous occasions, appeal to her prin-
ciples and feelings. Nature decided the dilemma. Lady
Mary feeling that it would be impossible to dissemble with
one to whom her whole soul was open—that the first mo-
ment they were alone together, all her mind would escape
THE DOWAGER, 161
her lips, judged it desirable to choose the present moment
for the inevitable explanation. She accordingly hurried
up to the chamber of her daughter.
For the first time in her life, she paused as she approach-
edit. Cissy Langley was so natural a person, that no
management had hitherto been required in dealing with
her. All had been unreserved betwixt her and her parents;
yet now, alas ! Lady Mary understood the possibility that
concealments might arise. With this feeling, she scarce-
ly liked to go in. She felt as if she had lost her child.
Cecilia was no longer in her eyes the light-hearted young
girl, whom she was sure to surprise singing as she sat at
work; or silent only because reading some favorite book
—one of those golden treasures of the library on which the
young eye lingers earliest and latest, seeking it the oftener
and loving it the more that every line is known by heart.
Lady Mary felt persuaded that she should not now be
greeted by a smiling face—a murmured song. And she
was right. On crossing the threshold, the air struck heavy
and close upon her quickened respiration. The Venetian
blinds were down, the windows closed. There was nei-
ther song nor sound stirring ; and though the fond mother
had intentionally exaggerated in order to prevent Lady Me-
liora's purposed visit, by saying that she was lying down,
Cecilia was not the less a sufferer, because she had found
courage to dress herself as usual, and sat working at her
favorite table, on the vain pretext of amusing herself by
embroidering a mote-book for her brother.
She was going to rise, according to her custom, on her
mother's entrance into the room ; but Lady Mary was by
her side ere she could move, and drew a chair to the table
with the intention of speaking, in her usual tone, on ordi-
nary subjects. But no soooner did Cissy Langley raise
her eyes from her work, the better to listen to the least
word uttered by her mother, than Lady Mary, on reading
in her heavy eye-lids confirmation of her worst fears, threw
her arms suddenly round her neck and burst into tears.
It was the mother, not the daughter, who wept ; because
the affliction which moved those broken sobs was that of
her child.
14%
162 THE DOWAGE He
Cecilia’s first impulse was to clasp her mother caresse
ingly round the neck, and inquire the cause of her distress,
But this was impossible. She would not feign ignorance.
Knowing that she was herself in trouble—deep heartfelt
trouble—she could not for a moment doubt that Lady Ma-
ry had at length discovered the origin of her illness, and
was offering her, at least, the solace of her tears.
There was no need of much explanation between them.
“Why did you not confide in me?” was Lady Mary’s
first exclamation ; and Cissy as frankly replied, “I knew
not that I had anything to tell, till all these reports about
him made me aware that I had suffered my feelings to be
engaged, without knowing how or wherefore.”
“At all events, my dear child, my own Cecilia—for your
father's sake, for mine—for your own—let me trust that
you will not wantonly indulge in feelings of disappoint-
ment, of which I cannot but blame myself as in part the
origin. I ought to have anticipated this. I ought not to
have allowed this young man to become so intimately do-
mesticated among us. I might have known—I did know
—that his family intended him to form a more brilliant
connexion.”
“Mother!” interrupted Cissy Langley, laying her burn-
ing hand on Lady Mary’s, “you know I have no reserves
from you. I cannot recollect that ever in my life I con-
cealed a thought or feeling from your knowledge. You.
will believe me, therefore, when I assure you, that you ex-
aggerate the degree to which my feelings are affected. I
have seldom thought much about love—never in reference
to myself. When Sir George Wavasor and Lord Niths-
dale wished to make themselves acceptable to me, I felt
that I did not like them—I told you so ; and that seemed
all the consideration it was necessary to give to the matter.
But if I am to judge from my reading, I am not what is
called in love with my cousin Chichester.”
And as the poor girl spoke, she smiled so mournful a
smile, that Lady Mary saw at once she was not altogether
to be trusted with the analysis of her own feelings.
“Rely not too much on the impressions you derive on
such subjects from books,” replied her mother. “Works
THE DOWAGER. 163
#
W
that treat of the passions and their influence, are those of
poets and novelists —chartered enthusiasts—lawful exag-
gerators. Every-day experience, my own Cis, is a safer
teacher ; and I feel it my duty to tell you, that the love
whose influence I have seen most potent over the human
mind, is not the passion of rhapsodies and sonnets; but
just such a calm, holy tenderness—born unsuspected, and
cherished undivulged—which your intimacy with your
cousin has, I fear, been the means of calling forth. But
it is not, because I admit frankly the extent of the danger,
that you will indulge in regrets which, believe me, ma
be soothed, nay, earlinguished, by steadfast self-control.”
Cissy Langley’s reply was a prolonged kiss upon her
mother’s cheek. “Trust to me, mother,” said she, in a
low whisper, “I will not disgrace you. I will not harass
you with superfluous anxieties. Give me a little time—a
very little time—and all shall be forgotten—all shall be
as before. But you will let me talk about all this to you,
won’t you ?–Be not afraid of sentimental confidences.
1 should like just to make a clear breast of all my sorrows
—all my follies—and then dismiss the subject for ever.”
Lady Mary felt easier as, with her daughter's hand clasp-
ed within her own, she listened ; for a smile gradually
overspread the sweet face of Cecilia, as if rejoicing in
this opportunity of breaking through her previous reserve.
“I am sure you must remember, dear inother,” said
she, “the sort of joking that took place at Langley, be-
tween my uncle and Augustus, previous to Chichester's
return from his travels, about family matches, and setting
my cap at my handsome cousin, and all the idle jests that
are apt to pass among young people on such subjects. I
laughed with them at the time—laughed, precisely because
I had not a thought of the kind—either with regard to Chi-
chester or any other person. But I perfectly well recollect
your checking Augustus, by saying that nothing could be
more absurd, or more mischievous in families, than to ex-
cite suspicions and embarrassments on such subjects;
and my father once grew almost angry with my uncle
Johnny for persisting, in spite of your remonstrance.”
“I remember it well,” replied Lady Mary, in a low
WOlC6,
164 THE DOWAGER,
“Well—when Chichester really returned to England,
I felt almost uncomfortable at the prospect of seeing him
again, so anxious was I lest any of the remarks made in
our own house-hold upon the eligibility of our marriage,
should have reached his ears. He came, however, and
1 forgot my apprehensions. His frank easy manners soon
convinced me, that whatever he might have heard, had not
displeased him. And I was instantly comfortable in his
society—instantly able to enjoy his pleasant, cheerful con-
versation ; and admire, in his patience with his tiresome
family, all his natural kindness of heart. I believe, how-
ever, I might have wanted tact or zeal to discover all these
good qualities, but for the perpetual disparagement of my
brother. Augustus was constantly attacking him ; and
mere charity towards the absent engaging me as constantly
in his defence, I grew, at last, to be always studying his
merits, in order to cite them in his behalf. You smile,
dear mother. Yes, indeed, such was the first cause of
Chichester's occupying so large a share in my thoughts.”
“Don’t be too sure, my poor Cis, that you are able to
account for that part of the matter,” replied Lady Mary,
fondly pressing her hand.
“He seemed so delighted to be with us at Langley
Park,” resumed her daughter. “He used to refer so
affectionately to the days when we were all children togeth-
er. He so often expressed a wish that his sister Charlotte
were more like me, to be a companion for him ;—that in-
stead of being educated by a French governess, she had
been brought up by such a mother as mine. Above all
things, that—mother Chichester was never weary of ex-
pressing admiration of papa and you. I have heard him
say, a thousand times, that he wished to make my father
the model of his political life.”
“Ah! Cecilia; if you were to take to your heart all
those who have made similar declarations—”
“That he was proud of being connected with him,” con-
tinued Miss Langley, not heeding the interruption; “that
if required by any foreigner to point out a model-mansion
of the true old English style of living, in its best perfec-
tion, he should at once name Langley Park. He proved
THE DOWAGER, I65
it, too;-for whenever not detained by peremptory engage-
ments at home, you know my cousin was always coming
to us uninvited.”
“Yes ; and we were imprudent enough to receive him
with open arms. Your father thought him a good object
of emulation for Augustus. Whatever Chichester seemed
to think worth knowing, your brother was at the pains to
study. We did not reflect, as we ought, upon what might
be the consequences of his frequent visits to yourself.”
“And if it never occurred to you, dearest mamma, how
was such a suspicion likely to present itself to me 2—When
we came to London this year, I confess I felt the greatest
joy at the prospect of our season in town ; but I never
dreamt, I never surmised, that my cousin had any share in
my satisfaction no, not even when my heart beat with de-
light at hearing you settle with grandmamma to meet the
Delmaines at her house, on the express avowal of yours
and my father's wish to be on better terms with them. I
tried to make acquaintance with, and conciliate Lady Char-
lotte, flattering myself that I made the attempt only to fur-
ther your wishes.”
“And what, then, first rendered you more clear-sighted
to the state of your feelings 7” demanded Lady Mary.
“I can scarcely tell. Not the report related to us by
grandmamma, that Chichester, by the desire of his family,
was paying his addresses to Lady Alicia de Wendover ;
for though certainly startled by the intelligence, when I
came to reflect upon it, nothing seemed more natural than
that the Delmaines, who are such heartless people, should
force him into a mariage de convenance. There was noth-
ing to mortify me in the fact. It was no fault of mine
that I was not born an heiress; and as to Alicia herself,
she is so beautiful, so attractive, so likely to confer happi-
ness on those fated to depend upon her cheerful temper
and affectionate disposition, that I could not desire a hap-
pier destiny for my cousin. By the time my aunt Meliora
mentioned the subject to me a second time, I was able to
listen without much emotion; and when she talked of it
again and again, and grandmamma joined with her in a
tone which I fancied (forgive me mother) was intended
166 THE DOWAGER,
for my mortification, my spirits rallied, and I really was
able, at last, to talk gaily about his marriage, and consider
what an addition Lord and Lady Clichester, settled near
us, would be to our society.”
“I suspect, my dear Cis,” interrupted Lady Mary, with
a smile, “that your composure on the subject arose from
the information afforded by your uncle Johnny, of the ex-
treme unlikelihood that our friend Lord Grandison would
sanction the match.”
“No, indeed, and indeed, I believed that it would take
place ; and the more I saw of dear Alicia, the more satis-
fied I was that she was likely to render happy the object
of her choice. Chichester was the same to me as ever;
that is, he was kinder and more attentive than ever ;
probably because grateful to you for your goodness to-
wards Lady Alicia. In short, I was quite satisfied. But
about a week ago—mother | I scarcely like to tell you the
rest.”
Lady Mary said not a word to extract the secret of that
young heart; but turned away to afford time for Cecilia’s
gathering emotions to subside.
“About a week ago,” resumed Miss Langley, again
taking Lady Mary's hand firmly within her own, “one
morning when you were away, and Augustus was sitting
reading to me while I worked, grandmamma came in, and
immediately began exclaiming, that it was all over with
Chichester—that he was on the verge of public disgrace—
that he must be challenged by Lord Gransden, and after-
wards dismissed from all decent society: that not even
his nearest relations would be justified in continuing their
notice of him. I trembled so violently that I had not cour-
age to ask why. From the tone assumed by grandmamma,
and Augustus's repeated and almost angry entreaties to
her to forbear, I felt convinced that there was something
indelicate in the mystery. At length, in spite of all my
brother could do to check her communication, grandmam-
ma informed us, that my cousin had formed an improper
attachment for Lady Gransden—for a married woman—
for the wife of his friend. Oh mother l—judge what I
felt at hearing him so miserably degraded, so utterly dis-
THE DOWAGER, 167
graced. Think of the treachery of such conduct—think
of its results ſ”
Lady Máry hesitated; but she felt that her hesitation
was unworthy. Convinced of the utter groundlessness of
her mother and sister’s charges against Lord Chichester
—charges which they were in the habit of making without
the slightest foundation concerning half their acquaintance
—her first impulse was to exclaim, “Acquit your cousin,
he is guiltless in this thing.” But a moment’s consider-
ation brought to mind that the surest cure for poor Cecilia’s
infatuation—an infatuation certain to end in disappoint-
ment and misery—would be her continuance in her pres-
ent error. Lord Chichester, worthless and degraded,
must soon be dismissed from her affections.
A blush of self-accusation, however, reminded Lady
Mary that even passive duplicity was unpardonable ; that
she had no right, even for the sake of a beloved daughter,
to trifle with the good name of another ; and she accor-
dingly entered into Lord Chichester's defence with such
honest zeal, as to be almost terrified by the effects of her
communication. Cecilia, usually so gentle, so placed,
started up, and threw her arms wildly around her mother's
neck.
“You are certain that there is no foundation for this
shameful report 7”—cried she. “You are convinced of
my cousin's innocence 7"
“Perfectly so.”
“Oh! thank God, thank God!”—cried the poor girl,
drawing a deep breath. “Be not alarmed, mother. Do
not fancy that my eagerness springs from—from any sen-
timent that ought to render you uneasy. Be assured that
I am only rejoicing because my cousin—my old playfel-
low, is exonerated; be assured that were any other equal-
ly old friend placed in the same circumstances, I should
feel equally gratified by his exculpation. I am quite sin-
cere, mother—do not shake your head, and look so anx-
ious !—Trust me, that if your words are confirmed—that
if the rumor proves to be mere scandal—you will not have
a moment’s further cause for uneasiness on my account :
I shall have no more head-aches;–I shall recover my
168 THE DOWAGER.
spirits. I am quite ready to accompany you to L–
House this very night !”
But while Cecilia’s words remained so incöherent, and
Cecilia's hands continued to tremble so violently as she
pressed those of her mother, Lady Mary felt it difficult to
be quite at ease. After the shock her daughter's spirits
had sustained, it might be as well to make no further re-
mark to this effect. But Lady Mary felt the imperative
necessity of weaning the poor girl from every association
likely to increase an attachment at once so hopeless, and
so much more deeply seated than she had supposed.
To return to Langley Park would be as ill-advised as
to remain in town. In London, there was the hourl
chance of meeting ; in the country, the daily probability
of Lord Chichester's claiming their hospitality uninvited,
according to his previous custom. To breakthrough this
established habit, would be to compromise the poor girl.
There was no possible pretext, short of direct offence,
for keeping Lord Chichester away.
For a moment, it occurred to Lady Mary to propose to
her family a tour on the continent. They might remain
away till the solemnization of Lord Chichester's marriage
with Lady Alicia ; when the excitement of foreign travel
would have lessened, perhaps obliterated, the impression
on Cecilia’s mind. But how was this to be accomplished 7
At present, Mr. Langley suspected nothing of what was
passing around him ; and if enlightened, might be inclined
to treat the whole affair as the chimera of an over-anxious
mother; or worse still, affect resentment where no offence
had been given—no injury inflicted.
But even should the kind father see matters only in the
rational light so desirable, how could Lady Mary reconcile
herself either to deprive the country of the valuable ser-
vices of her husband, or to break up his domestic comfort
by leaving him alone at Langley park?
All was, at present, doubt and perplexity in her mind |
But the prudence of virtue enabled her to bear up, without
allowing Cecilia to suspect the extent of anxiety produced
by the unquiet sparkling of her eyes, or the feverish flush
upon her cheeks.
º
THE BOWAGER, 169
“Do let me go out with you, mother!” said the excit-
ed girl. “I feel as if the fresh air would restore me!”—
And Lady Mary, apprehending that Cissy was seeking a
chance of encountering her cousin, by an airing in the
park, remained gravely silent. *
“Let us drive to Richmond, or Wimbledon; or if too
late to order the carriage, pray take a walk with me in the
square. I feel it quite impossible to remain at home, in
this close room J”
Lady Mary quietly threw open the window.
“Ah! I see how it is You do not think me in a
state to run the chance of being seen and talked to . But
look, mother l—There is not a creature in the square at
this hour, except nurses and children. Every one is in
the park.”
Lady Mary was about to advise a book and solitude ;
but the perturbation of her daughter seemed really to re-
quire the exhaustion of exercise. And who has not
felt and cannot estimate that quickening of the pulse, that
flurry of the mind, when we feel air and movement have
become suddenly necessary to our existence.
But while preparing to comply with her daughter’s
request for a walk, Lady Mary resolved not to accord
the pernicious indulgence of prolonging the conversation
coučerning her cousin. She began to talk so earnestly
of other things, that Cecilia understood, at once, the sub-
ject of Lord Chichester was not to be renewed. But
with all her power over the mind of her daughter, La-
dy Mary's assumed gravity did not avail to tranquillize
the spirits of her companion. Cecilia’s excitement was
uncontrollable. She seemed to discern cause, for ad-
miration and delight in every object that met her eye.
The children were all beautiful, the nurses all careful;
even the dusty lilac bushes and shabby hawthorns fring-
ing the road, passed for fair and fragrant.
“The square was such a resource to the inhabitants—
so cheerful—so airy—so easy of access ſ”
And forthwith, the poor girl began to expatiate upon the
merits of the Belgrave quarter of the town, its comforts,
beauties and conveniences, in terms, which it is to be re-
WOL. I. 15
170 THE DowAGER.
gretted, Mr. Cubitt could not take down in short hand, to
be hereafter engraved upon his monument.
The evil was only increased when Johnny Chichester
made his appearance at dinner-time. They sat down, the
usual cheerful little dinner-party: Morison Langley with
a thousand public matters to discuss with his son and
brother-in-law ; and the others listening with delight, to
every syllable that fell from those venerated lips.
At length came the moment for Johnny to communicate,
in his turn, the adventures of the morning. He had a story
to tell, almost as good as new, “communicated,” (as the
Phil. Trans. have it) at Arthur’s, by Werde Antico; who,
having set up since Lord Grandison's retirement from rak-
ish life, as a moral philosopher, or roué upon half pay, had
recently added to his aliases that of “Sage Green.” He
had to relate Hook's clever epitaph on a fashionable gam-
bler then recently deceased:—“Here lies England’s pre-
mier Baron, patiently awaiting the last trump;” and, at
last, after a few more club-sayings and personal doings, he
arrived at Chalon’s.
“You went with Lord Grandison 7–To make arrange-
ments, then, for a likeness of Lady Alicia 7” inquired
Cecilia, turning somewhat pale.
“No, my dear Cis. The pretty faces of charming
young ladies are, I confess, attractive things; but though
you may scarcely believe it, elderly gentlemen have faces
too, and there are actually people in the world stupid
enough to set a value on them. It was my friend Grandi-
son's likeness we went to bespeak.”
“A present for his daughter, I am sure!” “This time,
my dear, you have made a guess that does you credit.
Yes! Lady Alicia has contrived to plague her father into
sitting.”
“As she is about to leave him,” added Miss Langley,
with a gradually falling countenance, “it is but natural she
should covet so precious a remembrance of home.”
“But who told you that she was about to leave him '''
“Grandmamma and my aunt Meliora.”
“The Dowager?—Ay, ay! I might have guessed as
much l’”
THE DOWAGER. 171
“They mentioned, ten days or a fortnight ago, that Lady
Alicia's marriage with Lord Chichester was quite deter-
mined upon.”
“By whom, pray?—By herself, Goody Crouch and
Lady Dearmouth!—By no one else, I can assure you!
Chichester and Alice?—Ha! haſ haſ hal ha l—I am no
patron of what Dr. Johnson calls “the last argument of a
fool;' but on this occasion, Cis, to stimulate your taste for
a betting-book, and entitle you to be seen in the society of
Lady Medwyn and Co.—I will venture sixpence that you
will see me the spouse of Madam Crouch, (let Sir Jacob
Appleby look to it,) before you see Lord Grandison's
daughter change her name for that of Chichester!—But,
perhaps, you are mistaking your man? Perhaps it was
Johnny, not Lord Chichester whom you heard pointed out
as the happy bridegroom? For I flatter myself Johnny
really has some influence over the young heiress's affec-
tions ; while as to my nephew—”
“You are certain, then, that there is no truth in the re-
port 7” pursued Cecilia, turning red and pale by turns.
“As certain as I am that you are peeling that Crésanne
pear with the wrong edge of your knife Between our-
selves, Madame Cis, (since, like all young ladies of eigh-
teen, you are getting a bit of a gossip in such matters,)
my friend Grandison has other projects for his daughter;
and my friend Grandison's daughter, I suspect, other pro-
jects for herself.”
Cecilia ventured a single glance towards her mother.
But it conveyed such a world of joy and exultation, that
Lady Mary felt in duty bound to receive it with the utmost
coldness; remarking in a voice sufficiently loud to be
heard by her daughter, “ that matrimonial projects being so
frequently disappointed, it was a sad waste of human time
and ingenuity to indulge in building castles in the air, which
a breath was at any moment able to destroy.”
Hº? THE DöWAGER.
CHAPTER XVI.
All slander
! Must still be strangled in its birth; or time
Will soon conspire to make it strong enough
To overcome the truth!
SER W. D.A. VENANT,
THERE is an époch of the year when the most domestic
of country ladies is apt to fall out with the rural shades :
and strange to tell, it is at the moment when the rural shades
are looking their loveliest. In the months of May and
June, which afford so much occupation to farmers and
gardeners, and set all the old women of all the parishes in
England at work upon the ill weeds that grow apace in our
gravel walks, country gentlemen during the field-sport re-
cess, are sure to grow bored; find the matrons, in whom
their souls delight, to fret after the pleasures of the town.
Half their country neighbors have emigrated to the great
Babylon; and the morning papers teem with descriptions
of the trains and plumes of those who, a little month be-
fore, ambled with them in grogram to the village school, to
inspect samplers and pass spelling books in review.
Mrs. Evelyn of the Willows, a neat little swamp upon
the banks of the Weaver, was precisely in this mood of
mind when the scandal intended to cut her to the heart was
whetted by the Dowager and her coterie. Every soul was
gone to London out of the neighborhood, with the excep-
tion of Sir Thomas and Lady Seldon; the former of whom
was a paralytic little gentleman, who never left his chim-
ney corner; and the latter, a gentlewoman six feet high,
and as active as a power-loom. Poor Mrs. Evelyn, dull
as it was to hear her husband grumbling for rain, and to
THE DOWAGER. 173
listen to the cawing of rooks as they wheeled over the
Willows to seek their more airy tenements at Seldon Park,
would have been glad to compound for seeing less of the
rooks’ landlords, so dispirited did she feel after the kind
neighborly visits of Lady Seldon, which purported to
“ amuse the poor moping young thing at the Willows with
news of the gay metropolis.”
Lady Seldon, the colleague and correspondent of Mrs.
Crouch, was a harsh, perpendicular woman, every move-
ment of whose wooden figure was so cramped and tineasy,
that the beholder expected, on approaching nearer, to hear
a creaking as of a vessel laboring against wind and tide.
Destitute of a single grace of mind or body, her pleasure
consisted in making other people feel as uncomfortable as
she looked ; and if success be a proof of genius, it must
be admitted that Lady Seldon possessed extraordinary
talents. Her first object was to discover the susceptible
point of every new acquaintance, that she might lose no
time in applying her caustics; and very soon after the
marriage of the Evelyns and their settling at the Willows,
Lady Seldon discovered that Mrs. Evelyn was jealous of
her sister, Lady Gransden, as the favorite daughter of her
parents; and that Mr. Evelyn was tenacious concerning
Grandison House; which, though lying within visiting dis-
tance of his small seat, had hitherto overlooked its ex-
istence. She saw that poor Elizabeth was at once proud
and envious of her sister ; and Evelyn, indignant against
Lord Grandison, and yet disposed to court his acquain-
tance. ſ
For two years past, accordingly, she had never put on
her condemning cap to proceed to the Willows, without
having furnished herself with an account of some charm-
ing party given at Grandison House the preceding day,
or week, or year, by way of tantalizing poor Evelyn; or
a fashionable journal containing an account of some bril-
liantentertainment in town, in which there was no mention
of Lady Gransden.
“I thought, Ma'am, I understood from you,” she would
say, “that your sister was every where; that no one was
so much admired ; that her beauty and elegance attracted

15%
174 THE DO WAGER,
universal attention ? Now just look here!—I don't say
that it matters much, Ma'am—but the coincidence is ex-
traordinary. There are accounts in this Morning Post of
three of the most splendid fêtes of the season, with copi-
ous lists of the company, and not a word, not a single syl-
lable of Lady Gransden –Look among the Wiscount-
esses, Ma'am—no Lady Gransden : Look among the
Ladies, Ma'am—no Lady Gransden —Nothing can be
plainer than that your sister was not at any one of these
parties'!”
“It may be so,” would reply Mrs. Evelyn, a nervous.”
little woman, easily dispirited; “but as you say, it matters
very little; for I can assure you Lady Gransden moves
in the best society. Indeed, there is every reason that it
should be so.” *.
“Still, my dear Ma'am, facts speak for themselves.
Where do you see your sister's name in these very circum-
stantial lists? Only point it out to me! You certainly
gave me to understand that Eady Gransden was invited
to all the fêtes at D House.”
“And so, I can assure you, she is. I have not had a
ketter this fortnight from mamma, through whom I usually
hear of Laura’s movements; so that, perhaps, she may
be indisposed.”
“Ah! Lady Gransden does not write to you herself,
then 7. It is only through Mrs. Oakham, Ma'am, that you
hear of her ?” *
“Laura writes to me every four or five weeks; but I
hear from mamma much oftener.”
“Ay, ay! Mrs. Oakham has not quite so many fash-
ionable engagements on her hands as, you seem to fancy,
fall to the share of the Wiscountess; and the letters from
Hanbury Park, as we all know—ahem—contain every
possible particular concerning your sister. But still I
can’t fancy that it was indisposition, Ma'am, which kept
Lady Gransden away from these parties; because I saw
her name only yesterday in the list of visitors to the Olym-
pic Theatre.” * *
“I am sure it is very kind of you to take so much no-
tice of her movements,” said Mrs. Evelyn, without intend-
.**
THE DOWAGERs 175
ing a sneer. “I will write to my sister to-day; and her
answer will probably contain an account of the London
gaieties, which I will be sure to take over to Seldon Park,
for your amusement, the first time I call.”
“I thank you, Ma'am,” replied her agreeable visitor.
“It may be a proof of stupidity on my part ; but I con-
fess I am not so fond of what are called clever letters as
many people. I prefer plain sense, and plain truth. Now
in newspapers, Ma'am, facts-speak for themselves. It
is useless to give a flourishing account of Lord So-and-So's
fête, when it has been published in black and white, that
one never was there.”
“I believe these lists are not always to be depended
upon,” said Mrs. Evelyn, beginning to feel worried.
“I beg your pardon, Ma'am. If they err, it is by in-
serting more names than the occasion, justifies, rather
than less. The editors receive from the family, or its
confidential servants, the list of people invited, and make
no allowance for those who excuse themselves. Now,
it is clear, Ma'am, that Lord and Lady Gransden were
not even invited to D House, or their names would
be here.”
Another time, Lady Seldon would make her appear-
ance with another paper (for the newspapers were often
her instruments of torture) to prove to Mrs. Evelyn that
her sister had been presenting some obscure or objection-
able person at the drawing-room.
“I own I am a little surprised, Ma'am, considering all
we have heard of Lady Gransden, that she should have
courage to undertake a Mrs. Smith. Now, pray look
here. Look among the presentations. Those are the
advertisements, Ma'am. Dear me, is it possible that any
one don't know where to look for the presentations !
Here, Ma'am—at the head of the list—“Mrs. William
Smith, by Wiscountess Gransden º' Mrs. William
Smith ! now who on earth is Mrs. William Smith ?”
“Is there not a peer of the name of Smith?” inquired
Mrs. Evelyn, blushing. “It is probably some relation
of his.”
“I beg your pardon, Ma'am ; but in that case, this
176 THE DOWAGERs
Mrs. William Smith would probably have been presented
by the head of her husband's family.” ->
“I recollect a friend of papa, of that name, who was
always pointed out to me as one of the most valuable
members of the House of Commons,” said Mrs. Evelyn,
feeling rather anxious.
“Oh I he has been dead these hundred years! No,
Ma'am ;-this Mrs. William Smith appears to be some
obscure person, some non-entity—some neighbor, per-
haps, at Gransden Hall.”
“Wery likely. Most people have troublesome country
neighbors,” replied Mrs. Evelyn, unconscious that she
was uttering an epigram. “But I will certainly write to
Laura to make the inquiry.”
“Oh, pray don't trouble yourself. I dare say it is no
new thing to Lady Gransden ; and, perhaps, Ma'am, she
might be annoyed at having it noticed.”
“But she never would do any "...º. a place
as the drawing-room, which she did not wish and expect
to have noticed,” remonstrated Mrs. Evelyn.
“The best thing Lady Gransden can do at the draw-
ing-room, is to wear a handsome dress, and look as pretty
as she can. Nay, in my opinion, (and the time was,
Ma'am, that I was considered something of a judge of
such matters,) in my opinion, it is the only thing she has
to do there. Lady Gransden is not altogether of an age
or rank to pretend to make presentations.”
“Not of sufficient rank t” cried Mrs. Evelyn, indig-
nantly. “Surely a Wiscountess—”
“My dear Ma'am, there is Wiscountess and Wiscoun-
tess P’ cried Lady Seldon, drawing her rigid frame into
still more imposing perpendicularity. “Lady Gransden,
for instance, is not of noble birth. I rather conceive,
Ma'am, that Mrs. Oakham never so much as appeared at
court?” **
The interrogation was so pointed, that Mrs. Evelyn
could not help answering, “I don’t think she ever did.”
“In her own right, therefore, you see, Ma'am, her
Ladyship's pretensions are but small;-and with respect

THE DOWAGER, 177
to Lord Gransden—to ‘the Wiscount,’ as you always con-
sider him, his peerage is quite an affair of yesterday, you
know. There are people still living, Ma'am, who perfectly
remember his grandfather, old David Brigson. Now,
against a new title of this description, Ma'am, there al-
ways exists so strong a prejudice, that were I in Lady
Gransden's place, I should be particularly cautious about
putting myself forward. It provokes remarks, Ma'am,
and only tends to expose the nakedness of the land. I
should strongly advise Lady Gransden (though, as you
so often observe, a Wiscountess) to abstain from present-
ing at the court of her Sovereign, a Mrs. William Smith.
Two negatives will never make an affirmative.”
“Nor two nobodies a somebody, I suppose you mean,”
cried Mrs. Evelyn, now worked up into something nearly
amounting to a rage. And when Lady Seldon had curt-
sied off, the poor little woman actually cried again, though
in different wise.
After all this, the delight of the harsh Lady Seldon will
readily be conceived, on receiving the letter of Mrs. Crouch.
The Wiscountess a sinner—the Wiscountess engaged in a
criminal liaison. It was more than she had expected—it
was more than she had hoped ; nay, it was almost too
much ; for she was only desirous of an excuse to plague
little Mrs. Evelyn, and this was almost her motive to drop
her acquaintance, Mrs. Crouch had signified, however,
that it might yet be time to save the offender by the inter-
position of judicious friends; (a polite periphrasis, signi-
fying mischieſ-makers;) and she accordingly ordered her
horses with peculiar glee, in the intention of proceeding to
the Willows.
It happened, however, that Mrs. Evelyn's husband had
found his little wife in tears, after the tall lady's last de-
scent upon his dwelling ; and whereas, a short time before,
Lady Seldon had given him mortal offence, by hinting that
she always visited the Willows in cork soles, as well as in-
quiring whether, on account of the largeness of the con-
sumption in the ague season, they did not have their bark
from Apothecaries Hall ; and above all, as he chose, in a
truly martial spirit, to enjoy the monopoly of teazing his
178 THE DOWAGER,
wife, he gave orders to his servants, to answer, on her
Ladyship's next application for admittance, “ Not at
home.”
Suspecting the truth, perhaps, Lady Seldon remonstrat-
ed—pleaded—then raged and stormed ; and at length
quitted the garden gate, leaving solemn word with the foot-
man, that Mrs. Evelyn's absence from home was most
unfortunate, as she had business of the utmost consequence
to communicate to her:-her Ladyship, nothing doubt-
ing that so mysterious a hint would bring the lady the fol-
lowing day to Seldon Park.
It would probably have done so, but for the obduracy of
Mr. Evelyn.
“No, no ſ” said he. “The old hop-pole, who like
Queen Elizabeth, is cankered in mind as in body, has nev-
er any thing to relate calculated to afford pleasure to any
living soul. Depend upon it, Lizzy, she has some little
piece of ill-nature to croak out to you, which she fears will
lose its sting by keeping. Don't go | If she have any
thing to say, let her write. Besides, I want all the horses
for the next three days at the farm.”
The last argument, Mrs. Evelyn knew to be final—so
she gave up the point; and for two days after her unsuc-
cessful expedition, Lady Seldon failed not to exclaim:
“No signs of the Evelyns yet? Wery well ! Just as
they please! It is some comfort to know, that while they
are too listless to drive two miles and a half, the destinies
of this charming sister, this vaunted sister, this delightful
‘Wiscountess’ are accomplished P’
At length, her suppressed venom brought on a bilious
attack; and unable longer to endure such a trial of the
constitution as a scandal thrown in, she indited an epistle
to Mrs. Evelyn, in pale ink upon the bluest note paper,
(looking like a bulletin of the plague,) “begging to see her
at Seldon Park at her earliest possible convenience, for the
communication of family business of the most urgent ne-
cessity.”
It happened that Mr. Evelyn, as he was making war
after breakfast, spade in hand, upon the dandelions on his
lawn, espied a groom in the Seldon livery coming to the
THE DOWAGER, 179
house ; when he exercised his conjugal rights so far as to
open the dispatch; and return an answer, making an ap-
pointment in Mrs. Evelyn's name for two o'clock; it be-
ing the custom of the Evelyns, as of many other people,
to time their airings so close upon their servants’ dinner
hour, as to necessitate the operation suggested by Dame
Alison Wilson in Old Mortality, of “getting their thrap-
ples causewayed.”
But Evelyn had no intention that, on the present occa-
sion, either coachman or footman should be put in requisi-
tion. At half past one, he mounted his solitary nag, as if
for one of his usual excursions to the neighboring post
town;—those excursions which country gentlemen who
have not much to amuse them at home, attribute to “a lit-
tle business at the bank,”—or “a paper to sign at the law-
yer's;” but which, in fact, purport only to a greeting in
the market-place with other country neighbors, hurrying to
the fishmonger's or ironmonger's after a turbot or a pa-
tent mole-trap, or some other purchase of especial interest
requiring the eye of the squire.
Instead, however, of taking his usual course, Evelyn
turned off from the high road towards Seldon Park; little
suspecting that the grim lady, in full expectation of his
wife, was preparing for the conference as surgeons prepare
for an operation, by placing salts' bottles and sal-volatile
within reach. He had just time, however, to hear her ex-
claim (when the servant preceding him into the morning
room, announced “Mr. Evelyn.—” “...Mister Evelyn !
Pray learn, Sir, to speak more correctly, and when you
announce a lady, remember her name is Mistress I’’
The country footman sniggered at the notion that for
once his missus was plaguily out; and dawdled in the room
arranging the chairs, in order to enjoy his lady's discom-
fiture while receiving her visitor's explanations that, “Mrs.
Evelyn being detained at home by indisposition, he waited
upon her Ladyship according to her appointment, for an
important communication regarding the interests of his
family.” Lady Seldon drew up, and assumed her most
repulsive countenance. To do her justice, she looked as
hard as a hone.
180 . THE DOWAGER.
“There was no immediate haste,” she said. “The
affair was a delicate one. She preferred waiting the con-
valescence of Mrs. Evelyn.” But the husband was posi-
tive. He knew something of the tender mercies of Sel-
don Park, and being aware that it would require a good
smart blow of the rod to compel the stream of this flinty
Horeb to gush forth, assumed so stern a tone, that Lady
Seldon, reflecting upon the insufficiency of her two male
champions, Sir Thomas in his Bath chair, and the snigger-
ing footman, who was listening at the door, to eject the
resolute intruder, had momentary recourse to one of the
salts' bottles prepared for Mrs. Evelyn, by way of invigo-
rating her courage; then burst forth into a recital, which
her rage at having it extorted from her, colored with a far
higher pencil than had been intended or anticipated by
Mrs. Crouch. - -
Her object was answered. Poor Evelyn stood con-
founded. For a moment, indeed, he turned so pale that
there seemed every reason for offering to him some of the
restoratives awaiting his wife. - .
At length, he recovered his powers of understanding
and articulation sufficiently for a few interrogations; and
had the comfort of finding Lady Seldon recede gradually
from her first assertion that Lady Gransden had either
eloped with Lord Chichester, or was preparing to elope
from her husband, into a qualified declaration that the con-
duct of the Wiscountess was calculated to justify such a
supposition. Now suppositions, as even Mr. Evelyn of
the Willows was aware, take their coloring from the mind
in which they are engendered; and he could, therefore,
conceive that the gossiping correspondent of a Lady Sel-
don, might “suppose” one thing, and people of sense and
feeling, another. - - - -
His heart beat more freely, therefore, as he resumed
courage to express a hope to his harsh hostess, that she
was not wantonly circulating a scandal calculated to in-
flict irreparable injury upon the domestic peace of a res-
pectable family; and having ascertained from the tone of
her reply, that her information was far from so positive as
he had at first apprehended, he assumed a firmer counte-
The D owAGER. - 181
nance ; and in taking leave, sternly advised her not to
proceed further in the dissemination of reports, which he
had every reason to believe groundless.
Such, however, was not his secret conviction ; and eve-
ry step of his gloomy homeward ride, tended to confirm
his fears that the Wiscountess had disgraced herself. He
had noticed many weeks before in the newspapers, a par-
agraph announcing that the Gransdens had dined at
Lord Delmaine's with the Medwyns, and that the follow-
ing week they had actually been entertained at dinner by
IMr. and Lady Sophia Ashford ; connecting which an-
nouncements with his recollection of the remarks formerly
made by his sister-in-law upon the laxity of their morals,
he accused her of such instability of purpose as was likely
to have arisen from the consciousness of error.
Evelyn was not a London man. His was no shifting
code of ethics. He knew nothing of the favorite sophism
that, “So long as the husband is satisfied, no one has a
right to say a word.” He did not understand the mean-
ing of “a liaison pour passer le temps, in which there is no
possible harin.” To him, a divorcée meant an adultress;
and the terse abbreviation of crim. con., the type of every
thing that is revolting to the laws of God and man, or the
delicacy of the female character. He shuddered at the
thought of such a stigma resting upon the sister of his
wife—upon the consanguineous relative of his children.
It is true there were excuses to be made for Evelyn’s
pragmaticality. He was only a country gentleman in a
very small way;-only Mr. Evelyn of the Willows—a
place with a garden gate and no housekeeper's room—go-
ing twice to church of a Sunday—and not visited by the
Right Hon. Earl of Grandison -
Poor fellow !—After marrying into a family of the high-
est respectability, and bearing with philosophy the prefer-
ence shewn by the Oakhams to their younger daughter
and noble son-in-law, it was a hard thing to ſeel that he
and his were to be disgraced by the wickedness of one
whose merits had always been thrown in his teeth. John
Evelyn had often been twitted by the Oakhams with the
lavish indulgences granted by Lord Gransdea to his wife.
WOL. I. 16
\
182 THE DOWAGER,
*
A
Pretty indulgences !—glorious results | His own rela-
tions, (unpretending people, not sufficiently high in the
world to overlook moral delinquency,) would never allow
him to hear the last of the misdemeanors of his wife’s sis-
ter |
Evelyn re-entered his garden-gate with chafed feelings,
prepared to communicate, with little ceremony, the worst
to his wife. But his angry feelings subsided by the time
he reached the pretty green lawn at the rear of the house;
where sat Mrs. Evelyn, looking so mild and feminine in
her white wrapper and morning cap, on a green bench
under the trees—with a little fat crowing thing of eight
months old in her arms, and a fine boy of two years, mak-
ing such mighty efforts with his wheel-barrow, that the
mother kept cautioning him against wheeling it into the
river which ran at six hundred yards’ distance, and was
protected by an iron fence 1
It was impossible to check with disastrous tidings the
affectionate smiles that brightened poor Lizzy's face the
moment he made his appearance. The children screamed
with delight on his approach ; the mother rose hastily from
her seat. He judged it better to cool his wrath by sitting
quietly with them in the shade, after his hot dusty ride, ere
he proceeded to active measures,
The domestic affections have a singularly purifying in-
fluence on the mind; forming, as it were, a chloride, by the
operation of which all the noxious particles afloat are pre-
cipitated to the bottom. By the time John Evelyn had
been well patted and kissed by his chubby baby, he began
to fancy that happiness might still be in store for him, even
though the Wiscountess Gransden should have been whis-
tied down the wind to prey at fortune. Second thoughts
came—those children or parents of discretion l—and all
his previous resolves melted into a resolution to say not a
syllable to his wife of his visit to Lady Seldon, or even to
excite her uneasiness concerning her sister ; but to set off
per mail to Hanbury Park—confide all to his father-in-law
—and concert with the Oakhams measures for the salva-
tion of Lady Gransden. Luckily, Mr. Oakham's seat lay
in the road towards London; so that the journey was prac-
THE DOWAGER, 183.
ticable, without exciting the suspicions of Elizabeth.
Every country gentleman has occasionally business in
town. Even those to whom the royal court is an unknown
puppet-show have business in other courts, in the vicinity
of Temple Bar and Westminster Bridge, where the pa-
geant, if also performed by puppets, entails more serious
liabilities. The moment John Evelyn hinted that busi-
ness necessitated his departure for town, Elizabeth sup-
plied him with a pretext by exclaiming:—“Ah! those
horrid lawyers | I thought the action with that ſoublesome
canal company had been amicably adjusted 3” Unluckily,
her very next notion diverged to her sister.
“You will see Laura,” said she. “As you are only to
be in town for a few days, you might surely as well take a
bed at the Gramsdens ! You know how often and how
kindly they have invited us to stay with them.”
“Perhaps I may.” -
“But are you sure of a place in the mail 7 You had
better wait till to-morrow evening, my dearest John, when
you may secure one, and so enable me to finish the man-
chettes I have been working for my sister. I should like
to send her something by you. And pray remind me, be-
fore you go, to give you a lock of little Laura's hair. My
sister wrote to me for one, the other day, to place in the
same locket with her brother’s.”
Evelyn felt his sight becoming rather misty, as he lis-
tened to all this unsuspecting prattle. He had made up
his mind, however; he was a man apt to hold to his reso-
lutions; and his portmanteau accordingly was duly pack-
ed, including a little parcel made up in satin paper and
tied with white riband, directed (in a hand-writing as firm
as could be expected from a woman whose husband was
going off suddenly to London in the mail,) to the “Wis-
countess Gransden, Upper Grosvenor Street.”
Great was the amazement of Hanbury Park, when the
following night saw the son-in-law and his portmanteau
deposited at its lodge-gate After the first exclamation
of wonder at his arrival, and joy at hearing that he had
left his wife and children well and happy at the Willows,
tea was brought; and before he had made up his mind
184 THE DOWAGER,
whether to wait for Mrs. Oakham’s retreat, or whether to
concede to his mother-in-law a confidence withheld from the
partner of his joys and sorrows, poor. Mrs. Oakham be-
gan, as usual, to launch into the Gransden chapter.
“I conclude Lizzy hears often from her sister?”—
said she. “I suppose she knows of Laura’s being at the
three last court balls, and a thousand times more admired
than ever ? I must do Lady Gransden the justice to say
that, amid all her gaieties, she never for a moment loses
sight of her family and friends ! Last month, the Hor-
rockses went up for a week to town ; and there was no
end to the kindness shown them by Laura, lending them
her opera-box, inviting them to dinner, and getting them
tickets for the House of lords, only because they happen
to be neighbors of ours, though on far from a familiar
footing.”
“Lord Gransden appears a good-natured, hospitable
man,” said Evelyn, drily. {
“Lord Gransden 7”—cried Mrs. Oakham. “I assure
you, everything of that kind proceeds from Laura ! Lau-
ra has absolute authority in the house ; settles with the
steward, draws upon the banker, and does exactly what
she pleases P’ (9
“So much the worse,” observed Evelyn, almost mo-
rosely ; and his mother-in-law, aware that he was some-
what a stickler for marital prerogative, immediately began
quizzing him for a tyrant, and declaring that he was only
afraid lest Elizabeth should demand all the privileges en-
joyed by her sister. -
“God forbid!”—was his involuntary rejoinder. And
Mrs. Oakham was beginning to get angry, and her hus-
band anxious, when John Evelyn, unable longer to dis-
semble, began by gentle degrees to pave the way for his
heart-rending communication.
“It is a base and scandalous falsehood P’—cried Mrs.
Oakham, starting up with sparkling eyes and swelling
bosom, when she had heard him to an end. And the
difference between a father's and a mother's feelings was
perceptible in the fact that her confidence in her daughter
secured her disbelief; while Oakham, with a stern brow
THE POWAGER. + 185
and compressed lips, murmured threats of vengeance
against the offenders should the report prove of good foun-
dation. -
There was no rest that night at Hanbury Park!—
They sat late—very late—conferring upon what was to
be done, and at how early an hour of the morning Mr.
Oakham and his son-in-law might set off for town, in or-
der to ascertain on the spot, the extent of the evil; yet
scarcely had Evelyn shaken the dust from off his feet in
his own room, meditating with the joy of a weary all-night
traveller upon the comforts of his pillow, when a knock
was heard at his door, and poor Mrs. Oakham in her
dressing-gown, came with her pale cheeks and red eyes,
to entreat a few minutes’ audience. She wanted to talk
it all over again with him l—She wanted him to assure her
once more that there was hope, and that she need not pre-
pare for the worst.—“She came,” she said, “to ask his
real opinion, now that her husband was not present, to be
pained by hearing the truth !” *-
Five minutes afterwards, before Evelyn had said half
enough to tranquillize the sobs of the broken-hearted mo-
ther, came Oakham, on an exactly similar errand He
put a cold face upon the matter indeed, trying to disguise
his emotions by muttering something about boot-jacks,
hot water, and seeing his guest properly attended to. But
there was no disguising the fact. It was plain that the
poor man had no chance of a wink of sleep till, unknown
to his wife, he had renewed the discussion with his son-
in-law.
In the morning, the postboy, who, according to order,
made his appearance at seven, happened to bring with him
a parcel, a small packing-case, that had been left at the
King's Arms by the night-coach to be forwarded to Han-
bury Park. In the great struggle of such a moment, Mrs.
Oakham searcely deigned to cast an eye upon the ad-
dress ; but the instant she saw that it was directed in
Laura's hand-writing, she cried aloud to her husband and
John Evelyn to come into the tibrary and be present at
the opening. It must contain a letter. The letter might
contain comfort for them all !
- 16%
186 THE DOWAGER,
The pause that ensued was a nervous moment. The
two gentlemen stood beside Mrs. Oakham's chair, near
the table where she sat watching the butler and his ham-
mer wrenching off the lid; and it was distracting to the
poor mother to see how leisurely the man, little suspecting
the anxiety of the lookers-on, knocked out nail after nail,
and on being hurried by his master, explained how, on the
lid, was inscribed “Glass, with care.” * -
At length John Evelyn, whose temper was none of the
best, snatched the implement from the man’s hand, and
attacked the little case with all the recklessness of a
house-breaker. His zeal was rewarded. The first thing
that greeted their eyes was a letter in Lord Gransden's
hand-writing, directed to Mrs. Oakham. To tear it open
was the work of a moment ; but after several attempts,
she found that to read it was impossible. Her head
swam, her eyes refused their office. Doubtless it came
to announce the afflicting tidings of her daughter’s infamy
—her daughter’s disappearance.
“Read it aloud P’ faultered the trembling woman, with
blanched and quivering lips, placing it in the hand of Eve-
lyn. But even he was obliged to clear his voice twice,
ere he could make himself audible. The letter, which
was dated from Grosvenor Street, two days before, ran as
follows:–
“My dearest Mrs. Oakham,
- I am sure I can offer you no token
of my affection half to acceptable as the accompanying
portrait of one who formerly constituted the blessing of
your fireside, as she now does of my own. . Accept dear
Làºa's likeness, as a pledge of gratitude and regard from
. deprived you of the original. People in general
eonsider it one of Chalon's very best sketches. I am not
quite satisfied with the eyes; but husbands, you know,
are not easy to be pleased. With kind regards to Oak-
ham, to which Laura adds her affectionate love,
I am, my dear Mrs. Oakham, (for partner and self, as
the bankers say.) -
* Yours most affectionately,
GRAN SDEN.”
THE DOWAGER, 187
Those who are old enough to recall to mind the shriek
uttered by Miss O'Neill in the part of Mrs. Beverly,
when she sees 1.ewson alive, and knows that her hus-
band is guiltless of the murder laid to his charge, may
conceive the expression of Mrs. Oakham's face, ere she
covered it with her hands, and sank upon her knees to
render thanks to God for the innocence of her child. Her
husband, too, wept unrestrainedly. The tenderness of
both towards the absent Laura was such as to accept,
unquestioning, anything tending to her exculpation.
But this could not last. Painful as it was to impose a
check upon their joy, Evelyn felt it his duty to remind
them that the letter was two days old ; and that even were
it of later date, Lord Gransden’s blindness was no gua-
rantee for the innocence of their daughter. It had been
observed by Lady Seldon, in aggravation of her offence,
that Lord Gransden was still the dupe of his wife—still
ignorant of her irregularities. Such might be the origin
of his gift and letter; in which case, it doubly behoved
those to whom her well-doing was of such import, to see
her, and by menaces or counsels, draw her back from the
precipice on whose brink she was standing.
After some consideration, Mr. Oakham thought so too :
and the post-horses being still in the stable yard, were or-
dered round. But Mrs. Oakham now insisted upon bear-
ing them company. She had never even desired the
journey, so long as there was a supposition that it was
a guilty daughter she should have to fold in her arms.
The dread of beholding her Laura, her pride, her darling,
lost and degraded, and perhaps glorying in her degrada-
tion, had rendered the journey impossible. But she now
felt it her duty, as an act of reparation towards one whºm
she was doubly convinced had been unjustly aspersed, to
hasten to her presence, and, clasping her to her heart,
pour forth a mother's tears of tenderness and joy.
But again, John Evelyn’s discretion took the lead.
“What motive would you allege for this, sudden jour-
ney?”—said he. “The Gransdens are aware that you
never had the smallest intention to visit London this
188 THE DOWAGER,
season. Your sudden arrival might excite surmises in
Lord Gransden’s mind.” -
Inconveniences to arise from both master and mistress
leaving home at a moment's notice, came in support of
these arguments; and ultimately Mrs. Oakham was con-
tent to stand with streaming eyes under the portico, watch-
ing the steady trot at which the travelling carriage passed
from the park into the high road towards London.
CHAPTER xvii.
Here, in all haste, through several ways men run,
Some to undo, and some to be undone;
While wealth and luxury, like war and peace,
Are each the other's ruin and increase,
As rivers lost in seas, some secret vein .
Thence reconveys, there to be lost again.
SIR JOHN DENHA. M.
LoNDoN was now at its maddest. The sun which, in
the merry month of May, is visible even to the naked eye
in London, shone out brightly upon legions of well-dressed
people and well-dressed horses, with thousands of brilliant
carriages, in whose panels you might see your faces—un-
less better pleased to look at the faces within.
All the world was laughing, chatting, dancing, singing,
while the Dowager coterie was evil-speaking, lying, and
slandering. The two Houses were scolding at each other,
like superannuated old women squabbling about their
berths in the workhouse. The fine arts were brushing up
their palettes for Academy dinners; the Jockey Club and
the Treasury balancing their books; the Bank and Opera
issuing their ñotes, till every bench, and more especially
the Queen’s, was full to overflowing.
The play grew warm at Crockford's; the fun deadly
- THE DOWAGER. 189
lively at the Steaks. Non nobis domine was sung seven-
teen times a day at different public dinners—pine-apples
were at a premium—Almacks was waltzing and flirting it-
self giddy—all the booths and shows of the great fair of
fashion, in short, were blazing in their fullest effulgence.
The coteries were chattering away, like the parrot-house
at the Zoologicals, till reasonable beings could not hear
themselves speak for the screaming of cockatoos and twit-
tering of love-birds. And all the time, the newspapers
went on gravely announcing, day after day, whose dinners
were eaten by whom, what balls were iced by Gunter and
fiddled to by Tolbecque ; who had princesses to curtsey to
—who ambassadresses—and who only the plebeian throng
of mere nobility.
It inspires no great respect for the benevolence of hu-
man nature, to reflect how many of this elect parcel of its
body composite, derived their chief gratification from mor-
tifying and tormenting each other. Considering the joy-
ousness of the scene, and the pains taken to enhance its
pleasures, it is difficult to conceive why discontent, envy,
hatred, and malice should not give themselves a holiday,
and forbear for a time the impish sport of cutting and maim-
ing—that is, cutting acquaintances and maiming repu-
tations. Perhaps, however, it were as easy for the toad to
cast its venomous skin, or the rattle-snake its venomous
fangs, as for scandal to forego its spite, or exclusivism its
impertinence ; and it is little to be wondered at that, when
the Duchess of Woolwich and her daughters, Mrs. Mad-
dington, the Ashfords, Medwyns, and about a dozen others
of their set, met together with the conviction of being su-
perior to the rest of the world, because their play was high-
er and their conversation lower, they should delight in com-
paring notes, like the flash mob of an inferior grade, as to
how many facers they had planted—how many stabs in-
flicted in the dark—how many insolences thrown in the
face of “the beak”—how many kicks launched out at in-
truders presuming to approach too near their places of
rendezvous. t
These people—people of fashion, indeed, but as regards
the higher walks of human nature, mere populace—were
n
190 THE DOWAGER.
hardened by prosperity, as clay is hardened into stone by
the sunshine. They were without pity, without tender-
ness; and whenever a victim was flung to them by the
care of the purveyors of scandal, such as the Dowager
and her clique, you might as well expect l'ours JMarlin and
his shaggy comrades, to spare some tender infant precipi-
tated into the bear-pit, as for the select to show mercy to
a reputation placed at their disposal.
Ruthless as the fates, they sat spinning their subtile
threads in the Duchess of Woolwich's exquisite boudoir;
unsoftened by the refinements of life crowded around
them—unelevated by a single noble sentiment—unawed
by a single moral responsibility. Their children, mere
playthings, seemed born to be first tawdry dolls ; next,
well-trained automatons; and at length, dashing dread-
noughts like themselves. But how would it have been
possible for them to undertake the hard labor of education ?
Had they not their flirtations to keep up—their lists to
make—their mischiefs to project—their scandals to sim-
-mer over a slow fire— -
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble—
toil to them, and trouble to the rest of the world?
Lady Gransden's unpopularity in this unfemininely
feminine senate, has been already admitted. They, the
emitters of more fiery showers of ill-nature than Wesu-
vius of cinders, could not forgive her the animadversions
she had never uttered. But a new cause of offence ren-
dered her more obnoxious than ever. Their designs upon
Lord Gransden as a party-man, were supposed to have
been frustrated by her intervention. They were convinc-
ed that the good natured thoughtless young man would
have been easily coaxed into fancying himself a Tory, but
for the steadiness of his wife in entreating him not to
commit himself by a step at all times entailing so much
odium as a change of politics, without consulting a friend
to whom he was so much indebted as his guardian, Gene-
ral Maxwell;—a friend, by whose prudent management
his estates had been brought round during his minority,
y
THE DOWAGER, - 191
and a mother's spoiled whelp converted into a well-condi-
tioned young man.
Lady Gransden was no politician. Her father was a
staunch Whig, residing in a stiff Tory neighborhood;
and her girlhood had, consequently, been wearied to death
with political discussions, in which her sympathies natural-
ly enlisted themselves on the side of her parents. Since
her marriage, her associates had been chiefly of liberal
politics. Her country neighbors the Delmaines, fièr
friends the Weres, all professed the same political views
as her father ; and her husband’s two young friends, Sir
Henry Windsor and Lord Chichester, were even extreme
in the liberality of their opinions. She was ill-inclined,
therefore, to see her husband secede from the cause so
respectable in her eyes; more especially upon the mere
persuasion of a knot of fashionable women, who, if the
truth must be told, employed more blandishment towards
the conversion than was altogether satisfactory to a loving
wife. She really saw no reason why, evening after even-
ing, Mrs. Maddington should draw Gransden off into
the furthest possible corner, and dazzle his eyes with
the fairness of her skin and unfairness of her arguments,
while endeavoring to prove that the world could not go
round in safety, unless a portion of its more obstinate in-
habitants agreed to stand stock still as a dead weight-up-
on its movements. It was possible that the rattling beauty
might choose, like the rattle-snake, to fascinate by the pow-
er of her eyes; but the Wiscountess was determined that
the charm should not prove fatal. -
All the generous feelings of her young heart were with
a party professing the advocacy of the interests of human-
ity, and promising the liberation of the enslaved. But she
knew that her mere assertion of the soundness of their
intentions would not suffice to parry the insidious argu-
ments by which Mrs. Maddington and the Duchéss, her
fugleman, had almost succeeded in persuading him that it
was the intention of the Whigs, as soon as they had
thrown off their dominos and avowed themselves Radicals
in disguise, to assign Gransden Park to Robert Owen
and Co., for the erection of a New Harmony. She saw

*
192 THE DOWAG1. R.
that she must obtain information before she could hope to
afford enlightenment. She knew that Gransden, affec-
tionately attached to her as he was, would imbibe twice
as readily from her lips as from those of another, the in-
fluences likely to actuate his conduct. The only difficulty
lay in selecting her own preceptor. She had more respect
for Sir Henry Windsor’s intentions than for his judgment;
and even as regarded Lord Grandison, his politics were
those of an optimist rather than of either Conservative or
Whig is or rather, so wild were his sallies on all matters
regarding politics or religion, that she felt he was a man
to whom she would as little entrust her soul’s salvation,
as the safe keeping of her husband's proxy.
There was one other man on terms of extreme intimacy
at her house, both as Lord Gransden’s early friend and the
only son of their nearest country neighbor ; and Lord
Chichester, being not only an intelligent scholar, but a po-
litician reared almost on the knees of Morison Langley,
to whose skirts he affected to attach himself in the House,
she turned to him with confidence, as the Mentor most
avaliable. Morison Langley was the political Pope of
Hanbury Park. So long as she could remember, she had
heard his speeches read, and his health toasted by her fa-
ther; and where better could she seek instruction than from
the proselyte of his adoption ?
