Her Season in Bath: A Story of Bygone Days. Marshall Emma
like a discussion was heard between the young lady and the "artist" that she said sharply:
"What are you talking about, Griselda? Pray, make no fuss! – you will look well enough. A little less curl on the right side, Perkyns. Oh! that bow is awry; and I will not have the knot of ribbon so low. I said so last week."
"The top-knots are not worn so high, my lady. Lady Cremorne's is quite two inches lower than the point you indicate."
"Folly to talk of her! – a giant who might be a female Goliath! As if her mode was any rule for mine! I am petite, and need height. Thank goodness, I am not a huge mass of bone and flesh, like my Lady Cremorne!"
"As you please, my lady – as you please. But it is my duty to keep my patronesses up to the high-water mark of fashion."
"I dare say folks with no taste may need your advice; but as I am blessed with the power of knowing what I like – and with the will to have it, too – I insist on the top-knot being at least two inches higher."
"Very good – very good, my lady. What is it, Samuel?" – for the assistant now approached.
"Shall I proceed to Sydney Place, sir? I have finished this young lady's coiffure."
"Finished! – impossible! Why, child, come here; let me see! Why, you are not made up! – no rouge, nor a touch to your eyebrows!"
"I do not desire it, madam; I do not desire to be painted. I have requested the hairdresser to refrain – "
"Well, you will look a fright for your pains by night! Nonsense, child! powder must have paint. However, take your own way, you wilful puss! I have no more to say."
"I have done my best to persuade the lady," Sam said; "but it is useless – it is in vain;" and, with a sigh, he began to gather together the cosmetics and the little pots and bottles, and prepared for departure.
Mr. Perkyns turned from the contemplation of the top-knots to give a passing glance at Mistress Mainwaring. He shrugged his shoulders, and murmured:
"A pity that what is so fair should not be made still fairer! But do not stand wasting precious time, Samuel; proceed to Sydney Place, and announce my speedy arrival. You can leave me what is needful, and I will follow and bring the smaller bag. Be quick, Samuel; and do not go to sleep – on a day like this, of all days!"
Samuel obeyed, and took leave; while Griselda, after a passing glance at her head and shoulders in the mirror, retired to her own room on the upper story, and, taking a violin from a case, began to draw the bow over the strings.
"If only I could make you sing to me as their fiddles sang last night! If only I had a voice like that sister of Mr. Herschel's! Ah! that song from the 'Messiah' – if only I could play it!" And then, after several attempts, Griselda did bring out the air of the song which, perhaps of all others, fastens on ear and heart alike in that sublime oratorio:
"He shall feed His flock like a shepherd."
"So poor it sounds!" Griselda said; "so poor! I will get to Mr. Herschel's, and ask if he will teach me to play and sing. I will. Why not? Ah, it is the money! She dresses me, and keeps me; and that is all. She would do nothing else. But I have bought you, you dear violin!" Griselda said, pressing her lips to the silent instrument, where the music, unattainable for her, lay hidden. "I have bought you, and I will keep you; and, who knows? I may one day make you tell me all that is in your heart. Oh that I were not at her beck and call to do her bidding; speak to those she chooses; and have nothing to say to those she thinks beneath her! Ah me! Alack! alack!"
Griselda's meditations were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door; and Graves came in with a bouquet in her hand, tied with pale primrose ribbon.
"That is for you, Mistress Griselda. The gentleman brought it himself; 'and,' says he, 'give it to the young lady in private.' And then he had the impudence to offer me a crown-piece! Says I, 'I don't hold, sir, with sly ways; and I don't want your money.' Then he looked uncommon foolish, and said I was quite right; he hated sly ways. He only meant – well, I knew what he meant – that I was not to let my lady know you had the 'buket;' but I just took it straight into the room, and said, 'Here's a buket for Mistress Grisel;' and, what do you think? she was in one of her tantrums with Mr. Perkyns, who vowed he would not take down her hair again; and there she was, screaming at him, and you might have had fifty bukets, and she wouldn't have cared. Ah, my dear Mistress Griselda, these vanities and sinful pleasures are just Satan's yoke. They bring a lot of misery, and his slaves are made to feel the pricks. Better be servants to a good master – better be children of the Lord – than slaves of sin. It's all alike," as she gave the violin-case a touch with her foot; "it's all sin and wickedness – plays, and balls, and music, and – "
"Nonsense, Graves! Never tell me music is wrong. Why, you sing hymns at Lady Huntingdon's Chapel —that is music!"
"I don't hold with that altogether; but hymns is one thing, and foolish love-songs another. I am trembling for you, my dear; I am trembling for you, with your flowers and your finery. The service of the world is hard bondage."
Griselda had now put away her violin, and had taken up the flowers which she had allowed to lie on the table, till her treasured possession was in safety; and, as Graves departed, she said, as she saw a note hidden in the centre of the bouquet:
"I am sure I don't care for these flowers; you may take them down to her ladyship, if you please."
But Graves was gone.
A girl of twenty was not likely to be absolutely without curiosity, and, though Griselda tore the scented, three-cornered billet open, and read the contents with some eagerness, her face was flushed and her lip curled as she did so.
"To the fairest of the fair! These poor flowers came from one who lives on her smile and hungers for her presence, with the prayer that she will grant him one dance to-night – if but one– "
Then there was a curious tangle of letters, which were twisted in the form of a heart, the letter "G" being in the shape of a dart which had pierced it.
Griselda tore the note in pieces, and said:
"Why does he not send his ridiculous billets to the person who wants them? I hate him, and his finery, and his flattery. I know not which is worse."
Hours were early in the eighteenth century, and by seven o'clock the two ladies met in the dining-parlour of the house in North Parade ready for the ball, and awaiting the arrival of the sedan-chairs, which were attended by Lady Betty's own man.
Lady Betty had recovered her good temper, and her rose-coloured sacque, with its short-elbow sleeves and long puckered gloves, was quite to her mind. The satin skirt was toned down by lamp-light, and the diamond buckles on her dainty shoes glistened and gleamed as she went through a step of the minuet, with her fan held in the most approved fashion.
"Upon my word, we are a pretty pair to-night! But, do you know, Carteret vowed he thought I was younger than you were at the last ball! Fancy! I, a widow, not quite fat, fair, and forty, but in my thirties I freely allow! Child, you look as pale as a ghost! But it is a vastly pretty gown. Lucky for you it did not suit my complexion; dead white never does. But perhaps you are too white – all white. For my part I vow I like colour. Your servant, madam! How do you fancy my new curtshey?" and the little lady went through elaborate steps with her tiny twinkling feet, and made a bow, which, however, she was careful should not be too low to run any risk of disarranging her high coiffure, the erection of which had cost so much trouble and sorrow of heart.
CHAPTER II.
THE TIDE OF FASHION
Wiltshire's Rooms were illuminated by many wax-candles, shedding a softened and subdued light over the gay crowd which assembled there on this December night. Lady Betty was soon surrounded by her admirers, and showing off her dainty figure in the minuet and Saraband.
There were three apartments in Wiltshire's Rooms – one for cards and conversation or scandal, as the case might be, and one for refreshments, and the larger one for dancing.
Griselda was left very much to herself