The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

“And there is something so touching so exquisitely touching in those Flemish interiors, where the goodwife is seated reading, and a straggling sunbeam comes slanting in upon the tiled floor. Little peeps of life, as it were, in a class of which we know nothing; for, really, Miss Dalton, iu our order, sympathies are too much fettered; and I often think it would be better that we knew more of the middle classes. When I say this, of course I do not mean as associates, far less as intimates, but as ingredients in the grand scheme of universal nature.”

“‘The no-no-noblest study of man-mankind is’ what is it, sister?”

“‘Man,’ Scroope; but the poet intended to refer to the great aims and objects of our being. Don’t you think so, Miss Dalton? It was not man in the little cares of everyday life, in his social relations, but man in his destinies, in his vast future, when he goes beyond ‘that bourne’ – ”

“From which nobody ever got out again,” cackled Purvis, in an ecstasy at the readiness of his quotation.

“‘From which no traveller returns,’ Scroope, is, I believe, the more correct version.”

“Then it don’t mean pur-pur-pur-purgatory,” gulped Scroope, who, as soon as the word was uttered, became shocked at what he said. “I forgot you were a Ro-Ro-Roman, Miss Dalton,” said he, blushing.

“You are in error, Scroope,” said Mrs. Ricketts. “Miss Dalton is one of ourselves. All the distinguished Irish are of the Reformed faith.”

“I am a Catholic, madam,” said Kate, not knowing whether to be more amused than annoyed at the turn the conversation had taken.

“I knew it,” cried Purvis, in delight. “I tracked your carriage to the D-D-Duomo, and I went in after you, and saw you at the co-co-co-co – ”

“Corner,” whispered Martha, who, from his agonies, grew afraid of a fit.

“No, not the corner, but the co-co-co-coufessional-confessional, where you stayed for an hour and forty minutes by my own watch; and I couldn’t help thinking that your pec-pec-pec-peccadilloes were a good long score, by the time it took to to to tell them.”

“Thanks, sir,” said Kate, bowing, and with difficulty restraining her laughter; “thanks for the very kind interest you seem to have taken in my spiritual welfare.”

“Would that I might be suffered a participation in that charge, Miss Dalton,” cried Mrs. Ricketts, with enthusiasm, “and allowed to hold some converse with you on doctrinal questions!”

“Try her with the posers, sister,” whispered Purvis. “Hush, Scroope! Mere opportunities of friendly discussion, nothing more I ask for, Miss Dalton.”

“Give her the posers,” whispered Purvis, louder.

“Be quiet, Scroope. I have been fortunate enough to resolve the doubts of more than one ere this. That dear angel, the Princess Ethelinda of Cobourgh, I believe I may say, owes her present enlightenment to our sweet evenings together.”

“Begin with the posers.”

“Hush! I say, Scroope.”

“May I ask,” said Kate, “what is the suggestion Mr. Purvis has been good enough to repeat?”

“That I should give you this little tract, Miss Dalton,” said Mrs. Ricketts as she drew out a miscellaneous assemblage of articles from a deep pocket, and selected from the mass a small blue-covered pamphlet, bearing the title, “Three Posers for Papists, by M. R.”

“Montague Ricketts,” said Purvis, proudly; “she wrote it herself, and the Pope won’t let us into Rome in consequence. It ‘s very droll, too; and the part about the the Vir-gin – ”

“You will, I ‘m sure, excuse me, madam,” said Kate, “if I beg that this subject be suffered to drop. My thanks for the interest this gentleman and yourself have vouchsafed me will only be more lasting by leaving the impression of them unassociated with anything unpleasing. You were good enough to say that you had a letter for me?”

“A letter from your father, that dear, fond father, who dotes so distractingly upon you, and who really seems to live but to enjoy your triumphs. Martha, where is the letter?”

“I gave it to Scroope, sister.”

“No, you didn’t. I never saw – ”

“Yes, Scroope, I gave it to you, at the drawing-room fire – ”

“Yes, to be sure, and I put it into the ca-ca-ca – ”

“Not the candle, I hope,” cried Kate, in terror.

“No, into the card-rack; and there it is now.”

“How provoking!” cried Miss Ricketts; “but you shall have it to-morrow, Miss Dalton. I ‘ll leave it here myself.”

“Shall I appear impatient, madam, if I send for it this evening?”

“Of course not, my dear Miss Dalton; but shall I commit the precious charge to a menial’s hand?”

“You may do so with safety, madam,” said Kate, not without a slight irritation of manner as she spoke.

