Out in the Forty-Five Part 29

Grandmamma looked at me, then at Flora, then at Annas, and took a pinch of snuff.

"How dusty you are, my dear!" said she. "Pray go and s.h.i.+ft your gown.

Perkins will show you the way."

She just gave a nod to the other two, and then went back to her discourse with the gentleman next her. Those are what Grandmamma calls easy manners, I know: but I think I like the other sort better. My Aunt Kezia would have given the girls a warm grasp of the hand and a kiss, and told them they were heartily welcome, and begged them to make themselves at home. Grandmamma thinks that rough and coa.r.s.e and country-bred: but I am sure it makes me feel more as if people really were pleased to see me.

I felt that I must just speak first to my Aunt Dorothea; and she did shake hands with Flora and me, and courtesied to Annas. Then we courtesied to the company, and left the room, I telling the big man that Grandmamma wished Perkins to attend us. The big man looked over the banisters, and said, "Harry, call Perkins." When Perkins came, she proved, as I expected, to be Grandmamma's waiting-maid; and she carried us off to a little chamber on the upper floor, where was hardly room for anything but two beds.

Flora, I saw, seemed to feel strange and uncomfortable, as if she were somewhere where she had no business to be; but Annas behaved like one to the manner born, and handed her gloves to Perkins with the air of a princess--I do not mean proudly, but easily, as if she knew just what to do, and did it, without any feeling of awkwardness.

We had to wait till the trunks were carried up, and Perkins had unpacked our tea-gowns; then we s.h.i.+fted ourselves, and had our hair dressed, and went back to the withdrawing room. Perkins is a stranger to me, and I was sorry not to see Willet, Grandmamma's old maid: but Grandmamma never keeps servants long, so I was not surprised. I don't believe Willet had been with her above six years, when I left Carlisle.

Annas sat down on an empty chair in the circle, and began to talk with the lady nearest to her. Flora, apparently in much hesitation, took a chair, but did not venture to talk. I knew what I had to do, and I felt as if my old ways would come back if I called them. I sat down near my Aunt Dorothea.

"That friend of yours, Cary, is quite a distinguished-looking girl,"

said my Aunt Dorothea, in a low voice. "Really presentable, for the country, you know."

I said Annas came of a high Scots family, and was related to Sir James De Lannoy, of the Isle of Wight. I saw that Annas went up directly in my Aunt Dorothea's thermometer.

"De Lannoy!" said she. "A fine old Norman line. Very well connected, then? I am glad to hear it."

Flora, I saw, was getting over her shyness--indeed, I never knew her seem shy before--and beginning to talk a little with her next neighbour.

I looked round, but could not see any one I knew. I took refuge in an inquiry after my Uncle Charles.

"He is very well," said my Aunt Dorothea. "He is away somewhere--men always are. At the Court, I dare say."

How strange it did sound! I felt as if I had come into a new world.

"I hope that is not your best gown, child?" said my Aunt Dorothea.

"But it is, Aunt--my best tea-gown," I answered.

"Then you must have a better," replied she. "It is easy to see that was made in the country."

"Certainly it was, Aunt. f.a.n.n.y and I made it."

My Aunt Dorothea shrugged her shoulders, gave me a glance which said plainly, "Don't tell tales out of school!" and turned to another lady in the group.

At Brocklebank we never thought of not saying such things. But I see I have forgotten many of my Carlisle habits, and I shall have to pick them up again by degrees.

When we went up to bed, I found that Grandmamma had asked Annas to stay in London. Annas replied that her father had given her leave to stay a month if she wished it and were offered the chance, and she would be very pleased: but that as Flora was her guest, the invitation would have to include both. Grandmamma glanced again at Flora, and took another pinch of snuff.

"I suppose she has some Courtenay blood in her," said she. "And Drummond is not a bad name--for a Scotswoman. She can stay, if she be not a Covenanter, and won't want to pray and preach. She must have a new gown, and then she will do, if she keep her mouth shut. She has a fine pair of shoulders, if she were only dressed decently."

"I am glad," said I, "for I know what that means. Grandmamma likes Annas, and will like Flora in time. Don't be any shyer than you can help, Flora; that will not please her."

