The Absentee (7 page)

With this story Mrs. Dareville drew all attention from the jar, to Lady
Clonbrony's infinite mortification.

Lady Langdale at length turned to look at a vast range of china jars.

'Ali Baba and the forty thieves!' exclaimed Mrs. Dareville; 'I hope you
have boiling oil ready!'

Lady Clonbrony was obliged to laugh, and to vow that Mrs. Dareville was
uncommon pleasant to-night. 'But now,' said her ladyship, 'let me take
you on to the Turkish tent.'

Having with great difficulty got the malicious wit out of the pagoda and
into the Turkish tent, Lady Clonbrony began to breathe more freely;
for here she thought she was upon safe ground: 'Everything, I flatter
myself' said she, 'is correct and appropriate, and quite picturesque.'
The company, dispersed in happy groups, or reposing on seraglio
ottomans, drinking lemonade and sherbet beautiful Fatimas admiring,
or being admired—'Everything here quite correct, appropriate, and
picturesque,' repeated Mrs. Dareville.

This lady's powers as a mimic were extraordinary, and she found them
irresistible. Hitherto she had imitated Lady Clonbrony's air and accent
only behind her back; but, bolder grown, she now ventured, in spite of
Lady Langdale's warning pinches, to mimic her kind hostess before her
face, and to her face. Now, whenever Lady Clonbrony saw anything that
struck her fancy in the dress of her fashionable friends, she had a
way of hanging her head aside, and saying, with a peculiar sentimental
drawl—

'How pretty!—how elegant! Now that quite suits my TEESTE! This phrase,
precisely in the same accent, and with the head set to the same angle
of affectation, Mrs. Dareville had the assurance to address to her
ladyship, apropos to something which she pretended to admire in Lady
Clonbrony's COSTUME—a costume which, excessively fashionable in each of
its parts, was, all together, so extraordinarily unbecoming as to be fit
for a print-shop. The perception of this, added to the effect of Mrs.
Dareville's mimicry, was almost too much for Lady Langdale; she could
not possibly have stood it, but for the appearance of Miss Nugent at
this instant behind Lady Clonbrony. Grace gave one glance of indignation
which seemed suddenly to strike Mrs. Dareville. Silence for a moment
ensued, and afterwards the tone of the conversation was changed.

'Salisbury!—explain this to me,' said a lady, drawing Mr. Salisbury
aside. 'If you are in the secret, do explain this to me; for unless I
had seen it, I could not have believed it. Nay, though I have seen it, I
do not believe it. How was that daring spirit laid? By what spell?'

'By the spell which superior minds always cast on inferior spirits.'

'Very fine,' said the lady, laughing, 'but as old as the days of Leonora
de Galigai, quoted a million times. Now tell me something new and to the
purpose, and better suited to modern days.'

'Well, then, since you will not allow me to talk of superior minds in
the present days, let me ask you if you have never observed that a wit,
once conquered in company by a wit of a higher order, is thenceforward
in complete subjection to the conqueror, whenever and wherever they
meet.'

'You would not persuade me that yonder gentle-looking could ever be a
match for the veteran Mrs. Dareville? She may have the wit, but has she
the courage?'

'Yes; no one has more courage, more civil courage, where her own
dignity, or the interests of her friends are concerned. I will tell you
an instance or two to-morrow.'

'To-morrow!—To-night!—tell it me now.'

'Not a safe place.'

'The safest in the world, in such a crowd as this. Follow my example.
Take a glass of orgeat—sip from time to time, thus—speak low, looking
innocent all the while straight forward, or now and then up at
the lamps—keep on in an even tone—use no names—and you may tell
anything.'

'Well, then, when Miss Nugent first came to London, Lady Langdale—'

'Two names already—did not I warn ye?'

'But how can I make myself intelligible?'

'Initials—can't you use—or genealogy? What stops you?

'It is only Lord Colambre, a very safe person, I have a notion, when the
eulogium is of Grace Nugent.'

Lord Colambre, who had now performed his arduous duties as a dancer, and
had disembarrassed himself of all his partners, came into the Turkish
tent just at this moment to refresh himself, and just in time to hear
Mr. Salisbury's anecdotes.

'Now go on.'