“Mr. Foglass, the late minister and envoy at – ”

Here a tremendous crash, followed by a terrific yelping noise, broke in upon the colloquy; for it was Fidele had thrown down a Sevres jar, and lay, half-buried and howling, under the ruins. There was, of course, a general rising of the company, some to rescue the struggling poodle, and others in vain solicitude to gather up the broken fragments of the once beautiful vase. It was a favorite object with Lady Hester; of singular rarity, both for form and design; and Kate stood speechless, and almost sick with shame and sorrow, at the sight, not heeding one syllable of the excuses and apologies poured in upon her, nor of the equally valueless assurances that it could be easily mended; that Martha was a perfect proficient in such arts; and that, if Scroope would only collect the pieces carefully, the most difficult connoisseur would not be able to detect a flaw in it.

“I’ve got a head here; but the no-nose is off,” cried Purvis.

“Here it is, Scroope. I ‘ve found it.”

“No, that’s a toe,” said he; “there ‘s a nail to it.”

“I am getting ill I shall faint,” said Mrs. Ricketts, retiring upon a well-cushioned sofa from the calamity.

Martha now flew to the bell-rope and pulled it violently, while Purvis threw open the window, and with such rash haste as to upset a stand of camellias, thereby scattering plants, buds, earth, and crockery over the floor, while poor Kate, thunderstruck at the avalanche of ruin around her, leaned against the wall for support, unable to stir or even speak. As Martha continued to tug away at the bell, the alarm, suggesting the idea of fire, brought three or four servants to the door together.

“Madeira! quick, Madeira!” cried Martha, as she unloosed various articles of dress from her sister’s throat, and prepared a plan of operations for resuscitation that showed at least an experienced hand.

“Bring wine,” said Kate, faintly, to the astonished butler, who, not noticing Miss Ricketts’s order, seemed to await hers.

“Madeira! it must be Madeira!” cried Martha, wildly.

“She don’t dislike Mar-Mar-Marco-brunner,” whispered Purvis to the servant, “and I’ll take a glass too.”

Had the irruption been one of veritable housebreakers, had the occasion been what newspapers stereotype as a “Daring Burglary,” Kate Dalton might, in all likelihood, have distinguished herself as a heroine. She would, it is more than probable, have evinced no deficiency either of courage or presence of mind, but in the actual contingency nothing could be more utterly helpless than she proved; and, as she glided into a chair, her pale face and trembling features betrayed more decisive signs of suffering than the massive countenance which Martha was now deluging with eau-de-Cologne and lavender.

The wine soon made its appearance; a very imposing array of restoratives the ambulatory pharmacopeia of the Ricketts family was all displayed upon a table. Martha, divested of shawl, bonnet, and gloves, stood ready for action; and thus, everything being in readiness, Mrs. Ricketts, whose consideration never suffered her to take people unawares, now began her nervous attack in all form.

If ague hysterics recovery from drowning tic-doloureux, and an extensive burn had all sent representatives of their peculiar agonies, with injunctions to struggle for a mastery of expression, the symptoms could scarcely have equalled those now exhibited. There was not a contortion nor convulsion that her countenance did not undergo, while the devil’s tattoo, kept up by her heels upon the floor, and her knuckles occasionally on the table, and now and then on Scroope’s head, added fearfully to the effect of her screams, which varied from the deep groan of the melodrame to the wildest shrieks of tragedy.

“There’s no danger, Miss Dalton,” whispered Martha, whose functions of hand-rubbing, temple-bathing, wine-giving, and so forth, were performed with a most jog-trot regularity.

“When she sc-sc-screams, she’s all right,” added Purvis; and, certainly, the most anxious friend might have been comforted on the present occasion.

“Shall I not send for a physician?” asked Kate, eagerly.

“On no account, Miss Dalton. We are quite accustomed to these seizures. My dear sister’s nerves are so susceptible.”

“Yes,” said Scroope, who, be it remarked, had already half finished a bottle of hock, “poor Zoe is all sensibility the scabbard too sharp for the sword. Won’t you have a glass of wine, Miss Dalton?”

“Thanks, sir, I take none. I trust she is better now she looks easier.”

“She is better; but this is a difficult moment,” whispered Martha. “Any shock any sudden impression now might prove fatal.”

“What is to be done, then?” said Kate, in terror.

“She must be put to bed at once, the room darkened, and the strictest silence preserved. Can you spare your room?”

“Oh, of course, anything everything at such a moment,” cried the terrified girl, whose reason was now completely mastered by her fears.

