Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 16
CHAPTER XVI.
Mr. Glentworth had not performed kind offices to young Penrhyn by halves. So soon as the articles of partnership were signed, the expected amount of half a year's income was advanced to him, with which he proceeded to furnish a small, but pretty, house in the vicinity of London, lying nearest to his counting-house, and possessing a flower-garden, which he knew to be the greatest possible desideratum to Louisa.
During the week they spent at Windsor all their necessary furniture was sent in; the more ornamental articles it was decided to leave to the choice of the fair mistress, and, as she had no visits to pay or receive, the occupation it gave Louisa saved her from any mortification she might have felt on sinking at once into the state of happy wifehood. In truth, it was a period of most delightful existence; for she had dear Isabella's gift, untouched, in her pocket, as she dared not mention it in her mother's house, nor even before the Palmers; and she had, therefore, the pleasure of spending it in purchasing those things Charles had personally a liking for, either in adorning his house or his wife. To surprise him, by finding on his table the books he liked, or the escritoire he had occasion for, gave Louisa the most delightful moments life had hitherto afforded her; and could she have shown her sisters her pretty dwelling, her clever contrivances, and communicated to them her own felicity in the smile of her beloved husband, so complete, or rather so overflowing, would she have considered her happiness, perhaps she would have been alarmed for its continuance, and, like Philip of Macedon, prayed for a small misfortune to counterbalance her excess of joy.
This necessary counterpoise, the affectionate and simple-minded will readily conceive, would arise to Louisa from the absence of those "dear familiar faces" which had hitherto constituted her world. The love of sisters is not only a pure and holy thing, but there are situations in life when it is rendered an intense affection. Such was the case with the Granard family—they had no father whom "to love, honour, and obey;" mother was to them
"A word of fear,
Alarming to the daughter's ear:"
and they had no brother on whom they could lavish the confiding tenderness of their hearts, exult in his success, mourn in his disappointments, and follow him in imagination through the bright and busy world, from which they were otherwise excluded. No! to the sisterhood, exclusively, was every sister attached, in all the joys and sorrows, wants and wishes, which belonged to their situation; and, although the early disappointment of their eldest, and, perhaps, best beloved, together with those opinions and fears of Lady Anne, too freely expressed, led them all to think more on the subjects of love and marriage than a wiser and worthier mother would have deemed desirable, the very circumstance only bound them more closely to each other. "Mamma desired to get rid of them, but they could never desire to part with each other," and each felt that the man who would really win her heart and secure her gratitude must do it by being good to her sisters. It, therefore, followed that Mr. Glentworth was the idolized of both Georgiana and Helen; his conduct was the standard by which they were prepared to measure all other men; and, since it would have been difficult to find a higher, to a certain point the wishes of the mother were answered, although from different motives and with different views to her own.
When Lady Anne ceased "to nurse her wrath and keep it warm," she began to congratulate herself on her situation; her family was lessened more than half—her two eldest and her youngest daughter (the one she had always concluded to be so plain that she would remain as a kind of perpetual blister) were actually gone, since it was hardly to be expected that Mary would be returned on her hands by a brother-in-law so likely to derive benefit in her councils to his young wife as Mr. Glentworth. No; three were actually removed, and two daughters were not a burthen to complain of, especially as both might be considered very pretty and still improving, Helen being twenty, and Georgiana eighteen. They could take it by turns to drive out with her; somebody might now and then give them boxes for the Opera, and they could treat themselves to the Exhibition, or a Panorama; "it would not be difficult to get tolerably cheap, yet smart, dresses for two girls, though five had been overwhelming, and a woman looked well in company with two fair daughters. They were easily rendered picturesque, and the dullest man alive might say something smart about the Rotheles' earldom and the Oxford supporters; happily, Louisa could never appear in the same circle with herself and the girls, either to eclipse them by the brilliance of her beauty, or remind the world of her own degradation by a foolish marriage."
As these thoughts passed Lady Anne's mind, of course the power of increased expenditure, of launching out a little, and appearing somewhat more like herself, followed the train, and she began eagerly to look round at what she had lately designated her "circle;" it was certainly not like that "which a stone divides," for, of late years, it had become so contracted, that, if she were at this time to make a feast, alias, give a dinner, there would be a necessity to go forth into the highways and hedges of the haut ton, "to compel them to come in," nothing loath, as people are usually found in society of all descriptions. An evening party would be better; though the "dear five hundred friends" could not be found, yet fifty might!—a house still redolent with the eclat of two weddings, one of which had so wealthy a bridegroom, that he made the fortunes of the other, could not fail to be attractive to mothers and daughters, young men who wanted help in new connexions, and middle-aged men rich enough to buy wives of all descriptions. "Yes! the deed must be done. Lady Penrhyn should see that she was not a woman to sit down and weep under the load of disgrace brought upon her house by her own handsome, penniless, brother."
