Part 15 (1/2)

I bowed as stiffly as I could in saying good-night to Lord Doraine and Lord Valmond, and they both looked so astonished, that perhaps it was Mr. Hodgkinson after all; it _is_ awkward not knowing, isn't it? This morning all the guests are going, and on Monday, as you know, Tom and Octavia take me with them to stay at Foljambe Place, with the Murray-Hartleys for the Gra.s.sfield Hunt Ball. It will be fun, I hope, but I can never enjoy myself more than I have done here.--Now, good-bye, dear Mamma, your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

[Sidenote: _The Murray-Hartleys_]

_P.S._--Octavia says the Murray-Hartleys aren't people you would know, but one must go with the times, and she will take care of me. E.

FOLJAMBE PLACE

Foljambe Place,

_15th November_.

[Sidenote: _The Coat of Arms_]

Dearest Mamma,--We arrived here this afternoon in time for tea. It is a splendid place, and everything has been done up for them by that man who chooses things for people when they don't know how themselves. He is here now, and he is quite a gentleman, and has his food with us; I can't remember his name, but I daresay you know about him.

Everything is Louis XV. and Louis XVI., but it doesn't go so well in the saloon as it might, because the panelling is old oak, with the Foljambe coats of arms still all round the frieze, and over the mantelpiece, which is Elizabethan. And I heard this--(Mr. Jones I shall have to call him)--say that it jarred upon his nervous system like an intense pain, but that Mrs. Murray-Hartley would keep them up, because there was a ”Murray” coat of arms in one of the s.h.i.+elds of the people they married, and she says it is an ancestor of hers, and that is why they bought the place; but as Octavia told me that their real name was Hart, and that they hyphened the ”Murray,” which is his Christian name (if Jews can have Christian names) and put on the ”ley” by royal licence, I can't see how it could have been an ancestor, can you?

They are quite established in Society, Octavia says; they have been there for two seasons now, and every one knows them. They got Lady Greswold to give their first concert, and enclosed programmes with the invitations, so hardly any of the d.u.c.h.esses felt they could refuse, Octavia said, when they were certain of hearing the best singers for nothing; and it was a splendid plan, as many concerts have been spoilt by a rumour getting about that Melba was not really going to sing.

Everybody smart is here. I am one of the few unt.i.tled people.

[Sidenote: _A Friendly Little Party_]

Mrs. Murray-Hartley doesn't look a bit Jewish, or fat and uneasy, like Mrs. Pike, but then this is only Mrs. Pike's first year. She--Mrs.

M.-H.--is beautifully dressed, and awfully genial; she said it was ”just more than delightful” of Octavia to bring me, and that it was so sweet of her to come to this friendly little party. ”It is so much nicer to have just one's own friends,” she said, ”instead of those huge collections of people one hardly knows.” There are quite twenty of us here, Mamma, so I don't call it such a very weeny party, do you?

My bedroom is magnificent, but it hasn't all the new books as they have at Chevenix, and although the writing-table things are tortoise-sh.e.l.l and gold, there aren't any pens in the holders, that is why I am writing this in pencil. The towels have such beautifully embroidered double crests on them, and on the Hartley bit, the motto is ”_La fin vaut l'esch.e.l.le_.” Octavia, who is in the room now looking at everything, said Lady Greswold chose it for them when they wanted a crest to have on their Sevres plates and things for their concert.

Octavia keeps laughing to herself all the time, as she looks at the things, and it puts me out writing, so I will finish this when I come to bed.

[Sidenote: _A Question of Taste_]

12.30.--We had a regular banquet, I sat next to Lord Doraine--I did not catch the name of the man who took me in--I forgot to tell you the Doraines and Sir Trevor and Lady Cecilia and lots of others I know are here. Mrs. Murray-Hartley does hostess herself, which Octavia says is very plucky of her, as both Lady Greswold, who gave her concert, and Lady Bobby Pomeroy, who brought all the young men, are staying in the house; and Octavia says it shows she is really clever to have emanc.i.p.ated herself so soon.

We had gold plate with the game, and china up to that, and afterwards Lady Greswold talked to Octavia, and asked her if she thought it would look better perhaps to begin gold with the soup, and have the _hors d'oeuvres_ on specimen Sevres just to make a point. I hate gold plate myself, one's knife does make such slate-pencilish noises on it.

[Sidenote: _Lord Valmond's Arrival_]

The man who took me in kept putting my teeth so on edge that I was obliged to speak to him about it at last. We had sturgeon from the Volga, or wherever the Roman emperors got theirs, but the plates were cold. Violins played softly all the time, behind a kind of Niagara Falls at the end of the room, which is magnificent; it is hung with aubusson, almost as good as what they had at Croixmare, which has been there always.

After dinner, while we were in the drawing-room alone, a note came for Mrs. Murray-Hartley. She was talking to Octavia and me, so she read it aloud; it was from Lord Valmond, and sent from the inn in the little town. He said he had intended staying there by himself for the Hunt Ball, but that on arrival he found no fire in his room, so he was writing to ask if Mrs. Murray-Hartley would put him up. She was enchanted, and at once asked Lady Greswold if it would not be better to turn Lord Oldfield out of his room--which is the best in the bachelors'

suite--as he is only a baron; but Lady Greswold said she did not think it would matter. I do call it odd, don't you, Mamma? because Lord Valmond told me, when he left Chevenix on Sat.u.r.day, that he had to go to another party in Yorks.h.i.+re, and was as cross as a bear because he would not be able to be at the Gra.s.sfield ball. He turned up beautifully dressed as usual, as quickly as it was possible for the brougham which was sent for him to get back. He could not have kept it waiting a moment; so I don't believe the story about there being no fire in his room, do you?

[Sidenote: _Friendly Offers_]

Mrs. Murray-Hartley did gush at him. Octavia says it is the first time she has been able to get him to her house, as he is ridiculously old-fas.h.i.+oned and particular, and actually in London won't go to places unless he knows the host and hostess personally. He stood with a vacant frown on his face all the time Mrs. Murray-Hartley was speaking, and a child could have seen he wanted to get away. It is in these kind of ways Frenchmen are more polite, because the Marquis always wore an interested grin when G.o.dmamma kept him by her. He got away at last, and came across the room, but by that time Sir Trevor and Mr.

Hodgkinson were talking to me, and there was no room for him on our sofa, and he had to speak to Lady Cecilia, who was near. She was as absent as usual, and he was talking at random, so their conversation was rather funny; I heard sc.r.a.ps of it.