Such was the immediate cause of their intimacy. Both
at Gransden and in town, Lord Chichester had always
been a most acceptable guest. But the Wiscount’s gen-
eral invitation of “remember there is a knife and fork for
you at my table, whenever you have nothing better to do,”
was now constantly converted into more positive engage-
ments by Laura's desire for his society. Whenever he
came, she tried to direct the conversation towards politics;
which, to own the truth, afforded a topic less agreeable to
Lord Gransden than others of lighter moment; and she
was delighted to perceive that her efforts and the clear,
easy, unaffected expositions of her guest, had the effect
t ºnly strengthening the wavering faith of her hus-
an º
Six weeks after Lady Gransden's discovery of the ob-
THE DOWAGER . 193
ject of Lady Medwyn's and Mrs. Maddington's advanees,
the Wiscountess saw that the Tories had no more chance"
with her husband than with herself; and it was a comfort
to her that the victory had been achieved without necessi-
tating any assumption on her own part of that odious cha-
racter—the female politician. - . . .
There was one person, indeed, who had taken some
share in the toil without receiving all the credit due to his
exertions. Augustus Langley had been, from the begin-
ning of the season, assiduous in his court to Lady Grans-
den; who had accepted his acquaintance as the uninte-
resting son of the interesting member for shire, with-
out experiencing that leaning in his favor which she felt
towards the two bosom friends of her husband. She was
glad to see him in her opera-box, except when a fit of
jealousy excited him to a sparring match with his more
favored cousin ; or to take his arm in a ball-room, when
Lord Gransden or his friends did not happen to be at hand to
escort her to her carriage. But she had never invited him
to Grosvenor Street, till the attack made by the Tory co-
terie upon her husband decided her to fill her house with
persons of a decidedly political turn ; when being aware
that her light-headed, light-hearted Lord was less likely
to listen to men of whose age and reputation he stood in
awe, than to friends of his own years who wielded the tilt-
ing lance of debate rather than the tomahawk, she extend-
ed her graciousness to Augustus till he was nearly as
much in Grosvenor Street as his cousin.
In the sequel, Augustus Langley did more towards ren-
dering the Wiscount stedfast in his political faith, than all
the Bolingbrokisms and Ciceronian quotations of the clas-
sical Chichester; his arguments being borrowed from the
sober practical views of his father, were above all others
calculated to bring conviction to a wavering mind. Yet
the ungrateful Laura saw only the praise of being a gen-
tlemanly, intelligent young man, to bestow upon one who
had neither fagged for her husband at Eton, nor been sum-
moned before the Dean with him at Oxford, when Lord
Grandison, very early in his acquaintance with her, launch-
vol. 1, 17 -

194 THE DOWAGER,
ed out into a panegyric upon Augustus Langley, as the
most delightful young man of his acquaintance.
The Earl intended, by this vehement expression of ad-
miration, to make the frequent chaperon of his daughter
understand how perfectly he approved Lady Alicia's inti-
macy with the son of Morison Langley, and how pleased
he was to see them dancing or chatting together. But
the Wiscountess, unable at present to enter into parental
projects, saw in Lord Grandison's tirade an insinuation
against her husband's friend, Lord Chichester, towards
whom she considered him unaccountably ungracious ;
and noticed the attack of the Earl, only by redoubling her
attentions to the elder cousin.
She did not, of course, discourage Lady Alicia de Wen-
dover's civilities to Augustus Langley; on the contrary,
she did all in her power to secure to her young friend the
partner to whom her frther avowed himself so partial.
But she chose to repair Lord Grandison's injustice to-
wards poor Chichester, by insisting upon his making one
in all their parties; and dedicating to Lord Gransden all
the time he could spare from his public duties and private
engagements. He had already done so much towards
directing his friend’s thoughts to graver objects than ba-
rouche-driving and pigeon-shooting, that while thanking
her stars for Lord Gransden's escape from the paralyzing
clutch of the Tories, she did not forget also to evince
her gratitude to Lord Chichester.
Such were the motives which were now reinciting
against her the enmity of the Duchess of Woolwich's set;
and rendering them almost as vindictive in their notice
of proceedings, as the venemous Dowager; and as there
exists a magnetic relation between all scandal-mongers, a
species of clairvoyance soon attracted the parties into con-
federacy. * . .
Lady Medwyn, recalling to mind that it was from Mrs.
Crouch she had originally derived the information con-
cerning the letter said to be written from Melton by the
young Wiscountess, set off accordingly to Harvey Street
in pursuit of more useful knowledge. For the first time,
during their acquaintance, it was satisfactory to her that
THE DOWAGER. - 195
the Admiral's widow was announced to be “at home,” by
a little fubsy page in a bright green livery, looking won-
derfully like a Brussels sprout; but, as every sweet must
have its sour, she had the mortification to find that, though
at home, she was not alone. Close beside her work-ta-
ble, sat little Sir Jacob Appleby, who, had he been pur-
chased of Baldock, instead of purloined from the Athe-
naeum club, would have looked much better wbon it; so
closely, in all but his brittleness, did he resemble one of
the China monsters in which fanciful ladies take delight.
But there was nothing casual about Sir Jacob ; who had
rattled about the world in the train of Mrs. Crouch,
throughout the eight years of her widowhood, without be-
ing either the worse or the better for his perambulations.
As she entered the room, the words “Hush | not a
word before Lady Medwyn !”—addressed in an audible
whisper by the widow to her monster, might have, perhaps,
affronted her back again to her carriage, but for the ur-
gency of her errand. But scarcely was she seated, when
Sir Jacob, as if replying to the foregoing remark, observ-
ed: “You are much to blame, my dear Madam, not to
confide the matter to Lady Medwyn, who, from her pe-
culiar facilities, will be able to let you into the whole se-
cret.” - ;
Nothing is so disagreeable as to be the third person be-
tween two who seem to share between them some excel-
lent joke or mystery 3 more particularly when, as in the
present case, the third person is bent upon engrossing the
conversation. Lady Medwyn, conceiving that the surest
way of getting rid of the bubble was by making it burst,
accordingly affected the most eager interest concerning
the secret which she possessed such “extraordinary faci-
lities” for expounding.
“I really hardly know what to say,” observed Mrs.
Crouch, glancing at Sir Jacob.
“Her Ladyship will, I am sure, understand that the
communication is confidential,” replied the little monster,
in the same tone. r -
“Still, poor dear Lady Delmaine was so very particu-
196 - THE DOWAGER.
lar, if you remember, in exacting my promise to be dis-
creet 72° - &
“But you did not promise P’ interrupted the mannikin.
“I can attest, my dear Madam, that you made no definite
promise.”
“Besides, poor Lady Gransden might be so cruelly
compromised were the rumor to escape P’ argued the
widow.
And at this announcement, Lady Medwyn, who had al-
lowed the playful old couple to fool each other to the top
of their bent without molestation, began in earnest to be
deeply interested in the conversation; and to descend to
promises of irreproachable discretion.
“Mrs. Crouch might rely upon it, that in any matter in
which Lady Gransden was concerned, she would be se-
cret as the grave *
“The fact is,” replied the widow, still affecting hesita-
tion, and still looking significantly at Sir Jacob ; “the
affair to which my friend has been so rash as to allude in
your presence, is one of the very utmost delicacy;-one.
involving, not only the character of a charming though
not very prudent young woman, but the destinies of a gal-
lant and persecutéd nationſ”
Lady Medwyn was now thoroughly puzzled. She had
known Mrs. Crouch long enough to be aware that she
was a lady apt to monster her nothings, from Sir Jacob
upwards; yet still, this tremendous preamble seemed to
threaten that the mountain would, on the present occasion,
really bring forth an elephant instead of a mouse. There
was clearly but one mode of bringing her hostess to the
oint. -
poli I see how it is,” said she rising abruptly; “and as I
would not for worlds interrupt a confidential conversation,
pray give me leave to ring for my carriage. I will call
upon you another time. Perhaps, as I am much in the
habit of meeting Lady Gransden in the world, it may be
as well for me to keep out of the way of learning any-
thing to her disadvantage.”
Her object was instantly answered, “Oh! dear no l-
THE DOWAGERe 197
She must positively sit down again.—She must not run
away with erroneous impressions.—She must not imagine
things worse than they really were. Sir Jacob was very
wrong to have made so much mystery. It really was no
concern of any of theirs that there should be a very hand-
some young man, an emissary of Don Carlos, surrepti-
tiously received at the Foreign Office, and concealed in
the house of Lord Gransden l’’
“A handsome young man? An emissary of Don
Carlos?” The blow told both ways. Lady Medwyn felt
it as a woman and as a Tory. JYot to have been in the
secrets of the Carlists, and to be in the secret of Lady
Gramsden “Thus she was doubly arm'd” both against
the treacherous Whig ministry and the prudish wife of
Lord Gransden | The worst of it was, that no reliance
could be placed upon the word of her informants.
“Depend upon it, this is mere fabrication P’ cried she.
“Would any woman—would any minister—so commit
themselves? Be assured it will turn out a thing devised
by the enemy; a trap to engage some notable Whig to
get up in parliament and expose himself by demanding
explanation.”
“No such thing, I assure you !” cried Mrs. Crouch,
herself falling into a trap. “The Dowager Lady Del-
maine saw, with her own eyes this Don Sanchez Gaspardo
de Torres Wedras, coming nefariously out of the house of
Lord Gransden.”
“Saw with her own spectacles, I conclude you mean P’
sneered Lady Medwyn. “Lady Delmaine's eyes are
about as much to be depended upon as her son’s ears l’”
“Perhaps so ; but her Ladyship's ears and John Chi-
chester’s eyes are unimpeachable ; and it was from her son,
who witnessed the young gentleman’s mysterious exit, as
well as the Dowager, that she heard the whole account of
his mission.”
“This is really a very extraordinary story !” cried La-
dy Medwyn. “Mr. Chichester passes in the world for a
man to be depended upon.”
“I have known him these twenty years, and can attest
that he is honor itself º cried the valorous little Sir Jacob.
17

198 THE DOWAGER,
“Besides, you know, he has such peculiar facilities for
knowing the truth of the matter!—Consider the intimacy
of his nephew, Lord Chichester, at the house k—Lord Chi-
chester is Lady Gransden’s shadow, not to say substance.
Frequenting Lady Delmaine’s house as I do, it is impos-
sible for me not to be an eye-witness of things—which—”
he paused.
“Of things which—?” persisted Lady Medwyn.
“Of things which it may not be altogether prudent to
relate.”
“I assure you, it is a very happy thing for Lady Grans-
den that her opposite neighbor happens to be a woman of
the age of the Dowager,” added Mrs. Crouch, looking
highly mysterious.
“I am quite sure that so irregular a person as Lady
Gransden is a very unpleasant opposite neighbor for poor
Lady Delmaine !” cried Sir Jacob. “Certainly, Lady
Meliora Chichester is not a child. But delicacy has no
age; and I confess I was sorry for her one day, when I
saw her driven from the window by the hoyden proceedings
of the Wiscountess, who was actually running romping
round the drawing-room, though aware that all the French
windows were wide open, with a man’s hat upon her head :
yes, Lady Medwyn !—a man’s hat upon her head, and
pursued from corner to corner—by—”
“By Lord Chichester "cried Lady Medwyn.
“No, Madam—by Lord Gramsden —whose hat, I sus-
pect, she must have snatched away.”
“I wish she may have been guilty of nothing worse!”
said Lady Medwyn, provoked to have been tempted into
listening to Sir Jacob’s puerilities, “for appearances are
sadly against her. But, pray, how are we to reconcile the
Spanish gallant you talk of with her liaison with Lord Chi-
chester, which is matter of public notoriety tº
“There is no accounting for a lady's caprices !” ob-
served Sir Jacob, with a facetious smile, that rendered his
monstrosity more revolting than usual.
“Who knows but she may desire to pique him by a lit-
tle jealousy?” added the widow: “People say he has
been making up to the heiress, Lady Alicia de Wendover.”
THE DOWAGER, 199
“Indeed?—I vow I should not be surprised ſ”— cried
Lady Medwyn, recalling to mind how she had been tor-
mented by Lady Delmaine and Lady Charlotte Chichester
to meet Lord Grandison and his daughter at dinner in Bel-
grave Square. “Ay, ay! I see through it now, as clearly
as possible. She wanted to punish her friend's infidelity,
and this foreigner—this mysterious emissary, presented
himself most a propos. The only thing I do not exactly
understand is the part taken by Lord Gransden in the
affair.”
“Is one ever able to understand the part taken by hus-
bands in such affairs tº observed Sir Jacob. “ Besides,
he may be actually ignorant of the name and nature of the
guest he is entertaining under his roof. This Don San-
chez Gaspardo di Torres Wedras may have brought him
false credentials, may have imposed upon him under a
feigned name and character.”
“It would really be charity to enlighten him P’ observ-
ed Lady Medwyn, half interrogatively.
“Certainly, if it were not for the solemn nature of my
agreement to secresy,” added Mrs. Crouch.
“Supposing we consult the Dowager, and ask her
sanction ?” resumed Lady Medwyn.
“If you choose ; but I forewarn you that so great is
Lord Gransden’s detestation of her name, that it would
suffice for the intelligence to come from 34, Upper Gros-
venor Street, to be utterly discredited.”
“You conceive, perhaps, that he would place great-
er reliance upon your own information ?”
*No, I am too often with poor dear old Lady Del-
maine for him to entertain much opinion of me.”
“And I cannot move in the matter for fear of commit-
ting Lord Medwyn's party with the Carlists,” observed
Lady Medwyn, growing suddenly cautious. “There is,
in fact, but one person who could undertake the office
with propriety. Let Sir Jacob Appleby wait upon Lord
Gransden, and delicately break the matter to him.”
“Me 3—I am exceedingly obliged to you !” cried the
little man, growing as red as a tomato. “I have not the
200 THE DOWAGER,
slightest doubt that any man proceeding to the Wiscount
on such an errand, would be kicked down stairs P’
“Or catawampously chawed up !” said Lady Medwyn,
full of contempt for his cowardice.
“I might suggest,” observed Mrs. Crouch, looking
mysteriously towards the folding-doors, lest the Brussels'
sprout should be listening, and lowering her voice to an
ominous whisper, “though it is a means to which no hon-
orable mind could have recourse, except in a case of the
greatest emergency; supposing—I only say supposing—
we were to avoid all difficulty and all danger, by conveying
the intelligence to Lord Gransden in a letter?”
“An anonymous letter?”—cried Lady Medwyn. And
as it was not easy to determine whether her tone were that
of indignation or admiration, Mrs. Crouch attempted to
hedge out by replying:
“Why —a—not exactly an anonymous letter.”
“A letter in your own name, then 7°
“My dear Lady Medwyn !—to what would not such a
step expose me !—me, an unprotected widow !”
“In ours, perhaps?” º
“No—I mean a letter—a—without any signature at
all.”
“You mean exactly what I said—an anonymous letter.
Well, I see no objection. But as the Gransdens know my
hand, it will be impossible for me, you know, to write it.”
“And they know mine,” added Mrs. Crouch ; “so that
my assistance is equally out of the question.”
“It would be rather an unpleasant task for me,” falter-
ed Sir Jacob, perceiving that it was about to be throwitup.
on his shoulders.
“Why, my dear Sir Jacob, you are actually turning pale.
Surely you are not alarmed for the consequences of Lord
Gransden's resentment * cried Lady Medwyn, turning
upon the little man the full lustre of her audacious eyes.
The widow added a still more piquant appeal to the val-
or of her chevalier; whereupon Sir Jacob, who like all
diminutive men, was exceedingly susceptible on the score
of courage, made proof of his bravery by undertaking one
THE DowAGER. - 201
of the most sneaking actions in the catalogue of social
CI’ll]]6.
A long discussion ensued upon the wording of the letter.
None of the parties chose to avow the smallest knowledge
of, or experience in such compositions. As vulgar ora-
tors commence their harangues with, “ Unaccustomed
as I am to public speaking,” every member of the synod
in Harley Street seemed anxious to begin with “Unac-
customed as I am to anonymous letter-writing.”
“I am sure I can't conceive how such things are ex-
pressed,” cried Mrs. Crouch, shrugging her shoulders.
“I recollect once receiving one which êvidently came
from an experienced hand,” said Lady Medwyn, “be-
ginning, ‘Lady Medwyn is apprised by a friend’—so-
and-so.”
“Well, why shouldn't we address Lord Giansden in
the same style 7 I am sure we are his friends !”
“And hers, too, poor woman, if she would only think
so. I can hardly conceive a more friendly act than to
snatch from perdition a poor unsuspecting young creature
of that age, who little imagines what years of wretchedness
she is on the eve of entailing upon herself and others.
Well, Sir Jacob, will the pen do?”
“Excellently, I dare say—I—I have not yet tried it,”
stammered the agitated little man.
“Why, my dear Sir, surely you are not going to be all
day inditing half a dozen lines,” cried Lady Medwyn.
“I am to be with Lady Sophia Ashford by four.”
“I—I was thinking,” hesitated Sir Jacob, “that by
employing this paper, which is of a somewhat peculiar
make, we might, perhaps, afford a clue to trace this—this
delicate little affair—to my friend Mrs. Crouch.”
“True, very true !” cried the widow. “I had not
thought of it. The fact is, that being so utterly inexperi-
enced in such matters. But I will send my page instantly
to the nearest stationer’s.”
“ Un—under—these circumstances,” faltered Sir Jacob,
who had only suggested the difficulty in order to procure
delay, “supposing we—were—to defer the letter till anoth-
202 T1HE DOWAGER,
er day?” “Another day !” cried Lady Medwyn. “Why
this man—this Don Sanchez what's his name—may have
fled the country within the next twenty-four hours P’
“In which case, Lady Gransden would be safe without
our interference,” observed the victim, in a low voice.
“My own maid, probably, keeps common writing-paper
for ordinary purposes,” suggested Mrs. Crouch. And
having hurried to her dressing-room, she returned as quick-
ly with half a quire of ill-complexioned Bath post, depos-
ited there for her correspondence with her trades-people.
Sir Jacob had now no excuse for further delay; so, after
biting his lips, clearing his voice, shifting his feet under
the table, and nervously liſting the flaps of his coat as if
afraid that he was sitting on hot irons, the little gentleman,
by slow degrees and with many tremulous pauses, complet-
ed the following lines:
“Lord Gransden is apprised by a friend, that an indivi-
dual is harbored in his house whose presence there, known
to many, may prove equally injurious to his honor, and to
the political interests of his country; to wit, one Don
Sanchez Gaspardo di Torres Wedras, emissary from the
camp of Don Carlos.”
In a faint inarticulate voice, he next proceeded to read
what he had written.
“In my opinion, the allusion to Lady Gransden is not
sufficiently explicit,” observed Lady Medwyn, authorita-
tively.
ºpposing my dear Sir Jacob,” observed Mrs. Crouch,
“ that you were to add, ‘Lady Gransden is, perhaps, able
to afford further explanation.’”
“Would not that be a—little—particular?” hesitated Sir
Jacob.
“Nonsense ! Such a letter, to mean anything, must be
particular,” cried Lady Medwyn. 3
“There, sit down again, like a good soul, and add what
I have dictated,” said Mrs. Crouch, in so dictatorial a
tone and attitude, that down dropped the little man into
THE nowadh. 203
his teat; from which he did not venture to emerge till the
letter was finished, left unsigned, but sealed, and delivel-
ed to Lady Medwyn, who undertook the office of deposit-
ing it in the two-penny post.
“When shall we three meet again?”—demanded her
Ladyship, in a jocular tone, as she rose to proceed to the
execution of her commission. “What, if we make an
appointment to be here on Friday, at the same hour, to
communicate anything further that may have come to our
knowledge respecting this mysterious affair?”
“With all my heart,” cried Mrs. Crouch, and Sir Jacob
was on the point of responding, “With all my soul!” but,
conscious of wanting courage to call his soul his own, he
contented himself with a profound and silent bow.
“Before we part, however,” said Lady Medwyn, re-
turning from the door, “it may not be amiss to bind our-
selves mutually by a compact, that, come what may, nothing
shall induce any one of us, singly or severally, to disclose
a syllable of what has passed this morning in this room.”
“We promise !—we promise !”—cried Mrs. Crouch
and Sir Jacob, in a tone and attitude correspondent with
her own; a ceremony which served to close the scene with
the same solemn pomp that attends the oath-scene of the
three champions of liberty, in the drama of William Tell.
ND OF WOL, is
THE DOWAGER ;
.OR,
THE NEW sCHOOL FOR sCANDAL.
BY MR.S. GORE, * " * # 1
- | - # . / z r ^, 7 # # # , « ººv-
| * . / t -º. , "
AUTHoREss oF * MRs. ARMYTAGE," " sToKESHILL PLAcE " c A"
· * THE ABBEY," &c.
º Un livre est une lettre adressée aux amis inconnus qu'on possèdé
dans le monde."-ANCELoT.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
PHILADELPHIA :
L EA AND BLANCH AR D.
1 8 4 1.
E, AND L. MERRIAM, PRINTERs,
BROOKFIELD, MASS.
THE DOWAGER;
OR,
*
}
THE MODERN SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL.
CHAPTER I.
Her eye did seem to labor with a tear
That suddenly took birth, but, overweigh'd
With its own swelling, dropp'd upon her bosom,
Which by reflection of the light appear'd
"As nature meant her grief for ornament.
After, her looks grew cheerful, and I saw
A smile shoot graceſul upward from her eyes
As if they gain’d a victory o'er care;
And with it many beams twisted themselves,
Upon whose golden thread the angels walk
To and from heaven.
{} SHIRI, EY.
“I REALLY wish Mrs. Bennet, Ma'am, you would have
the goodness to speak a little word to my Lord concerning
Lady Alicia,” said Wallis, intruding one night into the
school-room after Lady Helen and Lady Mary were in bed,
and the governess quietly seated for the private enjoyment
of what governesses delight in—a writing;desk covered
with inky green baize, and stuffed full of mysterious hiero-
glyphical packets and papers, containing orts and ends of
learning for future adjustment in her common-place book;
besides a shabby well-worn pocket-book, four-and-twenty
years of age, containing divers Bank of England notes, a
lock of coarse hair, and the extracted column of an old
newspaper, setting forth the loss of the Dorset East India-
man, off the back of the Isle of Wight, in which good ship
4 THE DOWAGER.
had perished David Bennet, her defunct spouse, first mate
of the same.
“I’m very sorry to intrude, Ma'am,” resumed Wallis,
taking the seat into which she was motioned by Mrs.
Bennet, “particular as I know this is your only hour for
reckeryhation. But I'm pusuaded that where the interests
of my young lady are concerned—” º
“Pray make no apologies,” said Mrs. Bennet, closing up
at once the well-stuffed desk, whose hinges were decidedly
out of joint, and prepared to give immediate attention to
anything regarding her beloved pupil. “Speak, Wallis.
What is the matter with Lady Alicia 7”
“Only, Ma'am, that unless you are good enough to be-
stir yourself by calling my Lord’s attention, my young lady
will certainly be racketed into a gallopping consumption, or
a hatrophy, or something of that dreadful description.”
“Indeed? have you any—”
“I only just appeal to your good sense Ma'am,” inter-
rupted the waiting-maid. “My late lady was of a very
delicate constitution, as was proved by her early death after
a confinement, which needn’t by no means have destroyed
a woman in ordinary health. I remember the doctors
agreeing on that pint, as well as if it was yesterday. Now,
Ma'am, my Lady Alicia, who certainly takes after her ma’,
as like as two drops of water, (as I’m sure you, who re-
member Lady Grandison, will allow,) is exactly of the
same make and constitution. And yet my Lord suffers
that girl, who is only a few months turned of seventeen, to
go raking herself to death, night after night, six days in the
week, as if she was as strong as a horse or a housemaid.”
“Certainly, Lady Alicia does seem to keep sadly late
hours,” observed the governess, in a voice of sympathy.
“Lale, Ma'am 7–I declare to you, that except of Sun-
day mornings after the opera, and Sunday nights after the
evenings at home, I hav'n't caught sight of my blessed bed
any night these two months before four in the morning—
nay, sometimes five ; for even when Lady Alicia does come
home half an hour earlier than usual, I make it my duty to
dawdle about in the dressing-room till I find that she's com-
fortable asleep, poor dear.”
º THE DOWAGER. 5
i.
*
“I’m afraid such hours are a sad trial, even to you,
Wallis,” said Mrs. Bennet, good-naturedly. -->
“Now, pray, Ma'am, don’t go to suppose that it is for
myself I am speaking,” cried Wallis. “Though, to be
sure, in my late lady's time (who, after her marriage, was a
complete stay-at-home) things was very different, and it
wasn't four times in the season I was kept up after midnight.
Hours, everywhere, was earlier then, Ma'am, with high and
low ; yet, God knows, I wouldn't grudge my night's rest the
whole three hundred and sixty-five nights of the year, if
they could be of any real service to the family—in sickness
or the like. I’m sure, Mrs. Bennet, you will do me the
justice to remember, Ma'am, that, in that one-and-thirty
day ſever of Lady Mary's, last year—” i
“Certainly, certainly,” replied the governess, who had
no mind to go, for the fiftieth time, into the details of the in-
disposition in question. -
“But you'll allow, Ma'am, that 'tis quite a different matter
to be kept at my age out of my warm bed after my day’s work,
only to see my poor dear young lady come home by day-light,
looking pale as a ghost, and hagged as a dowager, scarcely
able to pant up stairs ; throwing herself into the nearest
chair, with ‘Oh, Wallis l—a glass of water ſ” or some ex-
clamation of the kind.” #
“And is my poor dear Alicia really exhausted to this de-
gree ?” exclaimed the geverness in an anxious tone, draw-
ing her chair closer to that of the waiting-maid. “What
madness—what folly, on the part of Lord Grandison P’
“Bless your heart, Ma'am, gentlemen goes through the
world and sees nothing !”—exclaimed Wallis. “Their
brains is always a-running upon the state of the nation, or
that sort of rubbish; and much the nation’s the better for
it ! But if you was once to pint out, Ma'am, that really
Lady Alicia is falling into a most alarming condition; that
she goes to bed every night with a head-ache, and gets up
in a fever—”
“But how can she do otherwise than go to bed with a
head-ache,” interrupted Mrs. Bennet, “after being exposed
from eleven o’clock till four in the morning, to the rattle of
an orchestra, containing kettle drums and cornets à piston 1
1%
6 THE DOWAGER,
-nay, on opera or concert nights, from eight—positively
eight hours And then, after suffering all night from the
head-ache, what more natural than that she should rise in a
high fever in the morning '"
“Ah! poor dear young lady she's not long for this
world, nor l neither, if my Lord allows her to go on much
longer at this rateſ’’ sighed poor Wallis. “Why, Ma'am,
if you’ll believe me, she's falling away so terribly that I’ve
been forced to take in her riding-habit and morning-pelisses
two inches round the waist; (the ball-dresses, luckily, are
too quickly done with to make more work for me!) and
when I spoke of it to Mrs. Busk, the mantuamaker, she
tells me “so much the better; that was what the ladies call-
ed fining down P. Now it’s what I call pinning down.”
“It certainly cannot be right,” resumed Mrs. Bennet.
“And pray, Wallis, do you consider her enfeebled as
well as emaciated 7”
“I consider her in a very bad way, Ma'am. I really
know not what to make of it all ! But to my mind, a
young lady whom I leave barely to be called asleep at four
in the morning, and whom I find lying wide awake in her
bed when I go in with her breakfast at ten, can’t be said
to be in a natural state of health. Then, as to the break-
fast part of the story, I'm sure, Ma'am, you must remem-
ber how, in the school-room, Lady Alicia was ready for her
tea, and bread and butter, all the same as the other young
ladies; and now, she won’t hear of anything of the kind.
I’ve tried her with tea, coffee, cocoa, chocolate, and the
stuff what the French cook calls Rackyhoo Daisyrab. But
all in vain nothing will she touch ; not so much as the
lightest biscuit; and for lunch, only may be an ice, or
something of that kind. And then, Mr. Thompson tells
me, when my Lord or Mr. Chichester notices at dinner
that she eats nothing, and jokes her about the lady-fashion
of dining on a capital luncheon that they may seem to live
on air, not a word does Lady Alicia utter in self-windica-
tion. And so you see, Ma'am, what with one thing and
another, nobody notices that the poor child eats nothing.
But I must say, that when young folks has not their rest
and appetite, I don’t see much more they’ve got to lose—
except their life P’
THE DowAGER. 7
“This is really a most alarming account, Wallis P’—said
Mrs. Bennet, with a sorrowful face. “Alicia has no cough,
I think?”
“Not at present, Ma'am.”
“Nor pain in the side tº
“Not as I’m aware on, Ma'am.”
“Do you know, Wallis, I have a great mind, without
saying a word to alarm Lord Grandison, to consult Sir
Lucius Flimsy”
“Lord bless you, Ma'am if you were to send for him,
Lady Alicia would only laugh, and tell him there was no-
thing on earth the matteriwith her.”
“But she need not see him ; she need know nothing
about it. You can relate the symptoms to him, Wallis, as
you have done to me; and we can take his advice, and no
one be a bit the wiser.”
“No one, indeed! To my thinking—begging your par-
don, Mrs. Bennet—Sir Lucius Flimsy is but an old wo-
man after all !”
“Perhaps so. But old women's remedies, in cases of
sickness, are not always to be despised.”
“Of course, Ma'am, you can do as you like,” rejoined
the waiting-maid; “but unless he orders an end to be put
to all these late hours and racketing, I wouldn’t give much
for his art, no, not if he was the whole college of physicians
boiled down to a composing-draught.”
Summoned by the governess, as if for one of his usual
attendances upon the school-room, the bland physician soon
made his appearance in Park Lane; assuming, however,
on learning the real state of the case, a face of corresponding
length to the very long face with which Mrs. Bennet reca-
pitulated the afflicting facts detailed to her by the waiting-
maid. A slight and transient gleam of mirth appeared to
traverse his eyes as he listened ; but his ". retained all
its professional gravity. If the real nature of Lady Alicia's
disorder occurred to his mind, he, of course, said nothing
so decisive as to render his further visits superfluous; but
with a few of those vague murmurs of “languid state of
the circulation,” “enfeebled condition of the constitution,”
with which courtly physicians accompany the curly-eared R.
8 THE DOWAGER.
prefacing their infliction upon the ingenuous youth of ei-
ther sex, of three vials of rosewater a day, acidulated with
one drop of diluted sulphuric acid, he took his fee and his
leave, and promised to return in a day or two, for a second
conference with the governess; a conference almost as
secret and mysterious as those reported to be held at the
Foreign Office by Don Sanchez Gaspardo di Torres We-
dras | }
The pink draughts, however, though offered by Mrs.
Bennet as a suggestion of her own, were resolutely declin-
ed by Lady Alicia de Wendover.
“What can make you fancy, dearest Mrs. Bennet, that I
am ill ?”—cried she. “I am only doing a little too much
of every thing !—-dancing too much, singing too much, play-
ing too much on the harp, and riding too much in the sun,
In five weeks, we shall all be down at Grandison again;
and then you will find me eat, drink, and sleep, as well as
ever. As to my growing thin, don’t believe a word of it !
It is an invention of Wallis's to cover my sin of lacing for
a shape.”
“You lace for a shape, my dear Alicia º you who—”
Mrs. Bennet checked herself as she was about to enlarge
upon the nymph-like proportions of her pupil’s form. “At
all events,” she resumed, “ oblige me by taking these
strengthening draughts, which are what Sir Lucius prescrib-
ed for your sister last year, when recovering from her fe-
ver.”
“But I have had no ſever, and have no faith in Sir Lu-
cius,” cried the poor girl, aware, perhaps, that a whole apo-
thecary’s shop would be unavailable to cure her sleepless-
ness. “If you want to see me look as well and merry as
ever, my dear friend, bid Helen and Mary put on their bon-
nets, and bring them with me to take a stroll in Kensington
Gardens this fºe day, instead of wearying over their les-
sons.” * g
“You have readily adopted Lord Grandison's opinions,
my dear Alice, concerning the fruitlessness of lessons.
However, I will not refuse you, as you have refused me.
Order the carriage, and in five minutes we will be ready for
you.” º
THE DOWAGER, 9
In five minutes, accordingly, they set off in high spirits.
But as the carriage started from the door, after a single
glance down Upper Grosvenor Street, Lady Alicia's smiles
vanished as if by magic. Mrs. Bennet could not conjecture
why. Her eye had taken the same direction as that of her
young friend; and all it lighted upon at that early hour, be-
tween Park Lane and Grosvenor Square, were a dustman's
dray, a boy with pewter-pots ringing at an area-gate, and a
bay horse led up and down by a young gentleman, whose
habiliments were in so precarious a condition, that he was
obliged to gather up the nether portion, for better security,
with his left hand, while holding the horse's bridle loosely
in his right. Certainly there was nothing in the aspect of
the dust-cart, the pot-boy, or the bay horse, to convert Lady
Alicia's merry mood into sadness; and if her feelings were
moved by the plight of the ragged urchin officiating as page
to the latter, nothing would have been easier than to stop
the carriage and despatch the footman with a shilling or
half-crown for his relief.
But instead of stopping the carriage, Lady Alicia only
leant back, silently, in the furthest corner; nor, as they
proceeded to the Gardens, was she to be roused to a more
communicative vein by the inquiries of her sisters, of
“Alice, dear Alice, is this the part of the park where you
ride with papa 7 Is it here you drive with Lady Grans-
den 7”
Lady Alicia answered kindly, but briefly. Her thoughts
were evidently elsewhere. Even when they arrived in the
Gardens, (the deep verdure and tranquillity of which hap-
pened to be enhanced by the fragrance of the recently cut
hay, presented an agreeable variety to the younger girls ac-
customed only to a dull dusty walk every day in the park,)
Lady Alicia took little notice of their raptures; and after
sitting a quarter of an hour with them in the old-fashioned
yew-walk, whose trim hollies speak forcibly of the days of
Queen Mary and Queen Caroline, and their phlegmatic
High and Low Dutch spouses, she suddenly started up in
the midst of the first blackbird's song the girls had heard
that season, and proposed returning home.
Every thing proposed or done by Alicia, seemed right to
10 THE DOWAGERe
her sisters, who regarded her with feelings little short of
adoration; but Mrs. Bennet could not help feeling vexed at
the abruptness of her manner and the “selfishness of her
conduct. She began to fear that her Alice was irrecovera-
bly changed; and that all the draughts creatable per stroke
of the pens of Sir Lúcius Flimsy and Co.,
Would never medicine her to that sweet state
Which she own'd yesterday!
Mrs. Bennet was actually all but tempted to declare her
anxieties to the Earl ; but as the last time of her troubling
him, with similar importunities, his Lordship had bidden her
restrict her jurisdiction to the school-room, she was appre-
hensive that further officiousness might induce him to hint
that her services might be altogether dispensed with.
“If it goes on,” murmured the good governess, as she
opened, for the thousandth time, the huge school-room at-
las, over which for the last five-and-twenty years she had
been performing her daily travels, “I can think of nothing
better than to ask the advice of Lady Mary Langley. She
has the greatest influence over my Lord, and loves my
dear Alice almost as if she were a child of her own.
There were none of these megrims in the poor girl's head
so long as Lady Mary remained her chaperon. It is all
since she kept company with that flighty Wiscountess,
the mischief has arisen. Ah! I was very wrong—very,
very wrong, to say anything to Iord Grandison about the
danger of Lady Alicia's forming an attachment to young
Langley if allowed to spend her whole time with his mo-
ther and sister; for though my Lord pretended not to listen,
it was scarcely a week afterwards that he made arrange-
ments for his daughter to take a share in Lady Gransden's
Opera-box, and be constantly in her society. I was very
wrong! for after all, it would be far better for her to marry
at once, and be under the protection of a husband, than
left as she is by her father to follow her own devices; and
if Lady Alicia should marry, though certainly with every
right to pretend to rank and fortune, what could she do bet-
ter than select the son of her poor dear mother's earliest
friend, who would treat her as a daughter rather than a
THE DOWAGER. 11
daughter-in-law. I was very wrong !”—again repeated
Mrs. Bennet, folding back the map of Asia Minor the
wrong way, in her absence of mind; “for now every
chance of that connection is at an end. She scarcely ever
sees the Langleys; and it would not at all surprise me to
hear of Lady Alicia accepting that horrible eldest son of
the Duchess of Woolwich who is making up to her; who
spent two fortunes before he came of age, and would cer-
tainly break her heart in a twelvemonth.”
Cecilia Langley, meanwhile, under a mother's whole-
some governance, (the sole authority whose influence over
a young heart is of a sufficiently tender nature to maintain
its supremacy without inspiring awe or repressing the ex-
pansion of confidence,) was gradually recovering her spirits.
Lady Mary had bidden her exert herself for her mother's
sake; an appeal which the heart and mind of poor Cecilia
dared not disregard.
Still, Lady Mary was not altogether happy on her ac-
count. She saw her constantly thrown into the society of
Lord Chichester;—constantly his partner in the dance, his
companion at the déjeúner or picnic. Though Augustus
often laughingly referred to his cousin's devotion to Lady
Gransden, affecting to doubt whether his visits in Grosven-
or Street were addressed to the Wiscountess, or to the
young heiress who was now her constant companion, it
was clear to Lady Mary, that whenever election was possi-
ble, it was rather to the side of her daughter that he attach-
ed his attendance.
One morning, at a brilliant archery meeting held at one
of the beautiful villas on Roehampton, it was . Lord Chi-
chester's fortune to obtain the prize of the day; which, the
fête being given by one of the most chivalrous of bachelor
lords, consisted of a lady's broach, a costly heartshaped
opal set with brilliants, bearing on the reverse the usual
inscription of such ready-made gallantries—“d la plus
belle.”
Scarcely had Chichester received the trinket from the
hands of the Duchess of Woolwich, who was officiating as
Lady Paramount, when Lady Mary plainly perceived Lord
Delmaine making signs to his son to come to him ; to which
12 THE DOWAGER.
Lord Chichester, just as plainly, chose to remain wilfully
blind. It is true, half the beauties of the party came crowd-
ing round him, (as people are sure to crowd round any indi-
vidual who has anything in his hands to give away), re-
questing leave to look at his prize. “It was the prettiest
thing,” “the sweetest,” “the most elegant,” “the most
lovely,” that each or any of these darling disinterested
creatures “had ever seen in their lives.”
Lord Chichester allowed the glittering toy to pass from
hand to hand, and be shone upon by all the brightest eyes
in London. But it was observed that he never lost sight
of his broach ; and paid no sort of attention to the lauda-
tion bestowed upon it by the chorus of melodious voices
devoting themselves to hymn the praises of a bear-shaped
opal set with brilliants. At length, Lord Delmaine having
gradually made his way round the outskirts of the white
robed crowd standing adoringly before his son, Lord Chi-
chester took, nay, almost snatched, from the hands of Lady
Juliana Ridley, the Duchess of Woolwich's youngest
daughter, the glittering treasure on which she had fixed a
covetous eye, and glided off towards a little knoll hard by,
crowned by a sweeping cedar, under whose musky shade
sat a charming group composed of Lady Mary Langley and
her daughter, Lady Gransden and Lady Alicia de Wendo-
ver, with quantum suff of attendant swains.
The Earl of Delmaine followed his movements with an
anxious eye; and the Earl of Delmaine's eyes, when anx-
ious, greatly resembled those of a full grown jaguar. To
his paternal hopes, the moment was to be decisive. Chi-
chester would certainly tender the reward of his adroitness
to the lady of his secret love; and to which of the three
goddesses, in that miniature Ida, was he about to offer the
apple? Was it the heiress, the Wiscountess, the insignifi-
cant cousin Lord Delmaine felt that his triumph would
be too big for words, should the broach be offered to, and
accepted by the lady of the Wilsmere woodlands; but he
would have preferred even the inferences of a guilty pas-
sion arising from his tendering the gift to Lady Gramsden,
to seeing it betray the attachment of his only son to the
daughter of Morison Langley. -
THE DOWAGER, 13
Chichester was half up the knoll, and Lady Alicia did
not so much as notice his approach; so attentively was
she ſistening to a laughable anecdote with which Augustus
Langley was entertaining her neighbor, Lady Gransden.
But Lady Mary Langley was clearer sighted ; and accost-
ed him without reserve, with congratulations on his suc-
cess, and a request to look at his prize.
“It is not exactly the most useful thing they could have
selected to for a gentleman,” said she, “but I dare say it will
please Lady Delmaine. She was too ill, I find, to bring
Lady Charlotte here this morning. It is fortunate that you
will be able to afford the invalid so agreeable a surprise.”
Lady Mary spoke in a measured voice, as if desirous to
indicate to her young friend what he ought to do with the
broach. But Chichester was not to be so easily schooled.
“My mother has already more jewels than she knows how
to wear,” was his steady reply. “I shall really feel some
pride in my success and pleasure in the prize, if you will
permit me to offer it to my cousin Cecilia.”
It is much too rich an ornament for Cissy's age,” said
Lady Mary, having ascertained by a glance towards Cecilia,
that her cheeks were flushed of the deepest crimson, so as
to offer only too eloquent a reply to her cousin's request.
“I should not allow her to wear it, even were it offered by
some friend from whom she could accept it with propriety.”
Encouraged, however, by Cecilia’s blushes, Lord Chi-
chester persisted; till at length, perceiving that the alterca-
tion was beginning to attract inore attention than was de-
sirable, she observed: “Since you are so wilful in your
munificence, allow me, my dear Chichester, to compromise
the matter in a way that I fear will not be very flattering to
your vanity, I beg it of you for myself. A dulcinea of fif.
ty-five will be a new feature in the annals of chivalry.”
And while Cissy, in the joy of her heart, tould scarcely
forbear a smile at her cousin's crest-fallen countenance,
Lady Mary fastened the broach to her mantelet. On rais-
ign her eyes from the operation, she saw those of the Earl
of Delmaine darting daggers at herself and her daughter.
It was not this, however, which determined her, on her
return home, to enclose the trinket to Belgrave Square,
VOL. II. 2
14 THE DOWAGER,
with a note to Lady Delmaine, telling her it was “the re-
ward of Lord Chichester's address, of which she had taken
charge at the Roehampton fête, to be conveyed to his mo-
ther.” Such was, from the first, her intention. She had
merely accepted the broach, in order to put an end to the
discussion, and distract attention from the confusion of her
daughter. It was enough, alas ! that it had been manifest-
ed to Lord Chichester. No need to render poor Cis's
weakness the talk of all the talkers in town.
This little incident was the source of much uneasiness to
Lady Mary. She had never, for a moment, flattered her-
self that such a man as Lord. Delmaine was likely to
sanction a disinterested marriage on the part of his son.
But the eager eyes she had seen him dart upon poor Chi-
chester as he passed before Lady Alicia de Wendover to
tender his gift to his cousin, convineed her that, whatever
were Lord Grandison's views for his heiress, those of Lord
Delmaine for his son were to get possession de par l'église
of the Wilsmere estates, let the young man’s affections be
ever so deeply engaged to another. She saw, too, by his
infuriated glance towards. herself and Cissy, that the Earl
had detected the latter as the obstacle to the accomplish-
ment of his projects. If, therefore—even if Chichester
should really entertain a preference for his cousin, it was
clear that the displeasure of the Earl would still render their
union impossible.
The sober-looking chaperon, whose crape turban and
pearl grey satin dress made the respectable appearance for-
merly described by Mrs. Knox, that same evening on the
uppermost bench at Almacks, was far more perplexed than
was conjectured even by those who noticed that her head
beat false time to the orchestra, albeit its measure was enforc-
ed by a record so audible as Dufresne's cornet a piston. As
she sat there “nid-nid-nodding,” with vague, inexpressive
countenance, her thoughts were far away. She was looking
into the distance of years. She was anticipating evil for her
child. She was wondering how a man so wise in his gen-
eration as Morison Langley, had ever overlooked the perils
contingent upon the visits of a handsome young cousin of
five and twenty to the solitudes of Langley Park 1
THE DOWAGER. 15
As the evil was so much of his creation, it was, at least,
his business to suggest a remedy; and Lady Mary felt that
the time was imperatively come to seek his counsel. Much
as she was disinclined to harass him with domestic cares, he
must be told that his darling daughter's happiness was in
danger ; that his family honor was in danger; that, should
he, persist in inviting Lord Chichester constantly to his
house, he would pass in the eyes of Lord Delmaine, and
perhaps be made by Lord Delmaine to pass in those of
the world, for a long-headed, designing man, whose well
calculated attentions had succeeded in entrapping, as a son-
in-law, the son and heir of an opulent Earl. 4.
No wonder that, while pursuing this train of cogitations,
Lady Mary should have been so thoroughly self-engrossed
that, at the close, she was fain to apolgize to her next neigh-
bor, Lady Halidown, for having made a tremendous rent in
her Brussels' point, with the incrusted sticks of a fan, a la
Louis XIV, which she had been agitating with unconscious
vehemence. | - ,
^
CHAPTER II.
With that low cunning which in fools supplies
. And amply too, the place of being wise,
• Which nature, kind indulgent parent gave;
To qualify the blockhead for a knave, sº
Which to the lowest depths of guile descends,
And with vile means pursues #. vilest ends.
CHURCHILL.
“WAUx 1" cried the Dowager to her butler, hobbling
from the dining-room window to the breakfast-table, with
her spectacles pushed up over her forehead, “the water in
this urn does not boil It is a very extraordinary thing
that you will never look after the men when preparing break-
fast !” - . . . . . .
16 . THE DOWAGER.
“I’m sure, my Lady, there oughtn't never be no want
of hot water in this house !”—replied the jocose Mr. Waux,
after ascertaining by a glance round the room, that he was
tête-à-tête with the old lady.
“The dry toast, too, is quite leathery; just the abomina-
ble stuff one gets at an inn. I choose my dry toast being
as brittle as glass, and as thin as a wafer.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“And pray let Cullum know that it is high time the break-
fast-pats were sent in ice. You might roll these round
your finger. What are you smiling at, Sir 7”
“My Lady, I was not smiling, I was thinking, perhaps,
standing so near the tea-urn might prevent the butter from
keeping so cool as it ought; more particular, as I’m oblig-
ed to keep the dining-room windows shut all the morning,
at this time of year, on account of the dust.”
“It was you then who fastened down the windows 7 ſ
have just broken my nails in trying to open the spring. Pray
can you tell me, Vaux, what travelling-carriage it was that
just drove away from Lord Gransden's door?”
“A yellow post-chariot, my Lady.”
“Yes, I saw the color;—I mean, do you know to whom
it belongs tº
“Most likely to the two gentlemen which came in it, my
Lady.”
“Did you hear whether the footman told the postboy to
take it round to Lord Gransden's stables, or to some coach-
maker's? The windows being shut, I couldn’t exactly
manage to hear what he said.”
“I wasn’t a-listening, my Lady. I was helping Mrs.
Wilson a-frothing Lady Meliora's chocolate.”
“You did not see the two gentlemen get out of the car-
riage, then, and go into the house?”
“No, my Lady.”
“Then, who could it be who was standing on my door-
steps at the time? It must have been one of the men ; for
I heard the street door slam, and some one cross the hall
immediately afterwards.”
“If it is of any consequence to your Ladyship, I will
make it my business to find out. John, pray were you
º: THE DOWAGER, . 17
standing just now at the hall-door, when a travelling-car-
riage and pair drove up to Lord Gransden’s”
“I was paying for a twopenny post letter, Sir,” stammer-
ed the footman. -
“Then why haven't you given it to me !” cried the
Dowager. *
“I didn’t know, my Lady, as I was to give the cook's
letter to your Ladyship.”
“Oh I it was for the cook, was it !—What business have
such people with correspondence, I wonder º’—she con-
tinued, scarcely aside.
“And pray, John, since you was a-standing at the hall-
door at the time,” resumed Mr. Waux, “where did my
Lord's people order the carriage to ? My Lady wishes
particular to know.”
“I rayther think to the mews, Sir. As it warn’t no bu-
siness of mine, Mr. Waux, I didn't pay no great attention.”
“In future, John, take more notice,” said Waux, winking
aside to his underling. “It’s impossible for you to guess,
you know, when you may be called upon for information.”
“You saw the two gentlemen, you say, step out of the
carriage *—inquired Lady Delmaine, starting out of a "rev-
erie, during which her downcast eyes had remained plung-
ed into the sugar-bason.
“I did, my Lady, -if your Ladyship means me,” said
John, retouching the symmetry in which the eggstand and
muffineer were made to adorn the breakfast-table.
“What sort of gentlemen were they tº
“Like other sort of gentlemen, my Lady; that is, not
quite like other sort of gentlemen, for the elder on’em wore
a green single-breasted coat, and t'other were in gaiters;
much of a muchness, my Lady, with the look of Mr. Mori-
son Langley.”
“Oh! a country-gentleman—a squire ?”
“Thereabouts, my Lady.”
“Lady Gramsden's father, I have not the least doubt tº
cried the Dowager. “And his companion?”
“A gentleman of no age at all, my Lady.”
“What do you mean by that, pray ?”
“I mean a gentleman between thirty and forty, my La-
2%
18 THE DOWAGER.
dy—what son,etimes looks thirty and sometimes forty, ac-
cording as he's dressed.”
“Perhaps it was Mr. Oakham's servant. Gentlemen
who were born before rumbles came into fashion, often
travel with their servants.”
“Perhaps it was, my Lady; for I heard the old gentle-
man call him John, and bid him eee that the postboy was
paid. And so, as I was mentioning just now below, when
your Ladyship's bell rang—”
“What are you chattering about !”—cried the Dowager,
resuming her dignity on hearing at that moment, the voice
of her son in the hall, inquiring for the newspapers. “Go
down, Vaux;-go down, John ; and, remember for the fu-
ture, that there is nothing concerning which I am more
particular, than having the water for tea boiled to a bub-
ble.”
“So Lord Gransden has sent for his wife's relations I
find?”—said the Dowager to Johnny Chichester and his
sister, who now entered the room together.
“But will they come when he doth call for them 7”—re-
plied Johnny Chichester, coolly. “Country gentlemen
are busy at this time of year, hoeing their turnips, or get-
ting in their beans, or their peas, or their something or
other.”
“Mr. Oakham, nevertheless, is already arrived.”
“You are quite mistaken, Ma'am,” replied the contra-
dictory Lady Meliora. “Lady Gransden was at the fête
at Roehampton till ten o’clock last night;-as usual, the
last person there; and would scarcely have been so un-
gracious as to remain so long absent, with her father in the
house. Besides, I was looking stedſastly over the way
through my glass, at about eight o'clock, and the rooms be-
ing lighted, distinctly saw the Wiscount dining alone. He
had two artichokes in the second course.”
“All very likely, my dear. But you are somewhat be-
hind-hand in your information, for it was this morning that
Mr. Oakham arrived.”
“God bless my soul without his wife 7"
“Without his wife—which, you will admit, looks as if
THE DO WAGER. 19
the business he came upon was indeed of a most delicate
uature l’”
“Is the business, then, in which ladies are permitted to
participate, necessarily of an in-delicate nature?”—-demanded
Johnny, stirring his tea. “I had a better opinion of you all !”
“I mean that, since Lady Gransden's conduct is such as
to call for the intervention of her father, her mother has
been very properly spared so afflicting a meeting.”
“But may not Mr. Oakham of Hanbury Park be come
to town on business of his own devising?”—inquired John-
ny Chichester; “country-gentleman's business—to buy
nets for his cherry-trees, or see the wax-work?”
“Do you suppose Mr. Oakham would travel post all
night merely to purchase nets for his cherry-trees or see
the wax-work? His carriage was so dusty that it looked
like a miller’s cart.”
“No wonder l—since he came expressly to kick up a
dust.”
“Ah! well—laugh as much as you please. But see
whether Mr. Oakham will consider it as good a joke as you
appear to do, that Lady Gransden should receive furtive
visits from a Carlist spy—from that jackanapes of a Spa-
niard—that dandified Don Sanchez Gaspardo di Torres
Wedras, whom you yourself saw come sneaking out of her
house, only a few days ago.”
“Don what?—A Carlist spy” cried Johnny Chichester,
with some difficulty repressing his laughter. “Upon my
life, mother, you are too bad. When will you cease to ex-
ercise this sort of inquisition upon your neighbors ?”
* When my neighbors cease to give me occasion for it,”
replied the Dowager, tartly. “Do you suppose that it is
a pleasant thing for a woman of my age and habits—a wo-
man, I am bold to say, who has gone through life without a
blemish large enough for the most potent microscope to
bring to light upon her reputation—a woman who, please
God, hopes to end her days in peace and quietness, and
charity with the world—is it pleasant, do you suppose, to
have such a set of pinketing, racketing, light-headed young
folks as these Gransdens, Sir Henry Windsor, and Mrs.
Knox, constantly before my eyes?-Why it was only yes-
af
20 THE DOWAGER,
terday I saw a lady of the most equivocal appearance, in a
pink bonnet with marabout feathers, step out of a carriage
at Sir Henry’s door; one of those dark chariots without
arms, which always look so suspicious. Meliora will have
it that it was only his sister, Mrs. Were; but I know better.
I happen to be certain that Mrs. Were succeeded Sir Henry
in his attendance on old Windsor in Surrey.”
“I beg your pardon—I fancied old Windsor was in Berk-
shire * said Johnny, hoping to put an end to her tirade.
“How often must I tell you, brother, that mamma con-
siders a pun very little short of an insult!”—cried Lady Me-
liora, with indignation.
“I shall be extremely happy to give her Ladyship satis-
faction,” replied Johnny, with much solemnity. “It is the
study of my life to give satisfaction.”
“Then why presume to blame my being sensible to the
mortification of having outlived all my contemporaries in
this street?” And the Dowager, tapped the crown of her
egg as vehemently as if it were spite that instigated her to
break its head. “When I first resided in this house, and
for many years afterwards when you were at Eton and col-
lege, regardless of such matters—”
“I beg your pardon again. You have always protested
that the only matters of which I was regardless, were mon-
ey-matters.”
“At that time,” continued the Dowager, not deigning to
notice his jocularity,” “there lived in the three houses op-
posite, the old Duchess of Droningfield, (who had been pa-
ralytic for twenty years, and was so grateful when one drop-
ped in to make up her limited loo!) the poor, dear, good old
Bishop of Armagh, (who was stone-blind, and the best
creature in the universe—pleased as a child with any little
anecdote one might have to relate to him); and three high-
ly respectable maiden ladies, the Miss Grampuses (whom
that saucy fellow, old Townsend used to call battle, murder,
and sudden-death, from their frightful appearance in their
box at the Opera, but who were always vastly agreeable at
their own little tea-parties) l Now just compare such neigh-
bors as those, with a young rake, and two trifling young
women, utterly insignificantl” f

THE DOWAGER, 21
“Half a dozen old women, including the Bishop, against
two young ones and a dandy, who being secondary to his
tailor, I consider the tenth part of a man I back Mrs.
Knox and Lady Gransden P’ cried Johnny.
“If you account Sir Henry Windsor only the tenth part
of a man, I am sure Mrs. Knox is only the twentieth part
of a woman,” interrupted Lady Meliora. “If the chancel-
lor of the exchequer were to put a tax upon bandboxes, the
country would never be a bankrupt while there were Mrs.
Knoxes in the world. I wish the poor General joy of all
the bills likely to remind him, next New Year's day, that
Mrs. Knox went to the Queen's ball last night. From six
till ten o’clock, if you'll believe me, there were twenty or
thirty rings at the bell; and I could plainly see, by the gas-
light, that every one of the people brought something from
the mantuamaker's—something from the milliner’s—some-
thing from the florist's—something from the haberdasher's
—something from the glover's—something from the ho-
sier's—something from the perfumer’s—something from the
hair-dresser's—something from the jeweller's—something
fromi–’”
“Hold, enough 1”—cried Johnny, in the tone of Ma-
cready's Macbeth. “Would you have me believe that all
these somethings are necessary to compose that less than
nothing—an insignificant woman º’’
“I mean to tell you, that twice as much is put in requisi-
tion in order to compose the Mrs. Knox you see in company,
and whom all the world pronounces such a vastly pretty
woman º' cried Lady Meliora. “Just look at her some
morning before she is dressed.”
“Your Ladyship forgets yourself,” said Johnny Chiches-
ter, affecting to be shocked.
“I mean before she is dressed out. Look at her, as I
sometimes do, when she comes to her dressing-room win-
dow, the moment she is up, to examine the weather and
ascertain whether it promises well for the vanity-fair of the
day. In her dressing-gown, Mrs. Knox is thinner than a
lath P”
“So am I in mine, when I'm a shaving,” said Johnny,
regardless of Lady Meliora's diatribe against puns.
22 THE DOWAGER,
“Her face is sallow, her countenance, when unrelieved
by curls, heavy and unmeaning; and she is no more like
the Mrs. Knox of Almacks, than a painter’s layman without
its drapery, to the Cleopatra or Mary Queen of Scots,
which it figured the preceding day.”
“And how looks the fair Lady Gransden in her night-
cap 7" inquired Johnny. “Remember, I do not enjoy
your facilities for these observations. My room looks back-
wards.” *
“And Lady Gransden's also,” cried the Dowager, peev-
ishly. “When first the Gransdens took the house, she
had the front room—the best bed-chamber—the room occu-
pied by the poor Bishop, and all the preceding proprietors
of the house. But she had not been here two months, for-
sooth, before she chose to change it for one, not half the
size l’”
“Perhaps because her present room catches a glimpse
of the gardens of Grosvenor House.”
“No such thing.”
“Perhaps because of the larger one, your Ladyship
commanded somewhat more than a glimpse 3’—observed
Johnny.
“I am sure,” resumed the Dowager, not heeding his im-
pertinent rejoinder, “if this were not a dower-house, I
would have parted with it fifteen years ago.”
“But, as in other cases of separation, you would require
a separate maintenance, and house rent being high—”
“If Lord Delmaine had the least regard to my feelings,
he would have allowed me to let it on my own account, as
I once proposed to him, and take one in a more agreeable
situation,” interrupted the Dowager.