Of course she must see it with her own eyes, for, although each lady felt as if the close union of their families had confirmed for ever the long-increasing contempt, and, in fact, personal dislike, each felt for the other; yet, as they had had no quarrel, and were, as heretofore, dependent on each other for certain good offices neither could forego, it was evident, Lady Penrhyn must be the "bright particular star" of Lady Anne Granard's party. And yet there were so many palpable objections to this, that it appeared pretty nearly worth while to make an open breach, whilst the opportunity was so invitingly accommodating, rather than incur the many evils attendant on her presence. First and foremost, she was beautiful, dressed well, and very expensively, and, from the exercise of her allowed talents, never failed to give the uninitiated an idea that she was the woman of fashion par excellence. Even among the most experienced and discriminating of men, she rarely allowed the élite of the high-born or distinguished to escape her temporary allurements, so that she was the absolute horror, alike of the designing, whose baits she rendered nugatory, and the innocent attached ones, whose expectations she blighted, and whose young hearts were lacerated by the perfidy of those whom she misled. Of course she was a dangerous woman, from whom many would shrink, and certainly not one to whom Lady Anne could for a moment commit her daughters, either on the score of friendship, or example. Of the former there was little fear, for she had neither invited nor noticed any one of them more than she could help, and poor Louisa had been her aversion, evidently on the score of that resplendent beauty, which belongs exclusively to its youthfulness. Lady Penrhyn was quite handsome enough to have spared one ingredient in her cup of fascination, but, unfortunately, having been married in her teens, she expected to live in them, and, never being reminded by the trials to which her sex is subject, of the flight of years, and the inroads of suffering, expected time to stand still, and the first bloom of existence (the blue on the plum) to remain as stationary as her own taste, for the pleasures of flirtation.
In addition to these unamiable characteristics which insured a certainty that she would thwart any good fortune likely to befall her remaining daughters, Lady Anne already knew that her brother and her brother's guide and controller, his countess, would not fail to resent so open a defiance of their advice, as must be implied by her invitation of a woman whose conduct drew upon her the animadversions of all her acquaintance, and who had openly discarded her only brother for making a connexion to which they had given decided approbation, and, which, being with the daughter of Lady Anne, could hardly be considered as respectful to her rank and connexions.
On the other hand, although she had not to thank Lady Penrhyn's kindness for any thing, she was obliged to her situation for great conveniences of many kinds. Lady Penrhyn's horses saved post-horses, her tickets of all kinds were convenient passports to the opera and the theatre, and the recherché dinners which preceded those amusements, and almost always happened when the cold leg of mutton would do very well for the girls and the servants, but would compel her to have recourse to the hotel, were by no means matters to be slighted. When to this was added the state dinners, to which she was always regularly invited, and held as a distinguished guest, and it was remembered how seldom this occurred in other houses since her widowhood, the vacillating mind took a new direction, and it was voted an impracticable thing to part with the baroness and her atmosphere of agrémens.
"You appear to be thinking very deeply, dear mamma," said Helen; "suppose we go over the way. Mrs. Palmer is always glad to see us, and you will be better without our interruption."
"You are right, child, go; it is just about her tea time. There are more unlikely things than that I should follow you."
Happy and thankful, the dear young creatures obeyed in a trice, for they were impatient to tell their excellent friend that they had confessed, and were forgiven; and they were heard with the more pleasure, because Mrs. Palmer could inform them "that the paragraph which had made so happy a change in the feelings of Lady Anne had been written and paid for by her son Gooch, who was really a very clever hand at almost every thing."
"Paid for?" exclaimed the girls at the same moment.
"Yes, to be sure, my dears, every thing in this world is paid for in one kind of coin or other: the newspaper people owe Mr. Gooch no obligation, therefore were quite certain to take his money, and he had a right to indulge himself in such a thing, surely, as much as in buying a toy for his little boy."
"But I hope mamma will never know that Mr. Gooch."
Just then Lady Anne entered, all smiles and graciousness. The matter in question explained itself, for the newspaper was in Helen's hand. "I came in to beg a cup of tea, Mrs. Palmer, not to inquire into a secret, but I cannot help comprehending from the words which have just dropped from my daughter that I am indebted to Mr. Gooch for giving so good a turn to the paragraph announcing Louisa's shocking marriage?"
"It is all true, and, therefore, drawn up as it ought to be," said Mr. Palmer. "And I hope before long to hear you say that so far from being a shocking thing, your new relation is really a son to you, and."
"Well, well, it may be so some time, but I must consult with you, dear Mrs. Palmer, on a subject of importance to me, and in which I must throw myself on your assistance as a friend and neighbour. I am, as you know, quite out of the way of giving parties, and that kind of thing, but at this time I find myself (for the sake of my daughters, of course) under the necessity of being 'at home' some evening before the month is out."
"Any thing we have that can be useful; and we can spare the butler and footman both, can't we, my dear?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Palmer; "but I apprehend the cook is a more material person; but, perhaps, Lady Anne will order things from some of those great confectioners who undertake suppers at so much a head: it is, I believe, the best and quietest way a good deal."
