Margaret Capel, vol. 3. Ellen Wallace
of constant occupation. She learned that nothing so effectually dispels regret.
Her improvement in every branch of knowledge was great enough to content even herself; and in music, her favourite recreation, Mrs. Fitzpatrick often told her that she could at any time have gained her living by her proficiency.
The next event of her tranquil life was the receipt of a box of bride-cake, and a letter from Harriet Conway. This was in the month of November; just three months after the death of Sir Philip.
The letter, which was written in a good bold hand, ran as follows:–
"Ma mie,
"Do not take it into your head that this is a piece of my bride-cake. Somewhere in the box you will find the cards—Lord and Lady Raymond. I wonder if you recollect who I am. Also, I wonder if you are as pretty as you were two years ago? To be sure you think I might have asked the question a little earlier. But we returned from Germany only a short time before Lucy's marriage.
"I am now at Singleton Manor, and desire you, on the receipt of this, to set off directly, and join me there. I have your promise, and, therefore, you cannot very well be off paying the visit. So come instantly; I cannot endure to wait for any-thing; and stay as long as ever I please.
So say Uncle and Aunt Singleton, besides the veritable mistress of the mansion,
Margaret at last found the cards Harriet mentioned under a quantity of bon-bons. She rather wondered that her friend was still Harriet Conway; but she was glad that this singular young lady still bore her in mind.
She showed the letter to Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and obtained her ready consent to the visit. There was no objection to Margaret travelling with Mason; a steady creature, who had been so long with her, and who could pay the post-boys as well as a manservant.
Mason was in ecstacies. Of course she understood paying the post-boys. She would have undertaken to pay the National Debt, if that could have delivered her from the hated seclusion of the cottage. She confessed to Miss Capel, in confidence, that it had really fretted her to see Miss Capel growing handsomer every day, and not a soul coming, or likely to come, to this wilderness of a place, since poor Mr. Florestan. She confessed she should like to see Miss Capel have her due; and now that she had her health again, she thought it was high time to get out of this dungeon and mix in the world; and for that purpose, she supposed Miss Capel would choose to have a new bonnet, and a new silk walking dress, and a few evening dresses, and more things than she could recollect at once; but she could sit down and make a list of them.
Margaret gratified her by leaving entirely in her hands, the reforming of her wardrobe; and that important matter being arranged, and a warm and reluctant farewell taken of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, she stepped into the post-chaise that was to convey her to Singleton Manor.
She was to make one long day's journey of it—a fatiguing performance—but she was anxious to avoid sleeping on the road.
The last few stages seemed to be interminably long; she was almost exhausted with fatigue. It had been dark for some miles, and she was just beginning to convince herself that there was no chance of reaching their destination that night, when the carriage turned abruptly round; the wheels echoed over the rough stones of a paved court-yard; lights glimmered; the Gothic outline of a grey stone porch became visible; and Margaret alighted at Singleton Manor.
CHAPTER II
The gnawing envy, the heart-fretting fear, The vain surmises, the distrustful shews, The false reports that flying tales do bear, She doubts, the dangers, the delays, the woes, She feigned friends, the unassured foes, With thousands more than any tongue can tell, Do make a lover's life a wretched hell.
The hall into which Margaret was ushered was low-ceilinged, carpeted, and adorned with numerous glass cases filled with stuffed animals, such as a seal, an otter, a Norway bear, and the rarer kinds of birds, that sometimes fall into the way of sportsmen, in distant parts of this island. Some handsome furs were stretched before a blazing wood fire, upon which several dogs lay enjoying the warmth. The oak staircase was wide and finely carved, and at every few steps there was a broad landing-place, while the balustrades took the opportunity to make a halt also, and to transform themselves into huge claws, which sustained the scutcheon of the Singletons, with the raven's heads, and golden roses duly emblazoned on them.
The room into which Margaret was shown, was divided into two compartments by a screen of oak carved like filagree, with a door-way left in the centre to admit of passing through; the one side of this screen serving for a dressing-room; the other for a bed-room, having a recess filled with a curious tall bed, gloomy with plumes and purple velvet hangings.
While her maid was arranging the preliminaries of her toilet, and Margaret was looking at all the curiosities that the room contained,—the carved wardrobe, the curiously framed pictures, the antique looking glass, upheld by silver cupids, who bestowed on the mirror, the lace draperies of which they themselves seemed to stand in some little need; her door was thrown open, and Harriet rushed into the room, so altered, so improved, so radiant with health and beauty, that Margaret hardly knew her again.
"Well!" exclaimed Harriet, after kissing and fondling her as she would have done a pet child. "Well, now I have you here, after this long while; I shall not let you go again in a hurry!"
"You are very kind, very kind, indeed," said Margaret, almost overcome by the warmth of her reception, "I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you again, you good little creature. But do you know you are grown considerably taller? You will be too tall to pet soon, if you do not take care. What are you looking at? We have some people staying in the house, that is the reason I have made something of a toilet."
Harriet was rounded into a splendid woman. Her complexion was as soft and clear as alabaster, and a bright carnation colour in her cheeks, gave a dazzling brilliancy to her hazel eyes. She wore a white Cachemere dress, edged with a red Greek pattern; her hair was banded back from her forehead, and a slight wreath of white periwinkles, mixed with dark green leaves, encircled her head.
"I was not looking at your dress," said Margaret, smiling, "I did not ascribe your appearance to your toilet, I assure you."
"You little flatterer! But do you know you will cut us all out? I never saw any one so improved, and you were quite pretty enough to do mischief before."
"Oh, Harriet!" said Margaret, hardly knowing to what her volatile companion referred.
"True for you," said Harriet, archly. "Well, you have not asked me all the particulars of Lucy's marriage."
"I ought to congratulate you upon it," said Margaret, "I hope Lady Raymond is well?"
"Lady Raymond—yes, I will let you call Lucy so, because you were not very intimate with her, though I mean you to know each other more by and by; but if you call me Lady Any-thing, when I marry a Lord, I will not forgive you. Yes, Lucy is very well, and as happy as possible. Lord Raymond is amazingly fond of her; the more so, perhaps, because he is not very likely to attract any body else. There was such a party at the breakfast! We, the bridesmaids, had pelisses of peach-coloured silk, trimmed with swansdown, and Lucy was all in white lace, and she looked so cold, poor girl, while we were as cosy as possible in our warm coats. And Lord Raymond stammered dreadfully; which was very odd, for I had been hearing him the responses for a week previous."
"Harriet, you make me laugh!"
"I mean it. Now let us come down together. You will love my Aunt Singleton; she is such a good little mouse!"
Mrs. Singleton did win very much upon Margaret by the manner in which she received her: there was something in her quiet and impressive kindness which seemed to say that she felt a more than ordinary interest for the orphan who was thrown in her way.
Margaret looked at her serious but sweet countenance, and felt with the intuitive knowledge that experience gives, that Mrs. Singleton must have suffered