“She must be carried. Will you give orders, Miss Dalton? and, Scroope, step down to the carriage, and bring up – ” Here Miss Ricketts’s voice degenerated into an inaudible whisper; but Scroope left the room to obey the command.

Her sympathy for suffering had so thoroughly occupied Kate, that all the train of unpleasant consequences that were to follow this unhappy incident had never once occurred to her; nor did a thought of Lady Hester cross her mind, till, suddenly, the whole flashed upon her, by the appearance of her maid Nina in the drawing-room.

“To your own room, Mademoiselle?” asked she, with a look that said far more than any words.

“Yes, Nina,” whispered she. “What can I do? She is so ill! They tell me it may be dangerous at any moment, and – ”

“Hush, my dear Miss Dalton!” said Martha; “one word may wake her.”

“I’d be a butterfly!” warbled the sick lady, in a low weak treble; while a smile of angelic beatitude beamed on her features.

“Hush! be still!” said Martha, motioning the surrounders to silence.

“What shall I do, Nina? Shall I go and speak to my Lady?” asked Kate.

A significant shrug of the shoulders, more negative than affirmative, was the only answer.

“I’d be a gossamer, and you’d be the King of Thebes,” said Mrs. Ricketts, addressing a tall footman, who stood ready to assist in carrying her.

“Yes, madam,” said he, respectfully.

“She’s worse,” whispered Martha, gravely.

“And we’ll walk on the wall of China by moonlight, with Cleopatra and Mr. Cobden?”

“Certainly, madam,” said the man, who felt the question too direct for evasion.

“Has she been working slippers for the planet Ju-Ju-Jupiter yet?” asked Purvis, eagerly, as he entered the room, heated, and flushed from the weight of a portentous bag of colored wool.

“No; not yet,” whispered Martha. “You may lift her now, gently very gently, and not a word.”

And in strict obedience, the servants raised their fair burden, and bore her from the room, after Nina, who led the way with an air that betokened a more than common indifference to human suffering.

“When she gets at Ju-Jupiter,” said Purvis to Kate, as they closed the procession, “it’s a bad symptom; or when she fancies she ‘s Hec-Hec-Hec-Hec – ”

“Hecate?”

“No; not Hec-Hecate, but Hecuba – Hecuba; then it’s a month at least before she comes round.”

“How dreadful!” said Kate. And certainly there was not a grain of hypocrisy in the fervor with which she uttered it.

“I don’t think she ‘ll go beyond the San-Sandwich Islands this time, however,” added he, consolingly,

“Hush, Scroope!” cried Martha. And now they entered the small and exquisitely furnished dressing-room which was appropriated to Kate’s use; within which, and opening upon a small orangery, stood her bedroom.

Nina, who scrupulously obeyed every order of her young mistress, continued the while to exhibit a hundred petty signs of mute rebellion.

“Lady Hester wishes to see Miss Dalton,” said a servant at the outer door.

“Can you permit me for a moment?” asked Kate, in a tremor.

“Oh, of course, my dear Miss Dalton; let there be no ceremony with us,” said Martha. “Your kindness makes us feel like old friends already.”

“I feel-myself quite at home,” cried Scroope, whose head was not proof against so much wine; and then, turning to one of the servants, he added a mild request for the two bottles that were left on the drawing-room table.

Martha happily, however, overheard and revoked the order. And now the various attendants withdrew, leaving the family to themselves.

It was ill no pleasant mood that Kate took her way towards Lady Hester’s apartment. The drawing-room, as she passed through it, still exhibited some of the signs of its recent ruin, and the servants were busied in collecting fragments of porcelain and flower-pots. Their murmured comments, hushed as she went by, told her how the occurrence was already the gossip of the household. It was impossible for her not to connect herself with the whole misfortune. “But for her” But she could not endure the thought, and it was with deep humiliation and trembling in every limb that she entered Lady Hester’s chamber.

“Leave me, Celadon; I want to speak to Miss Dalton,” said Lady Hester to the hairdresser, who had just completed one half of her Ladyship’s chevelure, leaving the other side pinned and rolled up in those various preparatory stages which have more of promise than picturesque about them. Her cheek was flushed, and her eyes sparkled with an animation that betrayed more passion than pleasure.

“What is this dreadful story I ‘ve heard, child, and that the house is full of? Is it possible there can be any truth in it? Have these odious people actually dared to establish themselves here? Tell me, child speak!”

“Mrs. Ricketts became suddenly ill,” said Kate, trembling; “her dog threw down a china jar.”