'Lady Langdale, you know, sets an inordinate value upon her curtsies in
public, and she used to treat Miss Nugent, as her ladyship treats many
other people, sometimes noticing, and sometimes pretending not to know
her, according to the company she happened to be with. One day they
met in some fine company—Lady Langdale looked as if she was afraid
of committing herself by a curtsy. Miss Nugent waited for a good
opportunity; and, when all the world was silent, leant forward, and
called to Lady Langdale, as if she had something to communicate of the
greatest consequence, skreening her whisper with her hand, as in an
aside on the stage,—'Lady Langdale, you may curtsy to me now—nobody is
looking.'

'The retort courteous!' said Lord Colambre—'the only retort for a
woman.'

'And her ladyship deserved it so well. But Mrs. Dareville, what happened
about her?'

'Mrs. Dareville, you remember, some years ago, went to Ireland with some
lady-lieutenant to whom she was related. There she was most hospitably
received by Lord and Lady Clonbrony—went to their country house—was as
intimate with Lady Clonbrony and with Miss Nugent as possible—stayed
at Clonbrony Castle for a month; and yet, when Lady Clonbrony came to
London, never took the least notice of her. At last, meeting at the
house of a common friend, Mrs. Dareville could not avoid recognising
her ladyship; but, even then, did it in the least civil manner and most
cursory style possible. 'Ho! Lady Clonbrony!—didn't know you were in
England!—When did you come?—How long shall you stay in town!—Hope,
before you leave England, your Ladyship and Miss Nugent will give us
a day?' A DAY!—Lady Clonbrony was so astonished by this impudence of
ingratitude, that she hesitated how to TAKE IT; but Miss Nugent, quite
coolly, and with a smile, answered, 'A DAY!—certainly—to you, who gave
us a month!'

'Admirable! Now comprehend perfectly why Mrs. Dareville declines
insulting Miss Nugent's friends in her presence.'

Lord Colambre said nothing, but thought much. 'How I wish my mother,'
thought he, 'had some of Grace Nugent's proper pride! She would not then
waste her fortune, spirits, health, and life, in courting such people as
these.'

He had not seen—he could not have borne to have beheld—the manner in
which his mother had been treated by some of her guests; but he
observed that she now looked harassed and vexed; and he was provoked
and mortified by hearing her begging and beseeching some of these saucy
leaders of the ton to oblige her, to do her the favour, to do her the
honour, to stay to supper. It was just ready—actually announced. 'No,
they would not—they could not; they were obliged to run away—engaged
to the Duchess of Torcaster.'

'Lord Colambre, what is the matter?' said Miss Nugent, going up to him,
as he stood aloof and indignant: 'Don't look so like a chafed lion;
others may perhaps read your countenance as well as I do.'

'None can read my mind so well,' replied he. 'Oh, my dear Grace!'

'Supper!—supper!' cried she; 'your duty to your neighbour, your hand to
your partner.'

Lady Catharine, as they went downstairs to supper, observed that Miss
Nugent had not been dancing, that she had kept quite in the background
all night-quite in the shade.

'Those,' said Lord Colambre, 'who are contented in the 'shade are
the best able to bear the light; and I am not surprised that one so
interesting in the background should not desire to be the foremost
figure in a piece.'

The supper room, fitted up at great expense, with scenery to imitate
Vauxhall, opened into a superb greenhouse, lighted with coloured lamps,
a band of music at a distance—every delicacy, every luxury that
could gratify the senses, appeared in profusion. The company ate and
drank—enjoyed themselves—went away—and laughed at their hostess.
Some, indeed, who thought they had been neglected, were in too bad
humour to laugh, but abused her in sober earnest; for Lady Clonbrony had
offended half, nay, three-quarters of her guests, by what they termed
her exclusive attention to those very leaders of the ton, from whom
she had suffered so much, and who had made it obvious to all that they
thought they did her too much honour in appearing at her gala. So
ended the gala for which she had lavished such sums; for which she had
laboured so indefatigably; and from which she had expected such triumph.

'Colambre, bid the musicians stop; they are playing to empty benches,'
said Lady Clonbrony. 'Grace, my dear, will you see that these lamps are
safely put out? I am so tired, so WORN OUT, I must go to bed; and I am
sure I have caught cold too! What a NERVOUS BUSINESS it is to manage
these things! I wonder how one gets through it, or WHY one does it!'