“So as to enable Lady Gransden to occupy her best
bed-room,” muttered Johnny.
“But in that, as in all other matters of business with
him, I met with nothing but opposition,” continued the Dow-
ager. “My only comfort is, that if Lady Delmaine per-
suades him into a trial of homoeopathy as she expects, his
liver complaint will soon place me in the hands of his son;
and though I know little in favor of Lord Chichester, it is
T HE DOWAGER, 23
some comfort that he can't be so shabby or so impractica-
ble as I always find his father.” *
Johnny Chichester, rising from the breakfast-table, sud-
denly broke up the conversation.
There were times when the Dowager gave utterance to
sentiments too atrocious to be laughed at. There were
times when there was something impish in the cackling laugh
by which they were accompanied.
Wery different, meanwhile, was the mood of mind in
which the travellers crossed the threshold of the opposite
mansion. . The emotion of poor Oakham, on approaching
London after his night's travelling, had been such that John
Evelyn insisted upon his passing a quiet quarter of an hour
at Barnet, to refresh himself, previous to whatever further
trials might await him.
But on entering the street inhabited by his son-in-law,
all his former tremors returned. If Laura should have quit-
ed her husband's protection | If, instead of his once dute-
ous—once virtuous—and still fondly beloved child, he should
find only the stern countenance and desolate fireside of the
miserable husband 7 John Evelyn saw that his companion
was gasping for breath when the carriage drew up to the
door.
“Command yourself, my dear Sir,” cried he. “Reflect,
that should our information prove premature, and our fears
have outstripped the truth, we should be inexcusable in con-
veying suspicions to Lord Gransden’s mind. I entreat you,
exert your fortitude l’”
And thus admonished, Oakham contrived to assume a
composed countenance as he entered the house.
“Lord and Lady Gransden?”—said he with a smile, to
the servants, who had tasted the strong ale of hospitable
Hanbury Park often enough to be almost inclined to bid
the squire heartily welcome to London.
“My Lord is breakfasting in my Lady's dressing-room,
Sir. Won't you be pleased to walk up 7–Won't the other
gentleman step into the drawing-room ?—Shall I settle with
the boy 3–Would you wish to go into my Lord's room to
wash your hands?”—cried the civil fussy butler, without
waiting a reply to any one of his questions.
24 THE DOWAGERs
“Don’t announce me; I will go in and surprise them.
Take care of my son-in-law, Mr. Evelyn,” said Oakham,
walking slowly up stairs, in the hopes of subduing emotions
alas! irrepressible. Yet when he reached the dressing-
room door, and was about to turn the handle, his temples
throbbed more painfully than ever. In what state of mu-
tual feeling was he about to find those whose happiness was
so dear to him? He took courage, at length, to throw open
the door, but only to stand rooted to the threshold.
Much have those “sweet writers,” the elegiac poets, en-
larged upon the elegant domesticity of the tea-table, the
“bubbling and loud-hissing urn,” and so forth. But let a
simple proser be believed, that the truly domestic meal is
breakfast;-breakfast with its steaming café au lait, its
transparent slices of Westphalian ham, its smoking muffins,
and reeking morning papers.
At such a feast, in a simple dressing-room, undisfigured
by the gilding and frippery peculiar to the boudoirs of par-
venue Countesses and the vulgar fine, sat Lord Gransden in
his chintz dressing-gown, with his wife leaning familiarly
over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of a criticism upon the
last new opera in the Morning Post, which his Lordship,
per privilege of sex, chose to monopolize. One of the
prettiest white hands in the world rested upon his shoulder;
which, as
Crimson and green was the chintz of his wear,
was charmingly thrown out by the depth of its rich dark
hues; while the other hand kept back Laura's silken ring-
lets from intercepting her view of the paper. A cheerful
smile was upon her lips; and in the expression of Lord
Gransden's countenance as much conjugal happiness was
concentrated as ever brightened the looks of man, from the
days when Adam was content to pick posies and listen to
nightingales in company with his sinless Eve.
“Papa! my dear, dear papa!”—exclaimed Laura, dart-
ing forward and throwing her arms round Mr. Oakham's
neck, as the sound of his quickened respiration met her ear,
“This is, indeed, taking us by surprise !”—And her father,
"THE DOWAGER, 25
f
§:
§ ***
4 *
as she withdrew a moment from his embrace to look up
into his face, saw in an instant that all was well. There
was such unclouded joy in her smile, such feminine tender-
ness in her blush
Upon her brow shame was ashamed to sit!
He strained her tenderly to his heart. She was his own
girl still—his darling Laura. Evelyn was a blockhead—
Lady Seldon an intermeddling fool—the world a liar !—All
were to blame except his beloved—his slandered daughter!
All this time, Lord Gransden and his “How are you, my
dear Oakham 7”—were standing unanswered. It was not
for a minute or two that the agitated father recovered him-
self sufficiently to snatch the Wiscount’s hand between his
own, and shake it heartily. Lord Gransden saw that tears
stood in his father-in-law's eyes; but as Oakham had already
vouchsafed a satisfactory answer to his “ All well at home,
I hope 7”—there were no grounds for imputing his emotion
to more than the joy of seeing his favorite daughter again
after three months' absence. Gransden was far too good-
natured a fellow to discover cause for ridicule in the excess
of feeling of any mortal living.
“Did Mrs. Oakham receive my cadeau before you left
Hanbury?” said he. “Laura wanted to make me keep the
picture for a fine frame to be finished. But I judged of
your wife, by myself; and felt sure she would not lose the
enjoyment of her daughter's picture for three or four weeks,
for all the frames that ever were carved and gilt.”
There was not much in these words, yet every one of
them caused the father's heart to thrill. , They contained a
respite from such deep despair; a certification of such per-
fect happiness; a reprieve from family disgrace; a balm for
parental agony. Till.that moment, Oakham scarcely knew
what he had been suffering for the last six and thirty hours;
as by the soreness of the limbs in recovering from an acci-
dent, we appreciate the greatness of the shock.
“You are come to spend some time with us, I hope *
said Lord Gransden, placing a chair for him at the little
breakfast-table, which was so strictly conjugal as scarcely
to admit a third-person.
WOL. II, 3.
26 THE DOWAGER,
“I'm afraid I can't sit down with you,” said Oakham,
looking affectionately at them both. “John Evelyn ac-
companied me to town.”
“Evelyn !”—exclaimed Lord Gransden, with hospitable
glee. “I’m deuced glad to hear it. , Laura and I have in:
vited him here a hundred times; but he always said he could
neither leave nor bring his family. Where is he? Why
didn't he come up with you?”
“ I wish he had,” observed Mr. Oakham, with a signifi-
cance not to be understood by his son-in-law. “But I left
him settling for the horses. It is scarcely worth while to
put your people out by quartering ourselves upon you dur-
ing our short stay in town. We can get beds at Mivart's
or Scaife's, and be with you as often as you like to have
us.”
“I shall be much hurt if either of you refuse to become
my guest,” cried the young Wiscount, in all sincerity. , “We
have a spare bed-room, with a dressing-room that holds a
bed. You will put no one out of his way. At present,
we have plenty of room for you,” said he, with a smiling
glance at his wife. “At present, you know, we are not so
much family people as to occupy our whole house. Next
year, I don't answer for the spare bed-room. But I must go
and fetch up Evelyn.”
And down stairs he ran after his brother-in-law, who was
so anxiously pacing the drawing-room, that had not the
Dowager been at that moment reprimanding Waux about the
tea-urn, instead of occupying her usual post of observation,
her surmises would have been strangely excited by the agi-
tated gestures of the strange gentleman at Lord Grans-
den's.
“My dear girl l—if you did but know what joy it affords
me to find you so happy,” cried poor Oakham, profiting by
his téte-à-tête with his daughter to fold her in another hear-
ty embrace. º
“Happy indeed,” replied Lady Gransden. “Except
that dear mamma has not accompanied you to town, I have
not a wish on earth ungratified.”
“And there has been no cloud—no interval 7”—inquir-
ed the fond father, fixing upon Laura's sweet face, one of
THE DOWAGER, 27
those kindly searching looks of tenderness which only a
parent’s eye can emit.
“None, none " replied Lady Gramsden, fervently. “I
scarcely know how to be grateful enough for the blessings
heaped upon me. I can safely assert, dearest father, that
from the day of my quitting Hanbury, till this moment, not
a harsh or hasty word has passed my husband’s lips to-
wards me. Indeed, (as there is no one present to quiz
the confession) I may be allowed to say, that I think we
love each other better every day of our lives.”
Lord Gransden and Evelyn were standing close behind
the happy couple who were still clasped in each other’s
arms, as Laura uttered this frank declaration.
“Isn't she a humbug ("—cried Lord Gransden, turning
with a look of half confused delight towards his brother-in-
law. “She heard us come into the room, and was in
hopes of bribing me not to thrash her for the next six
months, by all these fine speeches.”
But John Evelyn was sufficiently experienced in matri-
monial life, to see at a glance that Lady Gransden was sin-
cere, and that perfect harmony prevailed in the household.
In the confusion of taking possession of their rooms, he
found a moment to offer his congratulations to Mr. Oak-
ham.
“Upon my soul, I hardly know what apology to make
for the needless pain I have inflicted,” said he. “What
does that old hyena, Lady Seldon, deserve : At least to
pay the cost of our journey. But I am resolved to bring
her to account; I am resolved to sift the affair to the bot-
tom.
“Not a word now ;-Gransden might hear you,” was
Oakham's mild reply.
“I am come back again to warn you both,” said the
Wiscount, with a laughing face, half opening the door,
“that if you have any very horrible conspiracy to carry on
in these rooms, draw down the blinds. We live in perpet-
ual fear of the Inquisition. Right opposite is an old Dow-
ager, who for spite and mischief, I would back against the
united old maids of any market town in Great Britain.
Beware, or your proceedings, wrapt in the quaintest dis-
28 THE DO WAGER,
guises, will find their way, in the course of twenty four
hours, from one end of London to the other. You may
smile, my dear Evelyn. But remember you are not at the
Willows; and here, I can tell you, the Dowager Lady
Delmaine and her scandals are anything but matter of
jest.”
*
CHAPTER III.
Wonderful intimacies arise among the frivolous; as the lightest kinds of
wood may be the closest glued together.
SHENSTONE,
AFTER as much rest and refreshment as was necessary
to two travellers, whose labors had terminated so agreea-
bly, Oakham and his son-in-law, declining all aid of Lord
Gransden’s horses and carriages, proceeded severally to
their morning’s amusements, with all the zest and flurry
experienced by persons arriving in London, after a long
absence, in the height of the season.
“Since we have come upon this fool's errand,” was
Oakham’s judicious remark, “let us even make the best
of it, and enjoy ourselves.”
And away he went across the squares, down Regent
Street, across “Club-land—glorious land”—to wonder at
St. James's Park, and introduce himself to the asphaltic
pavement. As he drew nearer towards the parliamentary
regions and purlieus of Chancery, where country gentle-
men, when transplanted to town, most do congregate, he
was more than once clapped, country gentlemanwise, on the
back, with—“Oakham my dear fellow, what the devil
brings you to town f"—More people were rejoiced to see
him than he had fancied London could supply to interest
themselves in his comings and goings. He met, in short,
THE DOWAGER. 29
ałmost as many familiar faces as if he had been trotting on
his favorite cob from Hambury Park to the justice meeting.
It was—“Oakham, come with me a moment into the
House. I want to talk to you about that petition I am to
present from New Rasingham.”—Or—“Oakham, my dear
fellow, step with me into Bellamy’s. You are just the man I
wanted. I am up before the committee to-morrow about
that d d business at Losely, and you can give me the
necessary information.”—Or—“Oakham, a word with
you—only a word, mind; for I am to meet my lawyer in
the Hall at three.”
The Squire was completely in his element. He had al-
ready made appointments with old friends and country
neighbors, to visit Aldridge's and Tattersall's, to dine at the
Albion and Lovegrove's, and to examine, Heaven knows
how many patent machines for doing, in an uncommon way,
all that our farming forefathers used to do in a common,
when barley was reaped with a sickle and mangel wurzel un-
known.
“I must have you come and see my new patent chaff.
cutter before it is packed up,” cried Sir Thomas Furrow-
bottom.
“You must look in at Oxenham’s at my bone-mill on the
new principle, before it goes to the wagon office,” shouted
Bob Sheerwell, of Sheerwell Park.
“Have you heard of the new harrow 2 Pray contrive to
meet me to-morrow at Hallam and Cottam's to see the new
harrow,” cried one of the agricultural peers of his county.
“The cleverest thing you ever beheld in your life. The
fellow has got the devil knows what for his patent, and so
he ought; for, upon my soul, Sir, it is the finest invention
that has come out since the steam engine !”
Even after extricating himself from these importunate
friends, Oakham found it difficult to work his way from
Parliament Street to Piccadilly. The shop windows, so
weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable to a London man, were
replete with amusement for the country gentleman. It was
nearly four years since Oakham was in London, (his last
visit being to Gray’s Inn, at the moment of drawing up
Lady Gransden's marriage settlement,) and what billions.
*
&
30 THE DOWAGER,
and trillions of inventions during that time ! Every shop
was a little world to him. The cutlers, ironmongers, lamp-
makers, upholsterers, china manufacturers, glass-cutters,
each tempted him in turn, with some novelty which he long-
ed to carry down with him to Hanbury Park.
Then the equipages—those guarantees of national
wealth—what light, easy, well-hung carriages—what cap-
ital horses; how famously well turned out! How different
from the heavy ill-cleaned harness, and half-groomed nags
of his country neigbors. Even the brewer’s drays had
merit in his eyes. “By Jupiter!—what animals ſ” he ex-
claimed, as one of Meux’s finest teams passed him at Cha-
ring Cross.
“Lucky for me that I am wise enough to keep quiet in
the country,” mused the Squire, as he took his way home-
ward along Páll Mall. “Three or four seasons in town,
and I scarpely know where I should look for the money for
William's troop, or the living I have promised to buy for
Fred. Safe out of harm’s way is the surest place for old
blockheads like myself, who don’t know how to resist
temptation.” And so saying, he marched straight into
Howełl and James’s shop, and bought a French clock as a
present for his wife, besides a handsome shawl, and various
other tempting articles of woman's gear. Elizabeth Eve-
lyn and her children, too, were not forgotten.
“Poor girl P’ said the happy father. “Lizzy deserves
some compensation for this little break up of her domestic
comfort. Like a good wife as she is, I know she can't
bear parting with Evelyn.”
At half-past five, he was in Grosvenor Street again, true
to his habit of being at home in time for the dressing bell.
But on finding the house deserted, and that he had still
two idle hours before him, he sauntered into the Park, to
admire, in a mass, the carriages and horses which had
singly startled him by their beauty.
“Can any country in Europe, but England, I should
like to know, produce such a display as this?”—exclaimed
the Squire, taking possession of a seat near the well-water-
ed drive, and gazing admiringly upon the handsome edific
ees of Park, Lane, basking, with their gay verandahs and
THE DowAGER. . 31
Genoese blinds, in the sunshine of a June afternoon, upon
the bright open carriages with their many-colored freight,
like moving beds of tulips—upon the fair equestrians man-
aging their thorough-bred steeds with such graceful ease—
and even upon the tribes of fair-faced and richly dressed
children sporting with their nursery-maids upon the grass.
Mothing but opulence, nothing but luxury, nothing but
health and hilarity within view.
“What a population 1—what a country !” was the very
natural ejaculation of one whose eyes, habituated to rustic
uncouthness and country negligence, were doubly fasci-
nated by refinements that pass unheeded of the customary
loungers of the place; by the denizens of the town, who
would have been just as much struck by the pure verdure
of Hanbury Park, and the rich foliage of its timber, com-
pared with their sooty grass and dwarfish sad suited trees
of the Park, as the Squire by its well-dressed woman and
horses, and the varnish of its carriages and boots.
“Laura has a happy time of it,” was his next reflection,
as he called to mind that Lady Gransden had carriages and
saddle-horses at command, and was probably one of the
fairest of the gay loungers in that brilliant throng.
Such was the elation of spirit in which Mr. Oakham re-
turned home to dinner ; excited like a child by all he had
heard and seen, and with every intention of enjoying him-
self, to the utmost, during the week he proposed to stay
in town. He had already written a letter of satisfactory ex-
planation to his wife. After all, he was not sorry he had
come. The sight of Laura, in the scene of her triumphs,
made him feel young again. There was to be a drawing-
room on the Thursday. It was a foolish fancy, he admit-
ted; bu the could not help feeling pleased at the opportunity
of seeing his beautiful daughter dressed for court.
On arriving in Grosvenor Street, it was quite clear that
John Evelyn had been spending the morning less agreeably
than his father-in-law. There are some men whom travel-
ling all night makes bilious—and being bilious, cross ; and
Evelyn was both. He was rather affronted, moreover, that
Oakham had not invited him to be the companion of his
walk; for though forced to accede to the Squire's remark,
32 THE DOWAGER,
that they had better be independent, yet as he possessed, at
five-and-twenty, less extended acquaintanceship than his
father-in-law at sixty, Evelyn had not seen a soul he knew,
though he had beat up several clubs with inquiries after
country neighbors, and passed a whole hour in eating an
ice in the front chair of Grange's shop.
Now, though it is not always pleasant to be slapped on
the back, or dragged by a blustering friend into Westmin-
ster Hall, to be wrecked upon a populous city where there
is no familiar hand or importunate friend to perform such of.
fices, is a disagreeable alternative. John Evelyn, whose
temper was not altogether sound, and who was somewhat
spoiled by the worship of his wife, was moved, alas ! to en-
vy, by those elegancies and splendors which had excited
only the admiration of his more cordial-hearted father-in-law.
Instead of feeling proud that he belonged to a country so
highly advanced in civilization, he felt provoked that his lot
was not appointed among the gay frivolities of life. He
sickened at the thought of the dull gravel walk at the Wil-
lows, and the quizzicality of his dennet, as he lounged along
the crowded pavement of Bond-street, and stared into the
coachmakers’ windows. Yet the next moment, after being
nearly run over by a fashionable phaeton, he was thanking
Heaven that he was not as those pharisees ;-that he was
not forced to pass his days in such a vortex of levity and
noise;—that he was spared the grinding of the street-organ,
to which his bilious head-ache made him peculiarly sensi-
tive, and an atmosphere, the sooty particles of which were
demonstrated by every sparrow that hopped before him.
If the whole truth must be told, Evelyn's habitual jeal-
ousy of the Gransdens was returning, now that all fear of a
misfortune impending over the Wiscountess, had ceased to
mollify his feelings towards her. It mortified him to re-
member how differently he had been able to welcome his
father-in-law, when the Oakhams, twice since his marriage,
had come to spend the month of Mrs. Evelyn's confine-
ment at the Willows. In addition to his self-love as a host,
his pride as a husband was wounded by the intensity of af-
fection he had that morning seen Mr. Oakham lavish on his
favorite daughter;—a daughter dearer than ever, at that
moment, to his heart, as if escaped from shipwreck, or some
THE DOWAGER, * 33
other mighty peril. And when, to crown his discontents,
Mr. Oakham placed on the finger of his daughter, as she
flew to the head of the stairs to welcome him back, a costly
ring which he had purchased for her in the course of his
morning’s peregrinations, John Evelyn, who knew nothing
of the contents of the numerous packets and parcels alrea-
dy deposited in Oakham's room, began to reflect that if his
father-in-law increased the expenses of his sojourn in town
by many such acquisitions, he would be exceedingly likely
to overdraw his account at Drunmmond’s.
“I have only invited one or two people to meet you, dear
papa; particular friends, so intimate as to be asked with-
out notice,” said Iaura, leading him into the drawing-room.
“My dear child, I should have been much better pleas-
ed with a family party.”
“Oh! these persons are almost the same as my family;
and I like you, my dearest father, to be acquainted with all
my friends. I shall invite the Langleys for Saturday, be-
cause I know how highly you regard Mr. Morison Lang-
ley.”
“You know them, then 7 So much the better. You can-
not associate with more respectable people. Whom do you'
expect to-day ?”—he continued, fixing his eyes upon his
daughter in admiration of the elegance of her dress and
form ; while Evelyn, on the other hand, remarked nothing
in her appearance except that she was too much dressed for
a small party in her own house, as her sister Elizabeth, on
such an occasion, would have been satisfied with a morning
gown. 4.
“Lord Grandison and his daughter, and Lord Chiches-
ter,” she replied ; and her father was glad that John Eve-
lyn happened to be looking over some H. Bs. at the other
end of the room, as he would more willingly have received
a box on the ear, than have heard the announcement of the
latter name. For though his son-in-law, for prudential rea-
sons, had given a mere abstract of the information afforded
by Lady Seldon, yet in the course of their journey of a
hundred and eighty miles, he had more than once inadver-
‘tently let fall, that the son of the Earl of Delmaine was the
man suspected of exercising an unlawful influence over the
affections of Lady Gransden.
34 THE DOWAGER,
When, therefore, Lord Chichester made his entrée, with
all the ease of l'ami de la maison, gay, graceful, smiling—
handsomer than any one of the handsome young men whom
Oakham had that morning admired in St. James's Street as
the rising aristocracy of Great Britain—the squire received
with a very ill grace, the courteous advances of the bosom
friend of Lord Gransden; the fidus Achates selected by the
Wiscount's loving wife, to be his pilot through the rocks and
shoals of Toryism. There was not, however, much leisure
for the assumption of sternness. A moment afterwards, a
portly middle-aged man, with a beautiful girl hanging on his
arm, arrayed in the bonuet and morning-dress so much ap-
proved by John Evelyn, made their appearance.
“Always at your orders, you see,” said he, shaking hands
cordially with Lady Gransden. “Alice and I only receiv-
ed your note on returning from our ride; and instead of
waiting for the carriage, we walked here at once.”
Not being aware that the walk in question, consisted of
the hundred yards lying between a house in Park Lane and
one in Upper Grosvenor Street, John Evelyn took little no-
tice of the humble pedestrians, whose names he had not
happened to hear announced, compared with the attention
he could not but bestow upon Lord Chichester; in the first
place, as a co-partner in Lady Gransden’s imputed guilt;
in the second, as a young member of some reputation ; and
in the third, as the best dressed, best mannered and best
looking man with whom he had ever happened to be in com-
pany. John Evelyn saw, at a glance, that he was a sadly
dangerous fellow—a decided mangeur de cours; and the
friendly good humor with which Lord Gransden “Chiches-
tered” him, and made him one of the family, and the almost
sisterly familiarity with which Laura had the audacity to ad-
dress him—more sisterly by far than her manner towards
himself (which was not very wonderful, considering that she
had seen him every day of the season and every season of
her married life, whereas, she had not been twenty times in
company with her brother-in-law), roused his utmost indig-
nati Om.
Could the Dowager have suspected, as she stood, spec-
tacles on nose, behind the crimson silk curtains, watching,
THE DOWAGER, 35
the arrival of the dinner-guests at No. 4; that in the bo-
som of one of the party festered feelings nearly as veno-
mous as those of her own, some species of telegraph, elec-
tric or magnetic, would certainly have been attempted, in
order to quicken the perceptions of John Evelyn.
Nothing of the kind, however, being possible, he got
through his printannier, salmon, and glass of sherry, with-
out exchanging more than monosyllables with the portly
gentleman who sat all but unheeded between him and his
sister-in-law. W.
“I expected to meet Augustus Langley,” observed his
neglected neighbor to Lady Gransden, as if asking an ex-
planation of the sixth chair which the servants had remov-
ed, on their sitting down to table.
“When I wrote to you this morning, I had hopes of
him,” replied the Wiscountess. “But we met Mr. Lang.
ley in the park, and found that he was to escort his mother
and sister to some early concert.”
“Quite right,” was the reply. “Young Langley is the
best son and brother of my acquaintance ; an unfashiona-
ble qualification, perhaps, but one which I can’t help re-
specting.”
This little hint was addressed to Lord Chichester,
(whom, since he was pointed out as the object of Lady
Alicia's affections, Lord Grandison had selected as that of
his aversion), the rarity of his Lordship's appearance in
public with Lady Delmaine and her daughter, being an
undeniable delinquency; whereupon John Evelyn, pleased
to notice that the portly stranger directed to Lord Chiches-
ter glances as ungracious as his own, immediately began
to make the agreeable to him, with all the sociability inspir-
ed by a glass of excellent wine, and an antipathy in com-
1110ſ].
Their familiarity progressed with the dinner. The el-
der gentleman seemed aware that his neighbor was a stran-
ger in town; for he took the liberty of offering to facilitate
his access to divers recondite public places, from the House
of Lords down to the House of Correction. In return,
John Evelyn was grateful and good humored. His opin-
ion of his neighbor waxed still higher when he saw that he
36 THE DOWAGERs
stuck to the sirloin in preference to the dainty bits of
French varnished leather, à la this and a la that, succes-
sively brought round by the butler; and higher still, when,
from London, their talk progressed to Cheshire; and it
became clear to Evelyn that he was on intimate terms
with many of the first people in the county. The stran-
ger spoke of being there in six weeks, with what appeared
so significant an emphasis, that Evelyn, though beginning
to feel somewhat ashamed of the Willows and its garden
gate, in addressing one who visited familiarly at Eaton and
Combermere Abbey, mentioned in a slight way, that, should
chance bring him to the neighborhood, he had a preserve
or two reserved for his friends, to which he should feel hap-
py to introduce him.
What was his surprise and consternation when, in return
for this little piece of gratuitous civility, the portly gentle-
man set down his glass of hock to reply, “And, believe
me, it will afford me equal pleasure to see you at Grandi-
son House. Hitherto my daughters have been too young
to admit of my inviting female guests ; but I sincerely
trust, that now Alicia is at the head of my house, Mrs.
Evelyn will do us the honor to consider us within visiting
distance.”
It almost took away John Evelyn's breath to know that
he had been offering his two turnip fields and a few osier
beds and plantations, by way of preserves, to the proprietor
of all the renowned battues at Grandison which had so of.
ten moved his envy. Lord Grandison—the Earl of Gran-
dison—the Right Hon. Earl of Grandison—had actually
been the object of his petty patronage How thoughtless
of Lady Gransden not to apprise him—not to present him
in form. He might have inadvertently said a thousand
things to insult Lord Grandison, and commit himself. As
luck would have it, he had achieved the latter feat alone.
He had only been a thousand times too civil to a man
whom he had pledged himself to treat like a bear.
So exaggerated is the influence of the aristocracy in
Ejani or rather so servile the spirit of the middle class-
es, that a nobleman, in the vicinity of his country seat, as
compared with the same man in his London club, is as the
f
THE powAGER. 37
magnified flea in the plates of a treatise upon Entomology,
compared with the same insect in its natural condition.
The “Lord Anything,” of an obscure country neighbor-
hood, is talked of by all its squires, as if there were some-
thing specific in the very hoofs of his coach-horses. . . To
them he is a regal personage. They know the names and
number of his servants—the arrangements of his house-
hold. Oil all occasions, they quote his sayings; and when
he says nothing, wonder what he thinks; till reasonable
beings visiting in the neighborhood, become sick of his very
Ila IIlê . . . . . . . . . . ."
In this abject light had Lord Grandison always been re-
garded at the Willows. During the life of the late Lady
Grandison, considerable festivities had occurred at Grandi-
son House ; and once a year the late Mr. and Mrs. Eve-
lyn had been invited. These visits had formed an epoch
in the family history; had been talked of years and years
afterwards; and it was a very serious mortification to John
Evelyn, that, on his coming into possession of his small es-
tate, no attempt was made by the Earl to extend his ac-
quaintance with the family. . . . . .
Evelyn had expected that, at some public meeting, the
Earl, who lived forty miles distant from him, and who was
unknown to him, even by sight, would request an introduc-
tion. He had expected it on coming of age—he had ex-
pected it at his marriage; but he had expected it in vain.
The Earl evidently neither knew, nor cared anything about
him. After a time, when the case grew hopeless, the
grapes became sour. John Evelyn assured his wife it was
a decided lucky thing for them they were spared the ex-
pense of post-horses for such remote visiting as Grandison
House; and became just as fond of raking up ill-natured
stories against the Earl, as he had been of singing his
praises, so long as he expected a visit. At length, he went
so far as to declare to Lady Seldon and others of his neigh-
bors, that it might be very well for them to listen to the in-
decent sallies of such a reprobate as the Earl of Grandi-
son; but that, for his part, he thought venison and Cham-
pagne a very poor compensation for being compelled to wit-
ness incessant outrages of decorum ; and that nothing on
WOL. II, 4
38 THE DOWAGER.
|
earth would induce him to take his wife to Grandison
House. ;
All poor Mrs. Evelyn's silly vauntings about her sister
Lady Gransden, were attributable to the same cause.
Smarting under her mortification, she loved to remind the
country neighbors, who, she was convinced, despised her
because she did not visit at Grandison, that, though despis-
ed by an Earl, she had a sister a Wiscountess; and Lord
Grandison was consequently the remote and innocent cause
of all the vengeance vowed against poor Laura by the fair
Meltonians, as well as of the hatred cherished against her
by Lady Seldon, who had never beheld her in her life.
And after all this, -after swearing that should his Lord-
ship now even request an introduction, he would refuse—re-
fuse in the most pointed, the most uncivil manner—to go
and offer him a day's shooting—to talk to him of his pre-
serves –to invite him, in the most petitioning tone, to the
Willows;–to speak of showing him something of the coun-
ty—showing him who possessed a rent-roll there of five-
and-forty thousand a year ! Poor Evelyn, exaggerating the
importance of the Earl and everything that concerned him,
felt ready to sink into the earth.
The thing that surprised him, next to his own stupidity in
not making the discovery before, was the extreme familiari-
ty between his sister-in-law and the Earl and his daughter.
He was pretty nearly sure that Lady Gransden had stated,
when they were altogether at Hanbury Park the preceding
year, that she did not so much as know Lord Grandison by
sight. Was it possible that an acquaintance so quickly form-
ed had so rapidly ripened into familiarity ? Was such the
effect of the forcing house called London—the hot bed of
fashionable society? If so, perhaps the good-looking fellow
opposite, with his white teeth and quotations from Lycoph-
ron, had needed only a few months to achieve the fatal pro-
gress there was every appearance that he had made in the
affections of Lord Gransden's wife
t
T H E J OWAGER, 39
CHAPTER IV.
Af
A general representation of an action, either, ridiculous or enormous, will
make those wince who find too much. similitude to themselves to plead not
guilty.
A DIDISON,
IT was wonderful that the Dowager should have found
strength to stand so long watching behind the crimson cur-
tain the arrival of Lord Gransden's company and ice-pails ;
for she had gone through a world of fatigue that morning,
—driving from house to house, like an errand-man laboring
in his vocation, to deposit all her little parcels of innuendoes
and packets of fibs. "
Busy days of this description, were, however, the delight
of her life. To Lady Delmaine, to develope some tit bit of
scandal, was like to lettered persons reading some charm-
ing romance or epic poem, . She was overjoyed, after wast-
ing her time in beating the bushes, to start unexpectedly a
piece of game; and so long as there remained the slightest
scent in the wind, seldom abandoned her hopes of bringing
it down, and bagging it for home consumption. g
It was incredible the number of persons whose minds she
had contrived to poison in the course of the day in ques-
tion. “Well,” said she in the first house,she entered, “as
I predicted long ago, things are coming to a crisis with the
Gransdens. The catastrophe is at hand P’
“Indeed 7–an execution in the house ! I hadn't an idea
they were hard up !”
“I don’t refer to money-matters. I know nothing about
their finances, though I dare say they are going as ill as all
the rest. When the general break up of a family takes
place, it is generally seen, that while the lady was following
her pastimes, the servants were following theirs.”
40 THE DOWAGER.
“But what pastimes has Lady Gransden been following :
She always seemed to me a very charming woman ; and
certainly not the least of a flirt.”
“Not the least of a flirt : You give that as your con-
scientious opinion? Come, come, I see you are cautious;
but caution is useless now. The whole thing is discovered.
Her family and the lawyers have been called in.”
“The lawyers called in 2 The lawyers ? God bless
my soul, my dear Lady Delmaine, do tell me all about it !
—When did this happen?”
“I would tell you all I know with pleasure, but I have an
appointment with my daughter Langley, which it is out of
my power to break. Good morning, good morning.”
And away she flew, leaving, like a wasp, her sting behind.
“Charmingly your friend Lady Gransden has managed
her affairs P-was the opening phrase in another house.
“I always thought she would not get clear through another
season! Fortunate that she has no children; perhaps,
however, if she had been a mother, she might have found
better occupation for her time.”
“Better than what?”
“Oh! my dear Lady Sophia, you know perfectly well
what I mean.”
“Indeed I don't. I know nothing wrong of Lady Grans-
den. She never plays—never bets—as when my back is
turned you accuse me of doing. Don’t apologize l—in my
case, you only tell truth. But I positively never could per-
suade Lady Gransden to stake a sovereign.”
“Play is a shocking vice " said the Dowager, senten-
tiously; “but it is not the only one in the world.”
“Does Lady Gransden drink, then?” cried Lady Sophia,
laughing, “for gallantry is fortunately out of the question
with a woman so desperately fond of her husband, that she
has been ready to kill Lady Medwyn for only wanting to
make a tory of him.”
“That is all you know of the matter! However, it is
not for me to circulate the thing. It will soon speak for it-
self! I am sure I am heartily sorry to see a young person
so throw herself away! However, her father is come up to
THE DOWAGER, 41
act as her friend, and will take care that her worldly interests
are cared for.”
“Her father ?—Her interests 7 Now do, my dear Lady
Delmaine, tell me all about it. Lady Gransden get in-
to a scrape Lady Gransden, who pretended in our case,
to be so scandalized at what was no scrape at all, but only
the manière d’étre of a society to which she was unaccus-
tomed. What has she been doing 7 And what is going to
be done with her ?”
“Pray excuse me ! I wish to be the last person to give
publicity to a story so odious. Good morning. The Sun-
day papers will tell you the rest.”
To certain of the “scribes and pharisees, hypocrites,”
her scandals were more plausibly enveloped.
“Ah ! my dear Lady Charlotte | Who would have
thought it? But God's will be done! Poor dear Lord
Gransden | Ah! as I was saying to my daughter yester-
day, if Lady Gransden had only our friend Lady Charlotte's
refined mind and admirable principles, her elegant occupa-
tions, and exemplary piety I suppose you heard last night
at Almacks that the affair was in the lawyer's hands !”
“What affair? I am quite tombée des nues. I live so
thoroughly apart from the gay scenes of the world!—JMy
happiness, by the Lord’s mercy, is fixed in a higher sphere !
I didn’t go to Almack's last night, because Dévy hadn’t
sent home my turban, and one looks such a wretch in a blonde
cap at this time of year. Tell me, my dear friend —To
what dreadful act of culpability are you alluding? You know
that I am a mere novice—a mere child.
“Well, I am sure, I thought you were on the point of
becoming a great grandmother P’ said the Dowager, draw-
ing in her lips.
“I spoke in a moral sense. The mind has neither sex
nor age. The goodness of the Almighty has decreed, that
a perpetual spring should rejuvenate the spirits of those
who put their trust in his promises. Pray will there be a
divorce 7”
“I am no lawyer.”
“Nor I a divine ; yet I can understand thé heinousness
of the case, as you might understand the law of it.”
4%
42 THE BOW A GER,
“All I can tell you is, that I should be very sorry to
have a daughter of mine, or I may add grand-daughter, (for
I am not ashamed of having a grand-daughter,) stand in
such a predicament.”
“Things are proceeding then to extremities 7 Well, I
never should have thought it. One certainly ought to feel
no unchristianly exultation in the fall of a neighbor, a frail
young woman, too ; yet, l must confess, it gives me plea-
sure when I see a hypocrite unmasked.”
“Ah! one never knows when one’s own turn may
come !”—said the Dowager, forgetting as she turned up
her eyes, that it was not a decease they were deploring.
“But rely upon it, my dear Lady Charlotte, should anything
decisive transpire concerning this disgusting affair, I will
instantly hasten to inform you.”
In other places, the Dowager spoke more cavalierly.
“Well, Lady Dearmouth !—No mistake The Grans-
den affair is thoroughly blown.”
“Blown to what?”
“To all the corners of London—or soon will be. Who
was right, you or I ? I offered to bet you a guinea, you
know, at your last loo-party, that Lady Gransden would
not be in Grosvenor Street next year.”
“And you know I refused your bet, being quite sure
that your espionage would end with driving her out of the
neighborhood.”
“What do you mean by espionage? I can’t help see-
ing with my eyes.”
“No, nor talking with your tongue. Why can't you let
the girl alone º She was going down hill fast enough, my
dear soul, without any assistance of yours. What made
you go and tell a long rigmarole story about her the other
day to Mrs. Crouch, when you had been sitting half an
hour with me without saying a word about the matter 7
Surely I am as much to be trusted as Mrs. Crouch. You
and I have been acquainted ever since we were born—three
score years or thereabouts. I remember when we used
to dance minuets in red morocco shoes at Panthémont, pre-
vious to the IFrench Revolution... And after that, to go.
and give your preference, as a confidante, to Mrs. Crouch,
|
THE DOWAGER. 43
to whom you were only introduced eighteen years ago at
Cheltenham | A mere watering-place acquaintance I
confess, Lady Delmaine, I reckoned more upon your friend-
ship.”
P I plead guilty, my dear Lady Dearmouth. The truth
is, I had been most particularly pledged to secrecy respect-
ing the affair in question. Only, as I need not tell you,
Mrs. Crouch has such an insidious way of worming things
out of one. That woman’s tongue would coax a guinea
out of a miser’s strong box. However, I have not said a
word to her of my new discovery. You have the étrennes
of the story. Yes, as I was telling you, there has been a
regular explosion between the Wiscount and his wife. Her
parents were sent for to take her home. The mother would
not come ; but at day-break this morning, the poor distract-
ed father and his man of business, made their appearance.”
“Well, and what is the result 7” $
“At present, nobody knows. The thing was carried on,
as the newspapers say, with closed doors. Strangers were
ordered to leave the gallery.” \
“But it wasn't carried on with closed windows, I sup-
pose; and you wern’t ordered to withdraw from your own
drawing-room, eh? Thanks to the number of looking-
glasses in the Gransdens’ front room, one sees every thing
that passes there, from your work-table, as plain as if it
were under the same roof. Come, come, my dear soul,
don’t make mysteries of nothing. You know very well
that—”
“ Hush not so loud. I’m sure I heard Lord Dear-
mouth in the other room ; and you know what a fuss he
makes when he finds us engaged in what he calls a privy
council of scandal.”
“Pho, phol—Lord Dearmouth has been down at Boo-
dle's this hour past. Well, how did the country squire re-
ceive the intelligence? With half the emotion, I will an-
swer for it, that he would have heard of one of his train-
horses being attacked with the staggers | Ay, ay, he has
got his deserts | The gentleman was ambitious. He
chose to make his daughter a Wiscountess, instead of mar-
rying her in her own sphere of life, to some neighboring
44 THE DOWAGER.
squire; et il est puni par où il a péché ! I wonder what
the damages will be laid at?”
“ Hush, hush my dear Lady Dearmouth. I can as-
sure you, I have heard Lord Dearmouth stirring in the
other room.”
“ Nonsense ! When he is there, he never stirs. Lord
Dearmouth's as still as a mouse. If there’s any one there,
'tis my prying second footman, who is a literary gentleman,
and had some hand, I believe, in that abominable Diary.
Do just open the door and see.”
“Not a soul! Well I could have sworn J heard some
one moving. I dare say it was a mouse, which you are
pleased to call still, but which is the noisiest little beast in
creation.”
“By the way, I call that Mr. Harvey d'Ewes, (that sau-
cy protégé of Lady Mary Langley's) the noisiest little beast
in creation. Our whist-party at the Maxwell's, last night,
broke up an hour earlier than usual, because Mr. d’Ewes
and Miss Langley were in such high spirits and talked so
loud, that there was no knowing one card from another.”
“Cecilia talk loud : Why she is the dullest, quietest girl
in London.”
“You wouldn't have thought so if you had heard her last
night. I am sure, I trust her mother gave her a severe re-
primand when they got home. Mrs. Crouch kept turning
round and giving her such looks—(you know how she can
look from under that bright green turban, which gives her
just the air of Friar Bacon's brazon head, patched with ver-
digris.) Even Lord Chichester, who stood in the doorway,
not choosing to come in for fear of interrupting the players,
looked perfectly astonished at her.”
“Is that Mr. d’Ewes anything of a match?” inquired the
Dowager, closing her left eye, and peering cunningly out of
the other.
“I should think not. Young men of fortune seldom give
themselves the trouble to be so vastly entertaining. Mr.
d’Ewes tells good stories, and draws caricatures upon la-
dies' fans; a country-house-man—a mister merryman, who
makes his appearance at Christmas with the turkey and mis-
tletoe.”
THE DOWAGER, 45
“Just what I should have expected of Cissy Langley !
That girl has no more taste—no more foresight, than an owl.
If she must giggle and flirt, why not make herself talked of
with some man likely to do her credit? I shall speak to
her mother about it. Lady Mary takes things much too
easily. It is no thanks to her, I can tell you, that her son
Augustus is not in the Gransden scrape instead of his cou-
sin; for she was always encouraging him to go to the house,
on the plea that good female society is the best school in
the world for a young man of his age. Very good society
forsooth ! All I know is, that if Augustus Langley were, at
this moment, standing in the shoes of Lord Chichester, as
he is always ambitious of doing, I would not answer for the
consequences to his father. I am certain it would break
poor Morison Langley’s heart.”
“Lady Mary’s, let us hope, is more tough ; for this
Gransden business, I suspect, will put her out a little in her
plans. In the first place, she loses Lord Chichester for her
daughter.”
“How can she lose what never belonged to her ? Chi-
chester never had the least thoughts of Cissy Langley.
His mother and sister take too good care of him; and his
father intends him to bring the Wilsmere estates into the
family.” i
“There again —another blow for Lady Mary ! We alſ
know that she wanted the heiress for her son. We all saw
how she snapped Lady Alicia de Wendover up, before the
poor girl had time to look about her. However, Lord
Grandison soon discerned what was going on, and moved
her off safe under the wing of Lady Gransden, who has
neither son nor brother. And now see the result:—all the
world has seen this poor girl, morning, noon and night, in
company with Lady Gransden and Lord Chichester; so
that she must have seen and understood what was going
on. After which, I should imagine, the prudish Lady Mary
Langley would scarcely compromise with having her for a
daughter-in-law.” -
“Depend on it, Lord Grandison means Lady Alicia de
Wendover to fly at higher game than the son of a common-
er in leather gaiters, and of moderate fortune. Well, we
46 THE DOWAGER.
shall see who will have the courage to take her out of the
Gransden school | When the exposé in that house takes
place, (if, indeed, the business should come into court, and
afterwards, worse still, before those gentlemen of the red
robe, who are so much nastier in their cross-examination of
such sad affairs than those of the long robe) things will
come out—perhaps in mitigation of damages, (I use the
word advisedly, but I beg you will not commit me on the
subject, my dear Lady Dearmouth)—I only say things will
come out—which—perhaps it is better to say no more
about. There are political intrigues connected with the af.
fair, which might—in short, I prefer washing my hands of
it 12%
“Yes—as Pilate did before he proceeded to sentence of
execution,” cried Lady Dearmouth, whose sarcasms spared
neither friend nor foe. “But the mischief is done now, I
can tell you. You hinted something or other to that chat-
tering ape, Sir Jacob Appleby, which he has, what he calls,
allowed to escape him at his club. Escape him, indeed l—
just as the gas escapes in the Grotto del Cane, which mur-
ders poor animals by the dozen a day! Now, for my part,
I make it a point of conscience, where an unpleasant cir-
cumstance, involving the peace of a family reaches my ear,
either to keep it sacred within my own bosom, or mention
it only in the strictest confidence to a bosom friend—such,
my dear madam, as yourself. I should never forgive my-
self, were I to find that any inadvertent remark of mine had
been the means of consigning a fellow creature to the mis-
eries of a wounded reputation. Reputation, my dear Lady
Delmaine, is—but I need not tell you what reputation is
We have all seen it torn to rags, and ground to atoms often
enough, to be tolerably well acquainted with its composition.
But I am sure you will agree with me, that one cannot be
too careful about putting into circulation rumors of a de-
famatory nature. Remember Holloway and Haggerty :
Holloway and Haggerty, as your Ladyship knows, after be-
ing convicted upon circumstantial evidence, and hanged for.
murder, were proved innocent as babes unborn. A sad ex-
ample ! Whenever I find myself on the point, upon the
THE DOWAGER, 47
evidence of others, of pronouncing severe sentence, I bring
to mind the fate of Holloway and Haggerty.”
“Now, my dear Lady Dearmouth—”
“A carriage—ah! Sir Lucius Flimsy, I declare Quite
well, thank you—passed a much better night;—but you
were quite right to look in. Pray have you heard this
abominable affair of Lady Gransden's 7–Quite a case of
scan. mag. | They say it will be impossible for Lord
Gransden to get a divorce, on account of the extreme care-
lessness of his conduct with regard to his wife.”
“Now, my dear Lady Dearmouth,” cried the Dowager,
again trying to interrupt her.
“They say it can be proved that he actually threw her in
Lord Chichester's way ; and though she has committed
herself since in more instances than one, Lord Chichester,
you know, was certainly the first. But I fancy it is not yet
decided against which of them the action is to be brought.”
“Now, my dear Lady Dearmouth !” persisted the Dow.
ager, “you know very well that—”
“Lady Delmaine don’t like to have it talked of in her
presence, because her relationship to the hero of the affair
places her in a position of some delicacy,” resumed Lady
Dearmouth, in an audible aside. “Of course, you know,
if it were any common case—any case that could be hush-
ed up by money, the Delmaines would be wise enough to
go to any expense to procure a compromise ; for it will
not only ruin the young man’s character—(the wife of his
bosom friend, you know : even in these times, the world
is not easily persuaded to wink at the seduction of the wife
of a bosom friend 1)—but will lose him his seat, and the
hand of the heiress, Lady Alicia de Wendover. To be
sure, Lord Chichester has made vast sacrifices for this sil-
ly young woman ; and now you will see, the moment he
gets her upon his hands, he will try to throw her off! For
my part, I doubt whether Lord Gransden will be able to
get rid of her sufficiently to admit of his marrying again;
however, it can be proved that one of Lady Gransden's—
friends, I suppose I must call them—was actually conceal-
ed in his house. Lady Delmaine there can testify to the
48 THE DOWAGER,
truth of that report, because it happens that her own maid
is sister to one of Lord Gransden's confidential servants,
who made the disclosure.”
“Now, my dear Lady Dearmouth !” cried the Dowa-
ger, speaking at the same moment, “it was only my house-
maid, who was sister to Lord Gransden's groom ; and the
man is at this moment—”
“In her servants’ hall,” continued Lady Dearmouth,
concluding her sentence.
“In Bloomsbury Square,” persisted the Dowager, in a
higher key. $
“I thought your Ladyship still resided in Upper Gros-
venor Street?” inquired Sir Lucius, a little puzzled by the
two ladies shouting severally into his ears.
, “And so I do. I merely said that the man in question
had quitted the Gransdens some time ago, having, in fact,
been shamefully turned away without a character, after
breaking his leg in his lord's service, merely for happening
to say that he thought the horse who kicked him was vi-
cious.”
“The master who turned him away was vicious,” ob-
served Sir Lucius, with a mellifluous smile. “But I own
I always considered Lord Gransden, though a silly harm-
less young man, remarkably good natured.”
“You see you were remarkably wrong. He is only
good natured to the admirers of his wife. However, I can
tell him one thing, for his comfort—there are abundance of
people ready to testify that Lord Medwyn has nearly as
much right to find fault with him as he with Lord Chi-
chester.”
“Lady Medwyn too in a scrape | Bless my soul!—what
will the age come to ?” exclaimed Sir Lucius, with suitable
morality, as he fed himself with an enormous pinch of snuff.
“Lady Medwyn, who had reached the sober age of eight-
and-thirty, with the reputation of being unapproachable and
irreproachable —What will my friends the Clermonts say?
—what will—” &
“My Lord wishes to see Sir Lucius Flimsy in his own
room,” said a footman, throwing open the door. And away
THE DOWAGER, 49
went the courtly physician, overflowing with bows, apologies,
and scandal, prepared to inflict copious doses of Lady Med-
wyn and Lady Gransden upon the forty-four patients whose
guineas he was to pocket in the course of the day. *
CHAPTER W.
She did love him less
As lover of her younger days, and friend
Of years mature, than as the patriot sage
Of valor stern and honesty, whose voice
Was ever firm amid the shiftiest times,
Whose every word and action proved his worth,
His christian courage and his patriot soul
Of stoic temper; one whose virtues breathed
Fragrance and balm amid the scenes of fraud,
Apostacy, and crime that soil the age,
As violets shed their perfume, prevalent
O'er all the poisons that go rankly by.
AIRON's
Twice had Lady Mary Langley made her way into her
husband's morning room, to confide to him the state of her
perplexities concerning their beloved daughter; but, on both
occasions, she had been forced to wait the exit of one of his
political colleagues, ere she could effect an entrance. The
first time, it was one of the ministers who sat there, closeted
with the county member, upon whose parliamentary in-
fluence government relied as among one of its most efficient
props; the second, it was a leading member of the House
of Peers, who might have been a member of the adminis-
tration fifty times over, had he chosen to take upon himself
for hire the public duties to which he conscientiously devot-
ed himself as an hereditary legislator of the realm.
Such a moment, she felt, was unpropitious to the nature
of the interview she meditated. Morison Langley was a
man who, when he threw aside the toga of public life, threw
it off completely; and from the grave patriot became at
once the simple friend, the affectionate husband and parent.
WOL. II, 5
50 THE DOWAGER.
().
But he wore it with more endearing patience in private life
than most of his colleagues. Nearly the whole of his Lon-
don mornings were given to business. The affairs of a
populous shire weighed heavily upon his leisure ; to say
nothing of the load of gratuitous business which his high
character, as a parliamentary authority, brought upon his
shoulders. He was consulted by the ignorant, he was con-
sulted by the hesitating. So long as they chose to appeal,
in friendship's name, to the wisdom of the oracle, his study
door was accessible ; and while these consultations were
going on, he was not pleased to be broken in upon with the
petty details of domestic life.
It required the judgment of so sound a head as Lady
Mary's to decide to what extent his privacy was to be re-
spected. During the boyhood of her son, she had some-
times felt mortified at perceiving that Morison Langley was
more interested in his county business, than in the task of
correcting the youthful impetuosity of one who was to be
his successor in public life, as well as his stay and comfort
in private. And it was, perhaps, to avoid all possibility of
a similar vexation regarding her daughter, that Lady Mary
had always scrupulously avoided intruding upon his notice
any trivial anxieties relating to her daughter.
But in this calculation, she was mistaken. Morison
Langley considered his boy's youthful escapades as the af-
fair of the tutors, of whom he had entertained a sufficient-
ly high opinion to entrust them with his education. But
for his daughter—his only daughter—his lovely, sweet, af-
fectionate Cecilia, he entertained a sensitive and chivalrous
fondness, which seemed to constitute her happiness and
honor—a sort of sacred deposit entrusted to his keeping.
It will often be seen, that just as a high-minded mother
takes pride in her son, a high-minded father takes delight
in his daughter; and Virginius and Cornelia could scarcely
have exchanged the objects of their parental love, without
a diminution of its intensity.
Of all this, Lady Mary was unaware; for she bore her
own faculties as meekly, or rather, as unconsciously, as the
horse its courage, or the lion its strength; and as regarded
the virtues of her husband, with the common weakness of
THE DOWAGERs 51
her sex, she reverenced him more in his public capacities,
than as the loving father or agreeable companion. She
shrunk, therefore, from appealing to his sympathies in be-
half of Cecilia’s delicate distresses, while his mind was still
harassed with the despondencies of the Right Hon. Sec.,
who had been unburthening his budget of governmental
difficulties;–or the exultation of the Right Hon. Earl, who
had been boasting of stones thrown under the wheels of the
administration, regardless of the danger of impeding the
progress of a vehicle essential to the public service, until
a safer one was in readiness to supply its place. Twice,
therefore, did she turn the motive of her visit to a less in-
teresting origin; and show herself ready to listen to all he
chose to communicate of the cares that made him thought-
ful, or the apprehensions that made him sad. At all times
a ready and judicious listener, she was not the less zeal-
ously dévoted as a wife, because indulging the anxieties of
a mother.
The third time, however, she came determined to speak
‘and to be heard; for Langley was alone, and the recent
scene at Roehampton had determined her upon taking ac-
tive steps with regard to the visits of Lord Chichester in
Eaton Square.
But though alone, he was in company with those busy
faculties—his thoughts; and, consequently, far more ab-
sorbed than when checking, by a grave look, the exultation
of a factious peer, or encouraging, by a smile, the despair
of an over-badgered ministerial adjutant.
Upon the wall, sketched in all its prodigious extent of
consequence and consequences, hung a huge map of the
shire it was his onerous happiness to represent in parlia-
ment—the many-leaved register of his toils and troubles;
and as Lady Mary perceived, on entering, that her hus-
band’s eye was riveted thereupon, albeit, as familier with
its unshapely outline as with that of his own hand, she
trembled lest a third time her maternal anxieties were to
yield to the stress of the country member's public responsi-
bilities. She was afraid there was some new railroad,
some new mining company working in his brain.
“I fear I disturb you,” said she, traversing the apart-
52 THE DOWAGER.
ment with her usual noiseless tread—an habitual glide
acquired by years of copartnership with a man of business,
as that of a noble English diplomatist is said to be attri-
butable to his long mission at Vienna, and creeping
away unnoticed from its scientific music parties.
“You never disturb me—you are always welcome !”
was his cordial reply; “for you not only come tº lighten
my cares, but to leave me something agreeable in place of
those you take away.” " -
Lady Mary shook her head, intending to prepare his
mind by a gesture conveying that her present purpose was
far from agreeable ; but Morison Langley, too pre-occupi-
ed by his own worries to notice the expression of his wife's
countenance, went on :
“I have had half a dozen annoying country letters this
morning,” said he. “In the first place, from . excel-
lent fellow, Burnaby, who tells me, I have no &hance, at
present, of my last year’s rents, without the exercise of
more harshness than, I trust, will ever be practised by an
agent of mine. I wrote to him last week rather pressingly
on the subject, mentioning that money would soon be want-
ing for our season’s expenses; and, in his reply, he has ad-
verted—delicately, but strongly—to the assurance he gave
me, before we quitted Langley, of the improbability that
these tenants of mine would be in a situation to book up
any part of their arrears before harvest, and the consequent
necessity for economy.”
“Mr. Burnaby had every right to make such a repre-
sentation,” observed Lady Mary. “Aware of your im-
mense expenses at Langley, as representative of the coun-
ty, he also knows that, till Lady Conyngsby's death, we
must remain in straitened circumstances; and I there-
fore took it very well of him that, previous to our departure
for town, he saw fit to remind us of what is far more fre-
quently brought under his observation than our own. But
for Burnaby's hint, I might have been tempted to give a
ball in honor of Cissy's coming out; and your distressed
tenants would certainly have felt it hard to be pressed for
their arrears, while they knew that we could afford the waste
of costly entertainments.” w
THE DOWAGER, * 53
* Prudent, however, as you have been on this point and
many others regarding our common expenditure, some
person has been ill-natured enough to supply information
respecting us to our county opposition paper; and there
have been a series of paragraphs exaggerating all our pro-
ceedings in town, as contrasted with the amount of my do-
nations to the county charities. Burnaby's letter incloses
me an abstract of the last of these, describing our new car-
riage as fit only for a Lord Mayor’s show, and adverting to
our box at the Opera. Immediately afterwards, as if in
deduction from these miserable details, follows an account
of the attempts made by Burnaby to screw out of our unfor-
tunate tenants the means of maintaining our London fol-
lies 77° z
“Shameful ?” burst from the indignant lips of Lady Ma-
ry, on noticing the manifest vexation of her husband.
“Now how could it possibly transpire,” resumed Mr.
Langley, “that Burnaby had been making any effort in
our affairs ? I did not mention, even to Augustus, that I
was in want of money.” -
“You mentioned it to me; and I, as you may imagine,
had no inclination to repeat it to any other person. Ex-
cept, indeed,” continued Lady Mary, correcting herself, “a
slight hint to my sister, when she wanted Augustus to
subscribe largely, in addition to your subscription, to the
Wellington and Nelson monuments; and I observed, that
while Burnaby gave such bad accounts of our prospects,
I could not encourage my son to indulge his inclinations at
the expense of common prudence.”
“That, then, was the channel through which the infor-
mation reached the north !” observed Morison Langley.
“Lady Meliora's friend, Sir Jacob Appleby, is brother to
the leading attorney of the tory interest in ——shire; and
I have often been able to trace malicious fumors involv-
ing me and my family, to the gossipping of Grosvenor
Street.” - -
“I must put my sister on her guard,” said Lady Mary.
“With her, I thought myself so safe as not even to use
the usual precaution of requesting secresy.” -
“Instead of putting her on her guard, don’t trust her
5% -
54 THE powAGER.
again,” said Langley. “One always errs, I fancy, in let-
ting one’s right hand know what one’s left doeth, in regard to
money matters. It is an indecent thing to talk to any one
of pecuniary affairs; and we require to be punished now
and them, by way of reminder against the fault.”
“I grieve, however, that for an error of mine the punish-
ment should fall on you.” -
“Never mind,” replied Morison Langley, with an af-
fectionate smile. “I so often reap the reward of your vir-
tues, that it is fit I should pay the penalty of your occasional
mistakes; but I suspect I shall not be ruined by the mulct.
The fact is, that nothing taxes one’s prudence more than the
choice of confidants. It is so difficult to discriminate friend
from foe . Those Threlkelds—the Mayor and his wife, I
mean—you know how uniformly civil—how more than civil
we have been to them—how regularly they have been invit-
ed to Langley—conciliated with gifts of vension, game, and
fruit; and even the other day, when they were in town,
though at a moment when your engagements made it par-
ticularly inconvenient, consider how attentive you were to
Mrs. Threlkeld and her daughters.”