“Not my Sevres jar? not the large green one, with the figures?”

“I grieve to say it was!”

“Go on. What then?” said Lady Hester, dryly.

“Shocked at the incident, and alarmed, besides, by the fall of a flower-stand, she fainted away, and subsequently was seized with what I supposed to be a convulsive attack, but to which her friends seemed perfectly accustomed, and pronounced not dangerous. In this dilemma they asked me if they might occupy my room. Of course I could not refuse, and yet felt, the while, that I had no right to extend the hospitality of this house. I saw the indelicacy of what I was doing. I was shocked and ashamed, and yet – ”

“Go on,” said Lady Hester once more, and with a stern quietude of manner that Kate felt more acutely than even an angry burst of temper.

“I have little more to say; in fact, I know not what I am saying,” cried she, gulping to repress the torrent of suffering that was struggling within her.

“Miss Dalton – ” began Lady Hester.

“Oh! why not Kate?” broke she, with a choking utterance.

“Miss Dalton,” resumed Lady Hester, and as if not hearing the entreaty, “very little knowledge of that world you have lived in for the past three or four months might have taught you some slight self-possession in difficulty. Still less acquaintance with it might have suggested the recollection that these people are no intimates of mine; so that, even were tact wanting, feeling, at least, should have dictated a line of action to you.”

“I know I have done wrong. I knew it at the time, and yet, in my inexperience, I could not decide on anything. My memory, too, helped to mislead me, for I bethought me that although these persons were not of your own rank and station, yet you had stooped lower than to them when you came to visit Nelly and myself.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Lady Hester, with a gesture that very unequivocally seemed to say that her having done so was a grievous error. Kate saw it quickly, and as suddenly the blood rushed to her cheek, coloring her throat and neck with the deep crimson of shame. A burst of pride the old Dalton pride seemed to have given way within her; and as she drew herself up to her full height, her look and attitude wore every sign of haughty indignation.

Lady Hester looked at her for a few seconds with a glance of searching import. Perhaps for a moment the possibility of a deception struck her, and that this might only be feigned; but as suddenly did she recognize the unerring traits of truth, and said,

“What! child, are you angry with me?”

“Oh no, no!” said Kate, bursting into tears, and kissing the hand that was now extended towards her, “oh no, no! but I could hate myself for what seems so like ingratitude.”

“Come, sit down here at my feet on this stool, and tell me all about it; for, after all, I could forgive them the jar and the camellias, if they ‘d only have gone away afterwards. And of course the lesson will not be thrown away upon you, not to be easily deceived again.”

“How, deceived?” exclaimed Kate. “She was very ill. I saw it myself.”

“Nonsense, child. The trick is the very stalest piece of roguery going. Since Toe Morris, as they call him the man that treads upon people, and by his apologies scrapes acquaintance with them there is nothing less original. Why, just before we left England, there was old Bankhead got into Slingsby House, merely because the newspapers might announce his death at the Earl of Grindleton’s ‘on the eighth, of a few days’ illness, deeply regretted by the noble lord, with whom he was on a visit.’ Now, that dear Ricketts woman would almost consent to take leave of the world for a similar paragraph. I ‘m sure I should know nothing of such people but that Sir Stafford’s relations have somewhat enlightened me. He has a nest of cousins down in Shropshire, not a whit better than your I was going to call them ‘your friends,’ the Rickettses.”

“It is almost incredible to suppose this could be artifice.”

“Why so, child? There is no strategy too deep for people who are always aspiring to some society above them. Besides, after all, I was in a measure prepared for this.”

“Prepared for it!”

“Yes; Jekyl told me that if they once got in, it would be next to impossible to keep them out afterwards. A compromise, he said, was the best thing; to let them have so many days each year, with certain small privileges about showing the house to strangers, cutting bouquets, and so on; or, if we preferred it, let them carry away a Teniers or a Gerard Dow to copy, and take care never to ask for it. He inclined to the latter as the better plan, because, after a certain lapse of time, it can end in a cut.”

“But this is inconceivable!” exclaimed Kate.