Lady Clonbrony was taken ill the day after her gala; she had caught cold
by standing, when much overheated, in a violent draught of wind, paying
her parting compliments to the Duke of V—, who thought her a bore, and
wished her in heaven all the time for keeping his horses standing. Her
ladyship's illness was severe and long; she was confined to her room for
some weeks by a rheumatic fever, and an inflammation in her eyes. Every
day, when Lord Colambre went to see his mother, he found Miss Nugent
in her apartment, and every hour he found fresh reason to admire this
charming girl. The affectionate tenderness, the indefatigable patience,
the strong attachment she showed for her aunt, actually raised Lady
Clonbrony in her son's opinion. He was persuaded she must surely have
some good or great qualities, or she could not have excited such strong
affection. A few foibles out of the question, such as her love of fine
people, her affectation of being English, and other affectations too
tedious to mention, Lady Clonbrony was really a good woman, had good
principles, moral and religious, and, selfishness not immediately
interfering, she was good-natured; and though her soul and attention
were so completely absorbed in the duties of acquaintanceship that she
did not know it, she really had affections—they were concentrated upon
a few near relations. She was extremely fond and extremely proud of
her son. Next to her son, she was fonder of her niece than of any other
creature. She had received Grace Nugent into her family when she was
left an orphan, and deserted by some of her other relations. She had
bred her up, and had treated her with constant kindness. This kindness
and these obligations had raised the warmest gratitude in Miss Nugent's
heart; and it was the strong principle of gratitude which rendered her
capable of endurance and exertions seemingly far above her strength.
This young lady was not of a robust appearance, though she now underwent
extraordinary fatigue. Her aunt could scarcely bear that she should
leave her for a moment: she could not close her eyes unless Grace sat
up with her many hours every night. Night after night she bore this
fatigue; and yet, with little sleep or rest, she preserved her health,
at least supported her spirits; and every morning, when Lord Colambre
came into his mother's room, he saw Miss Nugent look as blooming as
if she had enjoyed the most refreshing sleep. The bloom was, as he
observed, not permanent; it came and went, with every emotion of her
feeling heart; and he soon learned to fancy her almost as handsome when
she was pale as when she had a colour. He had thought her beautiful when
he beheld her in all the radiance of light, and with all the advantages
of dress at the gala, but he found her infinitely more lovely and
interesting now, when he saw her in a sick-room—a half-darkened
chamber—where often he could but just discern her form, or distinguish
her, except by her graceful motion as she passed, or when, but for a
moment, a window-curtain drawn aside let the sun shine upon her face, or
on the unadorned ringlets of her hair.

Much must be allowed for an inflammation in the eyes, and something for
a rheumatic fever; yet it may seem strange that Lady Clonbrony should be
so blind and deaf as neither to see nor hear all this time; that, having
lived so long in the world, it should never occur to her that it was
rather imprudent to have a young lady, not eighteen, nursing her—and
such a young lady!—when her son, not one-and-twenty—and such a
son!—came to visit her daily. But, so it was. Lady Clonbrony knew
nothing of love—she had read of it, indeed, in novels, which sometimes
for fashion's sake she had looked at, and over which she had been
obliged to doze; but this was only love in books—love in real life she
had never met with—in the life she led, how should she? She had heard
of its making young people, and old people even, do foolish things; but
those were foolish people; and if they were worse than foolish, why it
was shocking, and nobody visited them. But Lady Clonbrony had not, for
her own part, the slightest, notion how people could be brought to this
pass, nor how anybody out of Bedlam could prefer to a good house, a
decent equipage, and a proper establishment, what is called love in
a cottage. As to Colambre, she had too good an opinion of his
understanding—to say nothing of his duty to his family, his pride, his
rank, and his being her son—to let such an idea cross her imagination.
As to her niece; in the first place, she was her niece, and first
cousins should never marry, because they form no new connexions to
strengthen the family interest, or raise its consequence. This doctrine
her ladyship had repeated for years so often and so dogmatically, that
she conceived it to be incontrovertible, and of as full force as any law
of the land, or as any moral or religious obligation. She would as
soon have suspected her niece of an intention of stealing her diamond
necklace as of purloining Colambre's heart, or marrying this heir of the
house of Clonbrony.