"It was the way I did once," said Lady Anne, with a deep sigh, "but that which I can certainly do no longer. I think supper tables may be laid in the rooms below for fifty, and I shall not invite more than sixty. I mean to give something as slight and inexpensive as possible; but I have been so long out of the way of these things, that I am really quite at a loss, and must throw myself on your kindness, as I hope you will be with me, and also Mr. and Mrs. Gooch. You must arrange in such a manner as not to blush for your own contrivances."
"Surely," thought Mrs. Palmer, "she is making this party on Louisa's account, and very properly she judges, but why can't she say so? God help her! she hardly knows how to manage it consistent with her rank and her narrow income."
It was a great relief when the kind-hearted woman heard her husband say:—
"When my daughters were at home, Mrs. Palmer used to make up very pretty quadrille parties, I must say, and she is a very good hand at arranging tables, and that kind of thing. I remember I was always applied to for one thing—'Papa will buy the cakes. Oh, yes, nobody chooses cakes so well as papa.'"
"Well, my dear, and so you did, though you always got them in the city."
"Well, then, Lady Anne, if you think well of it, and will let me know the day you will want them, I will take charge of the cake department, including, if I remember rightly, plum and plain, rout cakes, and macaroons, finger biscuits, and cracknels."
"Excellent!" cried his wife, "you have your lesson perfectly: and, as our cook really makes better jellies than I meet with any where else, I will undertake to provide a sufficiency of them. We can also manage to roast fowls and boil tongues when Lady Anne sends them in; dear heart! it is no joke to feed fifty or sixty people, at one o'clock in the morning."
"Now I call the eating nothing," said Mr. Palmer, "but the wine makes a great hole in a lady's stock: she finds a single evening take 'at one fell swoop' what would have rendered her comfortable for a twelvemonth."
Lady Anne sighed, as she said, "I must do as well as I can. I think sherry is more drank than any thing now-a-days, and I have a little of that—some Bucellas, too, which I got for the children. Unfortunately, I parted with my wine at Granard Park to the heir—I thought I should never want wine then."
Mr. Palmer had known what it was to lose life's dearest connexion; and the soft cadence with which Lady Anne alluded to her feelings as a widow awakened all the sympathy of his generous nature, and he eagerly cried out,
"You will do very well, my lady, very well indeed. I will send you in a couple of dozen of capital sherry, fit for the dons, and some hermitage, by no means to be sneezed at; any thing will do for dancing misses and masters; but, in every party, there are some people who know what's what."
It is scarcely necessary to add, that Lady Anne was so very obliging as to stay and partake the scalloped oysters and negus of her neighbours; but it is, so to say, that Mrs. Palmer, although the most artless of human beings, in the exercise of a sound understanding and a kind heart, so wound round the self-love of the offended mother, that she obtained Louisa's forgiveness, a promise of receiving herself and husband the following week, and a permission that they should consider the projected entertainment as the medium of presenting them to the world in a respectable point of view.
It is true the pardon was granted with so many precautions and conclusions, especially as regarded the poor bridegroom, that, if delivered as it was received, verbatim et liberatim, Mrs. Palmer could not fail to be assured it would be rejected, not only by the gentleman, but the fond wife, who honoured not less than she loved him. She well knew the power of intonation, and thought that, in the absence of the curled lip, the contemptuous twitch of the nose, and the supercilious toss of the head, her message might be acceptable for Louisa's sake, and she set out the following morning, accompanied by Helen and Georgiana, actually as happy as either of them, which is something to say, for the power of young Joy, like that of young Love, does not travel far on the dusty road of life in general.
Louisa had completed her furnishing vocation, and so nearly arrived at the bottom of her purse, that Charles had positively, though most kindly, insisted that she should treat him no further that very morning; she had bade him adieu with even more than her usual fondness, and looked towards him long after she had ceased to see him, and began to think how many hours must pass before she should speak either to him or any other person, when the sound of wheels caused her to look up, and become sensible that a carriage was approaching either her own house, or that to which it was united by a bondage not unlike that of the Siamese twins.
It was Mrs. Palmer's coach—"dear, good Mrs. Palmer." Before the bell could be rung, she had stepped through the casement-window, which opened into her little front grassplot, and flown to open the garden door. With what transports did she behold the faces of her sisters! how soon were they all held in the arms and to the hearts of each other!
Yet Louisa looked beyond them, but she could not look beyond Mrs. Palmer, who slowly descended the steps, for her eyes were full of delicious tears, as she gazed on the lovely group, and congratulated herself on having brought them together. In another moment, Louisa's arms were around her also, welcoming her to Violet Lodge, and pouring on her a thousand thanks, yet asking, with trepidation, "have you brought the dear girls clandestinely?"
"No, my dear child; I brought them from Lady Anne's house, with her full permission; and, what is better, I bring an invitation for you and Mr. Penrhyn."
Louisa burst into a passion of hysterical, though joyful tears.
"These children's father had undoubtedly a heart in his bosom, which the mother never had, though she took Palm in last night. Yes! the father was amiable, and gave these sweet children his own nature. I trust he is happy now, for I am sure he had a very scanty share of happiness whilst he lived with Lady Anne." Such were the wandering thoughts of Mrs. Palmer, as she entered the abode of the newly-united.