St. Ronan's Well Page 27

  CHAPTER III.

  EXPOSTULATION.

  Seek not the feast in these irreverent robes; Go to my chamber--put on clothes of mine.

  _The Taming of the Shrew._

  It was with a mixture of anxiety, vexation, and resentment, thatMowbray, just when he had handed Lady Penelope into the apartment wherethe tables were covered, observed that his sister was absent, and thatLady Binks was hanging on the arm of Lord Etherington, to whose rank itwould properly have fallen to escort the lady of the house. An anxiousand hasty glance cast through the room, ascertained that she was absent,nor could the ladies present give any account of her after she hadquitted the gardens, except that Lady Penelope had spoken a few wordswith her in her own apartment, immediately after the scenicentertainment was concluded.

  Thither Mowbray hurried, complaining aloud of his sister's laziness indressing, but internally hoping that the delay was occasioned by nothingof a more important character.

  He hastened up stairs, entered her sitting-room without ceremony, andknocking at the door of her dressing-room, begged her to make haste.

  "Here is the whole company impatient," he said, assuming a tone ofpleasantry; "and Sir Bingo Binks exclaiming for your presence, that hemay be let loose on the cold meat."

  "Paddock calls," said Clara from within; "anon--anon!"

  "Nay, it is no jest, Clara," continued her brother; "for here is LadyPenelope miauling like a starved cat!"

  "I come--I come, greymalkin," answered Clara, in the same vein asbefore, and entered the parlour as she spoke, her finery entirely thrownaside, and dressed in the riding-habit which was her usual and favouriteattire.

  Her brother was both surprised and offended. "On my soul," he said,"Clara, this is behaving very ill. I indulge you in every freak uponordinary occasions, but you might surely on this day, of all others,have condescended to appear something like my sister, and a gentlewomanreceiving company in her own house."

  "Why, dearest John," said Clara, "so that the guests have enough to eatand drink, I cannot conceive why I should concern myself about theirfinery, or they trouble themselves about my plain clothes."

  "Come, come, Clara, this will not do," answered Mowbray; "you mustpositively go back into your dressing-room, and huddle your things on asfast as you can. You cannot go down to the company dressed as you are."

  "I certainly can, and I certainly will, John--I have made a fool ofmyself once this morning to oblige you, and for the rest of the day I amdetermined to appear in my own dress; that is, in one which shows Ineither belong to the world, nor wish to have any thing to do with itsfashions."

  "By my soul, Clara, I will make you repent this!" said Mowbray, withmore violence than he usually exhibited where his sister was concerned.

  "You cannot, dear John," she coolly replied, "unless by beating me; andthat I think you would repent of yourself."

  "I do not know but what it were the best way of managing you," saidMowbray, muttering between his teeth; but, commanding his violence, heonly said aloud, "I am sure, from long experience, Clara, that yourobstinacy will at the long run beat my anger. Do let us compound thepoint for once--keep your old habit, since you are so fond of making asight of yourself, and only throw the shawl round your shoulders--it hasbeen exceedingly admired, and every woman in the house longs to see itcloser--they can hardly believe it genuine."

  "Do be a man, Mowbray," answered his sister; "meddle with yourhorse-sheets, and leave shawls alone."

  "Do you be a woman, Clara, and think a little on them, when custom anddecency render it necessary.--Nay, is it possible!--Will you notstir--not oblige me in such a trifle as this?"

  "I would indeed if I could," said Clara; "but since you must know thetruth--do not be angry--I have not the shawl. I have given itaway--given it up, perhaps I should say, to the rightful owner.--She haspromised me something or other in exchange for it, however. I have givenit to Lady Penelope."

  "Yes," answered Mowbray, "some of the work of her own fair hands, Isuppose, or a couple of her ladyship's drawings, made up intofire-screens.--On my word--on my soul, this is too bad!--It is using metoo ill, Clara--far too ill. If the thing had been of no value, mygiving it to you should have fixed some upon it.--Good-even to you; wewill do as well as we can without you."

  "Nay, but, my dear John--stay but a moment," said Clara, taking his armas he sullenly turned towards the door; "there are but two of us on theearth--do not let us quarrel about a trumpery shawl."

  "Trumpery!" said Mowbray; "It cost fifty guineas, by G--, which I canbut ill spare--trumpery!"

  "O, never think of the cost," said Clara; "it was your gift, and thatshould, I own, have been enough to have made me keep to my death's daythe poorest rag of it. But really Lady Penelope looked so verymiserable, and twisted her poor face into so many odd expressions ofanger and chagrin, that I resigned it to her, and agreed to say she hadlent it to me for the performance. I believe she was afraid that I wouldchange my mind, or that you would resume it as a seignorial waif; for,after she had walked a few turns with it wrapped around her, merely byway of taking possession, she dispatched it by a special messenger toher apartment at the Well."