“Cecilia and I did our best. They had the Opera-box
one of the fullest Saturdays of the season ; they dined here
—they—”
ºw, I know. I remember admiring your patience
with that impracticable woman, and Cissy's good nature to
those heavy girls. Yet, will you believe it?—They went
back into -shire complaining of our negleet and incivili-
t .”
y “My conscience acquits me,” said Lady Mary, with a
smile. “I studied to the utmost how to oblige them.”
“Harrington told me last night at the House, (by the way,
Harrington is up before a committee, and will be in town these
ten days, pray remind me to ask him to dinner), Harrington
assured me Threlkeld is so furious against us, that he is
afraid I should find him very troublesome in the event of a
general election. Threlkeld, you know, as well as twenty
others whom I could name, always takes to himself the mer-
it of my election ; and, to do him justice, for the last twenty
years, I have not had a more active or more disinterested
THE DowAGER. 55
supporter in the county. But then, I have done him justice.
I have always acknowledged my obligation. I have always
been prompt to testify my gratitude. And now, the fellow,
Heaven knows why, has turned against me, and is doing
me every injury in his power P’
“Again, alas ! I must plead guilty!” said Lady Mary.
“The Threlkelds were wild upon getting a protégée of
theirs (the child of an old servant), into the Blind Asylum ;
and, in spite of all my efforts to serve them, we did not
succeed.” -
“Since you admit so much,” replied Langley, good-hu-
moredly, “I may as well tell you what I did not intend
you to know, that Harrington accuses you as the origin of
the mischief. You know his enthusiastic devotion to us;
and will, therefore, understand the indignation with which
he relates that Mrs. Threlkeld goes about abusing you in all
directions, as having been convicted by your own sister, be-
fore her face, of being too fine to exert yourself for this
unfortunate Sarah Smith, who is said to have lost her elec-
tion entirely through your supineness.” :
“What mischiefs arise from unguarded assertions !” cried
Lady Mary. “Meliora met the Mayor’s wife and daugh-
ters here, and certainly said something in their presence,
nearly to the effect of the scandal they have promulgated.
But I hope in Heaven, Threlkeld will not be able to do you
any serious injury {* *
“He might annoy me to a great extent; and, to own the
truth, it already vexes me more than I can describe, to be
obliged to regard as an enemy one who for such a lapse of
years, has acted as a friend. I have real obligations to
Threlkeld, and cannot bear to think of him as a foe.”
“But if I were to write a short letter of explanation to
Mr. Threlkeld 77°
“Not for the world ! I would lose my election (which
is not likely), sooner than that my wife should condescend
to anything in the slightest degree derogatory. No, no—
let us leave the Threlkelds alone, and they will come to their
senses. Our conscience acquits us of ingratitude towards
them, and that is enough. Besides, I find from another
56 THE DOWAGER,
of my correspondents, that I have further grievances in
—shire; more waters of strife to fish in ſ” -
“Waters of strife —you !” cried Lady Mary, shrug-
ging her shoulders, in impatience of the injustice of this
world. : -
“I need not tell you how I exerted myself about Chi-
chester's election; in the first place, in compliment to the
name he bears; in the second, because there is something
in that young fellow which excites my highest expectations.
In supporting him, I acted as I would wish some other hon-
est man to act towards Augustus Langley. For his father,
I would not willingly stir my little finger; but for Chiches-
ter, I was willing to break through my determination of
never giving pledges for the political conduct of any living
man.” -
The word “political” came as a saving grace to Lady
Mary's terrors. She had been afraid that this preamble
bore some reference to Lord Chichester’s private proceed-
ings. “I trust,” said she, striving to look unconcerned,
“ that our young friend has not disappointed your expecta-
tions 22° - -
“By no means. Chichester makes a capital member.
All that has been required of him, he has done excellently
well. On all occasions, he has voted up to his pledges to
his constituents—up to the principles of his party; I see
no fault to be found with him. Yet some cursed mischief-
maker or other—Sir Jacob Appleby again, I suspect—has
been denouncing him as on the point of ratting—as bound
hand and foot to the tories, and onlyvawaiting some popu-
lar question to secede from us ! His connexion with the
Gransdens and their clique has been pointed out as the root
of the evil; and from all I have heard hazarded on that sub-
ject in Grosvenor Street, I am convinced that the Dow-
ager's representations have been the means of circulating
this injurious report.”
“I fear I cannot defend my mother,” said Lady Mary,
with a heavy sigh. “She is so unguarded in her observa-
tions ! Without intending injury to either Chichester or
you, I think it likely she may have originated the rumor.”
Involuntarily Mr. Iangley struck an impatient blow on
The Dow AGER. 57
the table beside which he was seated. “If woman could
but conjecture the disastrous results of their prating !” cried
he. “If Lady Delmaine could but imagine all the mis-
chiefs that have issued from her Pandora's box in Gros-
venor Street ! I am convinced that, were the catalogue
arrayed in black and white before her, she would shudder
at the recapitulation.” º
Lady Mary answered not a word. She had latterly
ceased to hope that any earthly circumstance would soften
the heart of the Dowager. t - ‘A’.
“Is Chichester aware,” said she, “of the misrepresenta-
tion of which he has been the subject? Have you ac-
quainted him with what has passed ?”
“No. I was thinking of bringing him home from
Brookes's to dine with us to-day.” replied Mr. Langley ;
“ and as we proceed together afterwards to the House, I
will throw myself on his candor. I had rather not speak
to him before Augustus. I am as little satisfied with my
son’s manner towards his cousin, as with his assiduities in
Grosvenor Street.” $
“You are mistaken. Augustus hardly ever sets foot in
my mother's house,” cried Lady Mary. - *
“I was not alluding to the Dowager, but to Lady Grans-
den,” observed Langley, too straight forward to surmise that
his wife was guilty of an intentional blunder in order to
screen her son, as Lord Delmaine under similar circum-
stances, would instantly have inferred. - -
“I can assure you, that he is no admirer of Lady Grans-
den,” said Lady Mary.
“I am quite of your way of thinking; and should have
almost more patience with him for throwing away his time
upon a woman he really preferred—though the preference
itself were blamable—than for the trivial perversity of trying
to supplant another. Augustus's object is merely to be-
come the rival of Chichester.”
“I am certain that Lord Chichester's liking for Lady
Gransden is quite as harmless as that of my son,” persisted
Lady Mary. “Nay, I entertain suspicions concerning the
real bent of Chichester's inclinations, which dispose me to
58 THE DOWAGER,
ask you, as a favor, not to bring him home with you to din-
ner, either to-day or on any future occasion.”
“What do you mean?” cried Langley, his cheek sud-
denly flushing. -
“I mean, that your daughter's happiness may be endan-
gered if you throw her too freely into the company of this
young man.” - -
“You mean more, I am convinced, from the constrained
tone of your voice,” cried Morison Langley. “Your man-
ner is not natural. You do not look me in the face. You
are afraid to be too explicit. My dear wife, I conjure
you, speak out ! You know not what terrors your mysteri-
ous hint has already conjured up. Tell me—do my fears
outstrip the truth? Has anything, unknown to us, been go-
ing on between Chichester and Cecilia 7”
“Nothing but what might have been known to us, if we
had chosen to open our eyes and exert our understandings.
The two young people have, I fear, become over sensitive
to each other's merits.” -
“In plain English, they have fallen in love Ass that I
was not to foresee this I ought to have known it—I ought
to have guessed it. It is according to the invariable course
of such matters; for Chichester is, perhaps, of all the
young fellows in London, the last I desire for a son-in-
law 19° º *
“And why, pray ?” cried Lady Mary, blushing in her
turn. “It is surely impossible to see a more charming
young man. Our partiality for Cis ought not to render us.
unjust towards Chichester.”
“Nor does it. I havn't a word to say against him. I
like him—I admire him—I approve him—but I don’t want
him to marry my daughter. I do not wish Lord Delmaine
to become Cecilia's father-in-law, nor Lady Delmaine to
drive her into the sin of disrespecting her husband's mo-
ther.” -
“On that score, you have little to apprehend,” replied
Lady Mary. “Lord Delmaine, I fear, shares your antipa-
thies. Nothing, I am convinced, would annoy him more
than the idea of his son allying himself with one having
THE DOWAGERs 59
neither rank nor fortune to repay the honor of the conces-
sion.” #
“You don’t mean to say that Lord Delmaine has either
shown or prompted any slight towards yourself or Cecilia?”
“None, whatever, I assure you,” replied Lady Mary, al-
most inclined to smile at the vehemence of his tone. “But
I noted the expression of his countenance at the Roehamp-
ton archery-meeting; and am certain his son is aware that
he would have no chance of his father’s consent to his ad-
dresses to Cecilia, were he disposed to pay them.”
“You did not, I trust, form that conclusion from Chi-
chester’s withdrawing from Cis, in the presence of his fa-
ther, any attentions he may be in the habit of showing her
elsewhere 7” *.
“No, no—once more, compose yourself,” cried Lady
Mary, laying her hand persuasively upon his arm, “ or I
shall begin to think that I am talking to my petulant son,
instead of to the sober man of three score and five. As
far as regards Chichester, his conduct is perfect; but I am
as little inclined to have him constantly in the house, to the
danger of Cecilia's heart and happiness, as you can be to
see her charming nature run the risk of contamination from
the constant society of such people as Lady Charlotte Chi-
chester and her mother.”
“Cecilia’s happiness? You don’t surely consider her
affections are seriously entangled ?” -
“Let us hope that the affections of eighteen are never
very seriously entangled; but I do not desire her to run
further risks. I wish the thing to be checked at once.”
“I will speak to Chichester this very day,” cried Morison
Langley. -
“Speak to him —Not for worlds !” exclaimed Lady
Mary. “You surély would not so commit your daughterſ
Reflect, that he has made no sort of declaration.”
“Then why has he not—since you say that his atten-
tions have been such as to entangle the affections of my
poor dear girl?” . -
“His attentions have been only those of a near relative
and early friend. In my heart of hearts, I believe him to
be attached to her; but were he, from this day forth, to
60 THE DOWAGER.
make no further advances, none of us has a right to accuse
him of having misled her expectations.”
“There must be blame somewhere, I fear,” resumed
Langley, looking deeply vexed. “Either Chichester has
been practising on Cissy's feelings, or Cissy has allowed
her affections to run riot on too slight encouragement.”
“I will not have you say that 1" cried Lady Mary, in-
dignant in her turn. “There is blame somewhere; but it
is with us—solely with us ; and though we have made the
discovery somewhat late, that young people may be too
much thrown in each other's way, we owe it to our child,
and we owe it to ourselves, to be discreet in the reparation
of our fault. Say not a syllable to Chichester, but become
less cordial in your invitations; and should he hazard an
inquiry as to why we are less hospitable than formerly, say
frankly, that I am of opinion Lord Delmaine disapproves
his intimacy at the house. From his reply, you will judge
in a moment whether his feelings for our girl are more than
mere cousinly regard ; and it will then be time enough for
you tº, express, both to him and to Cecilia, your objec-
tlOſlS. -
All this was wormwood to poor Langley. To have but
one daughter, “passing fair,” and her so towardly and du-
tiful, and yet be menaced with the domestic misery arising
from a disappointment of the affections, was indeed a cross
in his destiny! He had anticipated thwartings from Au-
gustus; but from Cecilia—from his gentle, kind, submis-
sive Cecilia, he had expected nothing but sunshine. Her
love affairs, like everything else connected with her, ought
to have been fair as ivory and smooth as glass!
And then, as regarded Lord Delmaine, Langley had al-
ways maintained towards his wife's kinsman so independ-
ent an attitude—had borne himself so proudly, so nobly to-
wards Chichester Court l—And now for the Earl to be war-
ranted in saying, that the Langleys were ambitious of his
alliance—nay, perhaps, that they had been attempting to
entrap his son 1—perhaps, that all those courtesies towards
Lord Chichester, which were purely personal, purely caus-
ed by political views arising out of private predilections,
THE DeWAGER. 51
were well calculated springes, intended from the first to
“ catch him” as a husband for Miss Langley !
It was mortifying beyond description The shire
Courant, with its account of his spendthrift habits, and his
agent's extortions—the worshipful Mayor, with his petty
spleens and pretended championship of Sarah Smith—even
Lord Chichester’s imputed forfeiture of his electioneering
pledges was as nothing compared with the apprehension of
seeing unhappy love, “like a worm i' the bud,” feed on
Cecilia’s “damask cheek;” and hearing it reported by the
Dowager that he and Lady Mary had been making up for
their daughter to the son and heir of the Earl of Delmaine,
whose foresight had rescued the young gentleman from so
imprudent a connexion 1
“I would give worlds that nothing of this had chanced,”
said he, as Lady Mary attempted to tranquillize his mind.
“My besetting sin—I need not own it to my wife—is pride;
and admire how heavily it is visited My chief anxiety
about Augustus's assiduities to Lady Gransden, arose from
the fact of Lady Alicia de Wendover being her constant
companion. I dreaded lest the world should think that the
son of a poor commoner was making up to a rich heiress!
But what was that, where a high spirited fellow like Gran-
dison was concerned—Grandison who never yet placed an
unhandsome construction upon the feelings of a friend—
compared with the humiliation of having it insinuated that
we tried to hook the son of such a thing as the Earl of Del-
maine; but that, apprised in time, the family circumvented
our projects!”
WOL. II, 6
62 THE DOWAGER.
CHAPTER WI.
Imperfect mischief '
Thou, like an adder, venomous and deaſ,
Hast stung the traveller, yet after hear'st
Not his pursuing voice. E'en when thou thinkst
To hide, the rustling leaves and bended grass
Confess, and point the path where thou hast crept.
O fate of fools l Officious in contriving ;
In executing, puzzled, lame, and lost!
CONGREWE,
LoRD CHICHESTER was a young man as highly endowed
by nature and fortune as can well be imagined; handsome,
clever, accomplished, rich, noble;—and, above all, blest
with those excellent dispositions to live and let live, which
arise from the union of good principles with good health
and good spirits. # ł #.
-He was, in truth, a very happy fellow—had never lost a
friend, or made a foe. Even Augustus Langley, who
could, not quite forgive him his monopoly of good gifts,
loved almost as much as he envied him; and though the
prosperities of life had probably, some share in gathering
together the troops of friends, whose hands were sponta-
neously extended when Chichester made his appearance
either in the House, the Park, Almacks, or any other place
of public amusement, yet it was admitted on all sides, that
he was fairly entitled to his honors of popularity.
It is not surprising that a man thus circumstanced,
should be easy in mind and temper. Lord Chichester's
career of life lay before him, smooth as a railroad. Nothing
but the dispensations of Providence, or the inadvertence
of the engineer, could produce mischance; and the con-
sciousness of this impunity added elasticity to his step, and
THE DOWAGER. 63
sprightliness to his words. He felt himself—if not hum-
bly, gratefully—to be a favorite of fortune. With the ex-
ception of occasional repinings that his home was not better
adapted to call forth the instincts of his affectionate nature,
he had not a wish ungratified. t #
Though his opinions and inclinations seldom coincided
with those of his father, he admitted that the Earl had been
a liberal and indulgent father to him—the Countess an
adoring mother—Lady Charlotte an obliging sister. They
did nothing to annoy him, with the exception of not choos-
ing to consider persons and things in the same light that he
considered them himself; and though these differences of
opinion were likely now to take an important turn, by op-
posing his long cherished attachment for Cecilia Langley,
even this apprehension did not drive the young man to de-
spair. There was nothing blamable in his choice ;-no-
thing that the world would not regard in the most favoring
light; and as the Chichester portion of his father's estates
was strictly entailed, he knew that he incurred no danger of
future ruin. The worst result of his presuming to prefer a
wife of his own selection to an heiress of his father’s, would
be the devisal of the Scottish property to his sister;—an
alternative with which he was well content to compromise,
for the enjoyment of his independence.
Even though aware, therefore, that Lord Delmaine would
refuse to sanction his marriage with his cousin, Lord Chi-
chester continued to exhibit the best health and spirits. He
had constant opportunities of enjoying the society of Ceci-
lia ; and she was so young and her home so happy, that
there was nothing very overwhelming in the sentence which
threatened to defer their union for a year or two.
Under the care of the wisest and tenderest of mothers,
the virtues of his future wife were ripening into all that
the heart of man could desire, in the way of womanly ex-
cellence. He entertained little doubt that Cecila liked him.
Her happy face, when he arrived at Langley Park, and
her scarcely suppressed tears when he quitted it, inspired
him with the hopes indispensable to feed the wavering torch
of Cupid. From the first, he determined to hazard no
avowal of his attachment, till he came furnished with his
64 THE DOWAGER,
father's sanction to claim her hand;—knowing Cecilia well
enough to be certain she would instantly declare all to her
mother;-Lady Mary well enough to be certain she would
as quickly confide it to her husband;—and Morison Lang-
ley well enough to feel that he would never receive under
his roof, as the avowed suitor of his daughter, a man whose
pretensions were not sanctioned, to the fullest extent, by
his family.
Prudence, therefore, required him to forbear; a virtue the
more easy, since Cecilia’s laughing eyes, sparkling with
happiness, attested that she experienced no anxiety for the
future ; and since his intimacy with the family had enabled
him to witness her rejection of two of the first matches in
the kingdom, in deference, he had little doubt, to predilec-
tions in his favor. With such demonstrations, how could
he be otherwise than content : How otherwise than cheer-
ful, happy, courteous, amiable 7 all, in short, that he was
admitted to be by the reluctant soul of John Evelyn, Esquire,
of the Willows :
And yet, by some strange contrariety of fate, this identi-
cal handsome, agreeable, amiable, accomplished only son
of a wealthy Earl, was at that moment an object of terror
and abhorrence to no fewer than three loving fathers of Great
Britain. Lord Grandison had scarcely taken his eyes off
Chichester and Lady Alicia at the Gransden's dinner party,
so anxious was he to ascertain the fallacy of Johnny Chi-
chester’s notion concerning his daughter's attachment for
any other man than the promising son of his friends the
Langleys; while from the opposite side of the table, poor
Mr. Oakham darted upon the unoffending guest of his son-
in-law, such searching and indignant glances, that it was
amazing how Lord Chichester could keep up, with Lady
Alicia, such a flow of lively conversation. But when they
sat down, the young lady had appeared disappointed and
out of spirits; and Chichester was too good-natured not to
exert himself for the enlivenment of a handsome girl suffer-
ing under a fit of the gloomies—more especially of one who
happened to be an intimate friend of his sweet Cecilia!
'And now, in addition to the animosities of the Earl and
Mr. Oakham, he was beginning to labor under the disappro-
* THE DOWAGER, 65
bation of his revered friend, the member for shire —It
was really hard for a person so much in charity with all the
world, and so guiltless of offence, to be thus gratuitously
hated ſ—Luckily, however, he was unconscious of the un-
kind feelings of which he was the object. • *
He slept the next night well—was free—was happy—
drank his claret unpoisoned by the glances of Oakham and
Evelyn; and before coffee was over, had engaged the hand
of Lady Alicia for the second quadrille the following night,
at Lady Dulwich's ball, it being his practise to keep the first
free, in the hope of gaining a partner in Miss Langley.
Soon after coffee, Lord Grandison’s carriage took away
Lady Alicia to dress for an evening party, to which she was
engaged; and Lord Chichester having hurried off to the
House, Mr. Oakham ventured a remark or two upon both.
“A fine young man, that l” said he, as the young Lord's
cabriolet drove from the door. “But on tolerable terms
with himself, I should imagine.” i
“Oh I don't say a word against Lord Chichester P-
cried his daughter warmly. “Chichester is Gransden's bo-
som friend. That fine old place to which we drove one
morning, the last time you were at Gransden, belongs to
his father Lord Delmaine. They are almost our nearest
neighbors.” º
“It would be an agreeable thing for you, I should think,
my dear,” observed her father, fixing his eyes inquiringly
upon her face, “were this old school fellow of Lord Grans-
den's to make up a match with your beautiful young friend
Lady Alicia?” *
“Oh! dear no!—It is a match that would suit none of
the parties,” cried Lady Gransden, to whom her husband
had confided the matrimonial projects of his friend.
“It would be suitable, at least, as regards rank, fortune
and age 3’—persisted Mr. Oakham.
“Perhaps so,” replied Laura. “But it is nevertheless
out of the question.”
“And why, pray?”—inquired Mr. Oakham, drawing near-
er to the sofa where she was sitting.
6#
66 THE DOWAGER, ſº
“Lord Chichester is not likely to marry at present,” she
replied, not choosing to speak more explicitly, before Eve-
lyn. “There are obstacles which—in short, neither he nor
his friends are in any hurry that he should find a wife.”
“Extraordinary enough, considering that he is an only
son, and heir to so fine a property l’’ resumed the squire.
“Why not allow the poor man a little time to enjoy him-
self, and look about him, before he is tied down to the cares
of a family man?” said Lady Gransden.
“Scarcely the sentiment I should have expected from
one who, only a few hours ago, was boasting the happiness
of a married life ſ” observed her father, sternly.
“Of a married life, endeared by mutual affection—a very
different case from that of Lord Chichester l’”
“But why should Lord Chichester alone, of all the world,
be debarred the possibility of finding a wife to his taste?”
“Because he has an attachment,” said Laura, lowering
her voice, evidently with the view of not being overheard
by her husband and Evelyn, who were discussing patent
axles at the further end of the room.
“An attachment incompatible with the happiness of a
married life ſ” demanded Mr. Oakham, in a husky voice.
“An attachment which, for years to come, at least, will
probably keep him single. But no more on the subject just
now, dear papal I want to know what you think of Lord
Grandison?”
“An agreeable, well-bred man. He, at least, does not
seem to share your predilection for this young coxcomb. I
noticed particularly how he took up, at dinner, almost every
remark uttered by Lord Chichester P’
“Lord Grandison is not fond of the Delmaines. Their
estates join—a circumstance which, where it does not make
people close friends, is sure to make them enemies. Mr.
Evelyn !” said she, raising her voice, “pray how did you
like Lord Grandison —He must be a sort of neighbor, I
should think, in Cheshire 7° --
“So he was obliging enough to remind me ! I like him
extremely; and both Lizzy and I shall probably profit by
the acquaintance.” }
“That will be delightful for Alicial” cried Lady Grans-
-
THE DOWAGER, 67
den. “Hitherto, poor girl, she has been sadly shut up in
the school-room. But Lord Grandison talks of keeping
open house this autumn at the Hall. We, among others, have
promised to spend a fortnight with him in the shooting sea-
son ; and it will be charming, indeed, if you and Lizzy con-
trive to meet us there.”
The kindness of this observation was lost to John Eve-
lyn, in the mortifying reflection that Lord and Lady Grans-
den could find the journey easy to Grandison House, though
they had always raised an objection to visit the Willows.
It was a comfort to his ill-humor that Mr. Oakham, at that
moment, pleaded fatigue, and proposed retiring.
The following morning, to Oakham's great annoyance,
he found Lord, Chichester installed at the breakfast table ;
and discovered, in the course of conversation, that it was by
no means an uncommon occurrence. Lord Chichester oc-
cupied a small house in Green Street, from which he was
often glad to escape to the cheerful domestic society of his
friend ; more particular lyas Gransden and he had constant-
ly some mutual engagement afterwards;—-to try a horse,
or visit some artist's atelier ; or if nothing else was to be
done, saunter together to the club.
On the present occasion, his Lordship's object was civil-
ity to Lady Gransden’s father and brother-in-law. At the
party to which, after the division, he had repaired the pre-
ceding night, he had taken occasion to mention to Lady
T}ulwich (who was a distant connexion of the Chichester
family, and, having several unmarried daughters for whom
to provide partners and husbands, took care to keep up the
courtesies of relationship with the young Lord), that his
friend, Lady Gransden, had two gentlemen staying in her
house, and would, probably, absent herself, unless her La-
dyship could kindly extend her invitation to the whole par-
ty. Lord Chichester came, therefore, to bring two cards of
invitation to Oakham and Evelyn, for which Lady Dulwich
had entitled him to send at an early hour to her house.
“How very kind and thoughtful of you !” cried Lady
Gransden. “I wished so much for papa to accompany me
to one of our London fêtes, and did not feel sufficiently ac-
quainted with your cousin, Lady Dulwich, to make the re-
68 THE DOWAGERs
quest. I did not wish one of the Tory set to be able to
venther spleen against me by refusing.” - i
Oakham was on the point of making an imperious excuse
for himself. But a moment’s reflection suggested, that a
ball-room was no bad place for pursuing his observations
upon the conduct of his daughter; and, while John Evelyn
observed in a surly tone, that he had no intention of wast-,
ing his evenings at parties during his stay in town when all
the theatres were open, Oakham felt it right to repair his
son-in-law’s incivility, by a courteous acceptance.
That day, at Mr. Oakham's express desire, the Grans-
dens dined alone; and, as his occupations and engagements
of the morning had tended somewhat to obliterate his im-
pressions on the Chichester chapter, he came home, pre-
pared to believe in the reality of all the happiness seemingly
enjoyed by the Wiscount and Wiscountess. Lord Grandi-
son had left cards for him and Evelyn, with invitations to
dinner for the whole party on the Sunday. Oakham had
met tribes of friends and acquaintance, by whom he was
overwhelmed with invitations; and, better still, John Eve-
lyn was gone to dine with a country neighbor at the Piazza,
to be in time for Macready’s delineation of Bulwer’s Ri-
chelieu. -
The little party at home, meanwhile, was fully prepared
to enjoy itself. Lady Gransden had promised to retire
early from Lady Dulwich's ball, that she might not be too
much fatigued for the drawing-room; and, once more, the
happy father’s heart bounded with triumph as he looked
upon the lovely face of his dear Laura, and listened to the
affectionate terms in which she was addressed by her hus-
band. It had been hinted to him, that their mutual happi-
ness would be completed in the course of the winter by the
birth of a grand-child, whom he felt likely to be a sad rival
to little Laura Evelyn and her brother, in his grand-pater-
mal affections. . . . .
The usual expansion of feeling, consequent upon good
eating and drinking, brought them all three, by the time
dessert was on the table, into the happiest humor. Little
dreaming that the Dowager opposite had that very morn-
ing visited Berge's shop, for the purchase of a more pow-

THE DOWAGER. 69
erful glass, in order to make sure of a full and perfect view
of the events passing at number four ; Mr. Oakham, in
drinking his daughter's health after dinner when the ser-
vants had quitted the room, stretched out his hand affec-
tionately towards her, and, pressing hers with fervent ten-
derness, suited the action to the word, as he bade “God bless
her ſ” and all belonging to her.
“And so, this hussy fancies herself the fashion?”—said
the ſond father, still retaining the hand and looking in the
face of the blushing Laura, though addressing her husband.
“I remember the time when I used to fancy, like a country
clod-pole as I was, that there must be something wondrously
hard to acquire in the part of a topping fine lady. One
heard such a cry about the elegance of the Duchess of
This, and the fascinations of my Lady the Other, that one
ended with believing these charming creatures were made
of different clay from other people. It was thought a won-
derful thing, you know, when even some popular actress,
such as Mrs. Abingdon, or Miss Farren, was able to as-
sume the character for an hour or two
“Ay, true—Miss Farren,” observed Lord Gransden,
not exactly seeing the drift of his father-in-law’s oration ;
“I have heard people swear that the part of Lady Teazle
died with her.”
“But, now,” resumed Mr. Oakham, in whose discourse,
at least, Miss Farren had been only intended to perform a
subsidiary part, “I find that there is much less difficulty in
the business than I had been taught to believe ; since a
poor country squire's daughter can, in the course of a year
or two, pass muster among the finest ladies in the land P’
“Pass muster f" cried Lord Gransden, beginning now
to understand him. “If I were Laura, I would not put up
with the expression I would have you to know, Sir, that
Lady Gransden has been warmly solicited to become a
patroness of Almacks. I would have you to know, Sir,
that when her portrait was lying the other day at Chalon's,
she was tormented to death by the Editors of all the An-
nuals going, for permission to engrave it; nay, between
ourselves, I would have you to know, Sir, that she has only
to say the word, to become a Lady of the Bedchambérat
70 THE DOWAGER,
the very first vacancy! This country gentlewoman, whom
you are pleased to disparage, never passes the threshold of
a ball-room, without having all those who are brave enough
to avow themselves unacquainted with the fashionable Lady
Gransden, pressing forward with solicitations for an intro-
duction!”
“Come, come, you are practising, I see, on the poor
squire's credulity!” said Oakham, pressing Laura's hand to
his lips ere he relinquished it. “You want me to write all
these fine things to her mother; that Mrs. Oakham may go
prating about among our country neighbors, as we are ac-
cused of having done before. However, to-night I shall
see and judge for myself. I’m sorry John Evelyn could
not be persuaded to meet us at Lady Dulwich's after the
play; for I should like him to have been able to describe
to poor Lizzy, on his return to Cheshire, the figure cut by
her sister in London. However, Mrs. Evelyn must con-
tent herself with such an account as can be given by her
stupid old father.”
It was in compliance with the fond expectations thus
avowed, that Lady Gransden was careful to array herself in
her richest attire, to do honor to Lady Dulwich's ball.
Contrary to her custom, she put on all her diamonds;
and, in a double dress of the lightest white tulle looped up
with bouquets of scarlet honey-suckle, looked so nymph-
like, yet so distinguished, that Oakham, with tears in his
eyes, seemed to wonder so lovely a creature was not born to
be a queen. Lady Gransden found it impossible not to
sympathize in his honest pride, or to forbear a throb of wo-
manly exultation, that, for once, her triumphs in society
would be witnessed by one who took unmingled pleasure in
her prosperity. # }
.* I have been waiting for you,” said Lord Chichester,
who stood at the door of Lady Dulwich’s splendid ball-
room, in expectation of the arrival of the party. “You
have already presented Mr. Oakham to my trusty and well-
beloved cousin 7–Good l—and now, let us introduce him
into the motley throng.” $ .#
Having taken Lady Gransden from her husband's arm,
as coolly as he would have taken his own hat from a peg,
THE DOWAGER, 71
leaving Lord Gransden to bring up the rear with his father-
in-law, Chichester proceeded to pilot through the crowd the
lovely creature who was so much in the habit of presenting
herself to the admiration of society under his protection.
It had been his intention to direct her steps towards the
spot where sat Lady Mary Langley and her daughter, in
conversation with one of the foreign ambassadresses; but,
on reaching it, he found the two places on which he had
fixed his eye, already occupied ; and there was no alterna-
tive but to push onward towards the head of the room,
where, close to a sofa of honor containing the Duchess of
Woolwich, her daughters the Ladies Ridley, and the Mar-
chioness of Gateshead, stood a single vacant chair.
Determined not to lose sight of his daughter, though
Lord Gransden chose to remain wedged in the doorway of
entrance, Mr. Oakham followed close upon their steps;
and, being an utter stranger in the gay scene, people were
not at the pains to lower their voices, in commenting upon
either the beauty or the conduct of Lady Gransden. Ru-
mor, with her thousand tongues, had been busy all the
morning, circulating, in every direction, the scandals orig-
inated by the Dowager; and all the world was, according-
ly, on the qui vive for a scene, on the announcement of
Lord and Lady Gransden
Horror-struck by the first coarse allusion that met his
ear, yet resolved to contain himself—resolved to hear eve-
ry syllable that could be uttered upon the subject—Oakham
bit his lip till the blood started, as he followed in the wake
of the radiant being of whom, only a few minutes before, he
had felt so proud; lending an attentive ear, while the groups
through which Lord Chichester and Laura struggled on be-
fore him, gave utterance to such comments as the follow-
In ºr 3-re
£, Sal—they seem to have patched up a reconciliation 1
They arrived together you see ; but he has not courage to
advance with her into the room. He dares not exposé him-
self so audaciously to the contempt of society I See, he is
standing in the doorway.” $
“And which of the heroes has the honor of being on
guard to night?” demanded another scandal-monger, who
72 , the powagen.
had not yet caught sight of Lady Gransden. “Oh I Chi-
chester, I see! On revient toujours à ses premières amours,
and no such bad taste neither | A gentlemanly pleasant
fellow like Chichester is worth half a hundred rascally for-
eigners I Does any one know where she picked up this
Spaniard, whom they talk off"
“Not-I, at all events;—Well! you find, that after all,
the unloving couple are upon velvet; which being the case,
nobody has a right to say a word. I always persisted there
would be no divorce Lady Sophia swore that the fair la-
dy would herself forward it, in the hope of at least becom-
ing Countess of Delmaine, as a saving grace among the
stiff-necked. But Gransden’s a deuced good fellow, and
she's quite right to stay with him, if she can.”
“He must be a good fellow, indeed!” replied the other,
with a sneering laugh. “However, to do the Wiscountess
justice, she's a deuced fine woman; and never in her life,
by the way, looked better than to-night.”
Every particle of color forsook the cheeks and lips of
poor Oakham, as he tottered forward in pursuit of the de-
linquents. He arrived just in time to see the Duchess of
Woolwich gather up her skirts, and gather together her
daughters, and with a withering look at Lady Gransden,
sail away from contagion; and while Lord Chichester pro-
fited by the movement to pounce upon the place left unoc-
cupied beside the Wiscountess by Lady Juliana Ridley, a
significant smile passed round the circle; following the ex-
ample of her Grace, the Marchioness of Gateshead, who
was seated to the right of the unlucky pair, began to fan
herself with stately dignity, rose, spread her sails, and glid-
ed majestically in another direction. Two more couples of
less illustrious note, followed; till at length the Wiscountess,
smiling and chatting, blooming and glittering, and in her in-
nocence wholly unconscious that any thing unusual was go-
ing on, remained a solitary mark for the derision of the
crowd { &
At that moment, she caught sight of her father, pale and
breathless, as she conceived from the heat of the ball, and
fancying from the sudden movement around her that the
chaperons were hurrying into the refreshment room, beckon-
THE DOWAGER, 73
ed similingly to Mr. Oakham, intending to inquire whether
he would like to go in with her to take an ice, or profit by
the number of seats left vacant in her neighborhood.
But terror in an instant overpowered her faculties ; for,
from the look and gesture directed towards her by her fa-
ther, she felt convinced that he was attacked either by fatal
illness or sudden insanity. His features appeared convuls-
ed, his eyes seemed starting from their sockets. All self-
possession had forsaken him 4.
“My father is ill ! For heaven’s sake get us out of the
room and call the carriage,” she exclaimed to Lord Chi-
chester, starting from her seat, and hastening to Mr. Oak-
ham's side. “Dearest—dearest papal what is the matter?
You are faint the heat of the room is too much for you!
Lean upon me ! We shall find Gransden in the other
room.”
And as she spoke, she clung to poor Mr. Oakham ; who
writhed and shuddered as he recoiled from contact with the
offender. Perceiving that many eyes were fixed upon them,
Laura exercised her self-control sufficiently to make her
way out of the room, the agitated man following; while on
every side murmurs reached her ear of “What the devil's
the matter?” “Has anything happened?” “Oh, no, only
a scene of some kind, got up by Lady Gransden.” But
like the Princess Parizade, she turned a deaf ear to these
terrible voices, and went on.
On reaching the spot where she had left, and expected to
find her husband, no Lord Gransden was to be seen . She
concluded him to be in the refreshment room, the doors of
which were too much thronged to admit of seeing or hear-
ing what was passing, but just as poor Laura found herself
ready to sink with terror and distress, distress not a little
increased by glimpses of sneering faces and friends standing
aloof, a familiar voice addressed her by name; and Augustus
Langley, who was just making his appearance in the ball
room, pressed forward to receive her upon his arm, nay,
almost in his arms.
“I am not very well, pray help me to get away. Lord
Chichester is gone for the carriage,” was all she found
strength to articulate; and when Mr. Oakham, revolted by
WOL. II, 7
74 THE DOWAGER.
her familiarity with this new coxcomb, pushed forward to
snatch her from his protection, Augustus, who did not know
the father of Lady Gransden by sight, and attributed to
some insult inflicted by this rough intruder the state of agi-
tation in which he found her, addressed a few hasty words
to the squire, of a nature to call for future explanations,
Lady Gransden was almost insensible by the time she
reached the carriage. But her father saw nothing of her
distress. The moment he contrived to extricate himself
from the crowd, he pressed forward into the street, scarcely
knowing where he was, or whither he was going. It was
lucky perhaps that he was unaware, just then, of the proxi-
mity between Dulwich House in privy Gardens, and the
river Thames. But as it was, the cool night breezes of that
humid quarter of the town, served only to refresh his fever-
ed frame. He could not trust himself to enter a carriage
with his daughter; having seen Lady Gransden with her
foot on the step, and consequently safe, he determined to
walk back to Grosvenor Street. He wanted air to breathe,
and space to move in. He wanted freedom of thought and
action, freedom for his muttered curses, for his scarcely re-
pressed gestures of menace and despair.
There was not a soul in Lady Dulwich's gorgeous rooms
to whom the face of Oakham of Hanbury Park was familiar.
There was no Sheerwell of Sheerwell, no Furrowbottom, no
any one who could explain to the wondering assembly that
the strange gentleman seized with indisposition, simultane-
ously with Lady Gransden, was no other than her father:
But even had the gay world been duly apprized of the fact,
and aware that the emotion of the poor man proceeded from
the agonized feelings of a parent on recognizing the guilt
of his child, they would merely have decided that his con-
duct was “far from rational, any thing but that of a sensible
man; such exposures being the result of country squir-
ishness, and the tone of a man qui ne savait pas vivre 1”
THE DOWAGER- 75
CHAPTER WII.
Temper your heat,
And lose not by too sudden rashness, that
Which, be but patient, will be offered to you.
• Discretion is the victor of the war,
Valor, the pupil.
# M.ASSINGER,
WHILE poor Oakham was pushing his way along Cha-
ring Cross and Pall Mall—in a mood how different from
that in which the preceding day he had lounged along those
pleasant causeways, nay with gestures so vehement that one
or two policemen stopped short and stared after him, and
but for the dress coat and varnished pumps attesting his
gentility, would, perhaps, have conveyed him to the station
house as disturbed in his intellects, Lady Gransden, (tell it
not in Gath ! or rather tell it not where it is likely to reach
the chaste ear of the Dowager,) Lady Gransden was pro-
ceeding to Upper Grosvenor Street, supported in the arms
of Lord Chichester, téte-à-tête, in a carriage not her own |
His Lordship had obeyed her commands by hurrying off
in pursuit of her carriage. But no carriage was to be
found. Lord Gransden who, in compliment to his father-
in-law had swallowed more than his usual stint of claret had
found himself suffering under so severe a headache, that
the heat of Lady Dulwich’s ball-room was insupportable,
and satisfied that his wife was both safe and happy under
the protection of her father, had profited by Oakham's pres-
ence to sneak away, take the carriage, and return home
alone.
After Lord Gransden's carriage had been called and
76 THE DOWAGER,
bawled for by twenty different voices, in different direc-
tions, by the desire of Lord Chichester—Jesse Hall, that
prince of link boys, accordingly stepped forward with intel-
ligence that “my Lord Gran'sen's chariot had already stop-
ped the way, and that my Lord himsel’ had druv' off in it.”
Whereupon Lord Chichester, unwilling that the half faint-
ing Laura should have to wait for its return, took posses-
sion of Lady Mary Langley’s for her use. The kind-
hearted Lady Mary would, he knew, be only too happy in
the opportunity of obliging a person in distress.
But when, after having hurriedly explained all this to
Augustus as he took Lady Gransden from his arm at the
head of the stairs, he proceeded to cloak her up in haste,
and place her in the carriage, Chichester shocked to per-
ceive that she was wholly unable to support herself, jumped
in after her without further ceremony, and bade the coach-
man drive as fast as possible to Grosvenor Street. He
was in hopes she would be able to afford him on the way
some explanation of her extraordinary emotion and Mr.
Oakham’s equally unaccountable disappearance. But in
this he was disappointed. Lady Gransden’s indisposition
seemed every moment to increase; and when they stopped
at her husband's door, and he was obliged to lift her from
the carriage in a state of insensibility, he congratulated
himself upon his own foresight in not allowing her to hazard
the drive alone.
“Is Lord Gransden in the house ?” was his hasty inqui-
ry of the butler, as he bore Lady Gransden carefully into
the nearest room, and placed her in a chair.
“Yes, my Lord ;-his Lordship has been baek this quar-
ter of an hour.”
“Call him directly. Let him know that your Lady has
been taken ill.”
And while the man hastened up stairs, Lord Chichester
had the comfort of learning from the attendant who remain-
ed, that Mr. Oakham had not yet made his appearance.
“What the deuce is all this 7”—cried Lord Gramsden,
rushing into the room, where the waiting-maid, with harts-
horn and sal volatile, had preceded him.
“Lady Gransden has met with some fright or shock P
THE DOWAGER, 77
replied his friend, careful not to add the word “insult,”
which all but escaped his lips. “At present, I know not
what . But she was taken ill at Lady Dulwich's, and beg-
ged me to bring her instantly home.”
“What on earth can have happened 7” exclaimed the
poor Wiscount, sinking on his knees by the side of his wife,
who had opened her eyes, and was beginning to gaze wild-
ly around her. “My dearest Laura !—You were quite
well an hour ago, when I quitted you ! Tell me, darling!
what has annoyed you thus, and where is your father?”
“Is he not here !”—faltered Lady Gransden. “I am
so bewildered—so overpowered 1 Gransden, dearest
Gransden, why did you leave me alone at that dreadful
ball 22”
“I came home with a splitting head-ache, and had no
fears in leaving you with Oakham. Laura, answer me di-
rectly—answer me truly—has not some blackguard pre-
sumed to insult you?”
“No one—no one !” cried she. “I am still so perplex-
ed, so stunned, that I scarcely know how to explain myself.
Carry me up to my own room. Let me be disencumbered
of all this finery; and when—when I have been alone for
a short time—perhaps I may recover myself sufficiently for
explanation.”
Lord Gransden, seeing her still unable to support herself,
was wise enough to do as he was bid, without harassing
her by further inquiries. Lady Gransden was accordingly
laid upon her own bed, and left to the care of her waiting-
maid, while her husband returned to the drawing-room,
where he had entreated Chichester to await him.
“Is not this the most unaccountable business in the
world !”—cried Lord Chichester, as his friend re-entered
the room. “I assure you, Lady Gransden's agitation was
so great, as we drove home, that I feared every moment
see would go into convulsions !”
“You will think it all twice as extraordinary when I
show you a letter that I found waiting for me here, on my
return º' cried Lord Gransden; “a letter which has acted
as a panacea to my head-ache, and started me into my-
self.”
7%
78 THE DOWAGERe
And he forthwith placed, in the hand of his friend, the
extraordinary epistle concocted by the precious triumvirate
in Harley Street; which, thanks to some difficulty experi-
enced by Lady Medwyn in putting it unobserved into the
post, had only that evening reached its destination.
“If I did not consider Lady Gransden at this moment
seriously indisposed,” observed Chichester, returning it,
after attentive perusal, to his friend, “such trash as this
would make me laugh heartily. It is, doubtless, some stu-
pid mystification ;—some practical joke, the exact meaning
of which, I confess myself at a loss to discover.”
“Nevertheless, I can’t help connecting poor Laura's
sudden attack with this damned letter P’ observed Gransden,
musingly. “She was perfectly well when she entered La-
dy Dulwich's house. I never saw her in better spirits, or
looking more lovely.”
“Nor Iſ Every eye was upon her as we passed up the
room. When suddenly, I saw poor Oakham with his face
as pale as death, and trembling in every limb ; and in an-
other minute, Lady Gransden herself became scarcely less
agitated. This is all the information I can afford you.”
“Perhaps her father will be able to favor us with further
explanations,” observed the Wiscount; and at that moment,
a low hurried knock was heard at the street-door. The two
young men did not stir, as they heard the Squire slowly as-
cending the stairs. They were sitting side by side on a
chaise longue, with the open letter lying before them on a
sofa-table; and when Oakham entered the room, Lord
Gransden contented himself with extending his hand, and
saying in an earnest voice—“Laura is better, thank God,
and lying down; and now tell us, in the name of Heaven,
what was it occurred to distress her ?”
To the great surprise of both, Mr. Oakham neither ac-
cepted the offered hand, nor replied to the inquiry; but
sank into the nearest chair, and covered his face with his
hands.
“Oakham, my dear Oakham!” cried the Wiscount, start-
ing up and approaching him. But the agonized man mo-
tioned him away.
“No, no!” cried he. “Do not mock me by this empty
THE DO WAGER, 79
show of regard. Your friendliness, your hospitality, daz-
zle my eyes no longer. Doubtless you feel that something
is due to the poor country clod—the boorish Squire, from
whose fire-side you took away a good true-hearted, inno-
cent girl to be your wiſe—whom your folly and carelessness
have allowed to become the abject thing she is—rejected by
the world to which she has sacrificed herself—spat upon by
the fashionable associates, by whose example she has been
undone ! Poor wretched creature—poor wretched woman
—my own precious Laura !” sobbed the heart-broken man,
wringing his hands, while neither of his companions pre-
sumed to interrupt the course of his frantic affliction.
“But do not suppose that a few civil words and showy
entertainments, are compensation for a father's anguish ſº
resumed poor Oakham, as soon as he recovered the power
of words. “Had you treated me with the disregard due
to the father of such a wife, I should perhaps despise you
less than I do now, on discovering that your courtesies
merely purpose to throw dust in my eyes, that I may return
to the country, fooled in my errand—because you find it
pleasant or convenient to retain as the partner of your frivo-
lous pleasures, a woman who, were she my wife instead of
my daughter, I would trample in the dust;-yes, by God!
I would trample her, heart and soul, in the dust ſ” And as
he spoke, he stamped upon the floor with such strange wild-
ness of gesture, that Lord Chichester was almost justified
in observing aside to his friend—“He is certainly mad,
poor fellow !—He has manifestly lost his senses I Did you
ever hear of any of the family being subject to mental
aberration ?”
“No, my Lord, I am not mad!” cried Oakham, starting
up, and glaring upon the indiscreet speaker, with a counte-
nance fully justifying his observation. “I am perfectly in
my senses;—I am neither mad nor a fool. It is the friend
by your side whom I regard as both, and worse!—who can
thus court into the very heart of his domestic privacy, the
despicable seducer of his wife?”
It was now Lord Gransden’s turn to become infuriated.
A torrent of imprecations burst from his lips. And he
would have rushed upon his father-in-law, had he not been
held back by his companion.
80 THE DOWAGER,
“Ay, vent your valiant rage on me !” cried the distract-
ed man. “I am a safe mark for resentment. I am a grey-
haired man. I am bound hand and foot not to retaliate your
affronts, for I am the father of your vile and ungrateful
wife (??
“For the love of justice, Oakham, compose yourself,
and speak more explicitly ſº cried Lord Gransden, striving
to recover himself. “Of what—of whom do you com-
plain?—Whom do you accuse?—and why this sudden out-
burst of violence 7" *J
“Have I not cause for indignation?”—cried the agitated
man, leaning heavily for support on the back of the nearest
chair. “When, knowing to what you exposed me, you.
drove me into one of the mobs of fashionable life, that I
might see a hundred. heads-wagging against my child, and
a hundred-insolent fingers uplifted to point her out to
shame !”
“To-night !” exclaimed both Chichester and Gransden,
gazing at each other in unqualified amazement.
“Ay—seem to look surprised Of course you neither
of you heard a whisper of the insults levelled at her You,
the husband and the lover, were spared. It was only the
wretched father—the bumpkin country Squire, who was
supposed to have heart enough for the humiliation of such a
rief.”
g And the affected man clasped his hands over his eyes,
and wept bitterly.
For a moment, Gransden and his friend looked first at
him and then at each other, in wondering silence.
At length, Chichester shrugging his shoulders with an
air of commiseration, whispered to Lord Gransden, “If I
were to leave you alone together, Mr. Oakham might per-
haps afford you some less incoherent explanation ?”
“No, my Lord, remain!” interrupted Oakham, as if
inspired with sudden resolution. “All I have to say, you
may hear—all I have to say, you must hear; for since it is
the pleasure of Lord Gransden to bear, without animosity,
the injuries and disgraces you have heaped upon him, it is
to me you are accountable for the honor of my unfortunate
daughter.”

* THE DOWAGERs 81
“You seem so much in earnest, Sir, that I can no lon-
ger attribute your conduct to frenzy,” said Lord Chichester,
in a tone of grave courtesy. “I can, therefore, only sup-
pose you to be the dupe of some unfortunate mistake, or
some deep laid conspiracy. In either case, I entreat you
to afford me such an opportunity of vindicating myself—(I
will not say of vindicating your daughter, for it is an infamy
to impute to Lady Gransden any necessity for vindication
in such a case,) as will prove to you that some villain has
been practising on your credulity.”
“Would you infer that all those who echoed to-night the
tale of slander, are villains 7” cried Mr. Oakham. “Would
you have me believe, that among your own chosen asso-
ciates, the greatest, or at least the highest personages in
the land—a dozen men and women—may twice, thrice as
many—would be found so wanton in wickedness, as to
connive in insulting a blameless woman for the sport of tor-
menting an obscure father? No, my Lord! these people
were in earnest—in earnest as I am now.”
“But, what Sir, was the purport or manner of their in-
sult 7” demanded Lord Chichester, while Lord Gransden,
too profoundly moved to take part in the debate, sat listen-
ing with the bewildered countenance of a man awakened
from a dream. “May you not have mistaken their inten-
tions, or the object of their intentions?”
“I told you just now that I was neither the fool nor the
madman your Lordship chose to call me. I know what I
saw—I know what T heard. I know that the fellow whom
you familiarly charged with a message to some friend about
his carriage on Lady Dulwich's staircase, had scarcely
a minute before applied in a whisper to his companions
an epithet to my daughter—to Lord Gransden’s wife—
which—”
“Harvey d'Ewes?—thank God, I have at last a name
to fix on P’ cried Lord Chichester, snatching up his hat.
“D’Ewes, though a coxcomb, is a gentleman and a man
of honor, and will either explain or account to me for his
proceedings.” |
“Stay!”—cried Lord Gransden, starting from his seat,
as Chichester was about to leave the room. “If explana-
82 THE DOWAGER.
tions are to be given, they are due to me. Do not imagine
me blind or insensible to what is passing; though cut to
the soul, I am unable at once to determine on whom or at
whose instigation to direct my vengeance. But one thing
is sure, that no man but myself is entitled to inflict chas-
tisement upon those who have harassed and insulted her
whom I still choose to believe my unoffending wife.”
“It is by this very want of determination, this credulous
affection, that you have made her what she is ſ” cried Oak-
ham.—“Your encouragement to treacherous friends.”
“Enough, Sir! I must insist rather upon your being
silent, or answering to me for the consequences !” cried
Chichester, baited beyond his patience. “For the sake
of friends so dear to me as Lord and Lady Gransden, I
have borne with you. But I will bear no longer; for your
own sake as well as for mine, I command you to desist;-
first pledging myself to my friend Gransden, (if indeed
such a pledge be necessary,) that as I stand at this moment
in the presence of my Maker, and shall answer for it at the
day of judgment, I am innocent of approaching Lady
. Gransden, even in thought, with any other feelings than
those of a brother. I love her, both for her own charming
qualities and as the wife of my friend ; but not more than
I respect her as a pure and self-respecting woman. Nay,
you, Gransden, can testify for me to Mr. Oakham, that I
am guarded by a long-cherished passion for another, (one
day I trust to become my wife,) from the danger that might
otherwise have arisen to myself from the closeness of my
familiarity with one so fascinating as Ilady Gransden.”
“It is true !” said Lord Gransden, relaxing from the re-
serve that for a moment had overspread his features.
“Laura and myself have for these two years past been the
confidants of Chichester’s attachment for a near relative of
his own.”
“A common pretext—a ready blind,” cried Oakham in
a contemptuous tone.
“You are unjust, Sir,” persisted Lord Chichester, with
grave indignation. “No action of my life, thank God, in-
titles any breathing man to doubt my word.”
“I must confess, my dear Qakham, that whatever may
THE DOWAGER. 83
have been your provocations, you are now most cruel and
unjust,” added the Wiscount.
“You cannot place yourself in my situation P’ cried
Oakham bitterly. “This villainous tale came to seek me
out by my quiet fireside. I quitted home only to search in-
to the truth of the dreadful reports that had reached us at
Hanbury Park.”
“How !” exclaimed Lord Gransden, aghast, “do you
mean that to-night was not the first occasion of your hear-
ing coupled together the names of Laura and Lord Chi-
chester 7” *
“I mean,” persisted Oakham, “that Evelyn and my-
self, distracted by the infamous insinuations, reported to us
on the subject, set off from the north with no other object
than to vindicate my daughter, if innocent ; or to shelter
her when thrust out from your dwelling if guilty. We
came, and all our apprehensions were quieted by the falla-
cious show of domestic happiness greeting us on our arri-
val here.”
“No show, but dear and valued reality ſ” said Grans-
den, with deep feeling, “I swear to God that there has
never been an interval in our affection—never a cloud upon
our mutual confidence.”
“And yet, the persons whose conversation on the sub-
ject reached me to-night—persons who have no interest
in creating a deception, expressly spoke of a reconciliation
—of matters having been patched up?”
“There must be deep iniquity at the bottom of all this tº
—cried Lord Gransden, snatching from the table the anon-
ymous letter, which, in the excitement produced by Oak-
ham’s arrival, had been forgotten. w
“Read this precious epistle !—Admire the audacity with
which a fact is here asserted, without even the remotest
pretence to truth. This letter appears to be a random shot,
fired to produce consternation in my family. It is not in
the possibility of things that any foreigner, any individual of
whatever nature, could be concealed in my house without
my knowledge. An emissary of Don Carlos —To what
end would such a person seek concealment at all ?”
“It is almost too absurd to deserve a moment's com-
S4 THE DOWAGERs
ment,” observed Lord Chichester, “did it not appear to be
a link in a chain of persecutions of which Lady Gransden
is the destined victim. For I beg you to observe, that even
this last contemptible attack, this absurd mystification, ex-
pressly affects to compromise her reputation.”
“True, true !” cried Oakham and Lord Gransden; both
immediately adding, “But what enemies can Laura have 7
—who can possibly intend mischief towards Laura !”
“That remains to be proved—that, it must be our busi-
ness to determine,” replied Lord Chichester. “All I have
to implore of you both is discretion | Conceal your disgust,
control your indignation, in order that we may the more
surely trace these calumnies to their source, and then woe
betide the slanderers | This epistle appears to be the produc-
tion of some practised anonymous letter writer of low mind;
and yet the people who to-night followed up the offence at
Lady Dulwich's, are persons of birth and education. We
must contrive to connect every scattered thread of this tis-
sue, and form it into a clue of discovery. To effect this,
not a word of what has passed must escape our lips; above
all, not to Lady Gransden, whose nerves are already sadly
shaken. Let us meet to-morrow morning. Let Mr. Eve-
lyn—the most dispassionate, perhaps, of us all—be taken
into our council; and let none of us move a single step in
the business, without the knowledge and acquiescence of
the rest.” §
“Surely,” observed Lord, Gransden, addressing his fa-
ther-in-law, “there can be no difficulty in pointing out
through what channel the rumor first reached Hanbury
Park $22
“None on earth ! Heaven knows ' we owe no consid-
erations of delicacy to those by whom our feelings have
been so cruelly harrowed. John Evelyn was the person,
who, as a matter of consequence, quitted his home and
family to devise with me some method of preserving from
utter ruin, one so dear to us all ; and Lady Seldon—(Lady
Seldon, of Seldon Park, a place in the neighborhood of
The Willows) was his first informant, of the disagreements
said to exist between Laura and her Lord. She can, sure-
ly, be compelled—nay, she shall be compelled, to disclose
THE DOWAGERs 85
the originators of the calumnies she saw fit to relate 1 The
warmth of your Lordship's indignation,” he continued, ad-
dressing Chichester, “renders it impossible for me to
misdoubt your sincerity. There cannot live a villain so ac-
complished, as to come forward with the energy you have
done, as the friend of those whom he is covertly betray-
ing.”
“If I have wronged you, my Lord, pardon me! In
becoming a husband and a father, you will be better able
to appreciate the anguish which has rendered me, this night,
unjust and irritable. But may you ever be spared the tor-
ture of such experience l’’
CHAPTER WIII.
Why should I call them fools The world thinks better of them; for,
having quality and education, they are liked by the world; or, if not, they like
and admire themselves.
CON GREWE.
THE next day was the drawing-room;-a June day,
bright and auspicious, as ought to shine upon such holidays
of the season;—festivals set apart for the glorification of
the aristocracy, but honored, chiefly, as the triumph of
beauty and of youth. º
Of all those who rejoiced that Midsummer morning in
the brightness of the skies, from the state coachmen, try-
ing on their snow white wigs before the lustrous panels of
the new carriages they were to initiate into public life, to the
noble peers, trying on their new ribands before their toilet
glasses, it was neither the new lord nor the old coachman,
for which the gaping public prepared its eyes and acclama-
tions. The throngs that assemble to stare upon the string
of carriages, fine as those of Cinderella, parading to the
WOL. II, 8
86 • THE DOWAGER,
palace, albeit they now and then recreate their lungs by
cheering this minister, or hooting that member of the op-
position, are gathered together by the attraction of beauty;
—the hope of looking upon fairer faces than common, en-
hanced by more than common adornments. The vulgar eye
doats upon those nodding plumes, those glittering diamonds;
but, merely because seen in association with all that is love-
liest of the higher classes of the land.
One face, however, was fated to be absent from the bril-
liant throng, which had, on more than one occasion, called
forth the shouts of the multitude. The handsome yellow
chariot with its spruce standard footmen, in liveries of white
and black velvet, noted by the hurrahs of the mob on the
preceding birthday as containing the prettiest creature of
them all, was no where to be seen. The young Wiscount-
ess reposed her throbbing head upon the bed of sickness.