“And yet half the absurd and incongruous intimacies one sees in the world have had some such origin, and habit will reconcile one to acquaintance that at first inspired feelings of abhorrence and detestation. I ‘m sure I don ‘t know one good house in town where there are not certain intimates that have not the slightest pretension, either from rank, wealth, distinction, or social qualities, to be there. And yet, there they are; not merely as supernumeraries, either, but very prominent and foreground figures, giving advice and offering counsel on questions of family policy, and writing their vulgar names on every will, codicil, marriage-settlement, and trust-deed, till they seem to be part of the genealogical tree, to which, after all, they are only attached like fungi. You look very unhappy, my poor Kate, at all this; but, believe me, the system will outlive both of us. And so, now to your room, and dress for dinner. But I forgot; you have n’t got a room; so Celestine must give you hers, and you will be close beside me, and we shall be the better able to concert measures about these Ricketts folk, who really resemble those amiable peasants your father told me of, on his Irish property, and whom he designated as ‘squatters.’ I am delighted that I have n’t forgot the word.”

And thus, chatting on, Lady Hester restored Kate’s wonted happiness of nature, sadly shaken as it had been by the contrarieties of the morning. Nothing, too, was easier than to make her forget a source of irritation. Ever better satisfied to look on the bright side of life, her inclinations needed but little aid from conviction to turn her from gloomy themes to pleasant ones; and already some of the absurdities of the morning were recurring to her mind, and little traits of Mrs. Ricketts and her brother were involuntarily coming up through all the whirlpool of annoyance and confusion in whicli th y had been submerged.

The coming dinner, too, engrossed some share of her thoughts; for it was a grand entertainment, to which all Lady Hester’s most distinguished friends were invited. An Archduke and a Cardinal were to make part of the company, and Kate looked forward to meeting these great personages with no common interest. It was less the vulgar curiosity of observing the manners and bearing of distinguished characters, than the delight she felt in following out some child-invented narrative of her future life, some fancied story of her own career, wherein Princes and Prelates were to figure, and scenes of splendor and enjoyment to follow each other in rapid succession.

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CONCLUSION OF A “GRAND DINNER.”

LADY HESTER’S dinner of that day was a “grand one,” that is to say, it was one of those great displays which, from time to time, are offered up as sacrifices to the opinion of the world. Few of her own peculiar set were present. Some she omitted herself; others had begged off of their own accord. Midchekoff, however, was there; for, however accustomed to the tone and habits of a life of mere dissipation, he possessed every requirement for mixing with general society. It was true he was not fond of meeting “Royal Highnesses,” before whom his own equivocal rank sank into insignificance; nor did he love “Cardinals,” whose haughty pretensions always over-topped every other nobility. To oblige Lady Hester, however, he did come, and condescended, for “the nonce,” to assume his most amiable of moods. The Marchesa Guardoni, an old coquette of the days of the French Empire, but now a rigid devotee, and a most exclusive moralist; a few elderly diplomates, of a quiet and cat-like smoothness of manner, with certain notabilities of the Court, made up the party. There were no English whatever; Jekyl, who made out the list, well knowing that Florence offered none of a rank sufficiently distinguished, except Norwood, whose temporary absence from the city was rather a boon than the reverse; for the noble Viscount, when not “slang,” was usually silent, and, by long intercourse with the Turf and its followers, had ceased to feel any interest in topics which could not end in a wager.

The entertainment was very splendid. Nothing was wanting which luxury or taste could contribute. The wines were delicious; the cookery perfect. The guests were courteous and pleasing; but all was of the quietest, none of the witty sallies, the piquant anecdotes, the brilliant repartees, which usually pattered like hail around that board. Still less were heard those little histories of private life where delinquencies furnish all the interest. The royal guest imposed a reserve which the presence of the Cardinal deepened. The conversation, like the cuisine, was flavored for fine palates; both were light, suggestive, and of easy digestion. Events were discussed rather than the actors in them. All was ease and simplicity; but it was a stately kind of simplicity, which served to chill those that were unaccustomed to it. So Kate Dalton felt it; and however sad the confession, we must own that she greatly preferred the free and easy tone of Lady Hester’s midnight receptions to the colder solemnity of these distinguished guests.

Even to the Cardinal’s whist-table, everything wore a look of state and solemnity. The players laid down their cards with a measured gravity, and scored their honors with the air of men discharging a high and important function. As for the Archduke, he sat upon a sofa beside Lady Hester, suffering himself to be amused by the resources of her small-talk, bowing blandly at times, occasionally condescending to a smile, but rarely uttering even a monosyllable. Even that little social warmth that was kindled by the dinner-table seemed to have been chilled by the drawing-room, where the conversation was maintained in a low, soft tone, that never rose above a murmur. It may be, perhaps, some sort of consolation to little folk to think that Princes are generally sad-looking. The impassable barrier of reserve around them, if it protect from all the rubs and frictions of life, equally excludes from much of its genial enjoyment; and all those little pleasantries which grow out of intimacy are denied those who have no equals.