  "She may go to the devil," said Mowbray, "for a greedy unconscionablejade, who has varnished over a selfish, spiteful heart, that is as hardas a flint, with a fine glossing of taste and sensibility!"

  "Nay, but, John," replied his sister, "she really had something tocomplain of in the present case. The shawl had been bespoken on heraccount, or very nearly so--she showed me the tradesman's letter--onlysome agent of yours had come in between with the ready money, which notradesman can resist.--Ah, John! I suspect half of your anger is owingto the failure of a plan to mortify poor Lady Pen, and that she has moreto complain of than you have.--Come, come, you have had the advantage ofher in the first display of this fatal piece of finery, if wearing it onmy poor shoulders can be called a display--e'en make her welcome to therest for peace's sake, and let us go down to these good folks, and youshall see how pretty and civil I shall behave."

  Mowbray, a spoiled child, and with all the petted habits of indulgence,was exceedingly fretted at the issue of the scheme which he had formedfor mortifying Lady Penelope; but he saw at once the necessity of sayingnothing more to his sister on the subject. Vengeance he privatelymuttered against Lady Pen, whom he termed an absolute harpy inblue-stockings; unjustly forgetting, that in the very important affairat issue, he himself had been the first to interfere with and defeat herladyship's designs on the garment in question.

  "But I will blow her," he said, "I will blow her ladyship's conduct inthe business! She shall not outwit a poor whimsical girl like Clara,without hearing it on more sides than one."

  With this Christian and gentlemanlike feeling towards Lady Penelope, heescorted his sister into the eating-room, and led her to her properplace at the head of the table. It was the negligence displayed in herdress, which occasioned the murmur of surprise that greeted Clara on herentrance. Mowbray, as he placed his sister in her chair, made hergeneral apology for her late appearance, and her riding-habit. "Somefairies," he supposed, "Puck, or such like tricksy goblin, had been inher wardrobe, and carried off whatever was fit for wearing."

  There were answers from every quarter--that it would have been too muchto expect Miss Mowbray to dress for their amusement a second time--thatnothing she chose to wear could misbecome Miss Mowbray--that she had setlike the sun, in her splendid scenic dress, and now rose like the fullmoon in her ordinary attire, (this flight was by the Reverend Mr.Chatterly,)--and that "Miss Mowbray being at hame, had an unco guderight to please hersell;" which last piece of politeness, being at leastas much to the purpose as any that had preceded it, was the contributionof honest Mrs. Blower; and was replied to by Miss Mowbray with aparticular and most gracious bow.

  Mrs. Blower ought to have rested her colloquial fame, as Dr. Johnsonwould have said, upon a compliment so evidently acceptable, but no oneknows where to stop. She thrust her broad, good-nature
d, delightedcountenance forward, and sending her voice from the bottom to the top ofthe table, like her umquhile husband when calling to his mate during abreeze, wondered "why Miss Clara Moubrie didna wear that grand shawl shehad on at the play-making, and her just sitting upon the wind of a door.Nae doubt it was for fear of the soup, and the butter-boats, and thelike;--but _she_ had three shawls, which she really fand was ane owermony--if Miss Moubrie wad like to wear ane o' them--it was butimitashion, to be sure--but it wad keep her shouthers as warm as if itwere real Indian, and if it were dirtied it was the less matter."

  "Much obliged, Mrs. Blower," said Mowbray unable to resist thetemptation which this speech offered; "but my sister is not yet ofquality sufficient, to entitle her to rob her friends of their shawls."

  Lady Penelope coloured to the eyes, and bitter was the retort that aroseto her tongue; but she suppressed it, and nodding to Miss Mowbray in themost friendly way in the world, yet with a very particular expression,she only said, "So you have told your brother of the little transactionwhich we have had this morning?--_Tu me lo pagherai_--I give you fairwarning, take care none of your secrets come into my keeping--that'sall."

  Upon what mere trifles do the important events of human life sometimesdepend! If Lady Penelope had given way to her first movements ofresentment, the probable issue would have been some such half-comichalf-serious skirmish, as her ladyship and Mr. Mowbray had often amusedthe company withal. But revenge which is suppressed and deferred, isalways most to be dreaded; and to the effects of the deliberateresentment which Lady Penelope cherished upon this trifling occasion,must be traced the events which our history has to record. Secretly didshe determine to return the shawl, which she had entertained hopes ofmaking her own upon very reasonable terms; and as secretly did sheresolve to be revenged both upon brother and sister, conceiving herselfalready possessed, to a certain degree, of a clew to some part of theirfamily history, which might serve for a foundation on which to raise herprojected battery. The ancient offences and emulation of importance ofthe Laird of St. Ronan's, and the superiority which had been given toClara in the exhibition of the day, combined with the immediate cause ofresentment; and it only remained for her to consider how her revengeshould be most signally accomplished.