The diamonds lay neglected in their morocco cases;–the
rich train forgotten in the wardrobe. The indignant coach-
man felt half inclined to give warning, that my Lady should
take it into her head to fall sick upon a court-day, after all
the trouble he had been at in getting his horses into condi-
tion, and his silk stockings out of the calender’s hands ; and
neither of the footmen, whose bouquets had made their ap-
pearance according to previous order from the nurseryman's,
seemed inclined to proceed to Sir Lucius Flimsy's, accord-
ing to the mandate issued by my Lord.
At an early hour, meanwhile, long before the critical mo-
ment when the high-bred horses of many a glittering equi-
page began to paw the ground with impatience before the
aristocratic residences of the West End, Lady Mary Lang-
ley entered the drawing-room of the Dowager.
“I thought you were going to Court” was Lady Del-
maine's salutation to her daughter.
“And so we are: but there is no hurry. Nardin is not
to be with Cecilia till twelve. I shall have plenty of time
to dress, if in Eaton Square by that hour.”
“But what brings you out, tiring yourself, or, if not your-
self, your horses, when both ought to start fresh for the
drawing-room ?”
“You need not compassionate my horses,” replied Lady
THE DOWAGERs 87.
Mary, “for I am on foot; nor myself, for I am more like-
ly to be refreshed than fatigued by the walk. I came to in-
quire, in person, after Lady Gransden.”
“Ah! poor thing !” f *
“She is very ill, then º’ demanded Lady Mary, with an
air of sympathy. §
“I suppose so, my dear, since you think it worth while
to trudge a couple of miles under a burning sun, previous
to dressing for the drawing room, simply to make your in-
quiries.”
“The servants make less of her illness, and assure me
she is better.” t
“Oh they do admit, then, that she is ill ? That is the
coloring eh that Lord Gransden intends to give to the
matter 7”
“To what matter?” |
“To her sudden renouncement of her intention to go to
the drawing-room,” persisted the Dowager, who, by dexter-
ous cross-questioning of Waux and John, had continued to
extort so much of the projects of number four.
“The drawing-room must of course be out of the ques-
tion. Lady Gransden was taken extremely ill last night,
at Lady Dulwich's ball; which, to do it justice, was the
most crowded and worst ventilated affair we have had this
year: and in her situation, such an illness might have seri-
ous consequences.”
“ Her situalion ? Humph l—I guessed as much,” said
the Dowager. “A pretty addition to all the ugly features
of the case l’”
“Not very ugly, I hope 3" replied Lady Mary, mistaking
her meaning. “The butler just now assured me that the
case was by no means serious ! I was not present myself
when she fainted; but Chichester wisely seized upon a car-
riage, and took her home in it.”
“Lord Chichester was involved in the affair, then? And
he took her home, did he 7 Upon my honor, those Grans-
dens are the coolest people in the world !” f
“As Lord Gransden did not happen to be present, she
could not have a kinder person to take charge of her than
88 THE DOWAGER.
her husband's particular friend,” observed Lady Mary, un-
suspectingly.
“No-certainly not a kinder P’ sneered Lady Meliora,
tº: just then entered the room, and took her seat among
them.
“Chichester sent me word by our friend Mr. d’Ewes,
that he had taken possession of our carriage for Lady
Gransden, who was very ill, or I should have heard nothing
of the matter; for I had seen her a quarter of an hour be:
fore, in the highest beauty and spirits.”
“What business had she there at all ?” demanded the
Dowager, puckering up her left eye.
“As much as the rest of us, I suppose,” replied Lady
Mary. “Many people found it a very pleasant ball.”
“Pleasant indeed—vastly pleasant, to a woman who is
stumbling on the verge of an abyss, and not certain whe-
ther any one will be at the charity of plucking her back.”
“Lady Gransden –an abyss : My dear mother, of
what are you dreaming? Lady Gransden is more ſéted—
more popular—than any of my acquaintance, young and
old. Every body delights in her | Even my grave hus-
band, even Lord Grandison, declare that there is nothing
like her. If she had not been attacked with this unfortunate
seizure, we were all to have dined there on Saturday, to
meet her father, who is in town for a short time on busi-
ness.”
“Business?—ay, a pretty sort of business '' ejaculated
Lady Meliora, lifting her sour visage from her carpet work.
“I see your drift—I perfectly understand your motive
in frequenting the Gransdens' house !” observed the Dow-
ager sneeringly. “You think it politic, at any cost, to
shove Miss Cecilia into Lord Chichester's way; hoping
that when the explosion takes place, his.Lordship may
find it convenient to sneak foul of the scrape, under cover
of matrimony, with the girl nearest at hand.”
“Mother, mother—What can tempt you to put such vile
constructions upon people's conduct l” cried Lady Mary,
coloring with indignation. - ,
“What can tempt people to be guilty of conduct, demand-
ing such constructions?”
THE DOWAGERs S9
“Whatever may be your opinion df my motives, I can
assure you that Mr. Langley would particularly dislike a
nearer connection between his family and the Delmaines.”
“Then why have you been wasting your powder and
shot, by having their son continually in your house, in town
and country—morning, noon, and night?—a man whom all
the world knows to be carrying on an affair with the wife of
his bosom friend l’” *
“On that point, also, you are not only mistaken, but
highly to blame in your observations,” said Lady Mary,
gravely. “Consider for a moment the mischief you might
do to Lady Gransden.”
“She deserves it ! What title has a woman to the sym-
pathy of her sex,” observed Lady Meliora spitefully, “who
is capable of such a breach of decorum as to conceal a
handsome young emigrant in her husband's house !”
“I know something from my son, of Lady Gransden’s
couduct and arrangements (my son, who is there, as you
are well aware, nearly every day of his life,) and can attest
that nothing can be more unfounded than your prejudices
against her. It is impossible for a woman to be more at-
tached to her husband—to her duties”—
“Or to her husband's friends !” interrupted the Dowager.
“Augustus is a cleverer fellow than I thought him. He
persuades you not only that he frequents Lady Gransden's
house for an opportunity of paying court to her friend the
heiress, but that—”
“My dear mother, I must once more be allowed serious-
ly to protest against your inferences,” cried Lady Mary,
“Did you but imagine the evils likely to result from your
random assertions.”
“I make no random assertions. I repeat only what I
hear and see,” snarled the Dowager.
“Even that is sometimes injudicious. But too often,
you repeat what you believe to have been heard and seen
by other people. Mr. Langley's interests in shire
have been seriously compromised by reports originating in
this house.”
“I am sorry to hear that they have so slight a foundation
as to be overthrown by a breath.”
8%
90 THE DOWAGER,
“And it might produce most unpleasant feelings between
my husband and his old friend Grandison,” continued Lady
Mary, “were it supposed that Augustus was trying, in an
underhand manner, to engage the attentions of Lady Alicia
de Wendover.”
“I can only observe in reply, that Mr. Langley's friend-
ships appear to be as lightly founded as his county interests.
Just sit a little on one side, my dear!—What can that
wicker-basket contain, I wonder, which they are carrying to
General Knox's house 7"
“It is only a milliner's basket,” replied Lady Mary, with
a smile ;-‘‘ not a buck-basket—no scandal to be extracted
out of that A*
“People's heads are not always running upon scandal,
Lady Mary. Thank heaven, I do not live sufficiently with
such people as Lady Gransden and Lady Sophia Ashford,
to have much occasion for improper conclusions. But it
can’t be a milliner’s basket after all ; for it is evidently
something to be worn at the drawing-room, (Mrs. Knox's
woman mentioned last night to Otley, that her mistress was
going,) beeause having such fine hair, it is impossible that
so vain a woman can intend to wear a berêt or turban. Me-
liora, your opera glass a moment. Ah! I see : positively a
new plume of feathers, That is Yates's girl with the
basket, I know her, because she brought home a new bou-
quet for my Épergne the day the Delmaines dined here.
Now what in the world can Mrs. Knox want with a new
plume?”
“To go to the drawing-room ſº replied Lady Mary, with
a smile. -
“Thank you for the information! I could perhaps have
guessed as much —But I tell you that Mrs. Knox had a
new plume, bought of Foster, only last year. I remember
perfectly well her showing it to me, and saying she was dis-
appointed of a court plume, that was to have been sent her
from Paris, where you know the feathers are dearer than in
London, but fifty times more beautiful—the Aleppo ostrich
instead of that of the Cape. Now I can positively declare
that, during the five and twenty years H regularly frequented
the drawing-room, never missing a birthday (and in my time
there were two a year instead of one,) F had but two court
THE DOWAGER, 9 I
plumes; one, a superb one of eighteen feathers, with a he-
ron aigrette, bought of Carbery, on my marriage ; the other
equally fine, which I got cheap at Lady Windrow’s death,
(Otley bought it for me of her maid.) And here is this
Mrs. Knox, whose husband’s income certainly does not
equal my jointure—and who ventures upon a new plume
every season—five guineas a year, at the least ! And to
desert Foster too, who has been serving her so attentively
these three or four years past ! However, I suspect she
has left him a handsome remembrance in the shape of her
name upon his books; for one day I recollect particularly
going there with Lady Kincardine, who had some dispute
with them about an article in her account, and as we were
looking together over the ledger, the very next name to
Rincardine among the K’s was Knox; ay, annexed to an
account stretching over two pages and a half; but without
any such word as “paid” or “settled' at the bottom In my
opinion, people had better rub off an old score, before they
begin a new.”
“Ilook, ma'am!” interrupted Lady Meliora, directing her
mother’s observation towards General Knox’s house.
“Not satisfied with the number of glasses in her dressing-
room, she is actually completing her toilet in the drawing-
room. Another new train another new dress Mrs.
Knox's court dresses cannot amount to less than a hundred
guineas in the course of the season 1’’
“Not above fifty, I fancy,” amended the Dowager; “for
Otley tells me that she wears cleaned blonde, and all sorts
of shabbinesses Mrs. Knox has not the heart to venture
at once on a handsome suit of point, which lasts people
their lives ; for the truth is, that a passion for good lace is
one of the instincts of a gentlewoman, and must be born
with a person. All the Urling's lace, and Dison's, and
that sort of rubbish, is sold to the north of Oxford street ;
and the lace cleaners invariably assure you, that their busi-
ness lies exclusively between St. James's square, and Cum-
“berland gate.”
“Primrose moire with blonde, and lilac satin chima-
asters '' ejaculated Lady Meliora, with her eyes still fixed
on their unconscious opposite neighbor. “The flowers a
92 THE DOWAGER,
vast deal “too heavy for the season; the train a vast deal
too pale for the complexion; and the blonde a vast deal
too yellow for any thing but candle light.”
And the two ladies continued scrutinizing Mrs. Knox
through their opera glasses, as coolly as if surveying Fan-
ny Elsler from a box in the Queen's theatre.
“A mere country moppet, in my opinion P’ cried the
Dowager, turning away from the window. “When a wo-
man does go the length of running her husband by dress,
she ought at least to be a beauty, by way of apology for her
folly. But Mrs. Knox would never be noticed, were it not
for her finery ; and six or eight hundred a year is a large
charge upon a man of moderate fortune, merely to have it
said that his wife is not amiss.”
“Nobody's wife is a Miss—according to the tables of
precedence 1” interposed the voice of Johnny Chichester,
who had entered the room unperceived, and now offered
his services to escort Lady Mary back to Eaton Square;
which being eagerly accepted, their walk through the park
would have been pleasant enough, but for the stream of
moralizing which naturally presented itself to the minds of
both, upon the incurable propensity for gossip and scandal
evinced by the never ending tittle-tattle of the Dowager
and Lady Meliora.
“I assure you, my dear Johnny, I live in téror of some
serious result from one or other of the rash calumnies en-
gendered in Grosvenor Street !” said Lady Mary, in a tone
of deep mortification; and though her brother tried to tran-
quillize her mind with assurances that the idle nature of
the scandals concocted by the Dowager, Lady Dearmouth,
Mrs. Crouch and their set, was too generally recognized to
admit of doing mischief to any but themselves, Lady Mary
was far from easy. The cause of lady Gransden’s illness
was still a mystery which she could not help connecting
with the scandal-mongery of her opposite neighbors. Lady
Mary resolved to make further inquiries of her son ; and
regretted only that the distance she had promised herself
to establish between her family and Lord Chichester, would
prevent her addressing herself to him for information which
he was still better qualified than Augustus, to supply.
THE DOWAGER. 93
There was no leisure, however, just then, for further
consideration of the subject. The sober maid of Lady
Mary was beginning to fret and storm that my Lady had
not yet made her appearance, though Miss Langley was
nearly ready, and the richly plumed togue, the dark green
train of brocaded satin, and the lappets and sabots, (which
according to her instincts as an Earl’s daughter, were of
old point,) were occupying all the chairs and tables in my
Lady’s dressing room.
“I shall not be twenty minutes,” was Lady Mary’s good-
humored rejoinder to the murmurs of the petulant woman,
whom a faithful service of twenty years in the family, privi-
leged to play the tyrant; on hearing which, Johnny Chi-
chester resolved to wait the arrival of his niece. He liked
to have a look at his pretty Cissy on such an occasion.
Not that he admired her half so much in the high tide of
finery, as when cantering her favorite pony by his side, with
streaming locks and glowing cheeks on Langley Downs;
or strolling with him in the coarsest of village-made straw-
bonnets through the Langley shrubberies. But it gave him
pleasure to be able to form an opinion of her, considered as
one of the beauties of the season; in which light, her re-
nown reached him at the clubs, and wherever else idle
men assemble together to discuss the merits of cabinet-
ministers, dogs, horses, and womankind.
“A very pretty dress —the bouquets of white clematis are
as near an approach to orange blossoms, as a prudent young
lady ought to permit herself!” cried Johnny, as his pretty
niece glided into the room, and in spite of plumes and train,
bent forward to kiss his forehead. “But I have less to say
in honor of the wearer. It strikes me, madam Cis, that
you wear your rouge two shades paler than when you ar-
rived in town for the season; and as to the shoulders and
arms, they look to me very like those of a doll through a
hole in which the bran has escaped. What do you mean,
child, by growing so pale and thin 7–No! I grant you !—
You are not pale now ! But I like the conscious blush
quite as little as the pale cheeks ſ” *
“I have been dancing too much of late, my dear uncle,”
replied Cecilia, with a smile. “But don't put me out of
94 THE DOWAGER,
conceit of myself, just as I am setting off for the drawing-
room * ,
“Exactly what my nephew Chichester had the impudence
to tell me just now, as I met him on his way from Green
Street to upper Grosvenor Street, to inquire after Lady
Gransden ; and told him the clubs were full of his having
carried her off from the midst of Lady Dulwich's ball, leav-
ing all the world staring after them, as they would at the
sudden disappearance of a planet !”
“He was angry with you, then º’ inquired Cecilia, with
a deeper blush than before.
“Not with me—but with Harvey d'Ewes, from whom I
was ass enough to acknowledge that I had heard the report.
In fact, he put himself into such a confounded passion, and
talked so big about requiring an explanation from d’Ewes,
that I assured him the world would hold a duel between
them a mighty unkinsmanly action; inasmuch, as Mrs.
Crouch and Lady Dearmouth confidently assured us, last
night at my mother’s whist-table, that what the newspapers
call a matrimonial alliance was on the tapis, between Har-
vey d'Ewes, Esq., of Betchingham Priory, and the lovely
and accomplished daughter of Morison Langley, Esq., of
Langley Park.”
“You did not—I hope you did not repeat anything so
absurd P-exclaimed his niece, with sparkling eyes and
heightened color. †
“I told him only that such a match was talked of by the
petticoat confederacy at the Dowager's.”
“And what did he say?”
“That Harvey d'Ewes was a coxcomb—or some civility
of that kind; which, as you pretend to disclaim the matri-
monial alliance’ invented by Mrs. Crouch, I make no
scruple in repeating to you ; in order that, should you ever
become Mrs. Harvey d'Ewes, you may not count too large-
ly on the cousinly attentions of Chichester Court.”
Cecilia Langley sighed, and smiled, and blushed again ;
and took such pains to conceal her sighs, smiles, and blush-
es from her uncle, by engaging herself at that moment most
earnestly in the disposal of the folds of her train, that John-
my found his curiosity satisfied on a point concerning which,
THE DOWAGERs ^ 95
from scruples of delicacy, he had forborne to interrogate
his sister. He saw that his fair niece was destined to be-
come Lady Chichester, or to remain Cecilia Langley to
the end of the chapter.
To spare her blushes, however, he sauntered to the win-
dow, and began commenting upon the new family-coach,
which had so moved the spleen of the Threlkelds ; till La-
dy Mary, arrayed in her matron dignity and family dia-
monds, made her appearance ; and Johnny had the satis-
faction of seeing them drive off with the happy husband and
father, who sacrificed his dislike to any active part in such
puppet-shows, to the sense of what was due to his family
and to his sovereign. ſ
Meanwhile, the business and the pleasure, and above all,
the gossip of the day, proceeded with its usual activity.
The fine world prated, in its lisping lingo, in the gaudy sa-
loons of the palace; and the mob discoursed, in various
shades of slang, in the streets and thoroughfares below ;
while the summer sun shone gaily on the heads of both, at
the behest of that Providence which sendeth its rain upon
the just and the unjust. But between these fierce extremes
of high and low, there gabbled an intermediary class 3–
namely, that portion of the mob which the fine world at-
taches to its service, and dresses up in gaudy rayment, in
order that its helotism may be manifested in the eyes of
the free.
The knights of the rainbow, always a strutting, jactant,
saucy species, are on court-days, more than usually self-
sufficient. It is highly amusing to see the looks of polite
contempt with which the standard footman, in his full dress
livery, surveys the mechanics and artizans plodding in their
vocation; who, in their turn, look upon the creature in its
cocked hat, powdered poll, laced tags, and golden garters,
as a species of merry Andrew. Regarding himself as an
item in the pomps of the day—an indispensable article in
the inventory of my Ladie’s vanities—he steps more jaunt-
ily than usual—walks like Diomede a-tiptoe, as he crosses
the plebeian kennel, and causes the bullion tassels of his
hat to vibrate as he acknowledges, peeping from the man-
sion of some lord of his acquaintance, the salutation of the
96 THE DOWAGER.
\
blushing housemaid—like Aubrey—“an ill-favored thing,
Sir, but his own.”
A considerable group of these parti-colored gentry,
“blue, white, and grey, with all their trumpery,” were as-
sembled in front of that classical temple of Bacchus, the
Gun Tavern at Pimlico, waiting the summons of their pro-
prietors, and discussing, with a freedom of speech which
parliament might have envied, the Pharaohs under whose
especial bondage they wore their several badges of slavery
—their coats of orange, brown, and blue—their plush or
velvet—their silver lace or gold.
“So, Jem P' cried a gentleman in brown and gold,
whose snub nose seemed puckered up on the bridge by star-
ing the sun out of countenance—“so you'd the job of tak-
ing home my Lady Grandison what fainted at our flare-up
las' night, eh? I seed you, a-helping o' the young chap
with the black thingumees on his chin, bundle her in But
how com'd you to let’m jump in a’ter'ards : I was stan'ing
on our steps a callin' up carridges; but I took notice of alk
as 'appened.”
“And what did 'appen, old fellow ; tell us that ?” cried
half a dozen brothers of the rainbow, pressing forward.
“Oh I shan’t peach Mum's the word.—I’m a gen-
tleman what knows summut o' lifel I warn’t born yesterday.
But what I says is, 'tis a sad pity the young chap warn’t
Lord Grandison, that’s hall.”
Already Lady Mary Langley's servant had made his way
out of the throng, aware that it was his Lady's intention to
quit the drawing-room early, and that he was likely to be
among the first called; and there was consequently no per-
son present privileged to “contradict from authority” all that
it suited Lady Dulwich's footman to advance, and the cho-
rus of tall canes and cocked hats to enlarge upon.
“It warn’t no sich a person as Lord Grandison's wife,
Jack,” interposed a tall lankey man in a dark livery,
who had been all his life long so bent upon increasing his
wages by his inches, that per force of craning, he looked as
if drawn out by a windlass, or rolled out by a patent mangle.
“I’ve got a cousin as lives under butler at Lord Grandi-
soft's in Park Lane; and his master’s wife's been dead the
THE DOWAGER, 97
Lord knows how long. It's a young daughter what's at
the head of Lord Grandison’s house.” . ;
“A young lady, eh? Come, that’s not so bad neither;
cos may be the chap in the black thingumees be her lawful
sweetheart.” g $
“Ay sure,” replied the long gentleman, “my cousin, Mr.
Williams, says she's got a power of suitors, may be because
she's got a power o' money. I've a notion the chink o' the
eoin makes the dandies swarm, all as one as the chink o'
the warmin'-pan does the bees. Last time I dropped in to
a game o’cribbage with Williams, he told me there was
a forrunuring chap who'd hoffered 'im a sum not to be
sneezed at, to get his letters took'd up to the young lady
unbeknownst to my Lord.”
“Then as sure as a gun, that 'ere chap with the black
thingumees be the werry man P, cried Lady Dulwich's
brown and gold.
“You’re a pretty set of hignoramuses ſ” exclaimed a thin
young gentleman in white and silver, powdered to the ear-
tips, and tripping in varnished pumps with silver buckles.
“Bless your stupid souls l Lady Alicia, Lord Grandi-
son's young lady, wisits at our house as thick as anything;
and there's a young Prince, (from Hittaly, or Roushia, or
some country in that outlandish part of the world,) what's
werry sweet upon her; and my Lady, they say, be a-putting
on him up to marry her.”
“Ah your Lady be a toppin’ prime'un, Bob P’ replied
the brown and gold. “How goes the luck in your house,
just now, eh?” You made a bad thing of Epsom, I’ve a
notion ? And so, alter all, that 'ere chap, last night, was a
forrunner a-runnin’ of with a Henglish heiress Well,
that'll be noos for our ladies at home ! The lady’s maids
would 'ave it, from my ackount, as it war what they called a
Doctor-Common affair ; but a reg’lar helopement be what I
call a huncommon affair.”
“At all events, the loving couple didn’t run far,” observ.
ed the white and silver; “for I saw the young gen’leman,
Prince Smashimo, as they calls him, go in at the private
hentrance to the drawing-room this blessed morning (them
forrunners has a right up the back stairs, you know), and I
WOL. II, 9
98 THE DOWAGER,
passed Grandison's people a'ter they'd set down, just now,
a-drinking at the Magpie and Crown. They're fellows I
can’t abide—a low tipling set !”
“I can tell you,” cried the lankey in the dark livery,
“ there ben’t a more genteel man in the parish of London
or Westminster, than my cousin, Mr. Williams.”
“Sir, I was not speaking of your cousin, Mr. Williams,
but of the servant's 'all folks. I knows my place ; I’m not
above my livery; and I say again, that Grandison's foot-
men’s as low a set as any in natur’. So put that in your
pipe, and smoke it.” gº
“Gen’lemen, gen’lemen,” interposed the surrounding
shoulder-knots, “remember yerselves | A ’undred pºlice-
men, and fifty special constables on the look hout.”
“I don’t care l" cried the dark livery, who had just been
imbibing a third pot of quadruple ale, and was waxing pug-
nacious. “I say agin, and I don’t care who 'ears it, Gran-
dison's people is a set of tipplers; and if so be they had’nt
been in liquor, like beasts as they was, they wouldn’t ha' let
a forruner, for all he was a prince, run hoof with their young
lady, and be brought sneaking back again P’
“Sir, you're no gentleman,” said the white and silver.
“And if you take upon you to—”
Words were now beginning to run high, and canes to be
more firmly grasped ; whereupon, Mr. Inspector, Brown
saw fit to offer a premonitory hint to the parties; and the
parti-colored group seemed, like its prototype the rainbow
—to vanish into air. But the mischief was done. The
sower was gone forth to sow his seed ; and before night,
more than one lady’s maid of distinction had been confi-
dentially instructed, by the servants’ hall,among other impor-
tant details of shreds and patches, that the heiress, Lady
Alicia de Wendover, had actually eloped the day before
with a foreign Prince, and been brought back again ; a
piece of intelligence-extraordinary, which she did not fail to
communicate to her lady, when dressing, the following
morning, ! • * # =
“But are you sure the news is true tº demanded Lady
Sophia Ashford, and one or two of the less credulous.
; “Certain sure, my Lady. The matter have been bush-
#
THE DOWAGER, '99
ed up, as in reason good, for fear of Lady Licia's reppita-
tion ; and the young man what mentioned it out of my
Lord's house, would lose his place if it was thought he'd
breathed a syllable. But your Ladyship may rest assured
it’s bible truth. I know a person as seed a young lady lift-
ed into the carriage by Pr but I hope you’ll excuse
my saying more, my Lady. I hope I knows my place bet-
ter than to go repeating grievances, or circumnating scan-
dal.”
CHAPTER IX.
f
Let me embrace thee, good old chronicle !
. That hast so long walked hand in hand with time.
Most reverend Nestor, I am glad to clasp thee.
SHA KSPEARE,
WITH the sanction of Mr. Oakham and Lord Chiches-
ter, the Wiscount determined upon requesting the advice of
his former guardian, General Maxwell, in the little council
about to be held upon his family perplexities; perplexities
by no means lessened by the painful indisposition of his
wife. But on visiting the General's house in Curzon Street,
it appeared that he was absent from town, having been sent
for to be present at the signing of the will of his brother-in-
law, Mr. Windsor at Dorking; whose nephew and niece,
Sir Henry and Mrs. Were, were alternately in attendance
upon the old gentleman's last moments. Lord Gransden
contented himself, therefore, with leaving his name; and
all parties agreed in regretting the absence of the General,
who was precisely the man to officiate in such a juncture;
a dry, formal, deliberate, dispassionate personage, who had
never been convicted of saying or doing a wrong thing—
perhaps because he had never affected a brilliant or a strik-
ing one. %
}
100 THE DOWAGERe
General Maxwell had been employed by government ear-
ly in life, as governor of one of those colonies of former
times, where there was nothing to govern but the governor's
own temper; but where the preciseness of his pigtail and
side-curls exercised a very satisfactory influence on the re-
spect of its local militia. The dudecimo government in ques-
tion, having long been merged in a greater, as an insignifi-
cant meadow disappears on being fenced into a neighboring
park, General Maxwell now enjoyed a retiring pension ; and
just as much otium cum dignitate as would have rendered
him a fussy, troublesome committee-man of the numerous
clubs to which he belonged, had not the late Lord Gransden,
with whom he had some sort of Brigson relationship, select-
ed him as the guardian of his only son.
Nothing could be more laudable than the General’s of.
ficiation in his gratuitous office. His habits of business
brought the estate into admirable order, and his cold for-
mality brought the minor into capital order. Sir Henry
Windsor, the nephew of Mr. Maxwell, was nearly of Lord
Gransden’s age ; and though the two lads united in com-
plaining that the governor was stiffer than his own ramrod,
his gentle moderation commanded their respect. The
guardian, whom they disliked as boys, they began to regard
with love and reverence the moment they became men.
“Though the Wiscount was no longer his ward, the Gen-
eral’s occupation was not gone. To him were referred, on
most occasions, the doubts and dilemmas of the young
couple; and though Sir Henry Windsor, who was of a some-
what more vivacious temperament than his next-door neigh-
bor had completely thrown off the yoke of the governor,
(and had once nearly overset his drag, by turning the corner of
Pall Mall too closely, on seeing a vision of old Maxwell's
pigtail vibrating on the door-step at Boodle's, while shaking
his head at the rakish set-out of his quondam disciple)—the
Windsor family still looked to the ex-guardian as the only
man having even a shadow of influence over the warm-
hearted, but light-headed, young Baronet.
Already, however, the General, stripped of his private as
well as his public office, and sadly to seek for occupation,
was said by the wicked wits, to be as good at clearing a club-
THE DOWAGER 101
room as those eminent bores, Sir Charles and Sir Tho-
II]:l S The editor of the United Service Journal, too,
complained sadly of the exceedingly long “protests” and
“statements,” sometimes signed “Fiat Justilia,” some-
times, “An old Soldier,” sometimes, “An observer of the
times;” but indited in the same cramped, quizzical, Italian
hand, which was known as the sign manual of ex-Gover-
nor Maxwell; and all agreed, that if it were not for his pre-
dilection for the whist-table, and his preference for the game
and stakes played by those clubs most prolific in pigtails
and spencers, it would have been severely felt by the pub-
lic of St. James’ Street and Pall Mall, that Lord Gransden
had attained his majority It was a shame, that anything
so upright and well-intentioned as General Maxwell, should
be scouted as a bore ; but so it was.
But there is sympathy in a metropolis for all sorts and
conditions of men, yea, even bores. There were clubs
where Maxwell's long stories became short by comparison ;
and his play, by comparison, smart. There were clubs
where, through his connexion with two gay young men,
like Lord Gransden and Sir Henry Windsor, he was con-
sidered a member of the fashionable world; and “ah! here
comes Maxwell; now we shall hear some news ſ” often
burst, on his approaeh, from one of those groups of natty
bald-headed old fellows, who, after sharpening the edge of
their ennui every morning over the newspapers, loiter about
all day in the neighborhood of the clubs, as if the very at-
mosphere brought rumors of Eastern wars, or Western in-
surrections.
Nay, there were even a few Dowager coteries in which
he passed for the beau; and since the decease of Mrs. Max-
well, his white dimity waistcoat, formal stock, and the half
dozen white hairs clipped close on either side his high nar-
row forehead, had not preserved him from the attacks of
such desperate ladies as the Dowager's ugly daughter, or
the manoeuvring Mrs. Crouch. But the moment the Gene-
ral became conscious of their attacks, he ignominiously
fled the field. He had a horror of the whole set. His
measured prudence, no less than his honorable principles,
inspired him with such a distaste for defamation of every
9%
102 THE DOWAGER,
description, that turtle and venison eaten in company
with the Dowager and her school for scandal, were to him
far less savory than a steak with Johnny Chichester at the
club.
There was one contingency, however, which sometimes
brought him within reach of the maleficent spells of the
Dowager circle. He had a great regard for Lord Dear-
mouth. They had gone through Eton together, fifty years
before; and been Tom and Dick to each other throughout
the intervening half century. On Maxwell’s return from
his government, it was in his well-padded bosom that Dear-
mouth deposited the secret of his matrimonial griefs; that
he was married to a woman whose tongue was as the clap-
per of St. Paul’s bell, (saving, as John Chichester remarked
aside, that it never toll'd truth,) and that his sole retreat
from the scandal-factory, whose cylinders and wheels kept
up a perpetual rolling and spinning in his drawing-room in
Park Place, was in that happier home in St. James's Street,
where he could dose through his rubber in peace, unharrass-
ed by the sight of a petticoat.
The General luckily agreed with his friend in preferring
old women in broadcloth, to old women in satin and bro-
cade; and the bald-headed Damon and Pythias thencefor-
ward devoted their lives to playing cards together at sixty, as
much as they had devoted it to playing marbles together, at
ten. The only drawback upon their happiness was an oc-
casional fit of the gout, compelling Lord Dearmouth, for a
time, to relinquish his club ; and it certainly operated as a
check upon the little excesses, promotive of the disorder
pronounced by the classical authority of Chesterfield to be
that of Lords, while heumatism is the malady of hackney-
coach-men—that it threw him back for society upon the
weird sisters of his wife. Sooner than forego the power of
over-stepping the two hundred yards which divided his Ely-
sian Fields from his Avernus, he allowed the blushing Bur-
gundy to pass him by, and the Alderman's walk of the deli-
cate haunch to spread its unctuous allurements in vain.
Any sacrifice rather than a week tied to the gouty chair, like
Prometheus to his rock, with the vulture of scandal perpet-
ually gnawing into his vitals |
THE DOWAGERs 103
On such occasions, however, when the frailty of gastro-
philic flesh had betrayed him to the cloth shoe and gouty
cradle, Maxwell, like a faithful friend, renounced his antip-
athies; and so long as Lord Dearmouth remained a pris-
oner, spent the whole of his evenings and as much of his
mornings as he could command, in keeping at bay from his
easy chair, the various members of the Dowageihood. His
Lordship's fits of the gout afforded, of course, their mo-
ments for revenge ; and as flies appear to sting with espe-
cial malignity, the animal guarded from them by a net, La-
dy Delmaine and her crew took extraordinary delight in se-
lecting objects for discussion the most sacred to the sick
man and his Pylades of the pigtail. When General Max-
well was present, they invariably talked of the vices of Sir
Henry Windsor, or the follies of the Gramsdens; when not
present, they talked to Lord Dearmouth of the unpopularity
of that old man of the mountains, the General. So long as
his Lordship's gout lasted, they took care to make the poor
man's potions sufficiently bitter to avenge the contempt with
which he presumed to treat them the rest of the year.
Now it happened that, at the moment of Mr. Oakham's
arrival in town, Lord Dearmouth was undergoing one of his
annual periods of penance ; and when the General arrived
in town from Dorking, from the sick bed of his brother-in-
law, instead of even noticing his servant’s announcement
that Lord Gransden had called, and asked “particular”
when their master was expected back in town, his whole at-
tention was absorbed by a short note in the hand-writing of
Lord Dearmouth, to the following effect:—
“Dear Max, $
Chained by the leg again For God's sake,
come this evening about nine, and rescue from the hooks of
the Wampires,
Yours ever, (and in a state of excruciation,)
g D.”
12ark Place.
However ill-inclined for the irritations of such an enemy,
(for he had been assisting his kinsman at Dorking, in the
104 THE DOWAGER.
manufacture of a document peculiarly nervous to gentle-
men having six bristly white hairs on either side a high nar-
row forehead, and was considerably hypped by the operation)
the General felt the appeal to be sacred. For four and
twenty years past, he had never resisted such a claim on
his good-nature ; remembering well how, five and twent
years prior to that, Dearmouth had renounced Brocas Fields
in the very prime of the rowing-season, to sit by him at his
dame's, in a slow convalescence after the measles.
Pausing, therefore, only to dine, and on his way to Park
Place appease the hunger after news of a regular club man
deprived for four and twenty hours of his dozen morning
and evening papers, he repaired to Lord Dearmouth's,
where he found the whist-party already assembled ; the
Dowager and Lady Meliora, Sir Jacob Appleby and Mrs.
Crouch, with Sir Lucius Flimsy, who had obligingly drop-
ped in to make up a second table. From the impressive
gripe of the hand bestowed upon him by his sick friend, he
understood in a moment that Dearmouth was undergoing all
his usual double martyrdom, and that his presence was duly
appreciated. *
Tea was still handing round; the card-table still unopen-
ed; and the high tide of gossip at its full.
“How is poor. Windsor going on ?”—broke naturally
from the lips of Sir Lucius, who but for “poor Windsor’s.”
obstinate preference to country air, flattered himself he
should have been “in at the death” of his old patient.
“Better, I thank you,”“replied General Maxwell, gravely.
“His disorder, a nervous asthma, is so susceptible of change,
that he is apt to get frightened and alarm his friends, when
perhaps no danger exists.”
“Nothing more than asthma’ I understood there was a
serious bronchial affection?” said the bland physician; and
the ladies were so apprehensive a professional discussion
might eusue, that the Dowager forestalled him by an excla-
mation of-" Only asthma’ Why he may live these ten
years 1 A very agreeable hearing for poor Sir Henry
Windsor and Mrs. Were !”
“My old friend Windsor is happy in the affectionate re-
gard of his nephew and niece,” observed the General, in-
THE DOWAGERs 105
dignantly, in reply. “I am convinced that they neither of
them consider their attendance irksome.”
“Credat Juda:us !”—replied Lady Meliora. “Mrs.
Were is rather too fine a lady to like to spend her season
in the dusty road between London and Dorking.” *
“ Mrs. Were has only been to town twice in the course
of the last six weeks,” retorted the General.
“Only twice?—Poor thing!”
“Your Ladyship would pity her less, were you, like my-
self, fresh from the country. Windsor’s place is one of the
sweetest things in Surrey. The gardens are just now in
their fullest beauty; and, but for the precarious state of her
uncle's health, Mrs. Were who has been residing so long on
the continent, would prefer it to London.”
“Mrs. Were prefer anything, (except Paris or Naples,)
to London l’’ cried Mrs. Crouch. “Why when she cross-
ed the channel last February, the warehouse of the Dover
Custom-House was so stuffed with her imperials and pack-
ing cases, that the rest of the passengers in the same pack-
et got their things through, in the press of business, without
being examined l’’
“Mrs. Were did not come by Dover,” observed the Ge-
neral, coolly. “She arrived from Rotterdam.”
“Well—never mind where she landed her luggage. We
can all bear witness to the brilliancy of its contents P’ cried
the Dowager. “My opposite neighbor, poor Mrs. Knox,
underwent a fit of the jaundice from the vexation of seeing
two new fashions, which she had intended to be the first to
introduce, smuggled in under her nose by Mrs. Were !—
And to talk of such a woman delighting in a flower-garden,
and having a taste for the country !” 4
“Any thing, I suppose, by way of paying court to
nunky’s strong-box ſ” cried Lady Dearmouth. “ However,
it would be a sad thing if she were to cut out Sir Henry, who
is so much in want of a windfall.”
“I cannot imagine a young man, neither married nor en-
cumbered, being much in want of an addition to an income
of eight thousand a year,” said the General drily.
“You may not ; but I assure you the Jews can imagine
it, my dear General P added Mrs. Crouch.
I06 THE DOWAGER,
“The Jews, Ma'am!” cried General Maxwell, more net-
tled than he cared to show. “I don’t believe there is a
young man of his condition in all London, more easy in his
circumstances than my nephew. Sir Henry Windsor had
not an incumbrance on his estate, when he came of age;
and as to his expenses, his establishment is nothing out of
the common way. His yacht costs him a thousand a year
—his stables, perhaps, as much more ; and his country-seat
is, at present, I am sorry to say, shut up.”
“Ay—his seat shut up, and himself done up !” cried Lady
Dearmouth. “All I know is, that he has been raising mo-
ney to the right and left;-that his estates are mortgaged
over head and ears; and that it will surprise me much if,
some fine day soon, we don't hear of Sir Henry's stud be-
ing at Tattersall's and himself at Brussels P’
“Your Ladyship is under some strange mistake,” said
the General stoutly.
“She is always under mistakes P’ growled Lord Dear-
mouth, from his gouty corner.
“Ask Sir Lucius Flimsy there, (provided Lady Meliora
will let him off the other half of her new theory of Animal
Magnetism,) ask him how often he has had to give medical
certificates of the insurability of Sir Henry Windsor’s life,
within these last three months P’ retorted Lady Dearmouth.
But though she gave every syllable of the last sentence
rinforzato, Sir Lucius wisely remained as deaf as a post.
“Lady Dearmouth asserts, Sir Lucius, that you have
been enabling Sir Henry Windsor to effect large insurances
of his life?” cried Mrs. Crouch in a key which not even
Johnny Chichester would have dared to disregard.
“Ten thousand pardons !” exclaimed Sir Lucius. “I
throw myself, my dear Madam, on your generosity! It is
my invariable custom to leave my professional recollections
under the cushion of my carriage, when I come out, promis-
ing myself the enjoyments of such charming society as I
see around me !”
“Quite right!—You owe them that rap on the knuckles l’
growled Lord Dearmouth again, provoked to see that the
tea-trays were beginning to make a second round of the
THE DOWAGER, 107
room, so that half an hour must still be dedicated to scandal,
before the more important business of life commenced.
“Well—since Sir Lucius is so close, you may take it
from me,” cried the Dowager Lady Delmaine, “that a friend
of mine, who shall be nameless, lent a sum of twelve
thousand pounds to Sir Henry Windsor only last month,
upon a mortgage on his Somersetshire estates!”
General Maxwell chose to be so deeply intent upon ques-
tioning the butler, which was the green tea, which the black,
that no answer was expected of him. But when at length
he chose to bring to a close the long operation of choosing
his cup, weakening it, sweetening it, and adding two drops
of cream, he found the whole party hard at work upon the
Gransdens.
Lady Dearmouth and Lady Meliora were the most active ;
three of the others being tongue-tied by consciousness of
the part they had taken in blowing up the coals of strife be-
tween the Wiscount and his wife.
“Pray have you been sent for to Lady Gransden, Sir
Lucius 7” demanded Lady Meliora, of her neighbor.
“Ifancy her Ladyship's case is not precisely in my depart-
ment,” replied the courtly physician, with a prim smile.
“But I am assured she was too ill to attend the drawing-
room yesterday.”
“There might be many motives for her non-attendance,”
said Lady Dearmouth. “People are sometimes too ill to
show their faces, and sometimes ashamed to show them.”
“Lady Gransden's is a face that no lady need be asham-
ed to show,” observed the gallant Sir Lucius, “for it is
that of the prettiest woman in London.”
“Take care that some of your fair patients don’t make
you take one of your own doses as a punishment for that
assertion ; and so poison you outright !” cried Lady
Dearmouth, whose piquancy was that of a regulation bayo-
net. “However, pretty or ugly, I suppose we shall see no
more of her. Her father, I am told, has consented to take
her back; probably to prevent her being carried off to
Spain, to follow the army, and live on garlick and raw
olives for the next half dozen years P’ *
“May I take the liberty of inquiring the meaning of these
108 THE DOWAGER,
extraordinary allusions?” said the precise General, whose
curiosity was now nearly as much excited as Lady Dear-
mouth had intended.
“Simply that your ward and his wife are on the eve of a
divorce " replied Lady Dearmouth, nodding to the servants
to place shaded lights upon the card-table.
“Your Ladyship must excuse me,” replied the Gen-
eral. “Lord Gransden called upon me this very morn-
ing—”
É During your absence from town P’ interrupted the
Dowager; “and how do you know what he came to com-
municate 7 Most likely to consult you (as you are known
to be so excellent a man of business,” as to what lawyer he
should employ. I recommend Lushington.”
“This is really most—I declare, I–pray,” continued the
General, rising, and approaching, tea in hand, the gouty
chair of Lord Dearmouth—“pray have you heard anything,
my dear Dearmouth, of this extraordinary affair?”
“Nothing to be relied upon—nothing but what you
hear!” replied Lord Dearmouth, glancing contemptuously
round the circle. “I dare say, it will turn out a sea-ser-
pent story.”
“I am beginning to fear not,” replied the General, lower-
ing his voice to the ear of his friend. “Connecting the
report with Gransden's message this morning, and Oak-
ham's arrival in town, (for I was invited to Grosvenor Street,
to meet him and the Langleys on Saturday at dinner,) I
really fear that something may be wrong! My mind mis-
gives me. With your leave, therefore, I will hasten up at
once to Lord Gransden’s, and—”
“Don’t ask for my leave P’ cried Lord Dearmouth, in
undisguised consternation. “Consider for a moment, my
dear fellow, that if you desert me, there will be the whole
squadron on my back; to say nothing of the fragments of
the second whist-table which defection will have broken up !
My dear Max! don't do so ill a turn by an old friend tº
“I ought not to do so ill a turn by a young one, as aban-
don poor Gransden at so critical a moment as that of di-
vorcing his wife l’” said the General, gravely. g
Lord Dearmouth shrugged his shoulders. “Were I in
THE IPOWAGER, 109
such a case, God knows, I'd let you off!” cried he. “But
a fit of the gout ! Compare the two evils l—Were you in
the hands of the harpies, my dear Max, I would not desert
you to run after a foolish girl and boy, who, believe me, will
adjust their matrimonial squabbles quite as well without
your assistance.”
The word “squabble” decided the mind of the General.
No 1 it could be nothing more than a squabble—a squall—
a breeze—probably appeased by this time, and only likely
to beenpleasantly revived by his tardy interference . He
determined, therefore, to devote his evening to his friend.
But his friend’s friends were, alas ! little the better for the
concession; for so pre-occupied was the poor General’s
mind with dread lest the morrow should prove that his
nephew was overwhelmed with debt, and his ward with woe,
that his two successive partners, Lady Meliora Chichester
and Mrs. Crouch, had each a revoke to complain of, as they
took the sovereigns from their transparent card-purses.
There was even some talk between the Dowager and Sir
Lucius, his opponents, about trumping his partner’s king,
which the indignation of the said partner was too great to ad-
mit of taking the form of remonstrance.
At length—for rubbers however ill played must have an
end—the evening wore to a conclusion. Sandwiches, sher-
ry, and seltzer-water were brought into the adjoining room;
my Lord’s valet made his appearance to wheel him off to
bed; and General Maxwell, with the satisfactory reflection
that he had done his duty by his friend, ñade a bow to the
elderly ladies, (including Sir Lucius and Sir Jacob), and
departed.
But though no gouty twinge impeded his rest, the reports
of the Dowager coterie had “murdered sleep.” All night
the General tumbled and tossed on his pillow, longing
for morning. He felt that he had an act of great indis.
cretion to repair, and perhaps no time wherein to repair
it. Having been sent for by his brother-in-law, Mr. Wind-
sor, to assist him with his advice in making his will—that
least satisfactory of all appeals to posthumous fame, he
had given it as his opinion, that of the dying man's two sur-
viving relations, Sir Henry Windsor and Mrs. Were, the sis-
VOL. II, 10
1 10 THE DOWAG £R.
ter had the best claim to his munificence ; inasmuch as her
husband, an expensive man, possessed an income of scarce-
ly fifteen hundred a year, and had already a family of three
children; while the young Baronet was not only rich, but
made a foolish use of his money, and boasted his intention
to live and die a bachelor. *
It was in compliance with this hint, that old Mr. Wind-
sor, who had outlived almost every consciousness, but the
desire to make his last act on earth an act of equity, had
caused his will to be drawn out. Twice, ere he put ºn to
parchment for the important signature witnessed by Gener-
al Maxwell, had he turned with wistful eyes towards his
brother-in-law, observing—“An annuity of a thousand a
year is little enough for my nephew Are you quite sure,
my dear General, that Harry is perfectly unincumbered 3
Are you quite sure that money is no object to him : Are
you quite sure that he will be satisfied to have the estate be-
queathed to his sister ?”
“Quite sure P’ was General Maxwell's rash reply. “You
well know what an affectionate brother he is to Emily. I
am convinced it will afford him pleasure to find such a proof
of your regard bestowed upon Mrs. Were.”
And if, after all this, it should turn out that Sir Henry’s
estates were extensively mortgaged, and that he was looking
to his uncle's liberality, his uncle by whom he had been un-
questionably brought up as his heir, for a release from his
difficulties General Maxwell felt that in such a case, he
had much to answer for; for old Windsor was one of the
many persons who entertain such a horror of will-making,
that he had put off till the eleventh hour a testamentary in-
strument of any description ; observing that, “ having im-
mediate heirs, the law would take very good care of his
propelty,” and as to any hope of his being wrought upon to
sign a new will at a quarter to twelve, General Maxwell
knew that he might be just as easily persuaded to sign his
own death warrant
As to the family in Grosvenor Street, he searcely dared
trust himself to think of them After all his care and pains
to render his ward and his ward's estate ship-shape and pros-
perous, after rejoicing in his early marriage with a well-
*HE DOWAGERe 1 11
principled, healthy, hearty, homely country gentleman's
daughter, to have him wrecked in the very onset of life by
the bitterest of domestic disgraces ! It was too severe a
disappointment—too cruel a reward for all the arithmetic
and rural economy he had wasted on the property—all the
lectures and exhortations he had thrown away on its inheri-
tor :
For the present, he must dismiss the Gransdens from his
mind. His first duty was a duty of expiation. He must see
Sir Henry Windsor—He must have a peremptory explana-
tion with him, and decide his future measures according to
the result. It was only vexatious that eight dreary hours
still divided him from the hour of action and atonement.
{CHAPTER X.
Man's life is all a mist, and in the dark
Our fortunes meet us.
DRY DEN's
“NIGHT,” quoth the proverb, “brings counsel;” and the
break of day found General Maxwell of opinion, that next
to extracting a tooth there is nothing that gives so much
pain as extracting a confession. With all the experience
in such matters derivable from guardianship to a young
Wiscount and uncleship to a young Baronet, he reflected
that Sir Henry Windsor was far less likely to plead guilty
in his own person than in that of his attorney. *
After breakfasting, therefore, according to his usual me-
thodical arrangement, sipping the Morning Chronicle with
his tea, and skimming the Morning Post with his cream,
he set off deliberately towards Paper Buildings, where hav-
ing mounted to the third story a dirty stone staircase, smell-
ing as if washed daily with London porter, he arrived at a
1 12 THE DOWAGER.
*
door inscribed in white text upon a black ground, as if the
said door were in half mourning for the sins of its proprie-
tor, the word “office” and the mame Mr. Joseph Clammin-
son, and entered a fusty room where sat six young gentle-
men mounted on tremendous high stools, looking like clerks
run to seed, who immediately caused him to be announced
to their principal.
Mr. Joseph Clamminson was a pert, dapper, clever little
solicitor, entertaining a vast respect for General Maxwell, as a
client, and connected with clients, well to do in the world ;
but much addicted to giving a sly kick to any ball which he
saw rolling down hill. The word ever in his mouth—the
alpha and omega of his theory and practice—was “my cha-
racter ſ” “my character as a professional man,” “my cha-
racter in court,” “my character in the world !” No ſoot-
man ever set a higher value on the word, or was less aware
of the superior importance of the word “conduct”—the so-
lid edifice to which the stuccoed facing called character is
affixed at the caprice of the world.
“I hope I do not disturb you, Mr. Clamminson 7” said
the courteous ex-governor. -
“On the contrary, General, I was rather expecting your
visit,” replied the dapper attorney. “A sad affair, this, my
dear Sir, in Upper Grosvenor Street!” - *
“What affair in Upper Grosvenor Street?” demanded
General Maxwell, whose thoughts were more intent just
then upon his nephew than upon the Wiscount.
“Why a-it may perhaps eompromise my character for
professional discretion in your eyes, if Ham more explicit,
but—” $
“In one word, Mr. Clamminson,” interrupted the Gene-
ral, aware that when once his solieitor embarked in the
character chapter, he was apt to wax tedious, “I am here
for the express purpose of obtaining from you information,
which I fear you will be reluctant to afford; but your dis-
closure of which may, I assure you, prove of the most im-
portant benefit to a client for whom you profess the highest
regard.”
“I am convinced that General Maxwell, a man of such
high honor, would never require of me avowals incompati.
THE DOWAGER, 113
ble with my professional character,” observed Mr. Clam-
minson. “Be pleased, Sir, to be seated and explain your-
se;f.”
“I wish to know then, Sir, without reserve, whether you
conceive a mutual young friend of ours, just now painfully
engaged in the discharge of a family duty, to be influenced
in his proceedings by pecuniary interests?”
“Certainly not, Sir,” replied Clamminson, “and were
any man but yourself to hazard such a question, I should
feel iſ due to my character, as his professional adviser”—
“Mr. Clamminson P’ interrupted the General, “you
must be aware that my deep interest in this young man’s
welfare alone suggests such an inquiry. I merely wish to
learn from you, in the most unequivocal terms, whether his
affairs are, as I have been assured, embarrassed ; and whe-
ther he is looking to the present afflicting crisis rather as a
release from his difficulties, than in a more tender point of
view 7”
“You wrong him, Sir, by the supposition,” cried Clam-
minson, trying to infuse a magnanimous look into a face as
blank as a skin of parchment. “I venture to pledge my
professioual as well as my unprofessional character, that
there is not an incumbrance on his estates, or a drawback
on his income ; and as to the sad event”—
A low knock at the door impeded his further communi-
cations. A gentleman, for whom the solicitor of Paper
Buildings had been waiting at home by appointment, now
stood in the office overlooked by the lofty clerks; and
Clamminson was under the disagreeable necessity of bowing
out a client whose triple deed boxes, as principal trustees
and executor, filled a fourth part of his chambers, to bow in
a pitiful fellow whose affairs and coat were alike out at el-
bows; on whom he accordingly vented his spleen by four-
fold allusions to his own character, as being most disagree-
ably compromised by involvement in his petty concerns.
* I assure you Mr. Pennyweight,” observed Clammin-
son, as the General hurried down stairs, mentally referring
all the time to Sir Henry Windsor every word uttered by the
solicitor in reference to the Wiscount, “it is quite contrary
to my character in he profession to embark my name in a
10
1 14 THE EXOWAGER,
suit of this inconsiderable nature ; and for the ſuture, I
must really rely upon you to secure the services of some
less scrupulous professional adviser.”
“All’s right ° inused meanwhile the conscientious Ge-
neral hastening homewards. “I am not sorry to be spared
just now a second journey to Dorking. If any one but
Lady Dearmouth and her colleague the Dowager had told
me Harry was an embarrassed man, I should have believed
them without hesitation, and persuaded poor Windsor at
least to pause before he alienated his estates. But so con-
vinced am f of the falsehood of every word that escapes the
lips of those scandalous old women, that even previous to
Clamminson's denial, I felt convinced the report was a lie!
I need not institute ſurther inquiries. Eady Delmaine’s
and Lady Meliora Chichester’s affirmatives to the contrary,
convince me that my nephew’s affairs are in the most thriv-
ing condition. So much the better for Emily Were.”
To Grosvenor Street, therefore, the General now direct-
ed his steps, and after a passing inquiry at Sir Henry Wind-
sor's to ascertain that there was no further news from the
country, he hastened to Lord Gransden's door.
“At home 7” inquired General Maxwell of the butler;
and almost without waiting for an answer, he was about to
walk in.
“My Lord is at home, General,” replied the man.
“But cwen for you, Sir, whom we have orders to admit at
all hours, I doubt whether he would wish to quit my Lady’s
loom; her Ladyship is no better, and my Lord has been
up all night.”
There would have been nothing overpowering in either
of these announcements, but for the serious air with which
they were delivered.
* The report that has reached me, then, is true 3’” said
the General, moved from his habitually frigid demeanor.
“And yet you say, I think, that Lord Gransden does not
leave your lady. How is this?”
“Lady Gransden is searcely out of danger, Sir,” added
the butler in a tone of deep concern ; and there was some
reason for his astonished stare, on General Maxwell’s ex-
clamation of “Thank God!” little aware that the old gen-
THE DOWAGE I’s l 15
tleman's thankfulness arose from the discovery that the fami-
ly greivances were of a physical rather than a moral nature,
and consequently more susceptible of cure. “I might
have guessed as much l’’ was his secret commentary on the
text. “The Dowager talked of family dissensions—a se-
paration—a divorce ; I ought to have known that the real
mischief was a sore throat or a fever. Let Lord Gransden
be told of my visit !” said he, aloud, turning towards the
butler, and brandishing his stick for a move. “Tell him I
will call again to know how her Ladyship is going on, and
that I am sincerely grieved to hear of her indisposition.”
“If you please, Sir, my Lady’s compliments the Dowa-
ger Lady Delmaine,” interposed the silver voice of Mr.
Vaux, “and she will be extremely glad to speak to you a
moment.” . {}
“My compliments to her Ladyship, I am exceedingly
sorry that an indispensable engagement”—
“My Lady desired me to mention, Sir,” interposed Mr.
Waux, who had crossed the street, hatless in the sunshine,
the Dowager having from her usual observatory noticed the
arrival of General Maxwell at Lord Gransden's door, “that
she had something important to add to her communication of
}ast night.”
On this hint, the inflexibility of the General wavered.
Positively as he had long determined that nothing, not even
his regard for Johnny Chichester, should induce him ever.
again to cross the threshold of No. 34, Upper Grosvenor
Street, he quietly followed Mr. Vaux, like a lamb led to the
slaughter ; while Lord Gransden's servants interchanged
looks of commiseration at seeing the valued friend of their
master thus cunningly entrapped. *
“I caught a glimpse of you, my dear General, making
your inquiry concerning the unfortunate woman opposite,”
said the Dowager, as he entered her drawing-room ; “and
feeling anxious to justify myself as to what I advanced last
night about the state of Sir Henry Windsor’s affairs, I
wish 37
“I am greatly indebted to your Ladyship's friendly qº-
fices,” interposed the General, drawing up so stiffly as to
-make every button of his military surtout keep distance;
1 16 THE DOWAGERs
“but on that subject I have already obtained the most satis-
factory intelligence.”
“Satisfactory f" reiterated the Dowager, in her shrillest
tone. “You expected his incumbrances, then, to amount
to fifty thousand pounds? for I am prepared to prove to you
that they Greatly exceed thirty ſ”
The general smiled. “I am so far inclined to trust the
attestation of my nephew’s man of business—” he was be-
ginning.
“Trust to the attestations of a man of business, on such
a point?” again interrupted the Dowager; “why, the slight-
est disclosure he could make, would be a breach of trust
and unworthy of credit. Besides, reflect that Sir Henry
Windsor passes in the world for having expectations from
you as well as from his uncle at Dorking; and his attorney
would, of course, know better than to acquaint a man, of
your steady principles, that his client had been throwing
away upwards of thirty thousand pounds on the turf and the
gaming-table.”
“Upwards of thirty thousand pounds on the turf and the
gaming-table !” burst involuntarily from the lips of the hor-
ror-struck General. It was clear that, in his consternation,
he had forgotten where he was, for he gave credence to the
bold assertion.
“Here are a few of the particulars of his different le-
vies,” resumed the old lady, reverting to a visiting card
which she held in her hand, on the back of which, was jot-
ted in pencil, “384,000, the year before last. A mortgage on
his Somersetshire estates. £12,000, last year, on the Staf-
fordshire property, (those famous collieries, of which the late
I,ady Windsor used to be so proud!) at 15,000, in Febru-
ary last, upon the Irish property: a clear proof, my dear
General, that you must have done wonders to reclaim the
estates during Sir Henry's minority, since a capitalist could
be found to advance such a sum on Irish estates of any
description But I think you will allow that your nephew's
income must be sadly crippled ?”
The General answered not a word. He was hooking at
his watch. He was reflecting that it was his duty to make
*
THE DG WAGER. l 17
the best of his way to the bedside of the dying man, and
redeem the error of which he had been guilty.
“But that the intelligence originally reached me through
this cutsed old woman,” was his secret reflection, “I
should have been there already.”
He would not wait for the delay of post-horses and va-
lises. IIe would step into a coach, which he knew start-
ed every day, at that hour, from the White Horse Cellar.
He would know the worst, in hopes that the best might en-
sue from his insight into his nephew’s affairs, and his influ-
ence over those of his nephew's uncle.
It was in vain the Dowager attempted to detain him.
It was in vain that a message reached him from Lord
Gransden; who, on hearing from his butler of the Gener-
al’s being kidnapped, sent to beg that he would “step
over.” The General had “stepped over” enough for that
morning.
