Volume II Part 23 (1/2)
”Dear mamma, what is the use of talking about dresses I am never going to require? Not for all the finery that Theodore ever made would I marry Lord Mallow, or anybody else. I am happy enough with you, and my horse, and my dog, and all the dear old things, animal and vegetable, that belong to this dear old place. I shall never leave you, or the Forest. Can you not be content to know this and let me alone?”
”You are a very wilful girl, Violet, and ridiculously blind to your own interests,” remarked Mrs. Winstanley, throwing herself back in her chair with a fretful look, ”and you put me in an absurd position. The d.u.c.h.ess quite congratulated me about your brilliant prospects, when we were chatting together on New Year's Eve. Anybody could see how devoted Lord Mallow was, she said, and what a splendid match it would be for you.”
”Let the d.u.c.h.ess marry her own daughter, and leave me alone,” cried Vixen scornfully.
This was the kind of thing she had to endure continually during the chill winter months that followed Lord Mallow's departure. Even her old friends the Scobels worried her about the Irish peer, and lamented her inability to perceive his merits. It was known throughout her particular circle that she had been idiotic enough to refuse Lord Mallow. Mrs. Winstanley had whispered the fact to all her friends, under the seal of strictest secrecy. Of all Vixen's acquaintance, Roderick Vawdrey was the only one who said no word to her about Lord Mallow; but he was much kinder to her after the Irishman's departure than he had shown himself during his visit.
Spring put on her green mantle; and when the woods were starred with primroses, and the banks lovely with heaven-hued dog-violets, everyone of any pretension to importance in the social scale began to flee from the Forest as from a loathsome place. Lord Ellangowan's train of vans and waggons set out for the railway-station with their load of chests and baskets. Julius Caesar's baggage was as nothing to the Saratoga trunks and bonnet-boxes of Lady Ellangowan. The departure of the Israelites from Egypt was hardly a mightier business than this emigration of the Ellangowan household. The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess, and Lady Mabel Ashbourne, left for the Queen Anne house at Kensington, whereat the fas.h.i.+onable London papers broke out in paragraphs of rejoicing, and the local journals bewailed the extinction of their sun.
The London season had begun, and only the n.o.bodies stayed in the Forest to watch the rosy sunsets glow and fade behind the yellow oaks; to see the purple of the beech-boughs change mysteriously to brightest green; and the bluebells burst into blossom in the untrodden glades and bottoms. Captain Winstanley found a small house in Mayfair, which he hired for six weeks, at a rent which he p.r.o.nounced exorbitant. He sacrificed his own ideas of prudence to the gratification of his wife; who had made up her mind that she had scarcely the right to exist until she had been presented to her sovereign in her new name. But when Mrs.
Winstanley ventured to suggest the d.u.c.h.ess of Dovedale, as her sponsor on this solemn occasion, her husband sternly tabooed the notion.
”My aunt, Lady Susan Winstanley, is the proper person to present you,”
he said authoritatively.
”But is she really your aunt, Conrad? You never mentioned her before we were married?”
”She is my father's third cousin by marriage; but we have always called her Aunt. She is the widow or Major-General Winstanley, who distinguished himself in the last war with Tippoo Sab, and had a place at Court in the reign of William the Fourth.”
”She must be dreadfully old and dowdy,” sighed Mrs. Winstanley, whose only historical idea of the Sailor King's reign was as a period of short waists and beaver bonnets.
”She is not a chicken, and she does not spend eight hundred a year on her dressmaker,” retorted the Captain. ”But she is a very worthy woman, and highly respected by her friends. Why should you ask a favour of the d.u.c.h.ess of Dovedale?”
”Her name would look so well in the papers,” pleaded Mrs. Winstanley.
”The name of your husband's kinswoman will look much more respectable,”
answered the Captain; and in this, as in most matters, he had his own way.
Lady Susan Winstanley was brought from her palatial retirement to spend a fortnight in Mayfair. She was bony, wiggy, and snuffy; wore false teeth and seedy apparel; but she was well-bred and well-informed, and Vixen got on with her much better than with the accomplished Captain.
Lady Susan took to Vixen; and these two went out for early walks together in the adjacent Green Park, and perambulated the picture-galleries, before Mrs. Winstanley had braced herself up for the fatigues of a fas.h.i.+onable afternoon.
Sometimes they came across Mr. Vawdrey at a picture-gallery or in the Park; and at the first of these chance meetings, struck by the obvious delight with which the two young people greeted each other, Lady Susan jumped to a conclusion.
”That's your young man, I suppose, my dear,” she said bluntly, when Rorie had left them.
”Oh, Lady Susan!”
”It's a vulgar expression, I know, my dear, but it comes natural to me; I hear it so often from our housemaids. I fancied that you and that handsome young fellow must be engaged.”
”Oh no. We are only old friends. He is engaged to Lady Mabel Ashbourne--a very grand match.”
”That's a pity,” said Lady Susan.
”Why?”
”Well, my dear,” answered the old lady hesitatingly, ”because when one hears of a grand match, it generally means that a young man is marrying for the sake of money, and that young old friend of yours looks too good to throw himself away like that.”
”Oh, but indeed, Lady Susan, it is not so in Rorie's case. He has plenty of money of his own.”
The important day came; and Lady Susan, Mrs. Winstanley, and Violet packed themselves and their finery into a capacious carriage, and set off for St. James's. The fair Pamela's costume was an elaborate example of Theodore's highest art; colours, design, all of the newest--a delicate harmony of half-tints, an indescribable interblending of feathers, lace, and flowers. Violet was simply and elegantly dressed by the same great artist. Lady Susan wore a petticoat and train that must have been made in the time of Queen Adelaide. Yes, the faded and unknown hue of the substantial brocade, the skimpiness of the satin, the quaint devices in piping-cord and feather-st.i.tch--must a.s.suredly have been coeval with that good woman's famous hat and spencer.