  Whilst such thoughts were passing through Lady Penelope's mind, Mowbraywas searching with his eyes for the Earl of Etherington, judging that itmight be proper, in the course of the entertainment, or before theguests had separated, to make him formally acquainted with his sister,as a preface to the more intimate connexion which must, in prosecutionof the plan agreed upon, take place betwixt them. Greatly to hissurprise, the young Earl was no where visible, and the place which hehad occupied by the side of Lady Binks had been quietly appropriated byWinterblossom, as the best and softest chair in the room, and nearest tothe head of the table, where the choicest of the entertainment isusually arranged. This honest gentleman, after a few insipid complimentsto her ladyship upon her performance as Queen of the Amazons, hadbetaken himself to the much more interesting occupation of ogling thedishes, through the glass which hung suspended at his neck by a goldchain of Maltese workmanship. After looking and wondering for a fewseconds, Mowbray addressed himself to the old beau-garcon, and asked himwhat had become of Etherington.

  "Retreated," said Winterblossom, "and left but his compliments to youbehind him--a complaint, I think, in his wounded arm.--Upon my word,that soup has a most appetizing flavour!--Lady Penelope, shall I havethe honour to help you?--no!--nor you, Lady Binks?--you are toocruel!--I must comfort myself, like a heathen priest of old, by eatingthe sacrifice which the deities have scorned to accept of."

  Here he helped himself to the plate of soup which he had in vain offeredto the ladies, and transferred the further duty of dispensing it to Mr.Chatterly; "it is your profession, sir, to propitiate thedivinities--ahem!"

  "I did not think Lord Etherington would have left us so soon," saidMowbray; "but we must do the best we can without his countenance."

  So saying, he assumed his place at the bottom of the table, and did hisbest to support the character of a hospitable and joyous landlord, whileon her part, with much natural grace, and delicacy of attentioncalculated to set every body at their ease, his sister presided at theupper end of the board. But the vanishing of Lord Etherington in amanner so sudden and unaccountable--the obvious ill-humour of LadyPenelope--and the steady, though passive, sullenness of Lady Binks,spread among the company a gloom like that produced by an autumnal mistupon a pleasing landscape. The women were low-spirited, dull, nay,peevish, they did not well know why; and the men could not be joyous,though the ready resource of old hock and champagne made some of themtalkative.--Lady Penelope broke up the party by well-feignedapprehension of the difficulties, nay, dangers, of returning by so rougha road. Lady Binks begged a seat with her ladyship, as Sir Bingo, shesaid, judging from his devotion to the green flask, was likely to needtheir carriage home. From the moment of their departure, it became badtone to remain behind; and all, as in a retreating army, were eager tobe foremost, excepting MacTurk and a few stanch topers, who, unused tomeet with such good cheer every day of their lives, prudently determinedto make the most of the opportunity.

  We will not dwell on the difficulties attending the transportation of alarge company by few carriages, though the delay and disputes therebyoccasioned were of course more intolerable than in the morning, for theparties had no longer the hopes of a happy day before them, as a bribeto submit to temporary inconvenience. The impatience of many was sogreat, that, though the evening was raw, they chose to go on foot ratherthan await the dull routine of the returning carriages; and as theyretired they agreed, with one consent, to throw the blame of whateverinconvenience they might sustain on their host and hostess, who hadinvited so large a party before getting a shorter and better road madebetween the Well and Shaws-Castle.

  "It would have been so easy to repair the path by the Buck-stane!"

  And this was all the thanks which Mr. Mowbray received for anentertainment which had cost him so much trouble and expense, and hadbeen looked forward to by the good society at the Well with suchimpatient expectation.

  "It was an unco pleasant show," said the good-natured Mrs. Blower, "onlyit was a pity it was sae tediousome; and there was surely an awfu' wasteof gauze and muslin."

  But so well had Dr. Quackleben improved his numerous opportunities, thatthe good lady was much reconciled to affairs in general, by the prospectof coughs, rheumatisms, and other maladies acquired upon the occasion,which were likely to afford that learned gentleman, in whose prosperityshe much interested herself, a very profitable harvest.

  Mowbray, somewhat addicted to the service of Bacchus, did not findhimself freed, by the secession of so large a proportion of the company,from the service of the jolly god, although, upon the present occasion,he could well have dispensed with his orgies. Neither the song, nor thepun, nor the jest, had any power to kindle his heavy spirit, mortifiedas he was by the event of his party being so different from thebrilliant consummation which he had anticipated. The guests, stanch booncompanions, suffered not, however, their party to flag for want of thelandlord's participation, but continued to drink bottle after bottle,with as little regard for Mr. Mowbray's grave looks, as if they had beencarousing at the Mowbray Arms, instead of the Mowbray mansion-house.Midnight at length released him, when, with an unsteady step, he soughthis own apartment; cursing himself and his companions, consigning hisown person with all dispatch to his bed, and bequeathing those of thecompany to as many mosses and quagmires, as could be found betwixtShaws-Castle and St. Ronan's Well.