“Tell I ord Gransden,” said he to the man who was
waiting his exit from the hall of No. 34, “that I am sud-
denly called into the country by business of the utmost
consequence to his friend, Sir Henry ; but that I shall be
back late to-night, or early to-morrow morning, and will see
him immediately on my return.”
And with strides that made the pavement of Grosvenor
and Berkeley Squares ring again, he pressed along, past
the garden walls of Lansdowne and Devonshire Houses;
—he, the spruce, well brushed, well varnished, stately, Gen-
eral Maxwell, in humble hope of finding a place, inside or
out, on the box or in the rumble, of the Dorking light coach.
Even the penknife and pencil boys, frequenting the purlieus
of the Gloucester and Bath coffee-houses, looked up with re-
spect to his tall, well-drilled figure, as he made his inquiries;
and could not ſorbear a grin when they saw his dignified -
person mounted, on the roof, between an old woman in a
woollen cloak, with a bundle tied in a cotton handkerchief
on her lap, and a carroty-polled countryman, in a smock-
frock, who was peeling supeiannuated walnuts, and pepper-
ing the crowd below with the shells.
There was nothing very enviable in his position; nor was
the General better pleased with it, when, the moment they
118 THE DOWAGER.
were off the stones, the old lady put all his cogitations to
flight, by the loquacity of her confidences concerning a visit
she had been making at Dulwich House, where her sister
lived house-keeper ; with notes historical and biographical
upon all the enormities that had come to her knowledge
there, of the “mobility, gentry, and others.”
Sad were the tales that Mrs. Robbs had to relate of the
backslidings of the high and mighty, from great lords down
to little baronets. According to her account, the realm was
becoming the prey of foreigners, (the modern catch-cry of
the populace, in place of the church is in danger (). In her
own person, she declared herself to have been witness of
the fact; seeing that her niece, Mrs. Otley, lived with a
lady of quality in Upper Grosvenor Street, in the opposite
house to whom, another lady of title had two or three Span-
ish Dons concealed in her attics; while, from the ball at
Dulwich House, at which she had officiated by rinsing
glasses and stuffing route cakes, a great lord’s daughter
had “actilly been runn’d away with by a forrun swindler,
with mustashers as long as her arm, what called himself
Prince, all as one as in a fairy tale.”
Provoked at finding under a linsey-woolsey cloak, the
propensities which had so irritated him the evening before,
under satin and brocade, without considering that the fol-
lies of the uneducated classes are a mere reflection of those
of the educated, distorted by the intervening medium, the
General resolved, from the first, to let the good woman's
garrulity wear itself out, without keeping the top in motion
by whipping. But on this occasion, it was impossible not
to inquire the names of these dissolute ladies; when Mrs.
Robbs, delighted to be interrogated by a gentleman, who,
though a coach passenger, looked so like a gentleman born,
had no difficulty in replying that the lady in Upper Grosve-
nor Street, was “Wicountess Grannyson,” and the fair
fugitive, a “Lady Licia Winniver, whose papa had great
estates summas on the borders of Wales.”
General Maxwell was greatly shocked. Not that he ac-
corded a moment’s credence to either story; but it grieved
him to find the names of the young and fair thus degraded
in the mouths of persons to whom they should be objects
THE DOWAGER. i 19
of deference. To dispute the authority of Mrs. Robbs,
who, from her recent residence in the household of a lord,
was giving her little senate laws on the roof of the Dork-
ing coach with wonderful effect, was an exercise of the
lungs which he knew would serve no purpose, except to
convey into them a considerable portion of the dust they
were raising on the road.
• On being set down at Mr. Windsor’s lodge, to the great
surprise of the gate-woman, accustomed for so many years
to see the General arrive in his neat post-chariot with his
prim valet in the rumble, he had the regret to learn that the
invalid had passed a restless night, and that the apothecary
had not quitted the house since his departure. There was
evidently no time to be lost. Yet, on entering the house,
difficulties immediately presented themselves. Sir Henry
Windsor was sitting in his uncle’s room ; how was the Gen-
eral to get him out for cross-examination ? He had almost
a mind to interrogate Mrs. Were, who was said to be taking
half an hour's refreshment, by a walk in the shrubberies;
for he had reason to believe that between the best of broth-
ers and most affectionate of sisters, unlimited confidence ex-
isted. But if this should not be the case, the General, who
had often had occasion to regret the dissipated habits of Emi-
ly's husband, did not wish to afford a pretext for the extrava-
gance of Mr. Were, by apprizing him how much it was ex-
ceeded by that of his brother-in-law.
Meanwhile, his approach to the house was fortunately
espied by Sir Henry; and finding the sufferer in a gentle
doze, he hurried down, to learn the motive of General Max-
well’s unexpected return. ---
“No bad news, I hope 7" he demanded, nodding to his
sister to leave them together and take his place in the sick
TOOII].
“Nothing so much amiss as what I have learned since
my arrival, that our poor friend is not likely to get through
another night,” observed the General. Then, stopping
short, as they attained a secluded grass plot, embedded in
the shrubbery, “Harry,” said he, “you have not been
frank with me ! When was I so severe a taskmaster as to
...}.
120 THE DOWAGER,
deserve that you should conceal from me the disordered
state of your affairs?” $9
“My dear uncle P’ was all the astonished Sir Henry
could utter in reply ; but the vivid flush of consciousness
which overspread his face, convinced the General, with-
out the aid of words, that for once, rumor and the Dowager
had spoken truth.
“I was in hopes,” he resumed, “that the friendly affec-
tion which has hitherto prevailed between us, would neve
expose me to so great a mortification, as that of learning
from a stranger your having been betrayed into pursuits, and
suffered from the consequences, to a degree fatal to your
ſuture comfort. I trusted, my dear Harry, that though shar-
ing largely in the follies, you were, at least, free from the
vices of fashionable life.”
“And so I am I?’ cried Sir Henry, warmly. “I don’t
set up for a pattern of morality ; but no one, not even you,
iny dear uncle, has a right to apply such a word as vicious,
to any action of mine.”
“I speak strongly, perhaps,” said the General, “for
strongly do I feel. I feel as your father, as your exempla-
ry mother would have done, had they seen the fine estates
of their family dissipated on the turf and at the gaming-ta-
ble 12”
“You wrong me, you wrong me, shameſully l’’ cried Sir
Henry, withdrawing his arm. “I never betted more than a
five pound note in my life ; and then, only in the way of so-
ciability, in a party where I should have passed for a snob
by declining.”
“A five pound note P’ reiterated the General, with a con-
temptuous smile. “To what extraordinary calls, then, am
I to attribute the necessity for raising money by tens of
thousands, on your Irish and Staffordshire estates ?”
“You know all, then º’ demanded Sir Henry, with a
crest-fallen look.
“And yet, to persist to the last moment in your denials l’”
cried General Maxwell, with great indignation. “I had ex-
pected different treatment at your hands !”
“My dear uncle! would you have had me mortify poor
Emily, by unnecessarily divulging her misfortunes 3" plead-
THE DO WAGER, 121
ed Sir Henry. “I knew, that if aware of the extent to
which I had engaged myself for Were, you would, in the
first place, blame me severely ; in the second, wish, per-
haps, to assist me beyond your convenience. On these ac-
counts only, have I kept the secret from you. The state of
poor Windsor’s health, afforded only too sad a guarantee
that my income would shortly be increased far beyond my
wants ; so as to prevent all hesitation on my part in preserv-
ing from public disgrace the husband of my dear and only
sister. If ever anybody had a right to be generous on such
an occasion, it is I ; and believe me, I am fully compensat-
ed in Emily's restoration to happiness and her place in so-
ciety; and my sincere conviction, that Were has profited by
the lesson, and considers my claims upon his future steadi-
ness of conduct, too serious to be trifled with.”
“I must see Windsor instantly l’’ was all the General
could reply.
“Not instantly, for he is asleep,” replied Sir Henry, in
some surprise. “You shall be admitted to him the moment
he wakes. But I trust in heaven, my dear Maxwell, you
are not going to embitter his last hours by breathing a sylla-
ble to him of your discoveries?”
“I must--I must 1” cried General Maxwell, in great ag-
itation. “I have been guilty of the grossest injustice, Har-
ry; I have done you the most cruel injury "
“I don't believe a word of it !” cried Sir Henry, still in-
tercepting the Gereral’s return to the house. “You, who
are so wise and prudent, my dear uncle, would, I am con-
vinced, do nothing rashly. At all events, I cannot have
the poor old gentleman tormented. He has been worse ev-
er since the great effort of signing his will. I told you that,
as he had always promised to constitute me his heir and I
had done nothing to alter his determination, it would be bet-
ter to let him die intestate ; when the distribution of the law
would have divided everything between Emily and me.”
“It would have been better, indeed—far better than my
d d intermeddling !” cried General Maxwell. “But it
is not yet too late. He must revoke the will. He must
execute another. He must facilitate the noble sacrifices
you have made 77
WOLs II, 11
122 THE DO WAGER,
“He must do nothing of the kind ſ” persisted Sir Henry
Windsor. “I will not have the poor old fellow harassed by
knowing that he goes out of the world, leaving the happi-
ness of his beloved brother's daughter in the care of a spend-
thrift. You have never seen me positive, Maxwell; you
think me incapable of firmness; but, by Jovel on this oc-
casion, *..." find me too much for you.”
“My déârest Harry, this is downright madness ſ” cried
General Maxwell, struggling with him. “I tell you plain-
ly that at my suggestion, in the belief that you had more
money than you knew what to do with, and Emily scarcely
enough to maintain her, my poor friend has bequeathed his
whole property to the Weres.”
Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders. “It can’t be helped tº
said he. “After all, the Verès have a family. They want
it more than I do.”
“It can be helped ſ” cried the General. “The mis-
chief is of my doing ; and 25
They were interrupted by the arrival of a footman, breath-
less and without his hat, requiring Sir Henry's presence
instantly at the house. “Mr. Windsor is worse, Sir, my
poor master is breathing his last !” and the man hurried
back without pausing for them to precede him.
The General and his young friend hastened on in agi-
tated silence. They perceived, as they crossed the lawn,
that the windows of the sick room were thrown wide open.
At one of them, Mrs. Were appeared, for a moment, beck-
oning them on with frantic gestures.
But a mightier power had willed that the last looks of
the dying man should not rest upon the countenances
dearest to him on earth. Eagerly as they hurried up stairs,
they arrived too late.
At the door of the chamber of death stood the faithful
servant of Mr. Windsor. The tears fell, unregarded, down
his aged cheeks, as with a faltering voice, he informed them
that “ All was over !”
The powAGER. 123
*
SHAPTER Xī.
How large a portion of charity is sent out of the world by distant hints—
nodded away, and cruelly winked into suspicion, by the envy of those who
are past all temptation themselves. How often does the reputation of
a helpless creature bleed by a report—which the party, who is at the
pains to propagate it, beholds, with so much pity and fellow-feeling, that
“she is heartily sorry for it—hopes in God it may not be true " howev-
er, as Archbishop Tillotson wittily observes, she is resolved, in the mean time,
to give the report her pass, that at least it may have fair play to take
its fortune in the world, to be believed or not, according to the charity of
those into whose hands it shall happen to fall.
STERNE :
According to the mutual determination of Lady Mary
Hangley and her husband, Lord Chichester was no longer
admitted uninvited to Eaton Square, as one of the family.
It cost the old member a pang to act ungraciously towards
his promising disciple. Morison Langley had so true a re-
gard for his young friend, that he could have better spared
an older man. But he was fully alive to the propriety of es-
tablishing such a distance between his family and Lord
Belmaine's son, as would silence all unhandsome remarks
on the part of the Chichester family.
It was unreasonable enough that Lady Mary, who had
been rendered so uneasy by the careworn looks of her dar-
ling Cecilia, should be almost as iſ satisfied with the smiles
that had begun to brighten her face. Lord Chichester was
virtually exiled from the house, yet Miss Langley appear-
ed in the highest health and spirits. That her tranquillity of
mind arose from secret conviction of Chichester’s attachment,
and that, let the two families do what they might, their
loves would terminate happily, her mother nothing doubted.
She was too well aware of the purity of Cecilia’s character
and stability of her attachments, to do her the injustice of
believing that she would give and take away her heart, like
a thing of no value ; and though Lady Meliora and the
Dowager were constantly informing the anxious mother,
that the fashionable world was in expectation of the decla-
ration of an approaching marriage between Miss Langley
124 THE DOWAGER.
and Mr. Harvey d'Ewes, Lady Mary saw that Cecilia ac-
cepted the attentions of the most intimate of her brother's
friends, only to avoid having it noticed how large a space
was left by her side, by the absence of her cousin.
A hint given by the anxious mother to her son, on these
points, rendered Augustus Langley doubly attentive in his
devotion to his sister. Apprehensive that she might miss
the assiduities with which, throughout the season, she had
been followed by Lord Chichester, and Morison Langley's
time being now too much engaged at the House, to admit
of insuring to his daughter her daily ride, Augustus was
ready at the door every day at half past five, as regularly as
the horses and groom. Unless when attended by her ſa-
ther, Miss Langley never made her appearance in the park;
but they proceeded either across the bridges to Wimbledon
or Richmond, or by the Gloucester Road and Brook Green
to Acton and Ealing.
Augustus had been perfectly prepared for all that had
taken place between his sister and her cousin. It was the
expectation of it, indeed, which originally caused those dis-
paraging remarks by which his sister had been so much of
fended. Lord Delmaine, too much in awe of Morison
Langley to venture to him a warning hint concerning his
projects for his son, had taken an opportunity, soon after
Augustus’s leaving college, to mention that an alliance was
in agitation for Chichester, highly flattering to the expecta-
tions of his family, in a tone which the high-spirited young
man perfectly understood to be a warning off the premises
for Miss Langley. All his influence had consequently been
exerted with his mother and sister, to lessen their intimacy
with his cousin; and, as in most instances of the kind, his
interference was precisely the means of fixing Cecilia’s
thoughts perpetually upon the object of her brother's injus-
tice,
Augustus was too kind-hearted, however, to remember
more, than that his sister's peace of mind was in danger,
now that his forebodings were fulfilled. Too young to have
much faith in the permanency of woman's affections, he
doubted not that absence, diversion, and his own efforts to
distract her thoughts to other subjects, would suffice to ob-
literate the impression. But he saw that no time must be
"THE DGAWAGER, 125
Iost. He recognized more fully than ever the impossibility
of a favorable termination to her attachment. In the first
place, Lord Delmaine had apprized him, (the very day fol-
Iowing the scene at the Roehampton archery-meeting), that
he hoped before the close of the season, to claim his con-
gratulations upon the marriage of his cousin ; and in the
next, his own observations led him to conclude that Chi-
chester's regard for Cecilia was purely that of old playfel-
lowship; since his object in frequenting Lady Gransden's
house, with such unintermitting assiduity, was evidently to
recommend himself to Lady Alicia de Wendover.
For poor Augustus, once so true and ingenuous, felt that
upon this point he stood accountant for quite as great a sin.
He knew, that for many weeks past, the closeness of his
own attendance upon the Wiscountess had no other view
than the enjoyment of Lady Alicia’s society. He had
sought the acquaintance of the Gransdens in the first in-
stance, convinced that the friend whom Chichester found so
deserving his regard, and the woman whom Chichester
thought so worthy his attentions, must be charming people.
But failing the association of schoolboy friendship, such as
united his cousin and the Wiscount, and still more, failin
the attentions shown by the Wiscountess to her husband’s
earliest friend, Augustus experienced less charm in their
society than he had anticipated. To him, they were no-
thing more than a pretty woman and good-natured man ; and
he would soon have grown tired of his attendance, but that
almost instantly upon his commencement, Lady Alicia de
Wendover, with her father’s sanction, had commenced her
intimacy with Lady Gransden.
Little suspecting that Lord Grandison, on his daughter's
hint that she was the means of exiling Augustus Langley
from his mother's opera-box and circle, had complied with
his proposal to the chaperonage of the unencumbered Wis-
countess, precisely because he saw that, at Lady Grans-
den’s, young Langley and Alicia would meet upon neutral-
ground without being forced upon each other's acquaintance
—Augustus felt convinced that the Earl forwarded the in-
timacy, because it favored the mutual projects of himself
and the Delmaines for the union of their children and es-
tates.
11%
126 THE DOWAGER.
It was somewhat hard that his own and his sister's affec-
tions should be thwarted by the eligibility of a marriage be-
tween the several objects of their predilection He could
not help fancying that, but for the fatal propinquity between
Lord Delmaine's family-mansion and the Wilsmere Wood-
lands, Chichester would be happier with his sister, and La-
dy Alicia with himself, than by accomplishing the views of
their respective families. Reared under the wing of n
father devoted to public life, Cecilia was better prepared
to enter into the political ambitions of her cousin. Their
local predilections were the same, as well as their family
instincts;–while on Lady Alicia, Lord Chichester’s ele-
gant scholarship and enlightened patriotism were complete-
ly thrown away.
Between himself and the lovely daughter of Lord Grandi-
son, on the contrary, there was considerable sympathy of
tastes. Both were enthusiasts; both were passionately fond
of music, and accomplished musicians. Augustus, ſull of the
romantic feelings of two and twenty, delighted in the idea of
a wife educated in almost conventual seclusion, who would
derive her ideas of life and manners from impressions re-
ceived in common with himself; with whom he could enjoy
his first tour on the continent; then return home to a happy
anchorage in domestic England, to the discharge of public
duties and the enjoyment of private leisure. Of such a vision
of connubial happiness, Lady Alicia was, indeed, an enchant-
ing heroine ; and though the expectations he attributed to
her father forbade all hope of its realization—though Lord
Delinaine, on all occasions, failed not to insinuate that mat-
ters were in the happiest train for her marriage at no dis-
tant period with his son—Augustus thought there could be no
crime in basking, in the interim, in the smiles of that sunni-
est and loveliest of human faces, and hurrying, morning aſ-
ter morning, to Lady Gransden’s, to take his part in the lit-
tle family concert. Though forbidden to entertain hopes
of a nearer union, he might be allowed the pleasure of ac-
companying Lady Alicia's masterly performances on the
harp. In Grosvenor Street all was harmony. The Wis-
countess was almost as fond of music as themselves ; and
of late, they had been attempting terzettos and glees in addi-
tion to their instrumental trios.
THE DO WAGER, 127
\
The sudden breaking up of these parties, in consequence
of Lady Gransden's illness, was a grievous disappointment
to at least two of these persevering diheſtanti. Though
Alicia's pleasure in the society of her dear Johnny Chiches-
ter’s favorite nephew had been sadly embittered by the hint
with which she was obligingly favored by Mrs. Crouch, that
it was a sad thing to see a fine young man, an only son, and
the object of such high family expectations as Augustus
Langley, throwing himself away by a scarcely disguised
passion for a married woman, merely because his cousin
Lord Chichester had chosen to make a fool of himself in
the same quarter—and willing to render every thing and
every body a screen to his lawless passion for Lord Grans-
den ; still she ſound it difficult to renounce the daily meet-
ings which had been of late the source of such anxious
thoughts, such painſul pleasure.
Sincerely attached to the kind, obliging, affectionate Lau-
ra, she would gladly have devoted her whole time to the sick
room ; but for the strict orders of the medical men that, in
Lady Gransden’s state of mind, she should be kept perfectly
quiet, with scarcely even her husband and father admitted to
converse with her. But in addition to Lady Alicia’s mor-
tification at losing the company of her cheerful considerate
friends, it was no small source of regret that there were to
be no more trios—no more glees—no more riding-excur-
aions—no more water-parties; and that all she was likely
to see, for some time to come, of the only young man
whose society was agreeable to her, was an occasional
glimpse in a ball-room, where scruples of delicacy prevent-
ed his requesting her hand in the dance.
While Augustus, therefore, was devoting his time to the
solace of his sister, poor Lady Alicia, debarred the daily en-
joyment of his agreeable conversation, his unconscious de-
votion, his unintended glances of passionate admiration, be-
ran more than ever to excite the uneasiness of Wallis and
. Bennet, and threatened, by her continual want of
appetite, to require the reduction of a third inch in the
waist of her riding-habit and pelisses. Though the pink
draughts were removed every morning by the housemaid
from her dressing-room, in their unopened little triangular
white paper parcels, neatly sealed at either end, as sent from
128 THE bow, AG ER.
Savory and Moore's, it was quite clear, that if the lovely in-
valid threw physic to the dogs as unavailable to the removal
of her languor, some more efficient remedy was becoming
highly desirable. Even Johnny Chichester, even Lord
Grandison, were beginning to notice that the elasticity of
Alicii's movements was gone ; and that the lustre of her
countenance had lost a particle of its brilliancy.
At this crisis, Lady Medwyn, perceiving, that in conse-
quence of Lady Gransden’s indisposition, Lady Alicia de
Wendover appeared in public with a depressed countenance,
escorted only by her father, unguarded by the chaperonage
of her female friend or her female friend’s cavaliere serven-
te, Lord Chichester—suggested to Prince Massimo Maz-
zini, that now or never was his golden moment with the
heiress |
“There is no one making up just now to Lady Alicia,”
said she. “The poor child looks moped to death, and just
in the humor to be wooed and won. 'If you are in earnest,
my dear Prince, in your matrimonial projects, now is your
time ! Forward, and make yourself agreeable !”
“Nothing appears to me more incomprehensible than
the art of making oneself agreeable to a young girl of La-
dy Alicia's age,” said the Neapolitan dandy, drawing his
fingers languidly through his raven locks. “In merely ad-
dressing her, I feel guilty of a breach of decorum. And of
what can I talk to the poor child?—Her bouquet 2—her
canary-bird 7–the paces of her mare 7”
“Our English girls, if exposed to the danger of taking
part in mixed conversation, are prepared by education for
the hazard,” replied Lady Medwyn. “ There are few sub-
jects on which you could talk to an accomplished young
man of one and twenty in foreign society, on which you
may not venture to engage any English girl you meet in the
world,” *.
“A few, I hope,” retorted Massimo, with one of his sau-
ciest smiles. “Since I meditate making la belle Alir,
Princess Mazzini, I am inclined to trust it would not be
quite perinissible to entertain her with the conversation
suitable to a déjeúner de jeunes gens chez Tortoni.”
“Now, you are wiliully misunderstanding me !” cried
Lady Medwyn. “I mean only that you may talk to Lady
Alicia de Wendover precisely as you would talk to me.”
THE DOWAGER. 129
Prince Massimo was too guarded to say again, “f trust
not ſ” but merely returned to the charge by observing—“It
is probably a sin of ignorance or stupidity on my part ; but
I must honestly admit that, owing to the force of early hab-
it, I never look upon the flirtations in your English ball-
rooms, without the same breath-suspending wonder with
which I look upon a conjuror at a fair, capering among eggs.
Consider, for a moment, that among w8, it is sacrilege to
engage an unmarried damsel in conversation.”
“And that with us, it is a matter of course. Unless you
pay your court to Lady Alicia, how is she to know that you
entertain pretensions to her hand 7 Were you to walk into
Lord Grandison’s library to tender your proposals, or write
him a letter to the same effect, without having previously at-
tempted to make yourself acceptable to his daughter, it
would be considered here as cavalier arid preposterous a
proceeding, as on the continent to begin with addressing the
young lady instead of her parents. Trust to my experi-
ence, my dear Prince. Devote your time and attention to
the heiress. Be not afraid of over-prodigality in your pe-
tits soins. We have a proverb in England that “ſaint heart
never won fair lady :” so take courage, and win the day. I
have promised the Hilsbys you shall marry an heiress; and
demmee you shall !” a"
Lady Medwyn's assertion was uttered in mincing French,
by which, perhaps, its coarseness was modified to her eat;
but even in English, the clique to which she belonged, do
not always hesitate to carry their sportswomanship so far as
an oath. *
Her encouragement to the Prince, meanwhile, whether
said or sworn, had all the effect intended. From that day,
Massimo's attentions to Lady Alicia were unintermitting.
He devoted himself to her as in his own country he
would have done to some married woman, watching the di-
rection of her eye to anticipate her wishes, flying on the
merest hint to procure her carriage, her shawl, the book,
flower, or print she wished to see. He ransacked the stores
of all the foreign music sellers in London to procure vari-
ous chef-d'oeuvres only known to her by name. He was
in short as humbly subservient, as Augustus Langley was
cool and independent, * *
130 THE DOWAGER.
Lord Grandison looked on, amused by the comedy play-
ing before his eyes. Though the Neapolitan Prince was
strikingly handsome, and according to the fiat of such eminent
connoisseurs as Lady Medwyn and the Hilsbys, as agreeable
as he was good looking, the confiding father entertained no
apprehension that the girl who had begun life with distin-
guishing the gentlemanly Augustus Langley, would end
with transferring her affections to a young foreigner always
either in tearing spirits, or “as sad as night only for wanton-
ness;” a hero of the romantic school, all sighs and musta-
chios, yet avowedly come to England to patch up his for-
tunes by marrying an heiress | Lord Grandison saw that
Prince Massimo suited Alicia as a partner and companion,
because he was contented to accept the honor of her notice
on any terms upon which she chose to accord it ; but as
he also noticed that young Langley, whose reserve, he at-
tributed to indifference, seemed piqued by her civility to her
new admirer, he did not interfere with her arrangements.
He even invited Prince Massimo to one of his splendid
dinner parties in Park Lane ; and expressed his approba-
tion, when Lady Alicia, who was about to take a part in one
ef the fancy quadrilles in a bal costumé, selected the Nea-
politan Prince as her cavalier. It was impossible for her to
name Mr. Langley ; for when the fête in question was dis.
cussed in his presence, he had spoken with the utmost con-
tempt of those who were weak enough to go to the expense
of the costly costume requisite to figure in one of the fancy
quadrilles. *
“It is the most unaccountable thing,” observed the Dow-
ager to Lady Meliora, (for now that Lady Gransden's house
was closed, they were under the necessity of wandering
further from home to gather poisons for their scandal comb),
“it is really quite inexplicable how a man of the world like
Lord Grandison should have given access to his house to
this impudent foreigner, this Prince Smashimo, after his hav-
ing behaved so shamefully to Lady Charlotte Chichester as
to withdraw his addresses, on learning that she had only fif-
teen thousand pounds.”
“In my opinion, his conduct is comprehensible enough,”
replied Lady Meliora. “After the shocking event that has
taken place—after a positive elopement, for though Lády
THE DOWAGER, 13 I
Alicia may have been only absent an hour or two, it is cer-
tain that she went off with the fellow, he wisely considers
that a marriage with an out at elbows foreign prince, is bet-
ter than no marriage at all, and is probably waiting for the
scandal to be a little blown over, before the match is declar-
ed.”
“It is provoking enough that I dare not make a single
inquiry on the subject of your brother,” observed the Dow-
ager; for on my giving him only a remote hint of what had
passed, Johnny flew into such a rage, that I was glad to
get out of the room, before he called me to account for my
authority. One never likes to quote from the housekeep-
er's room ; though after all, unless such things did trans-
pire through servants, they would never transpire at all.”
“I should like to see this wonderful Prince Massimo,
(whose name you seem to take delight in disfiguring like
poor pear Mrs. F , who from absence of mind always call-
ed Prince Casimir Potocki, Prince Corduroy.) But I fancy
he only frequents balls and dinner parties, where we are not
likely to fall in with him.”
“Well, we shall see enough of him, I suppose, when he
is son-in-law to Lord Grandison l’’ cried the Dowager.
“What an infamy it is, the number of English heiresses
married to foreigners Johnny declares that it may be tak-
en in evidence that every Englishwoman would marry a
foreigner if she could, since it is only to heiresses foreigners
ever condescend to make proposals.”
“One can't help feeling a little amused,” resumed Lady
Meliora, stitching away at her eternal tapestry, “at the
idea of all the disappointments this strange marriage swill
produce. In the first place, the Delmaines, who made
sure of Lady Alicia for their son, though my brother assur-
ed me, from the first, that Lord Chichester was not to be
the man. In the next, Lady Mary, who condescended to
all sorts of shabbinesses, in order to secure her for Augus-
tus. Certainly, the girl is a prodigiously handsome girl,
with a prodigiously handsome fortune. But after all that
had transpired concerning her, (though Lady Mary persists
that the whole story is an infamous fabrication), I should
think both families might congratulate themselves on their
escape from such a daughter-in-law'”
132 THE DOWAGER •
Lady Meliora paused for a reply ; and paused so long,
that at last she looked up from her work, and perceived
that the Dowager, instead of attending to hel, was gazing
eagerly out of the window, with her eyes fixed upon Lord
Gransden’s drawing-room.
“What in the world are they all about !” muttered the
Dowager. “Quite a cabinet council, I declare 1 . One,
two, three, four, five gentlemen assembled together | God
bless my soul if they should be drawing out the deeds of
separation.”
“More likely a consultation of physicians,” said Lady
Meliora.
“No, my dear. After all the wonderſul talk about her
sensibility, Lady Gransden is a great deal better. She was
up yesterday, and came twice to the window while I was
dressing for dinner. No, they are not doctors but law-
yers.” Then, after having recourse to her glasses, she
added, “General Maxwell as I live—I, ord Gransden—
Mr. Oakham—the man of business who accompanied him
up from the country, and a fiſth whose back is turned to-
wards me.”
“ Dr. Lushington, perhaps ?”
“ No. Men so high in the profession are only consult-
ed through a solicitor. But it is clear that they are in deli-
beration upon some matter of business ; for Lord Giansden
has brought out a paper from his desk, which General Max-
well is examining. No doubt one of Lord Chichester's
intercepted letters, for they are all watching the General’s
countenance in anxious attention | Ay, ay, he is putting on
his spectacles, and has brought the precious document to
the window. -If it were not for that horrid iman with his
vegetable cart, balling ‘green hastings,” one might almost
hear what they said. The police ought to put an end to
such nuisances, in a street like this. Who buys green peas
at the door, in such a place as Upper Grosvenor Street?”
“They all seem very much surprised,” said Lady Melio-
ra still watching ; “nay, greatly shocked ' General Max-
well appears to be reading the letter aloud. I wish Lord
Chichester could be aware of the numerous audience fixing
its attention on his charming composition 1"
“I dare say he would not care Depend upon it, my
THE DOWAGER, 133
dear, the éclat of the thing is half the charm of such affairs :
Well, I hope Lord Delmaine will be equally pleased when
he finds an award against his son for ten thousand pounds
damages. Now-a-days, juries are pretty severe in such
mattels; particularly when the delinquent is a lord and a
member of parliament. They love to be the means of in-
flicting a good dressing upon a nobleman, or a public man.”
“I am afraid you have little chance of getting your kitch-
en rebuilt during the autumn,” sneered Lady Meliora. “My
Lord will be too much out of pocket, and too much out of
humor. I wonder who this gentleman is near the window,
in the dark frock, to whom the man of business has been
talking so earnestly for the last ten minutes ?”
“Stay—he is turning round ! God bless my soul —Do
my eyes deceive me?—Surely it cannot be—”
“Lord Chichester himself, I protest P’ cried Lady Meli-
ora. “What can be the meaning of all this 7–If it were a
case of collusion, surely they would never venture to have
so many witnesses; and among them, Lady Gransden’s
own father—a man said to be so respectable !”
“I never was more completely puzzled !” cried the
Dowager. “I really think I—but just see l—What imper-
tinence –They have caught sight of us, and are actually
drawing down the blind Come away from the window,
my dear. I would not have had them catch us on the look-
out, on any consideration ſ”
“I am sure there was nothing to see worth the trouble
of rising from one’s chair; and I only looked, Ma'am, to
oblige you,” said Lady Meliora, re-seating herself sulkily
to her carpet-work. And for the next half hour, their con-
versation consisted in crimination and recrimination, as to
which had incited the other to advance beyond their usual
cachette behind the crimson silk-curtains.
The investigation upon which the inquisitive ladies had
condescended to play the spy, regarded them more nearly
than they suspected. The document, which the Dowager
had decided to be an intercepted billet-doux of her great
grandson, was neither more nor less than the precious let-
ter concocted by herself and her confederates in Harley
Street, the preceding week, which Lord Chichester had
rightly pointed out as one of their surest clues towards the
WOL. II, 12
134 THE DOWAGER,
discovery of the conspirators against Lady Gransden's
peace and reputation. Mr. Oakham and his son-in-law,
Lord Chichester and the Wiscount, had previously examin-
edit, again and again, without attaining the smallest insight
into its meaning, and thrown it by as a hoax. But when
the affair came to be laid before General Maxwell, his first
care was to request a sight of the only tangible evidence of
the malicious reports in circulation.
“I will show it to you,” was Lord Gransden’s ready re-
ply ; “but I am sure you will agree with us, that it is some
school-boy mystification—the sort of hoax we used to sub-
scribe at Eton to have inserted in the newspapers, whe
flush of pocket-money after the holidays.” k.
“Surely I know this hand-writing 7” cried the General,
the moment the letter was placed in his hand. “I have
seen it before within these ten days Let me consider!—
Yes! It is, I am nearly certain, that of a little block-head
who pesters us to death on the Committee at ’s, with
letters of recommendation of different trades-people—a Sir
Jacob Appleby. Are you aware, Gransden, of ever having
given offence to such a person tº
“ Appleby ? I never heard the name in my life ſ” repli-
ed the Wiscount. 3.
“I have not only heard the name, but know the man,”
cried Lord Chichester. “We all met him at dinner at the
Dowager Lady Delmaine's A little abortion of ugliness,
more like a mandrake than a human being.”
“Just the sort of creature to be malicious,” cried the
Squire. “But what can my poor Laura have possibly
done to offend him 7”
“And how is the letter to be brought home to him 7” ad-
ded John Evelyn. -
“If we were to offer a considerable reward for informa-
tion concerning its authorship?” suggested Lord Gransden.
“Your advertisements would serve only to excite public
curiosity, and diffuse the scandal where otherwise it would
have remained unheard of,” said the General. “Half the
rage which people exhibit, on hearing themselves unjustly
aspersed, serves to double the amount of their injuries.
But for their own outcries, the offence would pass unheed-
ed, die away; and be forgotten. It is the desire of revenge,
THE DOWAGERs 135
and not the indignation of injured innocence, which is clam-
orous for atonement. A really guiltless person is too self-
secure to be susceptible.”
“Your views, my dear Maxwell, exactly concide with
those of my wife,” said Lord Gransden. “Now that poor
Laura finds herself restored to the confidence of her father,
(that of her husband, thank. God, she never for a moment
forfeited), she is desirous that nothing more should be said
or done in the matter. The harmlessness of her life, she
says, affords the best refutation to these scandalous reports;
whereas her feelings would be seriously hurt, were she to
ascertain that she possessed a virulent enemy.”
“But is not that fact already proved 7”—cried John. Ev-
elyn. “What but a bitter enemy could have been at the
pains of circulating those detestable lies, and writing this
abominable letter 7"
“ Laura thinks otherwise. We happen to be acquainted
with a set of people who, in the mere festering of their lei-
sure, put forth similar calumnies concerning people against
whom they entertain no personal spite. My regard for
Chichester forbids me to expose any person bearing his
name ; but I am sure he will agree with me, that the in-
mates of this house are exposed to a system of espionage
and misrepresentation, which—”
“The Dowager P’ interrupted Lord Chichester, catching
his idea. “You really think, my dear fellow, this train has
been deliberately laid by the Dowager ?”
“By whom else? Lady Seldon, the informant of my
brother-in-law, is the friend and correspondent of Mrs.
Crouch ; Sir Jacob Appleby, to whose door the General
lays the letter, is the intended husband of Mrs. Crouch;
and Mrs. Crouch is the bosom friend of the Dowager,
whom we just now caught in the fact of playing the inquisi-
tor upon ourselves.”
“I will go over to her this moment, and bring the busi-
ness to an issue !” cried Lord Chichester, seizing his hat.
“No, no!—It is neither Laura's wish nor mine to expose
her,” cried the good-natured Lord Gransden. “For John-
ny Chichester's and the Langleys' sake, I would not for the
world deal upon the malicious old woman the punishment
she deserves. I won't swear, however, that I shant give
136 THE DOWAGER,
directions to Rainy to dispose of the lease of this house for
me, and look out for another previous to the commence-
ment of next season ; for, upon my life, it is past patience
to submit to the nuisance of having such a neighbor. I
can’t answer for it, that some day or other, I might not fly
out, and punish her with a degree of severity, I should be
sorry to show towards a woman related to so many per-
sons who are dear to me.”
“You are too good a fellow for this wicked world, Gran º'
said Lord Chichester, warmly. “I am less charitable, and
could almost wish that faggots and tar-barrels were not ex-
ploded. In my opinion, a woman ought to forfeit her im-
punity the moment she renounces the tender mercies of her
sex. But where is Oakham º'
“Returned to the side of his daughter whom he can
scarcely persuade himself to quit, now we have decided to
remain only two days longer in town,” said John Evelyn.
“Our visit has been an unquiet one ; but thank God, we
quit London with lighter hearts than we entered it; and
above all, thank God that Lady Gransden’s health has not
sustained material injury.”
“They assure me, she will do well enough now,” cried
the Wiscount, following to the door the General, who was
preparing to depart. “To-morrow, she is to dine down
stairs again. Could you not manage to join with us, my
dear Maxwell, in celebrating her convalescence previous
to Oakham's departure ?”
General Maxwell replied by a glance at his mourning
habit.
“In my family perplexities, I had actually forgotten your
affliction P’ said the good-natured Wiscount. “I am
ashamed to say, I have so often looked forward to old Wind-
sor’s death, as likely to induce my friend Harry to settle in
life that—”
General Maxwell would gladly have interrupted him, but
could not utter a syllable.
“Forgive me if I seem to consider the poor old gentle-
man's death with levity,” persisted Gransden, noticing his
discomfiture. “But Laura is wild to have my friend Harry
propose to that charming girl, Lady Mary Langley’s
THE DOWAGERs 137
daughter, She wants a Lady Windsor next door, I fancy,
as a counterbalance to a Lady Delmaine opposite.”
And while vainly trying to detain Lord Chichester and
General Maxwell, for a few more parting words, Lord
Gransden little suspected that, with ingenious cruelty, he
had driven them both out of the room, by selecting a topic
of conversation the least agreeable to them in the world.
The real motive of his affected gaiety was to conceal his
indignation against the calumniators of his wife, lest his
friends should interfere with his projects of retribution
against that offensive fraction of humanity, the pet monster
of the Admiral's widow.
CHAPTER XII.
Sting him, my little neſts, I'll give you instructions; I'll be your intelli-
gencer! We shall sup together soon, and then I'faith we'll conspire.
HEN JOHNSON,
EveRY person familiar with the expedients to which our
stage has recourse to revive the dormant dramatic taste of a
nation too active in social progression to be easily excited
by theatrical exhibitions, must be familiar with a sort of
false vivacity, called by the dramatists stage bustle, in which,
at the flattest point of a play, the dramatis personae make a
prodigious fuss about nothing, in order to keep the specta- |
tor on the qui vive by their “deadly liveliness.”
. Now there is a moment of the London season, when
fine ladies and gentleman get up the same sort of factitious
animation ; and like the German Baron leaping over the
chairs in his solitary attic, “s’abbrennent à tevenir fifs.”
Then begin the picnics and water-parties, excursions on
railways, and dinners at Blackwall or Greenwich, where
people go to eat white bait, and come back having dined on
venison and turtle.
The fashion of the season in question ran in favor of
Lovegrove’s ; and people drove to Blackwall in dusty
weather, through the most unsavory purlieus of London, or
12%
138 , the DowAGER.
rowed thither within scent of black mud, and sooty factories
if possible still more unfragrant, in order to meet the same
people whose tediousness wearied them in town; and eat,
with wondrous note of preparation, a dinner some what
inferior to their accustomed fare. But then, it was an ex-
cuse for a party of pleasure.
All the world was trying to get invited, or if not, to get,
wninvited, to a dinner given in this favored spot under the
auspices of the Duchess of Woolwich, Lady Medwyn, Lady
Sophia Ashford and their set. It was to be the crack thing
of the season.—None but “charming women,” and “de-
lightful creatures of men,” were to be of the party. The
Hilsbys, who were just arrived from Naples, having paused
a month at Paris to take in fashions and tittle tattle, as a
homeward-bound Indiaman touches at the Cape for bread
and water, were the lions of the occasion. Every body was
as enchanted to see them, because they had been ten months
away, as they had been glad to see them depart, ten months
before, because they had been two months visible above the
London horizon ; and the fair favorites laughed loud, and
said smart things with an air of superiority, as if whirling
at the tail of a couple of pair of post-horses from one end
of Europe to the other, sufficed to elevate them in conse-
quence above those who had traveled soberly in the inte-
rim to their country seats, and back again. The uninitiat-
ed of their own sex watched them with admiring eyes, in
hopes to steal the pattern of a carrezou, the turn of a curl,
or the phrase of the last Parisian affectation ; and thus en-
couraged, Mrs. Hilsby and her two daughters had some
excuse to fancy themselves “the glass of fashion and the
mould of form' to those whose mere reflection is an honor
to the mirror. * &
They were experienced enough, however, in the risings
and fallings of the variable barometer of fashion, to know
that it was only by their own exertions they could render
permanent this ephemeral popularity. During their reign
of novelty, accordingly, when all the world was mad “to
get the #. to hear their new music, and copy their
new pretensions, they sacrificed their momentary greatness
upon the shrine of the Duchess of Woolwich; woufd lend
nothing and teach nothing till its gloss had been worn, off
* -
* *
THE DOWAGER, 139
by Lady Augusta and Lady Juliana Ridley, in order that,
when nothing further remained to be lent or taught, her
Grace and her Grace's daughters might support them in
their turn. The system answered perfectly. They were
smuggled into the jockey set;—invited to Woolwich Manor,
Medwyn Place, Ashford Castle, and all the other gathering
places of the tribe ; and though some people were imperti-
ment enough to call Mrs. Hilsby the Duchess of Woolwich's
mouchoir de poche, and others to describe Sophy and Helen
Hilsby as the soubrettes of Lady Juliana and her sister,
their manoeuvres insured them access to what calls itself
the best society, whenever they allowed themselves to breathé
the defashionizing atmosphere of Great Britain.
To Lord Chichester, who often found himself bon gré
mal gré, snapt up by Mrs. Maddington or Lady Medwyn
and included in their parties ºf pleasure, the Hilsbys were
insupportable. Their bright"bold glances, their saucy bon
mots, their accomplishment in the art deparvenir, were to
him indicative of the female adventurer rather than of the
English gentlewoman. As a boy on his travels in Italy, he
had suffered them to attach him to their train. But the
amazement he had seen excited by their equivocal appear-
ance, in Italian society, and the significant smiles with which
their freedom of spéech was noted among the French, soon
rendered him alive to the indecorum of tolerating, in decent
society, a tone and aspect characteristic of society of an
opposite description. In spite of their high fashion, there-
fore, in spite of the favor of the Duchess of Woolwich, and
the flirtation of Claude Hartington and Hervey d'Ewes, he
adhered to his opinion of the Hilsbys' vulgarity, and kept
them as far as possible at bay.
On the present occasion, they had returned to London
more flighty than ever in their manners, and more tranchant
in their tone. During the recent carnival at Rome, they
had been objects of adoration to a timid Prince of the blood,
dispatched upon his travels by his royal father for the ex-
press purpose of rubbing off his shyness; and though the
operation had been accomplished with extraordinary celerity
during his intimacy with the dashing English belles, it was
not apparent that any portion of it had adhered to them-
selves. The Hilsbys were bolder and more brilliant than
140 THE DOWAGER,
ever; and Lord Chichester, when they rushed up to seize
him by the hand in the hall at Lovegrove's, could not help
wondering where their efforts to be charming were to stop ;
—how much more they intended to show of their teeth and
shoulders—or how vivid was to become their bloom or their
vivacity. He was afraid his quondam friends were going a
little too far.
“How well you are looking, my dear Lord Chichester,”
cried Helen Hilsby, attaching herself to his side, while her
sister Sophy continued to flirt with Claude Hartington, “We
expected to find you wearing a willow garland as long as
40phelia's P’
“You did me much honor in eapecting to find me any
thing,” said Lord Chichester, whose object in joining the
white-bait dinner was to cross-question Lady Medwyn on
the Gransden chapter, and whº was consequently eager to
shake off the bold girl who had fastened on his arm. “But
I am quite unconscious why you should suppose me in such
deep despair 7” And he fully prepared himself to hear
some of those allusions to Lady Gransden, which, during
the last few days, had so deeply pained him, and which the
audacity of the Miss Hilsbys well qualified them to hazard.
“Oh no doubt you will easily get over it ! cried label-
le Hélène, fixing upon him the black eyes glowing like char-
coal, which formed the remarkable feature of her once hand-
some face. “I dare say you have other strings to your
bow. Only, to be sure, an heiress is not une femme comme
une autre I So long as it is a question of black, brown, or
fair, a man consoles himself for having his belle snatched
out of his arms. But when he loses the estate that dove-
tailed so nicely into his own, (as I hear Lord Delmaine goes
about complaining in all directions), or when he is supplant-
ed in en thousand a year—avouez que cela passe la permis-
sion 1’’ #
“It exceeds every thing!” replied Lord Chichester, with
a forced laugh, smarting the more under such an attack,
from its having Hervey d'Ewes for one of its auditors.
“The only surprising circumstance is, that so cruel an in-
jury should have been inflicted on me, and I remain uncon-
scious !” *
“Come, come !—Do you pretend to be ignorant that
THE DO WAGER. 141
Massimo Mazzini has cut you out with Lady Alicia de
Wendover ?”
“Prince Massimo may have cut in, in that quarter; but
as to cutting out a man who—”
“Why I myself overheard—Lady Medwyn ! where are
you ? Come and satisfy this incredulous young man, that
we both overheard Lord Delmaine grumbling to his cousin,
Lady Mary Langley, last night at the Opera, about Lord
Grandison's folly in allowing his daughter to be seen flirt-
ing, night after night, with a nobody knows who of a for-
eigner, (whereas a person must be a nobody himself to be
ignorant of the house of Mazzini), and whether, on Lady
Mary's observing that Lady Alicia's indiscretion arose sole-
ly from want of experience in the forms of society, for that
she was one of the most modest timid girls in London, your
father did not add ‘So Chichester maintains ; and I am cén-
vinced that, in spite of appearances, their mutual attachment
will bring about the marriage so anxiously desired by their
friends.’ ”
“On voit bien que vous avez écouté auw portes 1—as Ma-
dame Dudeffand said to Beaumarchais,” replied Lord Chi-
chester. “Still, begging your pardon and my father's, I can
assure you that no mutual attachment exists, did ever or
will ever exist, between myself and Lady Alicia de Wendo-
ver; and the only man I shall pity, should the sequel show
that she has taken a fancy to Mazzini's handsome face,
will be her father. I cannot imagine a greater affliction for
a man of Lord Grandison's turn of mind, than to have, to
give his daughter to a foreigner. Meanwhile, hold me, I
entreat you, my dear Miss Hilsby, exonerated from all fai-
blesse for heiresses 1’’
Helen Hilsby, who was as little as possible of an heiress,
evidently took this for a personal compliment. But turn-
ing it off with a smile, she remarked—“If Lord Grandison
don’t intend Lady Alicia to marry Mazzini, it is certainly
an extraordinary thing that he allows her to drive home in
his carriage from balls—”
“Mazzini and I occasionally smoke a cigar together on
our way home,” interrupted Lord Chichester, “and I can
assure you, that for the same reason which prevented the
town of Etamdes from firing its cannon in hº of the arris
142 THE DO WA GER •
&
val of Henri IV, the thing is impossible :-Etampes had no
cannon, and Mazzini has no carriage.”
“He has a horse, at all events, from which he leans on
the pommel of Lady Alicia's saddle, as they ride together,
day after day, in all the unfrequented by-ways round Lon-
don.’”
“...Are there such things as unfrequented by-ways in the
neighborhood of London º’’ inquired Lord Chichester, with
a smile.
“Lady Medwyn will inform you the exact longitude and
latitude where she met them, this very morning. No Lord
Grandison, no chaperon, nothing but the loving couple and
a groom l’” And whereas, on the former occasion, Lady
Medwyn had chosen to remain deaf when appealed to, Hel-
en raised her voice to the highest pitch, to shout across the
young Marquis of Ridley—“Dearest Lady Medwyn ! tell
us precisely where it was you met our friend Massimo phi-
landering this morning with Lady Alicia de Wendover ?”
“Once for all, my dear Helen,” cried Lady Medwyn,
fiercely, “I must beg you not to quote my authority & tort
et à travers. I don't choose to be made a text-book.
What I say unto you, I don’t say unto all. Therefore no
more citations !”
“Your Ladyship will have some cause for dissatisfaction,
then,” observed Lord Chichester, drily, “with a little gentle-
man who was horse-whipped last night by Lord Gransden, af-
ter giving him, in lieu of the satisfaction he vainly demanded,
the names of Lady Medwyn and two or three others, as au-
thority for a calumny which he was at least the means of
framing into an insult—a certain Sir Jacob Appleby ſ”
“Sir Jacob Appleby ?—The miserable insect! What a
pity that Jord Gransden did not exterminate it altogether,”
replied Lady Medwyn, with unabashed self-possession.
“It is impossible, at present, to say how far my friend
may carry his vengeance P’ observed Lord Chichester, in-
dignant at the sang-froid with which she seemed to admit
her participation in an affair so abominable.
“Wengeance 1 Why after all, Lady Gransden is only
suffering from an act of retribution,” cried Lady Medwyn-
“She began by scandalizing her neighbors, and her neigh-
bors have ended with scandalizing her; and if she will have
THE DOWAGER, 143
*.
foreign adventurers shut up in her house to thrum duets
with, she must take the consequence.” f
“The only foreigner admitted within my friend Grans-
den's doors,” replied Chichester, firmly, “has been your
Ladyship's protégé, Prince Massimo Mazzini, whom I leave
you to call an adventurer, if you think proper. The fortunate
flute-player, who has excited so much scandal by taking a
part in the trios with Lord Gransden’s wife and Lord Gran-
dison's daughter, was my cousin, Augustus Langley.”
“Ah! you see poor Mazzini and Lady Alicia were en
relation at Lady Gransden’s P’ cried Lady Medwyn, with-
out deigning so much as to notice Lady Gransden’s excul-
pation. “I always wondered where their intimacy had its
rise. The source of une grande passion is usually as much
disputed as that of a great river; and there have been as
many accounts about that of the heiress for my handsome
Neapolitan, as about the rise of the Niger.”
“I have long ceased to wonder at any thing !” said Lord
Chichester, shrugging his shoulders; and dinner being at
that moment announced, the parties retreated from the win-
dow, whence they had been admiring the lead-colored river,
delicately relieved by the smoke of steam-boats and dust of
colliers, (a sort of Canaletto smutched in Indian ink), to a
table, the peculiarities of which have rendered it the theme
of Quarterly essayists, and one of the lions of fashionable
London. §
“We thought to have brought Massimo here with us to-
day,” said Lady Medwyn, across the table to Sophy Hilsby.
“He told us he had been here already, with Lord Rid-
ley and a party of men,” replied the young lady, “and
seemed mightily disgusted. Foreigners, you know, do
not so readily swallow things as we do, because they are
the fashion, no—not even turtle-soup. He told us he had
been taken to a restaurant where people ate their ragouts
with a spoon, and attempted to render the miraculous
draught of fishes digestible by miraculous draughts of pa-
tent medicines, under the name of fish-sauces. Amon
the numerous odd things which compose the beau idéal of
English comfort, you know, nothing puzzles a foreigner
more than a cruet stand; a fish-sauce stand; what is it you
call the machine which the French call l’huilier qui a fait
des petits *
144 THE DOWAGER,
“They are waiting to know whether you will take some
of the ragout which is eaten with a spoon,” said Lord Chi-
chester, hoping to put a stop to her garrulity.
“No, I thank you. My conscience is not clear enough
to venture on a night-mare *
Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow !
terrifies me as much as it did King Richard, or Garrick in
the picture.”
“Some bisque d'écrevisses, then 7”
“As if any one could eat crayfish after those of the Rhine !
I am waiting for white-bait, which, as we are gathered to-
gether for the express purpose of eating it, will probably be
omitted by particular desire from the menu, or placed on the
side-table by the decree of the wiseacres who ordered the
dinner.”
“To avoid personalities, I am the wiseacre by whom
dinner was ordered,” observed Claude Hartington, who, from
the moment they sat down, had been levelling his glass at
the various dishes on table, as if doubting whether they
were worthy the honor of his acquaintance. “But we have
held a committee of taste upon it at Crockford's every day
for the last week. We wanted the Wicomte's advice; but
as the Duchess did not choose to ask him to dine, he did
not choose to be asked about the dinner.”
“A committee of taste §’’ cried Lady Medwyn. “Then
depend upon it the thing will be a failure. The only com-
mittee of taste I ever heard of in London, is the one that
decides upon its improvements—the public buildings and
that sort of rubbish. Look at their chefs-d'ocuvre and trem-
ble, good people, for your hors-d'oeuvre I’’
“If people would only talk a little less in England about
eating, and think a little more,” observed Hervey d'Ewes,
into whose mouth good things were less apt to enter than
to issue forth from it, “we should do better. Gastronomy
and the drama are just in the same predicament in England;
plenty of clever critics, but no original genius.”
“If you mean that we have no cooks,” cried Claude
Hartington, with indignation, “I can tell you there has
been nothing that deserves to be called eating in Paris for
the last twenty years, because every eook of reputation is
settled in London.”
THE DOWAGERs "145
“I see nothing more to boast of in possessing a good
French cook, than a Breguet watch,” replied d'Ewes. “But
never shall I consider the English a gastronomic nation, till
they have instituted in Paris a college of gastronomy, to
which our native cooks could be sent for the completion of
their education, just as the French despatch to their academy
at Rome, their painters and sculptors. There is one of my
tenant’s sons, of whom the father is anxious to cultivate the
abilities, by sending him as a sizer to Cambridge. Now if
there were a gastronomic college in existence, I would not
hear of such a thing. As a curate or private tutor, (the ob-
ject of his classical education) the poor fellow will gain fifty
pounds a year; whereas a good cook would be sure of his
three or four hundred.”
“There is certainly a fine opening in England for artists
of merit,” replied Claude Hartington, not seeing that he was
quizzed. “Our clubs alone, which may be said to rival the
marmite perpétuelle, afford a most valuable school of art.”
“Like walking the hospitals to a young surgeon I Fie
fie! your imagination wants sweetening, my dear fellow,”
cried Hervey d'Ewes, who, unaware of the motive of Lord
Chichester's evident antipathy to him, was always in forced
spirits when in his society. “The clubs are the ruin of the
English cuisine ! Rochefoucault wisely observes, that “the .
mind, by constantly applying itself to trifles, becomes inca-
pable of great things. Don’t suspect me of a pun. I don't
mean to say that the chef at Crockey’s condescends to ei-
ther trifles or custards; but that the cook compelled to defile
his fingers by getting up cheap and nasty house-dinners,
will never rise into a Ude or a Carème. The cuisine at the
Rochter de Cancale is so arranged that the élèves only ad-
minister to the coffee-room ; while all the genius of the es-
tablishment is reserved for the diners de commande.”
“I don’t believe that Borel, with his genius and élèves put
together, ever turned out a better dinner than this,” cried
Lord Ridley, the dissolute son of the Duchess of Woolwich,
who fancied himself a true John Bull because he liked fox-
hunting, prize-fighting and a haunch of venison, 'better than
fencing and entremets. “A roast or a broil is not worth a
damn, unless from a seacoal fire; and as to their various
ways of spoiling fish, I º say I think the Parisian masked
1
WOL. II.
146 THE DOWAGER.
dinners almost as great a failure as their masked-balls,
There is twice as much ſun at our masquerades, and twice
as much good eating on the table before us.”
“Every man to his taste,” replied Claude Hartington,
sending away his truite d la géneroise, in silence, but with
elevated eye-brows, as if he had narrowly escaped being
poisoned, but scorned to complain. “I have no doubt all
this is in excellent keeping with the climate, the constitution,
and the other weighty boasts of Great Britain. But let those
be forgiven who like to breathe a lighter atmosphere, to en-
joy lighter diet, lighter wines, lighter recreations. A tout
péché, miséricorde.”
“I never heard a light subject more heavily discussed,”
whispeied Hervey d'Ewes to Lady Juliana Ridley; while
Hartington sat looking through his glass at the opaque cream
ices, the substantial almond cakes, and the woolly forced
peaches and nectarines which were now placed upon the ta-
ble, as if in illustration of his theory. “No croque-en-
bouche 7” he demanded, looking vainly round for the expect-
ed caramel—“no sorbet aux roses in the month of July ‘’’
And Lord Chichester, shrugging his shoulders at the dan-
dy's affectation, made up his mind to escape from the fastidi-
ous party immediately after dinner, when they were to pro-
ceed to Greenwich in the admiralty barge. Amid the clatter
of knives and forks characteristic of an hotel dinner, even at
Lovegrove's he had contrived to reflect upon what had fallen
from Miss Hilsby, relative to the conversation held between
his father and Lady Mary Langley. Though conscious that
no great reliance was to be placed on Lady Medwyn's asser-
tions, or the assertions of any person capable of repeating a
conversation accidentally overheard, he could not help fear-
ing, from his knowledge of Lord Delmaine's projects for his
establishment in life, that some such explanation must have
taken place. In that case, what were the Langleys thinking
of him? What must be the feelings towards him of the no-
ble-minded Cecilia—she, whose heart was on her lips—on
learning that the man who had done everything to engage her
affections, except hazard the decisive question of ‘will you
be my wife,” was on the eve of an engagement with another?