"I do not think I am shy," said Flora; "at least, I never felt so before. But to-night--Cary, I don't know what it looked like! I could only think of a great spider's web, and we three poor little flies had to walk straight into it."

"I wonder where Duncan and Angus are to-night," said Annas; "I hope no one is playing spider there."

Flora sighed, but made no answer.

Our new gowns had to be made in a great hurry, for Grandmamma had invited an a.s.sembly for the Thursday night, and she wished Flora and me to be decently dressed, she said. I am sure I don't know how the mantua-maker managed it, for the cloth was only bought on Monday morning; I suppose she must have had plenty of apprentices. The gowns were sacques of cherry damask, with quilted silk petticoats of black trimmed with silver lace. I find hoops are all the mode again, and very large indeed--so big that when you enter a door you have to double your hoop round in front, or lift it on one side out of the way. The cap is a little sc.r.a.p of a thing, scarce bigger than a crown-piece, and a flower or pompoon is stuck at the side; stomachers are worn, and very full elbow-ruffles; velvet slippers with high heels. Grandmamma put a little grey powder in my hair, but when Flora said she was sure that her father would disapprove, she did not urge her to wear it. But she did want us both to wear red ribbons mixed with our white ones. I did not know what to do.

"I did not know Mrs Desborough was a trimmer," said Annas, in the severest tone I ever heard from her lips.

"What shall we do?" said I.

"I shall not wear them," said Flora. "Mrs Desborough is not my grandmother; nor has my father put me in her care. I do not see, therefore, that I am at all bound to obey her. For you, Cary, it is different. I think you will have to submit."

"But only think what it means!" cried I.

"It means," said Annas, "that you are indifferent in the matter of politics."

"If it meant only that," I said, "I should not think much about it. But surely it means more, much more. It means that I am disloyal; that I do not care whether the King or the Elector wins the day; or even that I do care, and am willing to hide my belief for fas.h.i.+on's or money's sake.

This red ribbon on me is a lie; and an acted lie is no better than a spoken one."

My Aunt Dorothea came in so immediately after I had spoken that I felt sure she must have heard me.

"Dear me, what a fuss about a bit of ribbon!" said she. "Cary, don't be a little goose."

"Aunt, I only want to be true!" cried I. "It is my truth I make a fuss about, not my ribbons. I will wear a ribbon of every colour in the rainbow, if Grandmamma wish it, except just this one which tells falsehoods about me."

"My dear, it is so unbecoming in you to be thus warm!" said my Aunt Dorothea. "Enthusiasm is always in bad taste, no matter what it is about. You will not see half-a-dozen ladies in the room in white ribbons. n.o.body expects the Prince to come South."

"But, Aunt, please give me leave to say that it will not alter my truthfulness, whether the Prince comes to London or goes to the North Pole!" cried I. "If the Elector himself--"

"'Sh-'s.h.!.+" said my Aunt Dorothea. "My dear, that sort of thing may be very well at Brocklebank, but it really will not do in Bloomsbury Square. You must not bring your wild, antiquated Tory notions here.

Tories are among the extinct animals."

"Not while my father is alive, please, Aunt."

"My dear, we are not at Brocklebank, as I told you just now," answered my Aunt Dorothea. "It may be all very well to toast the Chevalier, and pray for him, and so forth--(I am sure I don't know whether it do him any good): but when you come to living in the world with other people, you must do as they do.--Yes, Perkins, certainly, put Miss Courtenay a red ribbon, and Miss Drummond also.--My dear girls, you must."

"Not for me, Mrs Charles, if you please," said Flora, very quietly: "I should prefer, if you will allow it, to remain in this room."

My Aunt Dorothea looked at her, and seemed puzzled what to do with her.

"Miss Keith," said she, "do you wear the red?"

"Certainly not, Madam," replied Annas.

"Well!" said my Aunt Dorothea, shrugging her shoulders, "I suppose we must say you are Scots girls, and have not learnt English customs.--You can let it alone for Miss Drummond, Perkins.--But that won't do for you, Cary; you must have one."

"Aunt Dorothea, I will wear it if you bid me," said I: "but I shall tell everybody who speaks to me that my red ribbon is a lie."