Lord Chichester had not been insensible to the change in
Morison Langley's cordial manners. He saw that his visits
THE DOWAGER. 147
to Eaton Square were discouraged, and that he was no lon-
ger admitted to see his cousin as formerly. But there was
nothing to wound either his pride or his affections in the
mode of exclusion; for when they did meet, Cecilia’s smiles
and blushes, the moment she caught sight of him, attested
that her regard for him was undiminished. Augustus was
more friendly than ever; and even old Langley, though he
tried to infuse into his manner somewhat of stiffness and
stateliness, was sure to relax into their former familiar unre-
serve.—Chichester had therefore the comfort of feeling that
their change of deportment arose from incidental causes ;
and that he had forfeited neither their affection nor their es-
teen). *
“But iſ,” thought he, when, having escaped from the par-
ty of fine people he found himself involved in a party of
coarse—by betaking himself by a railway conveyance back
to town, (without discovering much difference in their refine-
ment of mind,-inasmuch as both talked of eating and drink-
ing, the males being addicted to tobacco, and the women to
scandal),-‘if they conceive me to be about to make an in-
terested marriage with Lady Alicia, whom they have heard
us talk of a hundred times as a charming girl but the last in
the world I should prefer as a companion for life, they must
already despise me.—I will see one or other of them. I
will explain all before I rest this night. I shall find Augus-
tus at the club, or Mr. Langley at the House, if I fail to find
Cecilia and her mother. But it is time all this should have
an end. Since my father takes upon himself to misrepresent
my conduct and its motives, I must commence my own
measures in self-defence.”
Lord Chichester of course reckoned upon the false calcu-
lation that he was master of his own time and servants.-He
arrived at home, intending to dress and proceed to the Ope-
ra, where he had little doubt of finding Cecilia Langley and
her mother.—But alas ! no valet was to be ſound—no change
of dress l—Dusty and heated as he was, he must remain;
for his own man, understanding that my Lord was gone with
the Duchess of Woolwich on a party of pleasure which the
newspapers announced, and all the world knew, was to end
in a ball on board Lord Ridley's yacht—had taken himself
off to amusements of his own, to. wit, the gallery of the
148 THE DOWAGER.
Queen's Theatre—having the key of my Lord's wardrobe
in his pocket.
“Most provoking,” cried Lord Chichester, as his groom
with a tremendous long face explained the fact, and endea-
vored to explain away the misdemeanor.—“At all events,
bring round my cab in half an hour.”
And he began once more to survey his dirty coat and
boots, and morning cravat ; and to decide anew that though
a matter of indifference to him to be seen at the Opera in
such a costume, it might provoke observation were he to en-
ter Lady Mary's box in a plight so little respectful.
What was to be done?—His drawing rooms in Green-
stréet, though connected by folding doors, were of moderate
dimensions; but never had his Lordship so much occasion
for complaining of their limitation, as during the ensuing
quarter of an hour, which he spent in pacing them with hur-
ried footsteps, reflecting upon the evil constructions the
Langleys might be putting upon his conduct; and the evil
constructions the world of Mrs. Crouch’s would certainly put
upon his arrival in the last scene of Lucia di Lammermoor:—
—All ſaint, all spiritless,
All dull, all dead in look, all woe begone!—
At length, he came to a desperate resolution. He gave a
hasty ring at the bell, which was answered by a demure look-
ing woman servant, who paused a minute before she opened
the door, to set her cap and curls in order for the unusual
honor of speaking to my Lord ; and another minute after
she had opened it, to stare with amazement at his Lordship's
discomposed air and agitated gestures.
“Where is John ” cried Lord Chichester, stopping short,
and looking the frightened woman full in the face.
“I thought your Lordship had sent him to the stables?”
“And Jem 7”
“Jem ran round to help John, my Lord, as it was under-
stood your Lordship was in a hurry.”
tº D d unlucky 1’’—cried Lord Chichester, to the
great amazement of the prim housemaid, who had never
heard his Lordship swear before.—“There is not a man in
the house then 7”
“N—no, my Lord.”
THE DOWAGER, 149
* Then send for a locksmith, and let him break open my
wardrobe and drawers.”
“Till Jem comes back my Lord, I haven’t got nobody to
send.—I could go myself, but there wouldn't be nobody to
open the door to me.”
“D–n the door,”—cried Lord Chichester, whom the no-
tion that the fates were in league against his love affairs
seemed to be converting into a reprobate. “I’ll open it my-
self.”
And when, about an hour afterwards, Lord Chichester, re-
freshed and elegant, stepped from his cabriolet at the en-
trance to the Opera, he had the gratification of reflecting that
he had overcome a host of those minor obstacles which ex-
ercise so absurdly forcible an influence over the conduct of
daily life.
In a moment, he was in the lobby.
“Open Roman twenty!” said he to the boxkeeper, to
whºm his person was well known. And never had Lord
Chtěhester issued that order on any previous night of the
season, with a voice so husky with emotion, or a desire so
ardent to refresh his eyes with a sight of the sweet smiles of
Cecilia Langley. He seemed to feel, by anticipation, the
charm of a rapid glimpse at her profile as she sat with her face
turned towards the stage, changing gradually to a full view
of her graceſul figure and radiant countenance, attracted to-
wards the door by the sound of some person entering.
He was on the threshold, prepared for this charming vi-
sion; when lo! in the places usually occupied by Lady Mary
and her daughter, he beheld the full-blown dressy figure of
Mrs. Crouch, and the malicious face of Lady Meliora Chi-
chester. w t
Mechanically recoiling, he would gladly have retreated,
as from any other box into which he had entered by mistake;
when the familiar salutations of the two ladies recalled him
to himself.
“My sister insisted upon my using her box to-night,”
said Lady Meliora, in explanation of her unaccustomed pre-
sence. “Not that I am under any particular obligation to
her for the civility; for Cecilia was not well enough for
them to come themselves.”
1.3%
150 THE DOWAGER,
“Good God! Miss Langley indisposed ?” cried ford
Chichester.
“Nothing alarming, I fancy,” replied Lady Meliora, while
Mrs. Crouch noted his agitation with a sneer. “She is not
very strong, and they have racketed her to death—in pursu-
ance of the odious system of making an exhibition of a girl
during her first season, in every quarter of the market.”
“But surely there can be no object in showing off Miss
Langley, if, as report asserts, she is engaged to young
d’Ewes of Betchingham Priory !”—observed Mrs. Crouch,
amused to perceive that Lord Chichester's cheeks, were
losing every vestige of color.
“I have not the honor of being in my sister's confidence,”
observed Lady Meliora. “But I should think there was no
truth in the rumor; for instead of hurrying down to Langley
'next month, as usual, they are going abroad.” *
“Going abroad 7” reiterated the amazed Lord Chiches-
ter.
“To the Brünnen of Nassau, I suppose ; or some #her
place which the fashionable guide books have written into
fashion.” r
“No-they ſancy Cecilia’s health requires change of air
and scene, and are going to Switzerland and the Tyrol, to
winter probably at Munich or Vienna.”
“To winter at Munich or Wienna ("gasped Lord Chiches-
ter, in utter astonishment; and he now recollected some per-
son at the Greenwich dinner having mentioned that the
evening papers contained a report of Mr. Morison Langley’s
being about to retire from the representation of —shire;
which, at the time, he had denied on his own authority, as
manufactured for political purposes by the opposition jour-
mals. But if it were a true Bill '!. *
When he recovered himself sufficiently to stir, he found
that Mrs. Crouch was addressing him, while the cunning eye
of Lady Meliora fixed itself scrutinizingly upon his move-
ments.
“If I had seen you yesterday, Lord Chichester, I think I
should have ventured to offer you my congratulations,” said
the widow, with a knowing smile.
“Your congratulations º'
“We understood you were on the eve of marriage with
THE iſ OWAGER, 151
Lady Alicia de Wendover. The report has been universal-
ly prevalent for this week past. But when I wished Mr.
Chichester joy of the match yesterday, he told me with such
an angry face there never had been the slightest foundation
for the rumor, that I saw some mystery was in the case ; and
to-day, all the world has got it that she is engaged to your
sister’s flame, Prince Massimo Mazzini, and intends to marry
him at the risk or rather on the certainty of being disinherited
by her father.”
“My uncle John was quite correct in his assertion, that
there was never more than common acquaintanceship be-
tween myself and Lady Alicia, and never so much, between
my sister and Mazzini. I could almost venture to add an
assurance,” he continued, (having of late received a hint
from Johnny Chichester respecting the projects of his friend
Lord Grandison), “that Lady Alicia is as little likely to be-
come a Neapolitan Princess, as I to have the honor of be-
coming her husband.”
Lord Chichester now made a hasty exit, without leaving
time to Lady Meliora for further inquiries ; and by the time
he reached the lobby, recollected nothing of the conversation,
except that Miss Langley was said to be indisposed, and the
family on the eve of going abroad.
“Surely it is not too late to call in Eaton Square 7" mur-
mured he, reflecting that as it was Tuesday night, Morison
Langley was certainly at the House, and Augustus probably
at some ball. “It is not yet half past ten. At all events I
will make the attempt.—If I could but have five minutes’
conversation with Lady Mary, my mind would be at ease.”
On arriving at the Langleys' door, however, he received the
answer which, for ten days’ past, had so often greeted him on
the same spot. “Lady Mary was not at home.”
“That is, not visible 7” rejoined Lord Chichester, “for I
know that Lady Mary and Miss Langley are in the house.”
“Her Ladyship gave orders, my Lord, that no person was
to be admitted.”
“Take up my name,” persisted Lord Chichester, “ and
say I wish to speak with Lady Mary, for a few minutes, up-
on urgent business.”
The butler too civil a man to exclude from the house,
while conveying his message, a near relative of his lady
152 THE DOWAGERs
whom he had been accustomed to see so warmly welcomed
at Langley Park, now invited poor Chichester into his mas-
ter's room, to wait for her Ladyship's answer.
“To wait,” however, was a trial beyond the young man's
patienge at such a moment ; and with the same impetuosity
which had caused him to have his wardrobe broken open, he
followed the servant straight up into the drawing room, just
as Lady Mary was meditating a phrase not too harsh, in
which to convey her refusal.
“Dearest Lady Mary, pray forgive me for being an in-
truder at this late hour,” said he, concluding from the sud-
den closing of the back drawing room door, that his cousin
had contrived to make her escape. “But I could not rest
without hearing, from your own lips, that Miss Langley’s in-
disposition is not of a serious nature.”
“You concluded from our not going to the Opera, that
Cissy was ill, I suppose,” replied Lady Mary, motioning
him to sit beside her on the sofa, in the very place which her
daughter's work-box on the table before it shewed to have
been just quitted by Cecilia. “But there is nothing the mat-
ter, but idleness. Having no particular inducement to go
out, I lent the box to my sister.”
At any other moment, Chichester would perhaps have laid
the flattering unction to his soul, that his absence at Green-
wich had not been without its influence in producing Miss
Langley's resolution. As it was, he hastened to reply,
“Since my eousin is at home, then, and well, perhaps, dear
Lady Mary, you will allow me to see her ? We have scarce-
ly met these ten days.”
A slight tinge of color traversed Lady Mary's cheeks.
“Cecilia has retired for the night,” said she. “We will not
tax her laziness so far as to ask her to come down again.”
“You must-indeed you must,” said Lord Chichester,
with increasing emotion, “for I have heard to-night some
news which seems to threaten the happiness of my life 1 and
shall not be happy till I have expressed to my cousin with my
own lips—”
6 & §. may safely confide to me any thing you wish to
have mentioned to her ſ” interrupted Lady Mary. “Though
we have not met lately quite so much as usual, I trust, Chi-
chester, it is unnecessary for me to remind you of the unlim-
THE DOWAGER, 153
ited confidence that exists between myself and my daughter.”
“I am so fully aware of it,” he replied, “that I tremble at
the strange coldness of your manner to-night, chiefly because
convinced that every change of your sentiments is to the ut-
most shared by Cecilia.” º
Lady Mary, touched by the despondency of his tone, was
on the point of disdaining any change of manner or senti-
ments towards him ; when prudence warned him to forbear.
It was better his impressions should remain as they were.
“One thing, at least, I shall be better satisfied to learn
from your lips than her’s,” said Chichester, leaning both his
arms on the table, and fixing his eyes intently upon the
countenance of Lady Mary. “Is it true, that you are all
going abroad 7 That you meditate passing the winter on the
continent 7” -
“We have just made arrangements for a tour. Augustus,
I conclude, has acquainted you with our plans ?”
“No 1 he has ungenerously conspired with the rest of you
to keep me ignorant of all that so nearly concern my happi-
ness,” said Lord Chichester. “You have treated me, on
this occasion, as if you supposed me indifferent to your wel-
fare—indifferent to your absence or presence—or rather (why
should I affect further reserve)? as if you were not perfectly
aware that my whole existence is rapt up in the well-being of
Cecilia, and that unless I see her in the full enjoyment of
health and happiness, life has nothing to offer me. Dear
Lady Mary' with all your penetration—all your sensibility—
you cannot have failed to notice the struggles of my mind ;
you cannot but be aware that the dread of my father's oppo-
sition has alone prevented my throwing myself at your feet
and imploring you for the hand of your daughter; that I love
her like my life, and that I would sacrifice every earthly pro-
ject or prospect to the hope of calling her, even at the remot-
est epoch, my own l’” ',
Wainly had Lady Mary attempted to stop him in the midst
of these passionate declarations. Though her eyes filled
with tears and her lips quivered with emotion, as she listened
to this just tribute to the merits of her beloved girl, she felt
that she was committing her own dignity and Mr. Langley's,
by sanctioning declarations which she was certain would ex-
cite the vehement displeasure of Lord Chichester's family.
154 THE DOWAGER,
“I cannot listen to this, my dear Chichester!” cried she,
affectionately returning the pressure of his hand. “Let it
suffice that, as a friend, and kinsman—you are still dear as
ever to us all—and that, had your family been disposed to re-
ceive my daughter as she is entitled to be received, there is
not the man on earth to whom we should have given her, with
happier confidence than to yourself.”
“Thanks, thanks, at least, for that, admission,” said Lord
Chichester.
“It is an admission without value !” persisted Lady Ma-
ry. “Your father has distinctly apprized us of the ambitious
views he entertains, perhaps justly, for his son ; but which
could scarcely be revealed to us in the tone Lord Delmaine
assumed upon the occasion, without impertinence. No 1 do
not interrupt me ! I acquit you—we all from the first acquit-
ted you of participation in the offence. What I have still to
tell you, is, that were Lord Delmaine now to withdraw his
objections, after the bad spirit he has shown towards us, no-
thing would induce me to withdraw mine. I do not choose
my daughter to be tolerated in any family. I do not choose
one so gifted, and (permit me to say so) one whose alliance
is courted by families fully the equals of your own, to be ac-
cepted as a daughter-in-law as an act of concession. Dear-
ly as I love you, Chichester, I should feel that, under all the
circumstances, Cecilia was degraded by becoming your
wife.”
“I should feel so too, believe me, I should feel so too,”
said Lord Chichester, “unless I were enabled to secure to
her, with my whole heart and the devotion of my future life,
every consideration and every honor which my wife has a
right to claim. Unless my father and mother were disposed
to render her the amplest justice, I do not even desire to see
her set foot in Chichester Court. But in order to claim this
at their hands, should I not first obtain my cousin's sanction ?
With what face could I present myself to remonstrate with
my father, unless enabled to tell him that on certain condi-
tions Cecilia Langley would deign to become my wife?”
“To what end, my dear Chichester, would you obtain from
this poor girl, avowals of attachment which can never tend to
good 7 It will but embitter the future days of both, to know
that a mutual affection exists, which would have insured your
THE DOWAGERe | 55
happiness, but for the interested views of your family No,
no l my dear boy. There must be no further interviews.
‘I have to reproach my own imprudence in promoting an inti-
macy likely alas ! to produce years of wretchedness for
both. But here let it end. I ask it of you as a favor—I
ask it of you as a friend—I askit as Cecilia’s mother, do not
endanger her happiness by rendering submission to the will
of her parents too painful a task. Make no attempt to see
her; or if by chance you meet, let her remain ignorant of
this explanation. In a fortnight, we shall have quitted Eng-
land. On our return, I trust you will be able to meet as usu-
al, aware that a nearer union is impossible, and contenting
yourselves with the friendly regard of earlier years.”
“Of earlier years 1” impatiently exclaimed Lord Chiches-
ter. “You might as well expect us to become boy and girl
again I had hoped for kinder consideration at your hands.
You absolve me, dearest Lady Mary, of all participation in
my father’s offences, yet treat me as though they originated
with myself!”
“If your accusation were just, I should not now be listen-
ing to it,” replied Lady Mary Langley, with moderation;
“ for with Lord Delmaine, it is my intention to hold no fur-
ther communication, save what is due to the forms of socie-
ty. But you must ſorgive me, my dear Chichester, if on this
occasion, Cecilia’s interests and comfort are my first object.
At all events,” she continued, terrified, lest the prolongation
of the interview should enable Miss Langley to recover her-
self sufficiently to return to the drawing-room and afford an
opportunity for the explanation she apprehended, “oblige
me by not prolonging a discussion into which I have enter-
ed, contrary to an express agreement with my husband;
Mr. Langley being of opinion that no possible contingency
can bring about, with honor and satisfaction to all parties, a
nearer connection between his family and that of Lord Del-
maine.”
“A rasher and less kind decree than I should have expect-
ed of Langley !” cried Lord Chichester; “and I beg him
to believe—” •.
“Whatever it be, beg it him in person,” interrupted Lady
Mary, “for I do not offer myself as negotiator between you.
See Mr. Langley to-morrow. Explain to him all you have
156 THE DOWAGERs
explained to me; but do not expose me to his displeasure by
extorting further concessions.”
“But you have conceded nothing,” cried Lord Chiches-
ter.
“In that case, you can have no object in prolonging a
conversation so truly painful to me.—If you were likely to
become my son-in-law,” continued Lady Mary with a smile,
“you would not dispute my authority; and I appeal to you,
with the same reliance I should in such a case, to shake hands
with me, and leave the house.”
“Such an appeal you well know to be irresistible !” cried
Lord Chichester with an air of vexation. “I must go, must
go without seeing Cecilia, without accomplishing half that I
feel I ought to have achieved. Good night, dearest Lady
Mary.”
Lady Mary shook his hand eagerly, and having hastily
rung the bell, tried to push him towards the door, fancying
that she heard a light footstep enter the adjoining room.
“Be here at one o’clock, to-morrow,” said she, seeing him
safe to the head of the stairs. “In this, as in all else, I re-
fer you to my husband.”
The anxious mother did not breathe freely till the cab had
driven from the door, and all fear was at an end of an inter-
view so dangerous to both parties, in the excited state of their
feelings.
CHAPTER XIII.
How excellently composed is that mind which shows, though without osten-
tation, high erected thoughts, seated in a heart of courtesy, and a behavior so
noble as gives beauty to pomp, and majesty to adversity.
sIR P. sIDNEY.
THE following day, about the hour which swains and as-
tronomers call mid-day, and frequenters of London ball
rooms, morning, Lord Grandison was just betaking himself
for the examination of some parliamentary petitions to his
morning-room overlooking the park, frequented at that hour
only by the awkward squad of the footguards undergoing its
*
THE DOWAGER. 157
drill under a burning sun, children pursuing their balls and
butterflies, and nursery maids pursuing their flirtations, in ad-
'dition to a flock of dingy sheep trained to diet upon soot as
fire eaters at fairs to swallow molten lead; when, to his
great surprise, on entering his shady library he found John-
ny Chichester sitting cozily in his favorite arm chair.
“Why the deuce didn't you come in to breakfast, my dear
fellow t” cried the Earl, extending a finger to him. “There
was some capital Finnon haddock. Come in, now. You.
shali have some hot tea in a moment.”
“Thanks. I have breakfasted these three hours. I did
not join you in the breakfast room, because I wanted to talk
to you on business—to talk to you alone.”
“Talking on business with me before Alice, is much the
same as talking alone,” said Lord Grandison, taking a seat
beside Johnny. “ For the poor girl is so absorbed in her
own little affairs, that she has no ears for common occur-
rences. But what's the matter, my dear Johnny ? You look
as if your own little affairs were great ones just now.”
“No l—I am only puzzled how to bring out something
which I came here expressly to say, and which I think I am
very likely to go away again without mentioning.
“Hesitate about saying anything to me that you want me
to know 1 come, come !”
“I have been reflecting, ever since I was woke out of my
sleep this morning at eight o’clock, by a young gentleman
desperately in love, how much human happiness is lost in
this world, for want of energy and frankness;—for want of
some honest man's daring honestly to explain the truth to an-
other honest man.” - £
“Don’t keep me in suspense If it was young Langkey
come to confide to you an attachment to Alice, pray speak
out at once ;-for by Jove 1 if the young fellow don't cut
the matter short, and make his proposals, I shall be obliged
to propose to him myself—I can plainly see that the poor
girl is beginning to worry herself into a fever.”
“No!—it was not Augustus—on which chapter, I will
explain myself when I have done with this.”
“Double reason, then, that you should make haste ; for
I am on tenter-hooks (* -
“In one word, then, have you not on your rent roll, an
WOL. II, 14
158 THE DOW RGER,
estate called the Wilsmere property, lying in the immediate
neighborhood of Chichester Court?”
“Why surely, my dear Johnny, you are not come to me
as the emissary of that sneaking fellow, Delmaine?—Surely
you are not concerning yourself thus deeply for your ass of
a nephew 2°
“For a fine young fellow of a grand nephew—Chichester.
“Has the world then for once guessed truly 2—Surely
the silly fellow does nºt want to marry Alicia?”
“No more than to marry Madam Bennett. He has an
attachment elsewhere.
“So much the better;--but about High Wilsmere 7”
“It appears to be an object of vast importance to the
Delmaines. . They are meditating improvements on their
property, which cannot be carried into effect unless this land
of yours can be brought within their ring fence.”
“Lord Delmaine wants, in short, to purchase the proper-
ty, as he has been wanting for the last thirty years. And,
by Jove I would as soon sell it to the devil l—In the first
place, I intend to keep it, for it is a thriving improving estate ;
in the next, even if on the eve of disposing of it, I would
give it under price to a stranger, rather than oblige Lord
Delmaine—who has been the most contentious, troublesome,
disagreeable neighbor, that ever man was eursed with ! I
have had more squabbles submitted to my arbitration between
his agent and mine, than have arisen on all the rest of my
estates put together. He has harassed my tenants to death,
thwarted them by all sorts of shabby persecutions, thrown
them into prison for petty thefts, of which upon trial they
were instantly acquitted, branded respectable men as poach-
ers—shut up pathways—set dog spears ;-Johnny, my dear
fellow, where are you going 7" -
“Away. You bade me disclose to you what I came here
to tell; and instead of listening to an end, you favor me with
a catalogue of Delmaine’s high or rather low crimes and mis-
demeanors, which I know by heart, and which have nothing
to do with the matter.” e
“How can you say they have nothing to do with the mat-
ter!” cried Lord Grandison, reseating him by force in the
reading chair, “when you ask me to let him have the Wilsº
mere estate 7” -
“I am not aware of having asked anything of the kind ;
THE DOWAGER. 159
inasmuch as I am ready to go on my knees to you, to dis-
pose of it to another person.”
“I don't want to sell it, as I told you before ; but if the
acquisition be an object to any real friend of yours, my dear
Johnny—”
“And of yours,” interrupted Johnny.
“I am ready to come to terms.-But I have a regard for
my Wilsmere tenants, and would not turn them over to an
indifferent landlord. Who is your man º’”
“Morison Langley.”
“Langley —Then I do want to sell it. Why didn’t you'
explain this at first. Nothing in this world would give me
greater pleasure than an opportunity of obliging Morison
Langley.”
“That's well !—Then half my cares are dispersed to the
winds.”
“Won't you favor me with the other half?—Perhaps I may
lend a helping hand to get rid of them.”
“Why, as the Irishman said, the other is the biggest half of
the two.”
“But, if I may ask you without indiscretion,” resumed
Lord Grandison, “what makes my sensible friend Langley
covetous of an estate more than thirty miles distant from his
property; and at a moment when, (I tell it you in strictest con-
fidence,) his affairs are said to be embarrassed ? I had a let-
ter t'other day from my shire agent, who, among other
matters of gossip, referred to the report of Langley’s retire-
ment from the representation of the county ; stating, that at
some dinner he was at the preceding week, with the Mayor
of—(Threlkeld I think is his name), nothing was talk-
ed of at table but the dash the Morison Langleys were cut-
ting in town, and the necessity under which it would place
them, to screw up their tenants.”
“As you are aware, of your own knowledge, that they
have cut no dash in town, you might surmise, of your own
supposition, that their affairs are not what can be considered
in an embarrassed state. Some enemy has raised the report,
and a very injurious one it has been to Langley ; for the
friends of Lord Halidown have actually been canvassing the
county, under the impression of Langley's retirement.”
“ He does not retire then?” * 1
“Can you imagine that he would be on the eve of such a
160 THE DOWAGER.
step, without a hint to yourself, one of his earliest and dear-
est friends?—He is simply going to spend in a foreign tour,
the months he usually passes at Langley Park; and this,
knowing that a man of his habits will be lost on the conti-
nent, and his county lost without him—I am anxious to pre-
vent by the negociation I have just proposed to you.”
“Don’t perplex me any inore with your enigmas, my dear
Johnny, there's a good fellow !” cried Lord Grandison.
“We are not acting a ſarce, and trying to puzzle the public
about the dénouement. Tell me, in plain English, what pos-
sible conexion can there be between Langley's going abroad,
and my cession of the Wilsmere estate 7”
“Do you remember my mentioning to you, some weeks
ago, that Delmaine had set his mind—”
“He has none !”
“Had set his heart then—”
“He has none l’”
“Who is the quibbler now, pray ?” cried Johnny, haugh-
ing ; “that Delmaine was fully determined then, (lhat phrase
you will perhaps allow to pass), to have Lady Alicia de
Wendover for a daughter-in-law 2–You said “no,” loud
enough to have been heard from here to Belgrave Square ;
and the young folks appear to have been as little inclined for
the match as yourself. Now, as I never suspected Delmaine
of taste enough to appreciate the melits of our darling Alice,
I was naturally inclined to find out what made him so anx-
ious for the match—for after alk, her fortune depends upon
your caprice; and a fine young fellow like Chichester, who is
sure of a tolerably rich earldom, is also sure of his market.”
“Certainly—certainly 1 Lord Chichester is entitled to
make an excellent match; but it must not be with a daugh-
ter of mine.”
“On going ſurther into the matter, I discovered, as I ex-
pected, that Delmaine knew nothing of Lady Alicia ; and
that his sole object, in forwarding tº marriage, was to se-
cure a better’ view from his dining-room windows at Chiches-
ter court. Provided his son marry the Wilsmere estates, he
does not care whether they are the dower of a Lady Alicia
de Wendover or a Princess of Otaheite l’’
“The beast !—I beg your pardon, my dear Johnny!”
cried Lord Grandison.—“But if he were your own brother,
I couldn't help saying as much.”
THE DOWAGER, 161
“And now, do you see through my projects?” cried Chi-
chester, drawing nearer to his friend, and looking into his
face for a correspondent gleam to the benevolent smile irra-
diating his own countenance.
“You want me to sell Wilsmere to Morison Langley,”
said Lord Grandison, slowly and musingly—“not I hope to
carry it into the Chichester family by a match between Au-
gustus and that lump of languor and affectation, Lady Char-
lotte 7”
“You are amazingly thick this morning, my dear Gran P’
retorted Johnny. “Why should I do the lad so ill a turn,
when the dearest hope I have on earth is to see him marri-
ed, sooner or later, to the daughter of poor the daugh-
ter of my friend,” said he, correcting himself. '
“Ay, ay—I see it all now !” cried the Earl. “Chiches-
ter is a better fellow than his father, as you always told me !
Chichester is to marry that sweet creature of Lady Mary’s,
the very wife to improve his bitter race . A charming per-
son | Beside my brilliant girl, she always puts me in mind of
moonlight contrasted with sunshine. And so he really wants
to marry Cecilia Langley 7"
“And not the less, perhaps, that his father will not hear of
the match. My sister and her husband oppose it too; be-
cause pretty well aware of the disparaging sentiment enter-
tained by the Delmaines. Of the Langleys, however, I have
hope; for I know that next to their own children, they are
fonder of Chichester than of any mortal living. It is only
Lord Delmaine whom I see no chance of propitiating, unless
the bride can manage to make her curtsey to him with the ti-
tles of the Wilsmere estate in her hand.”
“And so she shall, by Jove 1° cried Lord Grandison, hear-
tily—“I am thankful for being able to oblige a family I prize
so highly as the Langleys. I will speak to my mali of busi-
ness this very morning. Every thing shall be instäntly put
in hand. Delmaine offered me £18,000 for the property,
because it was an object to him, and he was willing to give a
fancy price. But the real value little exceeds twelve–two
of which we will sink in talking about it to Langley; so that,
as the offer may come to him more agreeably from you than
me, tell him that for ten thousand, paid in any way that suits
him best, Wilsmere is his.”
“Stop a bit, stop a bit !” cried Johnny Chichester, spread-
14%
I 62 THE DOWAGER.
ing out both his hands as if to arrest the galloping progress of
the Earl, “You are now going as much too fast, as just now
you went too slow. Langley has never expressed the small-
est desire to purchase the estate ; and though his affairs are
not, as your agent and Threlkek; the Mayor assert, embar-
rassed, 1 dou it whether he could produce the sum in ques-
tion, till old Lady Conyngsby makes her exit. Thus stands
the case !—Chichester was with me this morning at peep of
day. The lad knows I have the greatest regard for him, and
that Cecilia’s happiness is no less dear to me, and conse-
quently came to confide his sorrows to my nightcap. Half
that he told me, I was too heavy asleep to understand; but
by the time I was wide awake, he had reached the fact that,
aſter an explanation last night with my sister in which she re-
ferred him to an appointment with Morison Langley for this
day, he proceeded straight to his father ; found the Earl
just returned home from a public dinner which he had attend-
ed, only because the Duke of Ancaster was in the chair, and
he takes every opportunity of meeting him, by way of proving
to the world that he entertains no enmity towards the Lord
Lieutenant ſ”
“A bad moment for a domestic scene,” said the Earl,
laughing. “Think of the funes of Cape Madeira, Bucellas,
home brewed Champagne, and red-ink in Bourdeaux bottles;
to say nothing of the indigestion produced by ox-tail soup,
that would glue together a man of war, and a saddle of mut-
ton as hard to swallow as iſ imanufactured by Laurie.”
“Reckless, of all this,” pursued Johnny Chichester, “the
silly ſellow sat down, and had his say out with his father:
hinting that, if he could obtain Cecilia, from her parents, he
would marry her coille qui coète; to which his father replied,
that it should cost him nothing less than disinheritance of ev-
cry guinea and acre in his power to alienate; adding in so ma-
ny words, that it had been the object of his life to add the
º to his estates; that if his son had any per-
sonal repugnance to Lady Alicia, you had another daughter
almost on the verge of womanhood, for whose dowry, if pro-
posals were made in time, that particular estate could be re-
served.”
“Curse the ſellow's impudence " cried Lord Grandison,
in the greatest indignation. “ The idea of his sitting there.
cutting and carving my property as if it were his evn apple
TRIF pow'AGER, 163
pie, and picking and choosing among my girls, as if they
were fillies at a fair l’’
“And yet, you see, I ventured to do pretty nearly the same
thing, and you were not displeased.”
“Ay, you ! because my daughters are as dear to you as
to myself; and because I know, that to benefit yourself, you
would not stoop to pick up a pebble on my estate.”
“Well! poor Chichester, as you may suppose, after this
paternal explosion, did not sleep last night, and determined
that I should not sleep this morning. Casting his eyes round
the world, to see if any breathing creature in it cared equally
for his happiness and Cissy Langley's, he pitched upon uncle
Johnny to be his fiend. I suspect the fellow's clothes had
not been off all night, from the woe begone figure he cut,
when he threw himself into a chair by my bedside, and implor-
ed me, by all that was sacred, and all that was sinful, to con-
sider what could be done to bring matters about ! His first
object was to have me speak in his favor to Morison Lang-
ley. But, lord bless my soul on points of pecuniary inter-
est, my brother-in-law is so deuced high a fellow, that I
should as soon think of coaxing down the statue of King
George from the top of Bloomsbury Steeple, as expect Lang-
ley to descend to play the shabby, for any consideration in
this world ! Will you believe it ! Twenty times, since I dis-
covered to a certainty that Augustus is over head and ears
in love with Alice, I have walked into the house in Eaton
Square, determined not to leave it till I had given Langley to
understand that the match would satisfy your expectations.
Yet after hemming and hawing, and feeling as if I could not
look straight into his honest face, I have walked out again,
leaving matters in slatu quo.”
“And that is precisely where I don’t want them to be left 1"
cried Lord Grandison “The girl is fretting and fuming
herself to death ; and yet you assure me you are convinced
your nephew is strongly attached to her!”
“As convinced as that I live I don’t know whether any-
thing soft-looking in the cut of my jib seems to qualify me for
the post of confidant, but all the girls and boys of my acquain-
tance seem in league to come and confide their woes to me,
as if I were an old woman instead of an old bachelor. Augus-
tus, for instance, not daring to acknowledge to his father an
attachment which he knows the pride of Morison Langley
I 64 THE DOWAGER.
would instantly oppose, or, if persuaded to sanction it, which
he would ruin himself with sacrifices to accomplish without
loss of credit, has made up his mind to wait till the death of
Lady Conyngsby, before he even names the subject to his
family.” -
“Alicia is mightily obliged to him ſ” cried Lord Grandi-
son. “So that this poor girl, whose affections he has won
by showing himself to her in his brightest colors, and letting
her perceive her influence over him, is to remain uncertain
whether or no Master Augustus will condescend to throw
the handkerchief, till an old woman, who has as many lives
as a tabby cat, chooses to die and place him in a situation to
demand of me, on equal terms, what I should rejoice to ac-
cord him upon any This may be pride, my dear Johnny,
but it is not generosity ſ”
“In my opinion it is rank absurdity P’ cried Chichester,
“and so I have long been dying to tell them all; but I want
courage to attack my brother-in-law, in his weak point.
And if I were not pretty sure that the Conyngsby estate will
soon be in their hands to—”
“Who can be sure of anything of the kind? and who
would ground their hopes of happiness upon the death of a
fellow-creature ? I tell you what, Johnny! I have, I trust,
as much proper pride as most men—to say nothing of a
little that is improper; (at least I know that, face to face
with a fellow like your nephew, Lord Delmaine, I feel as
proud as a peacock () But sooner than let two couple of
young people intended by Heaven to constitute each other's
happiness, pine away their youth in delicate distresses of this
contemptible nature, I will put my pride into my pocket;
and since Morison Langley won't stir a step for fear I should
suppose he wants to benefit by my fortune, I will make the
first advances myself, at the risk of having it supposed that
I want a husband for my girl. The happiness of life is too
often frittered away by our bondage to conventional forms.
On this occasion, I will rise superior to them. On this oc-
casion, I will reverse all established etiquette, and actually
propose to him for his son. Let him take the Wilsmere es-
tate as part of her fortune, and make it Cecilia's dower, so
as to remove the objection of the Delmaines. There will
be always an equivalent left in his hands to settle upon Lady
Alicia Langley. By Heavens ! Chichester, if I could live
THE DOWAGER, $65
to salute my daughter by that name, I should be the happiest
old ſellow upon earth ! No ſuither anxieties for Mary or her
sister | I should feel at liberty to take any fence that suited
me, or drink my bottle and a half of claret a day, or go up
in a balloon, or hazard my life in any other way most agree-
able to me, provided those three girls were in the safe keep-
ing of Langley Park. Poor, dear Mary If you did but
know how dearly my sweet wiſe loved your sister, and how
highly she thought of her l–In Lady Grandison's dying mo-
ments, as soon as she discovered it was all over with her,
she whispered to me, in the faint, gasping voice, which, God
knows, I shall never forget—‘Grandison, if ever you need
advice—’”
He could not proceed—not from his own emotion—but
from the ghastly paleness which was overspreading the coun-
tenance of his friend.
“I know not why I should have pained your kind heart
by adverting to all this,” said the Earl, “for you know it as
well as myself. I was only seeking to excuse, in your eyes,
what may appear my want of delicacy in trying to force my
daughter upon the acceptance of a family who have made no
proposals for her hand.”
“You are not going to give me a second edition of Mori-
son Langley,' I hope 1" cried Johnny, attempting to rally his
spirits. “To tell you the truth, I have heard of late among
you all so much talk of scruples, and delicacy, and proper
pride, and self-respect, and a vast deal more fiddle-faddle of
that description, that I could almost wish to pass the remain-
der of my days among my mother’s cluster of tabbies, whose
finest feelings, God knows, would vanish through the grain
of a hop-sack l’”
“No 1 I am not going to give you a second edition of
Morison Langley.” replied Lord Grandison; “but merely
the common sense of a reasonable being, All I ask in re-
turn, is that you should put me in a way of conducting mat-
ters, not so as to spare my own pride, but the feelings of my
friend Langley.”
“You are a noble fellow, Gran º' cried Johnny Chiches-
ter, shaking him so heartily by the hand as to hazard disloca-
tion of the wrist. “But for that very reason, I must be cau-
tious in letting you act upon impulses, which I am conscious
of having called into existence. Deliberate upon the busi-
166 THE DOWAGER,
ness at least four and twenty hours, before you commit your-
self by overtures which you might afterwards repent.”
“No,” replied the Earl, in a graver tone. “I have done
nothing else but deliberate upon it, from the time my daugh-
ter was of an age to threaten me with a son-in-law. I had
rather the first overtures came from the Langleys; but as I
see they never will, let them proceed from me. I leave it to
you to explain matters to Augustus. Bring him to me, that
I may hear from his own lips an explicit declaration of his
attachment to Alicia, ere I open the matter to his father.”
“Good, good let us lose no further time, then, in mutual
compliments. One o’clock, by Jove | If I hasten down to
Eaton Square, I may catch him before he goes out. At one,
Augustus and Cecilia take their German lesson. I shall
have no scruple in interrupting their studies, since there
seems some chance that this tour to the Tyrol, which was to
heal so many wounds, wiil be unnecessary.” ---
“I shall remain at home till four, in hopes of your return,”
replied Lord Grandison. “Aſter four, you will find me at
White’s.”
CHAPTER XIV.
Thou wilt be like a lover presently,
And tile the hearer with a book of words.
If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish her
SHA) CSPI ART.
It is the misfortune of this world’s ways, that persons of
a fine, frank disposition, such as Lord Grandison, are too of—
ten “neighbored by fruit of baser quality;” and find their
generous impulses repressed by falling every now and then a
prey to the craftiness of mankind. But it so happened that,
through life, the Earl had been fortunate in his connexions.
As the husband of Mary Wilmot—as the friend of Johnny
Chichester—as the father of Lady. Alicia de Wendover—he
had been sure of sympathy and coalescence.
And now, he was likely to be just as fortunate in the choice
of a son-in-law. Augustus Langley was as single minded
THE DOWAGER, 167
and open handed as himself; incapable of putting an un-
handsome construction' on the conduct of others, because
himself incapable of baseness; nay, the whole family at
Langley Park were worthy to become the kindred of those
at Grandison House.
After quitting the Earl, Johnny Chichester was lucky in
meeting his nephew upon the door-steps of his father's
house, about to proceed to Soho Square, in search of some
elementary work which had been just recommended to Ce-
cilia by Herr Klinkerfus; and instead of returning into the
house, he immediately took his arm, and managed to per-
suade him that the nearest way to Messrs. Treuttel and
Würtz's was up Park Lane; a delusion which it would have
been equally easy to promote, had Johnny tried to make him
believe that Ilord Grandison’s house lay in a short cut be-
tween Eaton Square and the Birdcage Walk.
Long as was the lapse of years since Johnny's heart
pulses had quickened, almost to anguish, on approaching the
abode of Mary Wilmot, he remembered just enough of the
power of love’s young dream, to be aware that he must not
at once break to the young lover the extraordinary change
effected in his prospects by the noble disinterestedness of
Lord Grandison. But he considered that, between Gros-
venor Place and Grosvenor Gate, there was ample space and
verge enough to run through the whole ascending scale of
passion, from absolute despair, to comfort, hope, joy, rapture,
ecstasy; so that the latter emotion might burst forth in all its
exuberance, exactly when they were knocking at the door of
the Earl.
But Johnny did not know what he had undertaken. To
break afflicting tidings to a friend, by slow degrees, with the
tenderest attention to the preparation which was to strip the
mind of its hopes and prepare it for the worst, was a task
of which Johnny was fully capable ; for it was a labor of
love and mercy. But to repress the communication of good
news—to let out, drop by drop, the milk and honey over-
flowing in his generous soul, was an act of self-denial almost
beyond him. As he rested his arm on his nephew's, and
pushed along across the Park, seeing nothing and as deaf to
all that was passing around him as he pretended to be when
surrounded by the baleful tongues let loose at the Dowager's,
his heart expanded while reflecting that the honest one beating
168 THE DOWAGER,
so near it, was about to be startled by a stroke of happiness
almost inconceivable ! He could scarcely help coming out
with the truth at once ; at the risk of astonishing the fash-
ionable loungers who were beginning to replace the awkward
squad and the nursery maids, by seeing Augustus set off at
speed towards Park Laue. He kept lecturing himself into
order, lest he should smile too broadly while preparing the
mind of his nephew ; more especially when young Langley,
beginning to see that something unusual was on foot, apos-
trophized him with the most earnest entreaties that he would
not keep him in suspense.
“What would one give to be two-and-twenty for half an
hour, and as happy as that lad at this moment P’ thought
Johnny Chichester, when, at the close of his explanations, his
tearful eyes saw his nephew brush past the servants into Lord
Grandison’s private room. With delicate consideration for
the feelings of both, he loitered in the hall, pretending to in-
quire after a cane, or hat, or umbrella, or some lost movable
of that description, in order to afford time for the first effusions
of joy and sensibility between the Earl and Augustus, before
he rejoined them. By the time he saw fit to enter the library,
his nephew, still holding the hand of his future father-in-law
and with a ſace glowing with delight, was pouring forth in
language sufficiently impassioned to gratify the pride of the
most punctilious of fathers, the avowal of all he had been
undergoing for the last three months ; his jealousies of his
cousin —his mortification at the insufficiency of his fortunes
—and his terror lest the sudden closing of Lady Gransden’s
house should have given the signal for his final separation
from Alicia.
“I was beginning to trust,” cried he, “preciscly at the un-
lucky moment of poor Lady Giansden’s indisposition, that
with time I might possibly effect some impression upon Lady
Alicia's feelings. Every day, my hopes grew stronger, that,
even if forbidden by my father to pretend to her hand, I
should live in her recollection as one whose devotion was
not wholly unwelcome to her—as one whose friendship—
whose society she prized. And then, suddenly to lose sight
of her!—To meet her only in the mob of a ball-room, where
every coxcomb was privileged to address her as familiarly
as myself; where such puppies as Lapwing and Mazzini
presumed to follow her with a pertinacity, which the dread
THE DOWAGER. I69
of giving her offence or provoking the remarks of society,
forbade me to imitate.—Oh! Lord Grandison —contrast
the bitterness of such moments as those, with the joy I now
experience—”
“My dear fellow, I have been a lover in my day—we
have all been lovers in our day!” cried the Earl, turning
with a smile towards Johnny Chichester, and little conjec-
turing the full application of his words.
“But you think I have some chance of engaging her affec-
tions ?—You assure me that I am not wholly indifferent to
her ? And above all, you promise to explain to my father that
this presumptuous act of mine is sanctioned by your kind-
mess 7" cried Augustus, in great emotion.
“Compose yourself, compose yourself, my dear boy,”
cried his uncle who was himself almost out of his wits for
OW.
J 3. Don’t worry him,” said Lord Grandison. “Let him
become cool and rational by degrees. Yes | I do under-
take, my dear Augustus, to exonerate you to the utmost with
my friend Langley;—I will tell him, if you like, that I chose
to have you for a son in law, whether you would or no. But
remember I answer for nothing about Alicia. All you want
to know of her feelings, you must extort from herself; and no
doubt she is too well educated a young lady, not to arm her-
self to the teeth in the dignity of the sex (that is the pet
phrase isn’t it, Johnny)? against your discoveries.—But
courage, man!—Though I leave you to work your own way,
it is a way, I take it, not particularly thorny l—So when you
have done trembling and panting like a hunted hare, and can
deliver yourself with a degree of composure becoming the
occasion, we will proceed to the drawing-room and hear what
Alicia has got to say to us.”
Augustus grew calm in a moment. Except that his cheeks
were flushed crimson and that his eyes burned almost as
brightly as those of Miss Helen Hilsby, he resumed his usual
demeanor to follow the Earl up stairs. Johnny Chichester
meanwhile remained in the library. He felt that, dear as
they all were to him, he had no right to intrude into so sacred
a circle as that formed by the happiest of fathers and daugh-
ters, and the husband who was to prefect their domestic hap-
piness.
Lord Grandison knew that his daughter was at home, for
WOL. IIs 15
170 THE DOWAGER.
she had appointed to ride with him in an hour. Unluckily it
was the time of day at which she habitually received morning
visitors ; but as there was no carriage at the door, he trusted
they should find her alone. Excited in his turn by the emo-
tions of Augustus, he longed to take his daughter into his
arms, and breathe a blessing upon the union which he knew
would complete every wish of her young heart!
On throwing open the drawing-room door, the first object
that struck him was Lady Alicia, sitting before a drawing-
desk, at which she was completing the copy of a beautiful
miniature by Petitot, of Mademoiselle de Fontanges, which
had been procured for her by the officiousness of Massimo
Mazzini; and conceiving her to be the sole occupant of the
room, he immediately opened his mission with “Alice, my
darling, I bring you a friend whose presence, I trust, will not
be unwelcome.”
Prepared to find her betray the utmost emotion at this
startling announcement, Lord Grandison attributed the blush
which instantly betrayed the excess of her surprise, solely to
the apparition of the young man who was pressing in by his
side. But Augustus Langley’s eyes were more penetrating.
Already they had detected, lounging on one of the damask
sofas, the figure of the presumptuous Italian, who was known
to entertain pretensions to the hand of Alicia!
On the entrance of the Earl, Mazzini started up ; and be-
fore he met Lord Grandison’s eye, was advancing with cere-
monious politeness to wish him good morning. But the joy
of the moment had departed for Augustus Langley ! Though
fully alive to the confusion of countenance with which Lady
Alicia de Wendover extended her hand to bid him welcome,
he could not help attributing it to shame, being detected by
her father tète à tête with a man so little suitable to his taste
as Mazzini.
“Lady Medwyn has just left me, papa,” said she, as if
aware that her position required explanation and apology.
“She walked hither with Prince Massimo, and chose to
leave him here, while she proceeded for ten minutes to Gros-
venor street, to inquire something about Mrs. Were, at Sir
Henry Windsor’s.”
“ Could she not have sent one of the servants tº demand-
ed Lord Grandison, evidently displeased.
“I offered her their services again and again. But she
Ty H.E 150 WAGER. 171
said it was something of consequence, and that she must go
herself.”
While the Earl attempted to disperse his black looks, and
Augustus his blue, under the impression that Lady Alicia was
simply the victim of one of Lady Medwyn's unprincipled
manoeuvres, Massimo, perfectly at his ease, (though suspect-
ing himself to afford the topic of the conversation, so em-
barrassing to them all), began making the agreeable by point-
ing out to Lord Grandison in French, the exquisite delicacy
of Lady Alicia's charming copy of the lovely miniature.
“C'est à méconnaitre l'original tº cried he with his usual
conceit. “On dirait que la plume d'un colibri avait jeté ces
nuances imperceptibles.”
“The beauty of a thing that is imperceptible,” replied the
Earl, in the same language, “is a thing I don’t profess to
understand. You, my dear Prince, seem to comprehend
as little, that your friend Lady Medwyn is waiting for you at
No. 5, Upper Grosvenor Street. She has sent to beg that
you will instantly join her.”
Mazzini, though surprised, could not venture to look in-
credulous. All that remained for him, therefore, was to take
his hat, make his bow, and exit. Scarcely had the door
closed upon him, when the Earl burst forth into invectives
against the impudence of a woman, who, in spite of the cool-
ness with which he had received her advances, and forborne
to invite her to his house, presumed not only upon the fami-
liarity of a morning visit, but to leave her bundles of rubbish
there, like trash deposited in the Pantechnicon.
“I assure you, dear papa, I did the utmost to persuade
her to take the Prince with her on her expedition,” said Ali-
cia, with an earnest blushing face. “But Lady Medwyn
laughed in such an unpleasant manner at the idea of my be-
ing afraid to keep him here till her return, that I did not like
to persevere. Williams informed me you were engaged with
gentlemen in the library, or I should have asked you to come .
and receive the Prince’s visit you?self.”
Augustus Langley’s countenance became still more over-
clouded. She had ascertained then, that her father was de-
tained by an engagement, when she permitted this impudent
foreigner to stretch his lazy length upon her sofa, while she
sat painting or pretending to paint, as an excuse for permit-
ting his presence
172 THE DOWAGER.
“I shall give orders to Williams not to admit either of them
here again!” cried the Earl.
“If you remember, you made me the same promise be-
fore ” said Lady Alicia, turning upon her father that open
countenance, which nothing but the petulance of a jealous
lover could for a moment have misdoubted.
“True ! — I have been so much engaged lately, that I
seem to have forgotten every thing!” cried the Earl. “How-
ever, my cares as guardian to a gay young lady of eighteen,
are I trust soon to end; that is, my dear child, if you can
persuade yourself to confirm to this young fellow, the expec-
tations I have been holding out. I will leave him to plead
his own cause with you ; premising, my dear Alicia, that to
see you his wife, and welcomed into the family I most esteem
on earth, will make me the happiest of fathers.”
Hard, that at such a moment, a single drawbaek should
modify the triumph of a lover ; doubly hard, that a draw-
back of such a nature, should damp the joy of a being so
warm-hearted as Augustus Langley. Yet so it was, that he
would gladly have delayed the departure of the Earl of
Grandison He dreaded being alone with Alicia. He could
not pour forth his avowals of affection, as he would have
done a little time before. The frankness of his disposition
rendered it impossible altogether to conceal his vexation ;
and his vexation was of a nature which he scarcely liked to
make apparent, save in the presence of her father.
Yet when Lord Grandison was really gone—when Alicia,
in the consciousness of being alone with him—alone with
the man so dear to her, and whom she had heard privileged
to address her as a lover, betrayed in every look and move-
ment evidences of deep and womanly feeling, Augustus felt
ashamed of his previous suspicions. He thanked heaven
that he had not given them utterance. He thanked heaven
that the rising tears and varying color of poor Alicia owed
nothing to his injustice. But though it was easy to connect
her timid blushes into smilés, by avowals only half as impas-
sioned as those he had hazarded to her father, he felt that at
such a moment, his eloquence ought to have been unimped-
ed by a single regret, a single hesitation.
By degrees, however, he was transported beyond the reach
of all unpleasant retrospection. The beauty of Lady Ali-
cia de Wendover, enhanced by emotions of joy and tender-
THE DOWAGER. 173
r
ness, struck him as if seen for the first time. Her tremuious
voice, her hand half yielded, half withdrawn, her broken
words, her grateful allusions to the goodness of her father, to
her respect for his own parents, to her affection for his sister.
so thoroughly carried him out of himself, that the young lov-
er had soon no other thought or recollection on earth, than
that he was the happiest of the human kind!
Though Lord Grandison and Johnny were charitable
enough to leave them unmolested a whole hour “to their own
heart's most sweet society,” the intruders seemed to come
too soon for Augustus Langley, when on their entrance La-
dy Alicia started from his side, and flew to throw herself in-
to the arms of her father.
The benediction that faltered on the lips of the Earl, as
he impressed a kiss upon her forehead, saluting almost as a
bride her whom he loved so dearly as a daughter, was sol-
emn and affecting. But there was one present who spoke
not ;-who neither folded her in his arms, nor bade the God
of mercies preserve her good and happy in her wedded life
as in her innocent girlhood, yet whose soul was as tenderly
uplifted in prayer for her happiness, and whose heart as fond-
ly stirred by the interest of her position, as though he had
been thrice her father l—There were no tears in poor Chi-
chester’s eyes; but the look of earnestness with which he
regarded her, and the compression of his pale lips, afforded
some indication of the struggle passing within. Had he
spoken, it would have been to exclaim with Knowles’s Wir-
ginius,
I never saw you look so like your mother,
In all my life
and the association of ideas, which brought Mary Wilmot
before him as when, blushing and weeping, she told him that
she loved another, brought also a recognition of the contrast
between his position as a rejected suitor, and that of Augus-
tus as sanctioned at once by the preference of the being dear-
est to him on earth, and the approval of her family. The
nature of poor Chichester was too instinct with human chari-
ties to be susceptible of envy ; but the tie seemed to be
drawn closer and more painfully round his heart, connecting
in solemn unison its vivid emotions with the stillness of the
grave. Instead of joy in the happiness of his nephew, a feel-
ing of sadness and awe possessed him.
15%
174 THE DOWAGERe
It was dinner time before the happy party were recalled
to the things of this world. Lord Grandison would not hear
of losing any of them. It was too late to return home to
dress ; and Augustus was anxious not to meet his father
and mother, till the promised explanation had been made by
his uncle. He aecordingly consented to dine in company
which, but the day before, he would not for worlds have ta-
ken the liberty of approaching in his morning dress, indebted
to “my cousin Mr. Williams,” for the slight preparation al-
lowed him.
It is scarcely possible to suppose four happier people than
those assembled that day round the dinner-table of the Earl
of Grandison. Alicia had the eyes of three lovers rather
than one, fixed upon her radiant face. The father and the
father's friend regarded her as she sat there, smiling in her
beauty, as the merchant may contemplate some fair and
richly laden vessel entering the port in safety, after exposure
to the storms and hazards of the mighty deep.
Immediately after dinner, Johnny Chichester was to pro-
ceed to Morison Langley, who, as it was Wednesday, he was
sure to find at home ; leaving Augustus and Alicia to renew
the harmonious pleasures interrupted at Lady Gransden’s ; or,
if their hearts were too full for musie, an interchange of con-
fidences “far above singing.” To Lord Grandison’s man-
sion was attached a deep verandah, filled with flowers and
overlooking the park, beside which they sat, enjoying the fra-
grance of a delicious summer twilight, as if the season and
the scene were new to them. And so they were !—reveal-
ed for the first time through the development of that sixth
sense, which seems to owe its existence to the sympathy of
mutual affection.
They had so much to say—so much to confide—so many
little previous misunderstandings to clear up-so many per-
plexities to compare, in which each and both were involved £
They sat talking, as if talking were for the first time a de-
light:—then became silent, as if silence had a charm be-
cause thus indulged together. Lord Grandison was engag-
ed in putting upon paper the heads of the arrangements pur-
porting to enable Morison Langley to render the Wilsmere
estate the dowry of his daughter; insisting that, till the death.
of Lady Conyngsby, the maintenange of the young coupler
should be left entirely ‘to himself. While his darling child.
THE 10 OW A GE R. - 175
was engrossed by the explanations of the most enthusiastic
of lovers, he was absorbed in the pleasant task of devising all
human means to render permanent the ecstasy of the moment.
The hours glided away. Johnny Chichester had promis-
ed to return from Eaton Square, with news of the result of
his conversation with his brother-in-law, nothing doubting that
the said brother-in-law himself would bear him company.
But towards midnight, a note in Johnny's handwriting was
brought in, stating that, having been unable to accomplish
the interview, his visit must be deferred till the morrow.
“So much the better!” they all exclaimed. Their hearts
were too full to admit of any further accession of joy. The
morrow would be time enough for its ratification. It was
agreed only that Alicia should make no disclosures, except
in her own family, till Lady Mary had been first apprized ;
and the happy pair parted at a late hour, having made arrange-
ments that an early one should unite them again.
There was still a happiness to be enjoyed previous to re-
tiring to rest. The second mother, and the motherly attend-
ant, were to be enlightened ; and though the congratulations
of Mrs. Bennet and the excellent Wallis were mingled with
tears, they were tears devoid of bitterness. It was impossi-
ble not to admit that their darling had made proof of judg-
ment, as her father of disinterestedness, in her marriage
choice. All were content. No further fear of the pink
draughts l—no need of another appeal to Sir Lucius
It was the custom of the Earl to have his younger daugh-
ters and their governess at the breakfast-table, as a meal of
a strictly domestic kind; Johnny Chichester being, at that
hour, the only privileged visitor. Lady Helen and Lady
Mary were consequently on the eager look-out the following
morning for their new brother-in-law. Already, they were
fond of him. Augustus Langley, the only young man ad-
mitted into their circle, was consequently their beau idéal of
young-gentlemanly perfection ; and as even Mrs. Bennet
had waxed so jocose under the auspicious influence of the
hour, as to apprize them that Alicia would now cease to be
absent or fretful, and, above all, cease to require the arrival
of the packets of pink draughts from Messrs. Savory and
Moore, they sat listening for the knock of the future bride-
groom with an impatience scarcely inferior to that of their
blushing sister.
w
176 THE DOWAGER.
“We may as well order breakfast. Augustus will be
here before it is over,” said Lord Grandison, who, on the
strength of his son-in-law’s announcement that he should be
there as the clock struck ten, had hurried the ceremonial of
dressing, and been sitting for three quarters of an hour, try-
ing to fancy himself amused with the leading articles of the
leading papers of both parties, i. e. to interest himself in the
issue of a fencing bout, wherein the antagonists are lunging
at each other in the dark. But he had exhausted all—even
the advertisements | He knew what “ GARDENs of EDEN,”
and “PAL LADIAN STRUCTUREs,” were to be sold;—on what
day the exhibition closed—the names of the last grim heroes
added to the gallery of Madame Tussaud, as well as of all
the bassoon players and trumpeters at the concerts d'été.
There was nothing for it, but to lay down the Times, and
take up his cup of tea. But he was in too high spirits, and
too convinced that five minutes more would bring Augustus
Langley to occupy the seat left vacant for him between
Alicia and Lady Mary, not to indulge in the pleasure of quiz-
zing his anxious girl on the degeneracy of the lovers of the age.
“In my time,” said he, “one would not have hazarded
being half a minute after the hour of rendezvous, (to say
nothing of a first rendezvous like this), no! not to gain the
empire of China!”
Encouraged by Lady Alicia's smiles and blushes, he con-
tinued, for a time, to amuse himself with these sallies. But
when the breakfast, kindly prolonged to favor the tardy tru-
ant, at length wore to a close without the appearance of Au-
gustus, he ceased to banter her. Her smiles grew fainter,
her blushes paler. She was evidently anxious.
They adjourned to the drawing-room. At last her anxiety
grew so apparent, that her father, though pretending to be an-
gry with her, was in reality almost angry with young Lang-
ley. On such an occasion, there could be no pretext for
want of punctuality. His permanent duty was in Park Lane.
A sudden apprehension glanced into the mind of the Earl.
If Morison Langley should have persisted in his objections
—should have refused his consent—should have forbidden
the young man to pursue his suit? The fond father's heart
was instantly depressed. To remove the generous scruples
of such a man as old Langley, might be a work of time fatal
to the health and happiness of Alicia! He resolved to know
THE DOWAGER, 177
the worst by hastening to a consultation with Johnny Chi-
chester.
Already, however, Johnny had left home, and left no mes-
sage. He was probably gone to Eaton Square to pursue his
family consultation with his brother-in-law. Thither, it was
impossible for Lord Grandison, under the existing circum-
stances of the negociation, to follow him. Reluctantly there-
fore, he returned to Park Lane ; and scarcely had he entered
the hall, when a letter was placed in his hands by Mr. Wil-
liams, superscribed in the handwriting of Augustus Langley.
The nature of the contents, if not the exact purport, might
be inferred from the vehemence with which, after rushing in-
to his own room, Lord Grandison dashed down his hat up-
on the table, and bad the underbutler, who had pryingly fol-
lowed him on pretence of taking it from his hands, be gone
about his business.
His face was pale as death, his hands almost clenched,
as immediately on Williams’ departure, he began with huri led
footsteps to pace the room.
Rejected l—rejected without an expression of regret—al-
most without a semblance of courtesy not by the uncom-
promising father, not by the disinterested family—but by Au-
gustus himself—by the lover, the bride-groom—the hus-
band 1 Rejected in the most formal terms ; as if those who
last night parted as though parting were soon to be a forgotten
word between them, were to meet for the future as strangers
As strangers ? no l not as strangers It was written in
the face of the Earl that they must meet as enemies.—What?
his daughter—his sweet girl—his pride—his glory—cheated
out of an avowal of her maidenly tenderness, simply to grati-
fy the pride or he knew not what other evil passion, of the
Langleys :
How was he to accost Alicia 7 What should he say to her ?
“My child ! the man whom yesterday I told you to take to
your love and reverence, has proved a heartless egotist.
Disdain him—forget him—love another!” As if the giſt of
the affections were resumable at will, like some poor trinket
exchanged in the hours of giddy pastime. Or must he avow
the truth? Must he tell her that it was herself who was dis-
dained—herself who was to be forgotten—herself who was
to be sacrificed to one more accordant with the taste of the .
Langley family?
Fortunately for the reason of Lord Grandison, at that mo-
178 THE DOWAGER,
ment Johnny Chichester entered the room. But was every
thing connected with that house ordained to sudden transfor-
mation ? Chichester, who usually arrived there with foot-
steps light as his heart; who came to enliven and be enliven-
ed in the atmosphere of a spot more like home to him than
his own; nay, who only the preceding night had left it with
a jest on his lips, now made his appearance like a man risen
from the grave, and flung himself into a chair, as if unequal
to the mere task of salutation. No need to advert to the
contents of the letter that lay on the table ! The Earl dis-
cerned, in a moment, that his friend was as deeply affected
as himself.
“I see you know all !” was the first ejaculation of Chiches-
ter, in a voice almost inaudible. “That your horror and in-
dignation are equal to my own, I cannot doubt; let me en-
treat you, my dear Grandison—”
The Earl would not hear him to an end. Anticipating an
appeal to his feelings in favor of Augustus Langley, he burst
forth with—“Not a word in his defence —If it had been his
father—his mother—if it had been any one save him to whom
that precious girl avowed last night her attachment, I could
have forgiven it.—A cold-blooded scoundrel !—He whom I
loved as a son—whom I prized—whom—whom—a damned
cold-blooded scoundrel !” Lord Grandison’s indignation,
gradually stimulated by his reminiscences, was now wholly
beyond control |
“I don’t ask you to forgive him ; but forgive me, at least,
for pitying the poor boy!” muttered Johnny Chichester,
scarcely able to raise his eyes to those of his friend.
“Pity him 1–Curse him ſ” cried Lord Grandison, white
with rage, as he once more cast his eyes over the cold
measured phrases of the letter.
“Curse those rather who invented this infamous slander I’’
muttered Johnny, in the same subdued tone. “But curse
them as I do, in the depths of your heart.”
“Slander 7” reiterated the Earl, a new light brightening his
perplexity and kindling in his eyes.
“Have you no idea—is that dear girl able to afford you no
hint by which you may trace the originators of this detestable
lie?” persisted Johnny, unaware of the cautious tone of his
nephew's letter.
“Tell me,” cried Lord Grandison, throwing himself on a
chair beside his friend, and containing himself in the hope of
THE DOWAGER. 179
being able to reach, by indirect means, the heart of the mys-
tery which he saw was concealed from him; “Tell me, Chi-
chester 1 how long have you known this ? In what manner
did Morison Langley confide it to you?”
“Last night—with the utmost feeling, though with the ut-
most frankness,” replied Johnny. “I did not even attempt
to explain your projects to him. The moment I entered the
room, he accosted me with an expression of sympathy in
your distress and mortification ; and when I assured him that
I had just quitted you, neither distressed nor mortified, he
expressed so much doubt whether “you could be aware of
what had happened’ that I was fain to ask what had happened
of such mysterious nature. Then it was that the story of
Alicia's elopement with this blackguard foreigner was explain-
ed to me. It was useless to declare, that so far from having
eloped, she was at that moment drinking tea in Park Lane.
Morison Langley admitted that every one was aware of her
return home ; that it was only to be regretted every one
should be equally aware of her having absented herself. Of
you, my dear Grandison, he spoke in terms of the most
affectionate concern.”
“Of me? what the devil matters it how he spoke of me
after having dared to vilify and traduce my child !” cried the
frantic Earl. “You are quite sure, Johnny, that after this
damnable explanation, you did not give him the slightest hint
of the nature of your business with him tº
“Quite sure. Do you suppose that, under such circum-
stances, I would so commit you?”
“Good It is clear then that the father goes for nothing
in the insult I have received. The act of rejection rests
solely on the head of Augustus Langley.”
“My dear Grandison! in what a situation would you place
me, by compelling me to become that boy’s accuserſ” cried
Chichester, earnestly.
“You need not answer me ! The fact speaks for itself .
and he shall speak for himself!” cried the Earl, starting up
and seizing his hat.
“You are not going to humiliate yourself, and our poor in-
jured girl, by an altercation with him?” cried Johnny, rising
to detain him.
“An altercation with him? I—Alicia’s father?—No l—
There is but one mode in which we can ever meet again.
The where and when I leave to the adjustment of others.”
180 THE DOWAGER.
“My dear Grandison, compose yourself—be calm P'
“Calm 1 when the bitterest insult has been flung in the
face of my innocent child?” cried Lord Grandison.
“Consider,” remonstrated Johnny, clinging to his arm,
“consider that a hostile encounter between you, would only
aggravate the evil—only tend to disseminate the scandal—
only serve to increase the distress of this unhappy girl; on-
ly tend perhaps to deprive her of her lawful protector against
future wrong. Be warned, Grandison | For her sake, if
not for your own, do nothing rashly. I ask it of you in the
name of poor Mary—in the name of her helpless girls.” And
big tears stood on the cheeks of the man, out of the depth of
whose heart this strenuous appeal was wrested.
“I will do nothing rashly, my good, kind friend!” replied
the Earl, in a more moderate tone, ascribing to the warmth
of Johnny Chichester’s ſraternal friendship for himself, his
deep emotion. “But I must see, and consult with those who
have no personal interest in this business. The circle of
my friends, thank God, is limited ; but there are some among
them, good men and true, who would neither see me submit
to injury, nor wantonly inflict it. I will speak with Maxwell.
—Maxwell was wiser than the best of us in the business
of the Gransdens. I will see Maxwell !”
“But in the meantime”—interrupted Johnny Chichester,
following him to the door. Further remonstrance however
was useless already the excited man had sallied forth, and
was hurrying wildly through the streets.
CHAPTER XW.
Give not this rotten orange to thy friend.
SHAKSPEARE.
AN unpropitious moment had been selected by Johnny,
for the delivery of his credentials, as a matrimonial negotiator
in Eaton Square. Morison Langley, though to be honored
as “a man who was not passion's slave,” was one, “who
being much enforced, could shew a hasty spark or two.”
And enforced he had been that day, by all the harassing per-
secutions that a party per force of newspaper could pour into
his camp. -
THE DOWAGER, 181
The hostile side, (whose engines were fed with the scald-
ing steam of Sir Jacob Appleby's malignant brother), had
signalized his intended retirement from the representation of
the county, as the last pitiful act of a man whose every ac-
tion was pitiful. His enemies described him as a ruined man
flying from his duty to the country; “et encore,” (as Talley-
rand said of the young Duc de Bordeaux), “encore, s'il n'avait
que ses ennenis P’ For the organ of his own party, under
the lukewarm direction of Mr. Threlkeld, took up his defence
in a tone that might have marred the best of causes.
Morison Langley was deeply hurt. He knew of course
that it was easy to meet with positive denial, the positive
falsehoods advanced. But as it is said of a woman, that
Comes too near, who comes to be denied
he felt that as a patriot, the mere necessity for such refuta-
tion was almost a fault. Many would still remain distrust-
ful, particularly as he was resolved, let his resolution operate
as it might upon his political interests, to proceed to the con-
tinent. Let the missiles of either party attain him as they
might, Cecilia should not remain exposed to the attentions of
her cousin, or himself to the offensive insinuations of the
Earl of Delmaine.
It was while irritated by a reconsideration of these con-
tending vexations, that Johnny Chichester entered his room,
in all the elation of spirit arising from consciousness of his
beneficent purposes. He came with one of those joyous
faces that are felt almost as an insult by persons absorbed in
the disagreeables of life; and though Morison Langley's
allusions to the tale of scandal he had heard ten minutes be-
fore at his wife’s tea table from his mother and sister in law,
were uttered with feeling and delicacy, it is probable that he
would have adhered to his golden rule to repeat no grievan-
ces, but for the irritation of his feelings.
It did not surprise him to find the tale indignantly denied
by Johnny Chichester; for Johnny Chichester could do no
less. But on recalling to mind the authorities cited by the
Dowager in support of the rumor, and still more, the regret
he had heard expressed by Lady Mary at the incautiousness,
with which Lord Grandison allowed himself to receive so fa-
miliarly in his house, a man so unsuitable as a son in law as
Massimo Mazzini, Morison Langley retained his preconceiv-
ed opinion.
WOL. II. 16
182 THE DOWAGER,
Wexed to perceive how little his assertions or his arguments
availed to alter the countenance of his brother in law, who
gravely shook his head at the name of Lady Alicia de Wen-
dover, Chichester, after waiting long and vainly his nephew's
arrival, took his leave in order to despatch the letter of apolo-
gy to Lord Grandison, by which time would be gained for all
parties.
But the cares of county membership forbade Morison
Langley's repairing to bed on Johnny's departure. He re-
solved to await the return of his son, in order to confer with
him touching the means to be adopted for the refutation of
the calumnies circulated concerning his embarrassments;
which were creating embarrassments, by compelling him to
the instant settlement of every trifling claim upon his estate.
He was desirous also to congratulate Augustus on his escape
from a nearer connection with one so convicted of precocious
worthlessness, as Lady Alicia de Wendover.
So eager however, was poor Augustus's opening apostro-
phe to his father, (whom he conceived to have been enlight-
ened by the visit of his uncle Johnny), and so earnest his
declaration of happiness and love—triumph in Alicia’s avow-
ed attachment and the happy results to be anticipated for
Cecilia from Lord Grandison's timely cession of the Wils-
mere Woodlands, that it was impossible for the astonished
father to interpose a word till the impetuosity of the young
lover was exhausted.
“What on earth is all this ?” was Morison Langley’s anx-
ious question, at the close of Augustus's confused harangue.
—“Lord Grandison offer you his daughter's hand? Lord
Grandison offer the Wilsmere Woodlands as part of Lady
Alicia’s fortune, in order that, being converted into a dowry
for your sister, they may bribe the consent of Lord Del-
maine to her marriage with his son 7”
“Exactly,–or all but exactly | Lord Grandison has pro-
mised to convince you that he has forced upon my acceptance
the loveliest and most perfect of human beings.”
“He had better not l” cried old Langley, in a tone almost
ferocious.
“My dearest, dearest father ſ” cried Augustus, “let not
your pride defeat, on this occasion, your better sense!—How
will you have the courage to oppose Lord Grandison's gen-
erous projects in my favor?—Consider that mine and my sis-
*
THE DOWAGER. 183
ter's happiness hang on your word! Such a husband as Chi-
chester for dear Cecilia—such a wife as my sweet Alicia for
my unworthy self.”
“Such a wife,” interrupted old Langley, almost writhing
under his sense of injury. “Such a wife for my son! my
son 1 How, dared he meditate such an insult! And then so
speciously contrived the hook doubly and trebly baited l—
the fate of my poor girl pledged in the negociation of this in-
fatuated boy. And I, who an hour ago was pitying Grandi-
son, and sympathizing so affectionately in his family dis-
grace P’
“What do you mean 8” cried Augustus, amazed and ter-
rified in his turn. “In God’s name, speak | explain your-
self.”
“I mean that you are chosen as a dupe 1" cried Morison
Langley. “I mean that your youth and inexperience of the
world have pointed you out to Lord Grandison, as a fitting
person to efface the stain inflicted on his family honor by an
intrigue between his daughter and an adventurer l’’
The ire—the indignation of Augustus Langley were too
hot for words; not against Lord Grandisgn, but against the fa-
ther who could so Vilely asperse both Alicia and her parent.
More reasonable views and sentiments however, succeeded.
His habitual respect for his father soon obtained its due authori-
ty over his mind, quickened perhaps by recollections of the
scene of the preceding day. The confusion of Lady Alicia
on her father's entrance; Lord Grandison's scarcely conceal-
ed fury at finding Prince Massimo an inmate of his house—
and above all, the ardor—the almost unnatural ardor, with
which the beautiful heiress had been pressed upon his accep-
tance, united to inspire him with ungenerous suspicions. It
would probably have sufficed to damp the generosity of the
noble Earl, for the remainder of his days, could he have sup-
posed that his unexampled liberality was to form the ground-
work of such infamous assertions !
Such was the origin of the deliberate insult conveyed in
the letter of Augustus Langley ! Gradually won round to
the opinion of his father, gradualy roused to indignation,
where before his heart had melted with tenderness, there was
no longer pity or mercy in his nature. He felt himself prac-
tised upon—derided—laughed to scorn! But it was not
mockery he would render in return. By the joy in which for
184 THE DOWAGER.
the last few hours he had been luxuriating, did he measure
the extent of his injuries; and the letter he addressed to
Lord Grandison was accordingly that of a high minded man,
not of a petulant boy. No allusion to Lady Alicia—no allu-
sion to the plot projected against his honor He merely stated,
in the coldest terms, that he must decline the honor intended
him, of a nearer connection, with the Earl of Grandison.
Augustus Langley was perhaps conscious of a hope, when
he despatched his missive, that the Earl would accept it as a
direct offence.
The letter was not submitted to his father. Mr. Langley
felt too sore upon the subject, and was too much harassed at
the moment by a multitude of vexations, even to desire it.
To him, consequently, no apprehension presented itself of a
necessity for hostile retaliation.
Meanwhile, on arriving at the mansion of his friend Max-
well, Lord Grandison had the vexation to learn that the Gen-
eral was absent from town; having proceeded to Dorking in
company with the spruce Mr. Clamminson, to forward his
duties as executor to the dead, and remedy, as far as possi-
ble, his sins against the living. Nothing could be more un-
fortunate ; for Maxwell, hike all men of known courage, was,
in such exigencies, as moderate as he was firm ; and would
probably have brought the misunderstanding to the same
happy issue as the mystery he had succeeded in unravelling
for Lord Gransden, which had proved the means of sending
Sir Jacob Appleby per Batavier steamer, to Rotterdam, on
his way to the baths of Nassau, for the restoration of his
nerves or concealment of his shame.
In the General’s absence, the Earl was perplexed to whom
to turn for counsel. . Three men, only, did he honor with the
name of friends ;-the Duke of Ancaster, (who, from his
years and public position, must not be involved in a quarrel
of such a nature) Johnny Chichester, and Morison Langley.
It was among his acquaintances, therefore, he must seek a
temporary guardian for his honor; the boon-companions with
whom he ate and drank—laughed and jested ; but who had
as little share in his existence as he in theirs. His choice
fell upon another old soldier, Sir Wilfred Gascoign; less,
however, as one who was in the habit of dining with him,
than as the friend and contemporary of Maxwell, and himself
the father of grown up daughters.
THE DOWAGER, 185
tº
INow it unluckily happened, thst as the father of daughters,
Sir Wilfred was particularly sore on the subject of matrimo-
nial ruptures; and worse still, that Hervey d'Ewes, to whom,
on bearing a hostile message from the Earl to Augustus Lang-
ley, he was referred to his friend, was precisely the man
whose flirtations had excited his paternal indignation. Pre-
vious to d’Ewe's devotion to Cecilia Langley, it had been
fully expected by Sir Wilfred, that Betchingham Priory and
its young master would become the property of Miss Harriet
Gascoign. No hope, therefore, that Sir Wilfred should be
over eager to avoid affording so valuable a lesson to the male
coquets of the fashionable world. Between the young sec-
ond, who regarded the attack upon his principal as a paternal
combination against the privileges of the dancing youth of
Britain, and the old one, determined to offer an example to
its caprices, there was not the slightest chance of a compro-
mise. Augustus Langley refused all explanation of his con-
duct. It was impossible to do otherwise, without committing
the names of the Dowager and her daughter. A meeting
was accordingly arranged for an early hour of the morrow.
To steal forth from his house, passing, without a word of
inquiry, a word of farewell, the door of the chamber in which
he knew his lovely child to have been passing a restless, fe-
verish night, was a grief to Lord Grandison, requiring almost
Roman virtue for the suppression. He went, however. Not
a soul in the house, save one confidential servant, was aware
of his departure ; and when, two hours afterwards, Johnny
Chichester hurried thither with the news of General Max-
well’s return to town, till which event Lord Grandison had
pretended to postpone his explanation with young Langley,
no one could give the slightest indication of his Lordship's
movements.
Chichester demanded to see Lady Alicia. “Her Lady-
ship is up, but indisposed, and in her dressing-room,” was
William's reply.
Indisposition, however, was no bar to the visits of Johnny
Chichester; and on sending up his name, even at that un-
timely hour, he was instantly admitted.
Johnny had not entered her presence since the vile rumors
concerning her had reached his ear. That they had no im-
portant foundation, he was perfectly convinced. But he fear-
ed, he greatly feared, that the girlish inexperience of Lady
16%
O
186 THE DOWAGER, ©
Alicia might have exposed her conduct to censure. In the
ways of the world she was as much a novice as her gover-
mess—and than Mrs. Bennet there could not be a greater
How was it possible, then, for so guileless a victim to be
flung into the midst of a pack of scandal-hounds without be-
ing torn to pieces ! His heart smote him when he beheld her
pale and haggard looks. He felt as if, somehow or other, he
was to blame, for not having surrounded with better guar-
dianship the innocent child of poor Mary,
“Where is Grandison ?” said he, affectionately taking her
hand, while thus abruptly accosting her.
“Is not my father in the breakfast-room?” she replied,
“I thought you might wish to see me without him. I fancied
you had, perhaps, a message—for me—from—” she paused.
“I must find Grandison P’ cried Johnny Chichester, ea-
gerly. “Tell me, my dear girl, when did you see him last—
how did you part?”
“Last night, as usual; that is, not quite as usual. I was
too unwełl to sit up late ; and papa came into my room a mo-
ment, to kiss me after I was in bed. Wallis was sitting with
me. She said he was almost in tears. He is so good l—He
feels for me even more that I feel for myself!”
“You are sure Wallis said that he was in tears? Dolt
that I was not to forsee all this P’—eried Johnny Chichester,
gradually enlightened as to the eause of Lord Grandison's
untimely absence. “Did he send no message to you, my
dearest Alicia, before he left home this morning ?”
“None, whatever. Stay—let me ring and inquire among
the servants. They may not have thought it necessary tor
disturb me.”
The inquiry produced only a negative. “My Lord had
left home at eight o'clock, in his cabriolet, unattended. His
Lordship's cabriolet had been ordered the preceding night.”
No one in the house knew more than that “my Lord had
driven off at speed in the direction of Cumberkand Gate.”
“Have you business with papa that you are so anxious f"
inquired Lady Alieia, too little skilled in the realities of life,
to conjecture that the event which had driven the color from
her cheek and rendered her voice se tremulous, was of a
nature to endanger the very life of her father and Augustus.
“Yes—business—I fear I must leave you and ge' further
in search of him,” cried he, turning away from her anxious-
ly inquiring looks.
THE DOWAGER, 187
“But in what direction can you possibly seek him at this
time of day?” persisted Lady Alicia—an'indefinable anxiety
causing her to fix her eyes still more earnestly on his embar-
rassed countenance.
“At-at the Clubs—I-”
“Why then not let me send down at once to White's, and
inform papa that you are waiting for him 7”
At that moment, the door was slightly opened, and Wallis
put in her head. There was something so unusual in her
look and manner, that the attention of Lady Alicia was arous-
ed. She fancied she saw a significant glance directed by her
maid towards her visitor. “Have you any thing to say to
Mr. Chichester, Wallis 7" said she, by way of covering the
good woman's awkward entrée. “Any message º’’
“Message, my Lady.—I—that is—”
“Come in, come in P’—cried Lady Alicia, more and more
astonished at the pale face and confused manner with which
her invitation was received.
“If you please, Sir,” faltered the poor woman, finding
retreat impossible, “the Dowager Lady Delmaine is at the
door, wishing particular to speak with you.”
“Beg Lady Delmaine to walk into the drawing room.
Mr. Chichester will go down to her,” cried Lady Alicia,
blushing for what she considered the incivility of her servants,
“ No no—I will speak to her in the carriage l’’ cried John-
ny. “Don’t let her cºme in—Mrs. Wallis—let me beg of
ou not to invite her ifi,” he continued, calling to the wait-
ing woman, who had already left the room ; then, having tak-
en a hurried leave of Lady Alicia, he hastened after her.
The incoherency of his words, the eagerness of his efforts
to prevent the Dowager's admission, combined with her fa-
ther's unusual absence and the singular agitation of the calm
and decorous Wallis, now began to excite the serious alarm
of Lady Alicia. Though attired only in her morning wrap-
per, she rushed out of the room to follow Johnny Chichester
for further interrogation. She reached the drawing room.—
The door stood open; and she perceived that, contrary to
his orders, the Dowager who had walked to Park Lane, had
been admitted 1–In another moment, before she had leisure
to advance, an exclamation of horror from Johnny Chiches-
ter almost curdled her blood.
“Dead—did you say?” cried he, seizing the arm of his
mother.
I 88 THE DOWAGER,
“Dead by this time, for the wound was pronounced mortal.”
Johnny Chichester dropped her arm, and covered his face
with his hands.
“He had time, however, after receiving Lord Grandison's
fire, to discharge his pistol in the air,” resumed Lady Del-
maine. “Waux was on a message in Eaton Square when
Hervey d'Ewes came to break it to his father. It will be the
death of his parents Poor, poor Augustus, sacrificed to the
wantonness of a coquette l’’
Too deeply was the Dowager engrossed in the dear delight
of giving pain, and Johnny too deeply in his afflictions, to take
heed of aught that was passing in the room. It was only as
he was rushing out on his way to Eaton Square, that he found
the insensible form of Alicia stretched across the threshold.
“She was listening—actually listening at the door, my dear!
—and we all know the proverb about listeners ſ” said the
Dowager, when she hobbled back to Grosvenor Street, half an
hour afterwards, to recount her tale to Lady Meliora. “What
she heard of herselſ, was as severe a blow, apparently, as the
wound she has been the means of inflicting on my unfortunate
grandson. When I left the house, she was only just begin-
ning to show signs of life I’’
“And when she really comes to herself, and finds, not only
that the blood of her victim is upon her father's head, but that
her father himself will be amenable to the offended laws of his
country P’ retorted Lady Meliora, who was waiting for the
carriage to convey her on an errand 6f consolation (or inves-
tigation) to Eaton Square. “What a lesson How fortu-
nate, Ma'am, that you thought of following my brother to
Lord Grandison’s ſ”
“I don't know what you mean by fortunate l" muttered the
Dowager. “All I know is, that so far from thanking me,
Johnny never so much as spoke a word to me after I had ac-
quainted him with the worst. The last I saw of him, he was
hanging over Lady Alicia, with the tears streaming down his
face, as if he had been her father three times over ! Instead
of poor dear Augustus and his family, he was thinking only
of the Grandisons ! He carried the girl up stairs in his arms
when she was in her fainting-fit, without even noticing I was
in the room. Johnny was always the weakest creature
breathing !”
“I dare say it will turn out that he was in some way or other
the cause of the quarrel between his nephew and the Earl!”
THE DOWAGER, 189
cried Lady Meliora, hurrying off her mother, on Vaux’s an-
nouncement that the carriage was at the door. “I have al-
ways found these sad affairs arise out of the indiscretion of
some gossip or other, who tattles in the wrong place. As we
proceeded to Eaton Square, Ma'am, don't you think I might
look in a moment at Lady Dearmouth's 7"
“If you promise not to take more than five minutes to ac-
quaint her with what has happened,” replied the Dowager.
* It certainly would be hardly fair to let such a catastrophe
in our family be made known to our friend Lady Dearmouth,
through an indifferent person.”
“To Park Place P’ cried Lady Meliora, as she entered
the carriage. “No, no l you need not draw down the blinds,
Ma'am. The dreadful event cannot, at present, have transpir-
ed, so that there will be nothing improper in our being seen.”
“And if it had, what signifies the opinion of people who
are out at this time of the day!” was the appropriate rejoin-
der of the Dowager.
CHAPTER" XVI.
Sweet Thyrza! waking as in sleep
Thou art but now a lovely dream |
A star that trembled o'er the deep
Then turned from earth its trembling gleam.
But he who through life's dreary way
Must pass through Heav'n, be veil’d in wrath,
Will long lament the vanish'd ray
That scattered gladness o'er his path. BYRON,
“Don’t leave us, Sir! for mercy's sake, Mr. Chichester,
don’t leave us !” was on the other hand, the imploring cry of
poor Wallis, to him whose tenderness for her lady's children
she had witnessed during so many years. “My Lord is away
—Mrs. Bennet is quite overpowered—I’m so flustrated my-
self that I can't answer for what I’m doing. Pray, pray, Sir,
don’t leave us at such a moment l’’
He did not attempt it. Beside the couch, where lay the
fairest and most worshipped of the idols of London, now pale
and senseless, relapsing from one fainting fit to another;
there was none to keep watch save the simple-hearted being
who would have died to restore her to health and happiness.
It was on her, amid the general calamity, that his thoughts
190 THE DOWAGER,
rested. He saw that she would die, he felt that she would
die. So slight a frame, so tender a nature, could not bear up
against such fierce extremes of joy and sorrow, as had beset
her within the last few days. Perhaps it was better that she
should not recover; that she should go to her rest without
knowing the calumnies of which she had been the victim or
the crime of which she had been the unconscious instrument.
So overwhelmed was poor Chichester by the combination
of fatalities which, like an instantaneously gathering thunder
storm in the midst of a glorious summer day, had burst upon
all who were dearest to him, that he scarcely even listened to
the hopes held out by Sir Lucius Flimsy, on his visit that
evening to the still insensible Alicia, that Augustus Langley
might yet survive.
“I have not seen him, the case is not exactly in my de-
partment,” said the prim physician, in his usual phrase.
“But the rumor runs among my professional brethren that
Brodie gave hopes he might survive the extracting of the ball.
I am more anxious concerning the result here !” he whis-
pered, drawing Chichester to the window, after having exam-
ined the pulse and aspect of his patient. “The severe
shock upon the brain is causing a feverish re-action. Though
the powers of the mind are suspended, those of the body ex-
perience a fatally irregular activity. It is understood that
Lord Grandison and Sir Wilfred Gascoign are still in the
country, though probably preparing to leave it?” he continued
half interrogatively.
But John Chichester heard him not. From the moment
of Sir Lucius's announcement that there was imminent dan-
ger for Alicia, he thought of only her. “Nothing can be
done in her present state of catalepsy,” was all he could
gather further in the way of instruction from the bland phy-
sician; “absolutely nothing! Should the smallest demon-
stration of change occur at *y hour of the night, let me be
summoned.”
Again therefore, did Chichester station himself patiently
beside the senseless girl, whose finely chiselled features,
thrown out in relief by the rich masses of her raven hair, al-
ready assumed the pallor and rigidity of death. Her white
drapery lay motionless round her inanimate form. She was
as the dead, save for the unseen movements of disease,
spreading their baleful influence within.
THE DOWAGERs 191
The poor governess was of necessity in attendance upon
her younger pupils, from whom it was necessary to conceal all
knowledge of what was passing. Wallis only remained to
share with the faithful friend of the family, his task of watch-
fulness; and while Chichester sat like a statute of despair,
the poor woman leant occasionally over her charge to ascer-
tain the pulsation of her cold temples; or stood with the
tears falling from her eyes, contemplating Alicia's death-
like appearance.
“Just so looked her poor dear mother, when these hands
dressed her for the grave,” faltered Wallis, little aware of
the anguish she was inflicting on her companion. “My
poor dead lady seems to be lying there again before me, so
young, so beautiful, so beloved, with the same sweet smile
on her cold cheek, as if conscious of being happy with the
angels in Heaven I watched beside her, the night before
they laid her in, her coffin. Oh! Mr. Chichester, think
what it was for me, who had so often braided her beautiful
hair to appear at gay entertainments, to feel it cold and heavy
in my hands with the dews of death, and have to—forgive
me—forgive me, Sir!” cried she, noticing at length the ex-
citement of her agitated companion. “I had most forgot-
ten, Sir, that you were as much the friend of my late poor.
dear Lady, as of my Lord. Oh! Sir, if we should lose this
darling child as we lost her l’’
And poor Wallis hid her face distractedly against the arm
of the sofa, on which, for the sake of fresh air, Lady Alicia
had been placed. But her address was unheard. Johnny
Chichester had crept away to the open window to indulge his
emotions unrestrained. It was a still summer night. All
was tranquil without as within the darkened chamber. The
deserted park lay quietly outstretched below. Not a sound,
not a breath was stirring. A few faint stars twinkling in the
sky were the only objects visible; like distant indications of
that happier sphere where she whose loss he still deplored, was
about to welcome the spirit of her child !
Absorbed in intense emotion, Chichester had almost disen-
gaged himself from the things of this world, when a hand
was suddenly laid upon his shoulder; Wallis, perhaps, re-
quiring his ministry and assistance. A flush of selfreproach
for having forgotten her, rose to his cheek as he turned round.
But by the flickering light of the night lamp, he perceived
192 THE DOWAGER,
that it was not Wallis by whom he was accosted. It was a
man It was—or did his eyes deceive him—it was Alicia's
unhappy father l Instead of replying to Lord Grandison's
murmured inquiries, poor Chichester threw himself sobbing
into his arms e
“Thank God you are come !” was the first word he was
able to utter. -
“Is she in danger ?” demanded the Earl in the same bro-
ken voice.
“She has never spoken since —The shock upon her sys-
tem—”
“Is she in danger ?” reiterated the Earl.
“God is merciful! Let us pray that she may be spared to
us !” was Johnny's evasive reply.
“I see how it is l—I am to lose her l’’ said the Earl, more
firmly than might have been anticipated. “She, the least to
blame, is to be the one sacrificed P’
Johnny Chichester wrung the hand of his friend. “Bet-
ter she should die,” said he, “than awake to the conscious-
ness of the dreadful event that has befallen us.” *
“He is safe,” cried Lord Grandison. “Augustus is do-
ing well. The ball has been extracted. The surgeons an-
swer for him.”
“The God of Heavens be praised P’ was the ferventejacu-
lation of poor Chichester. “If she could but be apprized of
it! If your voice could only reach her ear—her mind P’
At this instigation, Lord Grandison, kneeling beside his
daughter's couch, attempted to excite her attention. In ac-
cents of the tenderest earnestness, he spoke to her of Au-
gustus—of himself—of their safety.—In vain l—not a tinge
colored the marble cheek; the long black lashes remained
fixed; the sufferer, lay passive as the dead!
All night, they watched beside her. Towards morning, a
slight change became perceptible; and the physicians were
summoned. But they announced that the symptoms were
even less favorable than before. Suspended animation was
restored only to quicken the restless impulses of fever. She
spoke at last; but the mind had no part in her incoherent
exclamations. She was delirious.
“This is worse than all!” exclaimed poor Wallis, as she
found her strength incompetent to restrain the poor raving
girl, whose vivid but unrecognizing glances were fixed glar-
THE DOWAGER. - 193
e
ingly upon her face. “Oh ! what will they have to answer
ſor who have brought her to this " ... "
A mournful glance was exchanged between the unhappy
father and his friend. Chichester had ceased to dwell upon
the origin of the evil. He cared not for the cause of Alicia's
illness, if the effect were to lay her in the grave! It scarcely
seemed to afford him comfort when, repeatedly in the course
of the day, intelligence was brought in reply to Lord Grandi-
son's inquiries, that Augustus Langley was going on favora-
bly. He was lying at the inn at Finchley, near which the
tmeeting had taken place. His parents were with him. His
sister was with him. There was no need of his uncle’s
presence; but even had there been so, Johnny Chichester
would not have deserted his post in Park Lane. It did not
present itself to his mind that the world might blame his de-
votion to one whose enmity had nearly effected the destruc-
tion of the only son of his favorite sister.
The fault escaped unnoticed. The world had just then
too much work upon its hands, to note this trifling incident in
the terrible drama enacting under its observation. Thanks
to the celerity with which the Dowager had hastened to trans-
mit to Lady Dearmouth an account of the duel, a few hours
served to spread the report that young Langley had fallen by
the hand of Lord Grandison, and Lady Alicia de Wendover
by her own -
“Lady Meliora assures me that she did not survive the
shock more than half an hour,” was Lady Dearmouth's mys-
terious announcement to Mrs. Crouch.
“Then, depend upon it, my dear Lady Dearmouth, she
took poison P’ rejoined the widow. And such was the ver-
sion of the story which she managed to circulate that morn-
ing, till clubs and coteries rang with the dreadful tale !
“It is very strange they should be putting down fresh straw
in Park Lane ('' observed Lady Medwyn, in reply. “Peo-
ple put down straw for the sick, not for the dead.”
“There is no one to give rational orders, my dear !” was
the argument of Mrs. Crouch, “Lord Grandison and his
second crossed from Dover the night before last.”
“Why, Lord Medwyn saw Sir Wilfred Gascoign at the
United Service Club, yesterday evening !”
“At what hour of the evening?” inquired Mrs. Crouch, with
a significant smile. “Excuse me, dear Lady Medwyn, but af.
ter dinner, you know, his Lordship's eyes are not always to be
depended upon?” sº -
WOL. II, 17
194 THE DOWAGER,
And in spite of Lady Medwyn's asseverations, she persist-
ed in circulating through the town news of the decease of
two persons who were still alive; and the flight of two others,
who had never stirred from London.
“From whom did you hear that Grandison had quitted the
country tº demanded General Maxwell of Claude Hartington,
who accosted him at White's with condolences on the ill for-
tune of his friend.
“One never remembers where one hears any thing,” replied
the dandy; “that is, when the inquiry is made with so grave
a face as yours, one never chooses to remember.”
“Have a care that the question be not asked by Grandison
himself,” resumed Maxwell, still more gravely. “I left him
just now in Park Lane. Langley being out of danger, he is
able to direct the attention to his own affairs ; and neither
trouble hor cost will be spared to trace out the slanderers of
his daughter.”
“It is not true, then, that she went off with Mazzini 7" in-
quired Hartington.
“Who told you that she had gone off with him 7”
“My dear General, this is regular Old Bailey practice ſ”
cried Hartington. “It does not much signify, however, who
told me : the question is, who afforded the warning to Langley 7”
“True ! I had better address myself to Morison Langley
at once. A strait road is ever the shortest ſ” cried the Ge-
neral, who had kindly undertaken to assist the inquiries indis-
pensable to the peace of mind of Lord Grandison. “I will
hasten down to Eaton Square.”
“You may spare yourself the trouble. In the first place,
because the family are still at Finchly ; in the second, be-
cause you may trust me that he will not answer you,” re-
plied Hartington.
“A man of honor does not refuse a reply to a question of
such a nature.” --
“A man of honor will refrain from asking such a question,
when he perceives that old Langley cannot answer it, with-
out committing those with whom he is connected by family
ties of the closest kindred P’
“The Dowager I could have sworn it!” exclaimed Gen-
eral Maxwell. “Nay, my friend Dearmouth hinted as much
last might, when he gave me the particulars of this sad affair.”
“Ay! Dearmouth is as much tormented, by the delin-
quencies of the new school for scandal as by the agonies of
his own gout !” cried Hartington, laughing.
"THE DOWAGER, 195
*A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind.
His worser half is one of the shags who should be women,
and are only slander-mongers I Lady Dearmouth you know
is adjutant general to the Dowager.”
“I know it—I know it, poor fellow !” ejaculated Max-
well, fidgetting his chin in his stiff stock, as if the vexations
of life were getting too much for him. “It has been my
fate, for the last week, to be crossed at every step, by the
cantraps of those cursed old women The evil they have
caused in my own family,” said he, lowering his voice, when
adverting to the injury inflicted on his nephew, “is never to
be repaired. And since my return from Dorking yesterday,
my friend Knox has been with me, complaining of reports
raised against the credit of his wife, which have produced a
shower of bills upon his table, such as must have caused dis-
union in a less happy household. As to poor Grandison, I
can scarcely trust myself to think of him and his "
“Here comes Gransden—another of the sufferers 1” ex-
claimed Chaude Hartington. “He at least managed to con-
vict, and inflict punishment on the offenders. Pon honor, the
crimes and misdemeanor of the Dowagerate ought to be re-
ferred to a committee l’’
“Better this morning—almost out of danger l’’ was now
the General’s welcome information to his ward, touching his
friend Augustus Langley.” “I need not tell you how it is
with poor Lady Alicia ; for when I arrived in Park Lane,
just now, Lady Gransden was leaving the house.”
“Laura wants to establish herself there,” said Lord Grans-
den, in a tone of deep concern. “But in her delicate situa-
tion, the spectacle of that dear unhappy girl’s distraction,
would be too trying. I have refused my consent. My wife
has however been suggesting—(for as the friend of all parties,
and the best creature breathing, she is at her wit’s end to
bring matters to a *... understanding) my wife has been
suggesting that the rumors circulated by the Dowager clique
concerning Alicia and Mazzini, had unquestionably their rise
in her own unhappy flight from Lady Dulwich's ball, in com-
pany with Chichester, alieady the cause of so much scandal!
‘ Grandison—Gransden P between names so similar, the ser-
vants calling up the carriages probably fell into a mistake.”
“And it happens that Lady Alicia was not even present
at the ball !” observed the General. “Grandison informs
me they excused themselves.”
196 THE DOWAGER.
“But why on earth,” observed Hartington, “don’t you
address yourselves at once for contradiction to Maxzini ?”-
“What good are we likely to extract from a coxcomb of a
foreign fortune hunter!” cried the General.
“You wrong him | Mazzini is a good fellow enough in
his way,” interposed Lord Gransden. “Ignorant of our
customs, Lady Medwyn and her flourishes have led him into
a few mistakes. But he is a gentheman at heart. Suppos-
ing we try to find him at the Travellers ?”
To the Travellers accordingly the well-intentioned trio
proceeded; and nothing was easier than to obtain in writing
from Mazzini a refutation most positive and complete of alf
the calumies against the fair fame of Lady Alicia de Wendover.
“Behold the result of your precious system of plunging
young ladies headlong into the whirlpool of society P’ cried
Mazzini, deeply shocked when the recent events in which his
name was so strangely involved, were unfolded to his know-
ledge. “For the last four and twenty hours, every soul I met
has been looking askance at me ; but as Heaven is my judge,
I had not the remotest suspicion of the cause. I would faim
have made myself acceptable to Lord Grandison’s daughter,
but in a fair and honorable manner. When the Hilsbys made
some allusion to her yesterday, I fancied they were aware of
the summary manner in which I had been dismissed the
house; and turning sulky, refused to answer, and left them
to their conjectures. But command me, my dear Gransden,
in any way ! I will speak—write—go—come—just as it suits
you. Surely there will be no difficulty, however, in obtain-
ing better testimonials than mine. A girl in Lady Alicia's
position could not have absented herself from home, unnotic-
ed; but, in heaven's name, why did not Lord Grandison ap-
ply in the first instance to myself?”
“You don’t suppose that he assigned a moment’s credence
to the report f° cried the old General, sternly. “He knew
his daughter, Sir. The injury he had to resent was on the
part of his nephew ; and rashly alas, did he resent it ! Your
turn would have come.” -
“It strikes me,” observed Chaude Hartington, who had
-been summing up the evidence, “that to this written declara-
tion of the Prince we had better add a similar statement
from Lady Dulwich and her servants, that Lady Alicia de
Wendover was not at her house at all, on the night of the ball ;
and another from Lady Gransden, recounting the peculiar
circumstances of her own departure with Lord Chichester.”
THE DowAGER. 197
“Besides the attestation of Lord Grandison's governess
and servants, that on the night in question, Lady Alicia never
quitted the drawing room in Park Lane—Johnny Chichester
spent the evening there, and can confirm it ’’ cried General
Maxwell. - . . - - -
“I fear, my dear General,” observed Lord Gransden,
mournfully shaking his head as they quitted the Travellers
together, that all this will have a less happy result than the
admirable éclaircissement to which you brought my own do-
mestic dilemmas It will be but establishing Alicia's triumph
over her grave However, it ought to be established . For
the sake both of Grandison and the Langleys, it must be
clearly demonstrated to the public that the lost angel was sa-
crificed to the wanton gossip of a clique of scandal mongers!”
*
CHAPTER XVII.
This looks not like a bridal?
- sHAxsprARE.
The exculpatory document thus suggested, was accord-
ingly drawn up by General Maxwell, with a degree of pre-
cision worthy the punctilio of an ex-governor, and the zeal.
of a faithful friend. -
º
Convincing beyond all dispute, he next proceeded to have
it formally submitted, through the intervention of Mr. Clain-
minson, to the inspection of the Dowager and her daughter.
It was in vain they remonstrated against being pointed out
as the poisoned fountain head whence the fatal rumors had
emanated. The fact was so clearly brought home to them,
that they saw it would be wiser to submit to private mortifi-
cation than hazard a public exposure. Mr. Clamminson’s
preliminary harangue, in honor of his own professional and
unprofessional character, though merely a mechanical portion
of his daily discourse, was resented as bitter irony; and it
was probably with a view to hasten the dapper little solici-
tor’s exit from her house, that the Dowager consented to
add in writing to the exoneration of the dying Lady Alicia de
Wendover, a retraction of all her scandal, and an attestation
well calculated to bear her blameless. - -
It was not by the hand of Clamminson, however, but by
17*. - - -
198 THE DOWAGER,
his own, that General Maxwell chose to have this triumphant
defence conveyed to Morison Langley. Rangley was enti-
tled to this deference from a man as worthy and honorable
as himself. If guilty of having in a single instance accord-
ed faith to the evil speaking, lying, and slandering, of those
connected with him by a tie so dear as almost to consecrate
their failings, heavy, indeed, had been his atonement. Augus-
tus was safe. A few weeks would bring about his convales-
cence. But what was to repay the agony endured during the
peril of that only son, the suspense—the self upbraiding !—
And even now that the crisis of grief was past, what was to
repay the bitter consciousness of the wound inflicted upon
his early friend, upon the kind—the generous Grandison 1
With the sympathy of a noble mind, General Maxwell en-
tered warmly into all this. He was prepared to touch with
sensitive delicacy the still smarting wounds of the Langleys.
There was in fact sueh deep sorrow in his heart, as to render
impossible all severity of speech or sentiment.
It was to the presence of Lady Mary, however, that he
was admitted on reaching the wayside inn if which the fami-
ly had taken refuge; of Lady Mary, who welcomed his in-
telligence as all that was wanting to complete the restoration :
of her darling son. Already, Augustus had gathered from
the lips of Lord Chichester (who from the moment, of learn-
ing his misfortune had never quitted his chamber,) sufficient
indications of the groundlessness of the charge in support of
which he had rashly hazarded his life, to impart comfort to
his hours of suffering ; and his mother and sister had care-
fully kept from his knowledge all suspicion of the plight of
his beloved Alicia.
“I am grieved that we had no intimation of your visit.”
said Lady Mary, after gratefully thanking General Maxwell
for his patient explanations, and still more warmly for his in-
telligence of amendment in the state of the sufferer in Park
Lane, “that we might have spared you the trouble of coming
to this unlucky spot, during Langley’s absence. My husband
is gone to town on urgent business. Lady Conyngsby is no
more ; and he has established his claim, according to a re-
cent decision of the House of Lords to the Barony of Lang-
ley, which she enjoyed in her own right, though merged in
the title of her husband the late Earl.”
“As I fancy it is an instance when advanced age renders
condolence superfluous—” the General was beginning.
THE DOWAGER, 199
“Nay, I confess the old lady's decease has inspired me
with feelings of regret I had never anticipated,” interrupted
Lady Langley. “Infirm as she was, I can never forget that
it was the shock of hearing a report of the untimely death of
my son, for whom she had a sincele affection, which accele-
rated her end.”
Such indeed was the fact. The event which at once re-
deemed the shattered fortunes of a worthy man, and by re-
moving him to the Upper House, obviated the painful results
of his unpopularity in the ungrateful county to which he had
devoted himself, was the only auspicious consequence of the
sad crisis involving almost every branch of the family. The
congratulations offered on all sides to the new Lord Langley,
who was welcomed by acclamation to the House of Peers as
a high illustration of their order, were tempered it is true with
the gravity due to the misfortune impending over his house.
But already it was known that the danger of Augustus was at
an end, and the danger of Lady Alicia ending ; and few an-
nouncements were ever received by the frivolous public of the
coteries, with more heartfelt gratification.
Strangely enough, however, so singular re-action had tak-
en place as regards the credulity of the said coteries, that from
believing all things, they had taken to believing nothing ! Not
a soul in the three parishes of St. George, St. James, and St.
Mary, save her own household and apothecary, would accord
the slightest faith to the sudden demise of the venerable Coun-
tess of Conyngsby l—She could not be dead. It was impos-
sible that any body who had lived so much longer than was
necessary, should have died at such a convenient juncture.
It was a thing devised by the enemy;-il was a Dowager f
Long after the newspapers had inserted her Ladyship’s
name in their polite necrology—long after the Morning Post
had described the Spanish mahogany shell, the coffins inner
and outer—may even the gilt hand'es and cherub's heads adorn-
ing them, the gay world still sceptical, persisted in leaving its
cards of inquiry at her mansion in Berkeley Square. Since
Lady Alicia de Wendover had seen fit to recover, in defiance
of their announcement of her death, they resolved to keep old
Lady Conyngsby alive, in spite of herself.
But if, even by these idlers, even by such persons as the
Duchess of Woolwich, Lady Gateshead, Lady Dulwich, the
Ashfords, the Maddingtons, the news of Lady Alicia's reco-
very was welcomed with joy, what were the feelings of the
200 THE DOWAGER.
*.
adoring father, the tender friend, the good governess, the faith-
ful Wallis, the broken hearted sisters to whom death was in-
deed a king of terrors—while watching the gradual amend-
ment of the invalid I
While she lay in the first instance insensible, they fancied
the extent of their wishes was to see her exhibit signs of life.
—When ſever came with its frenzied violence, all they prayed
for was a restoration to the same tranquil immobility. By de-
grees they hoped for more. The fond father would sit for hours,
with his eyes fixed upon her altered face, watching for a ray
of reason—an indication of sensibility.—No one but Johnny
Chichester could have had patience with his silent desponden-
cy. Not a word, scarcely a sigh burst from his lips. His
powers of intellect and feeling seemed concentrated into a
single care—his child—his dying child !—
It was a moment beyond the power of description when, at
last, one afternoon when he had been gazing for hours upon her
face, with her relaxed nerveless hand folded in his own, a
spasmodic contraction seemed to pass over her features,-
and immediately afterwards, tears—big tears—stole from be-
neath her closed eyelids.
An imperfect murmur issued from her lips. Lord Grandison
stooped down to listen, to listen with repressed breath and a
beating heart. In the first dawn of returning reason, she was
evidently addressing some one, probably the person dearest
to her; and he trembled as he bent his ear towards her, kest
she should breathe another name than that of her father'
“She is conscious—she is herself!”—he exclaimed to poor
Chichester, when, shortly afterwards their faithful compan-
ion entered the room. “Let us bless God together, my dear
Chichester who alone can tell how dear she is to us both !”—
That day, she was able to include poor Johnny himself in
her feeble thanks and inquiries. She had evidently lost all
recollection of the origin of her sufferings. She knew she
had been heavily afflicted, but nothing wherefore. Lady
Gransden, Mrs. Bennet, Lady Langley, Cecilia, as one by
one they were admitted to her bedside to snatch a glimpse of
their recovered treasure, were careful not to risk a syllable
likely to renew the chain of broken associations. The two
latter, indeed, had been so considerate as to lay aside their
mourning for Lady Conyngsby, ere they visted Park Lane,
lest their gloomy aspect should revive unpleasant impressions.
Something in Lady Alicia's manner of raising the hand of
THE DOWAGER. 201
Augustus’s mother to her lips, at their second visit, encourag-
ed them to venture upon the mention of his name.
“Next week, dearest Alicia, if you continue to gain
strength, you will, perhaps, allow me to bring with me my
husband and son 7” whispered Lady Langley, imprinting a
kiss upon her pale forehead. *
“When you will !—as you will !” faintly murmured the
feeble girl. Then, having striven to collect her scattered
thoughts, the chain of ideas connected with the name of Au-
gustus, seemed to vibrate. She looked from face to face, as
though striving to gain intelligence of all that had been pass-
ing ; and, at length, with sudden consciousness, clasped her
hands over her face, and burst into tears. *
“Let her weep in peace,” whispered Lady Langley to
Cecilia, who was attempting to pacify her grief. “In such
tears, there is consolation. All will now be well. Better
that the past should be fully developed to her comprehension,
in order to prepare her for the future.”
Meanwhile, the greatest difficulty of all, had been accom-
plished in the meeting of the two fathers. Each had injuries
to resent on the part of the other; each had generosity of
mind superior to the sense of resentment. There was some-
thing deeply affecting, however, in the stern sobriety with
which they silently shook hands, while their very souls were
stirred within them by emotions such as they would not shame
their manhood by indulging. “Grandison?”—“My dear
Langley !”—was all that passed between them ; accompanied
by one of those fervent grasps of the hand, into which an
Englishman knows how to infuse such worlds of impassion-
ed feeling.
It was tacitly understood that every thing should be forgot-
ten between them, save their project for the union of their
children. The pride of Augustus's father was secured from
compromise, by the recent change in his circumstances. With-
out harassing the worthy Burnaby, or distressing the tenants,
he was able to pay down a round sum for the Wilsmere es-
tate, and include it in the settlement of his daughter’s fortune.
It is scarcely necessary to premise that, during his broth-
erly attendance upon Augustus, Lord Chichester had found
means to make known his sentiments to Cecilia; and to ob-
tain from her, in return, avowals entitling him to demand the
consent of his father to their marriage. To withhold it, was
impossible. The Earl of Delmaine had no reasonable ob-
202 THE DOWAGER,
jection to urge against the only daughter of one of the most
ancient English barons; more especially, one who was ena-
ble to secure the prospect from his dining-room windows at
Chichester Court
Within a month of the time when the pettifogging brother of
Sir Jacob Appleby had caused the Courant to embellish
its columns with a jeremiad on the ruined fortunes of Morison
Iangley, he was a wealthy peer of the realm—his daughter on
the eve of marriage with the only son of a prosperous Earl—and
his son affianced to the prettiest and sweetest of English heir-
esses | His friend Harrington took care that the whole coun-
ty should ring with the news. There were no malcontents
on the occasion. Even the Delmaines were too busy putting
a good face upon Lady Charlotte Chichester’s hasty match
with Massimo Mazzini, to let the world perceive they still
cherished a grudge against the happy family at Langley Park.
“This is being happy indeed—happier I fear than I de-
serve ſ” exclaimed Lord Grandison over his claret, on the day
when Lady Alicia returned home from her first airing with
Lady Gransden; if not quite restored to her former self, ex-
hibiting a new self if possible more feminine and more attrac-
tive. “Every thing has been so providentially ordered, that
I scarcely dare look back with regret to the past.”
“We have had some narrow escapes, however, to serve
us for future warning !” rejoined General Maxwell, who,
with his ward and Lady Gransden, had joined the family
party in Park Lane. “It is no merit of mine, for instance,
that my poor friend Windsor’s will, has proved invalid for
want of two witnesses, and that Sir Henry shares with Mrs.
Were the property of their uncle. It is no merit of ’’
“Not a word more in recurrence to the past !” cried Lord
Grandison. “If we want the world to forget our past blun-
ders, we must begin by forgetting them ourselves. I have
promised our two silly brides, that the double wedding shall
be quietly and unceremoniously solemnized, in order to avoid
a revival of histories, which, amid the wear and tear of socie-
ty, are already nearly effaced from the public mind. None
have much cause to wish them remembered. There is but
one among us, who has been uniformly reasonable—uniform-
ly good—uniformly kind.”
“Johnny Chichester!” burst at once from all present.
“And he, poor fellow, is too deeply mortified by the share
exercised by the Dowager in our misfortunes, to have any
THE DOWAGER, 203
taste for retrospection. I have good news for you, however,
my dear Lady Gransden. Johnny is busy to-day, supervis-
ing the removal of his bachelor goods and chattels, to Chi-
chester’s house in Green Street, the lease of which he has,
on his marriage, presented to his uncle.”
“Don’t call it good news for us !” cried Lord Gransden.
“Johnny was the only redeeming point which seemed to pre-
serve the house at number 34 from general malediction
We shall be now wholly without defence against the Dowager!”
“Look here !” continued Lord Grandison, taking from
the hand of Williams the evening papers, which he had just
brought in.
“On Monday next, the 24th Inst.
Will be sold, in one lot, without reserve,
A CAPITAL FREEHOLD MESSUAGE
Situate
NO. 34, UPPER GROSVENOR STREET.
Lately in the occupation of that distinguished Lady,
The DOWAGER countESS OF DELMAINE.
Including,
ON THE BASEMENT STORY,
Flagged back and front areas,
A CAPITAL KITCHEN, WITH PATENT STEAM RANGES, FLUEs,
OVENS, AND HOT-PLATE. *
Scullery, with Stone-sink, Pantry, House keeper's and Butler's rooms, Coal
Cellars, Dusthole,
A FIRST-RATE ALE AND BEER CELLAR,
And Cellarage for Five Pipes of Wine,
with ten guineas-worth more of George Robinisms, in honor of its five stories.
You have to thank Chichester for this. Chichester has made
arrangements with his father, enabling them to buy off the
Dowager with an annuity, and a house on Hyde Park Ter-
race.”
“Poor soul | A house where she will have no opposite
neighbors,” interrupted Lady Gransden.
“This advertisement, however, is merely intended as a sal-
vo for her Ladyship's pride. Before Monday the 24th the
house will be mine by private contract. A week afterwards,
nothing will remain on the spot, but the scaffolding necessa-
ry to raise a new town residence for a certain Honorable.
Augustus and Lady Alicia Langley.”
“How charming—how delightful ſ” cried Lady Gransden.
“Next spring what a happy circle will be collected on the .
spot to which we have all looked with terror, as the den of the
Dowager ſ”
The happy prospects thus contemplated, have been realiz-
+.
.*
sº
THE DOWAGER,
£d.—Within these few weeks, the Langleys, Chichesters,
ºransdens, have been united in the new mansion. Lady
#Alicia Langley, indeed, sometimes tries to renew the old sys-
*...tem of espionage, by attempting to attract the notice of her
glittle god-daughter Laura Gransden, whom the nurse proudly
#displays at the window.
“Have a care! A year or two hence we shall have that
pretty puss telegraphing across the way to a little Master Au-
gustus ! Though to be sure Lady Helen Windsor will be on
the spot by that time, to keep watch over their flirtations !”
remonstrates Johnny Chichester, who, restored to his sense
of hearing, divides his happy life between the three families,
by whom he is so dearly cherished—revered as a counsellor
—loved as almost more than a father.
By his advice, Augustus Langley has refrained at present
from the representation of his father's county; and Lord
Langley, amid the high distinctions he has already obtain-
ed in the Upper House, looks down with sincere compassion
upon Lord Halidown's nephew, Hervey d'Ewes of Betching-
ham Priory, who is stemming the tide of unpopularity in his
place. He has, however, probably forgotten the ingratitude
of his former constituents; for Sir Josiah Threlkeld is said
to owe his knighthood to Langley’s interposition, while La-
dy Threlkeld's protégée, Sarah Smith, has been for some
time past an inmate of the Asylum for the Blind.
Lady Dearmouth, Mrs. Crouch, Lady Meliora, and Lady
Meliora's mother, like all defeated conspirators, soon fell up-
on each other with bitter recrimination, and are now bosom
enemies as they were once bosom friends. Poor Lord
Dearmouth, however, is the gainer. The new School for
Scandal has been as completely broken up by the Mazzini
exposure, as the Yorkshire schools by the publication of
Dotheboys Hall. The edifice may be said to have crum-
bled, brick by brick, during the demolition of the condemn-
ed mansion of THE Dow AGER.
THE END,


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