Yes and no, Volume 2 (of 2)

The morning after Almack’s, Lady Flamborough called rather early upon Lady Boreton, not from any great wish she felt to see her ladyship, but from a prospective inclination to repeat her visit in the summer to Boreton Hall.

A dowager’s summer and autumn are apt to hang a little heavy on her hands. A watering-place is rather an expensive resource; she can’t bespeak plays and patronise balls for nothing; and, after all, she is often of the same opinion as the manager, or the master of the ceremonies, that “Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.” Then, as to a trip to the Continent, a pretty precocious girl may sometimes be married before the age at which she would be “out” in England. But neither Lady Caroline nor Lady Jane were quite so green as to require to be forced forward; and to lose a London season would be, in their case, a dangerous experiment. Lady Flamborough had been very much pleased with the party she last met at Boreton; and though nothing had actually occurred in consequence, much had then been put in train. She had certainly some difficulty as to the adverse part that many of her connexions and relatives had since taken at the election; but she had been glad to observe, the night before, that Lady Boreton did not appear to retain any unpleasant feelings on this head. She was prepared too, this morning, to introduce a topic which might afford an opportunity of descanting on the pleasures of the visit, without recalling the troubles of the election. She therefore began:

“Who do you think is come to town this morning? Henry Seaford, my cousin, Lord Waltham’s third son. You know, he was intended for the diplomatique; but, at nineteen, he wanted to marry a figurante at Naples, so his father very properly determined he should go into the church. And Lord Waltham certainly has been very kind to him ever since; and has just got him a capital living in a beautiful hunting county, and so he is come up from the place where he has been upon probation. And whom do you think he has been telling us about? You remember that girl, who was a sort of protégée of Louisa’s, and whom you were kind enough to invite to that delightful party we had at Boreton? My girls always say, they never were so happy. You know who I mean; Miss ——. It was a strange fancy of Louisa’s. I told her, I thought it was taking a great liberty with you: however, Fitzalbert cried her up, so every body admired her. Miss Melville was it?—No, Mordaunt.”

“Miss Mordaunt, to be sure,” said Lady Boreton; “A very pretty pleasant girl. What of her?”

“Why, Seaford says, she’s left quite a beggar. Her mother died when he first came there; and she’s gone no one knows where. It’s a great pity! To be sure, she had a very neat taste in dress, and might make a very good lady’s maid; only, I can’t bear pretty ladies’ maids; they are always looking over one’s shoulders at themselves in the glass.”

It so happened, that Oakley just at this time came in to make a morning visit to Lady Boreton. He was very much out of spirits, having seen that morning by his agent’s accounts, that Helen’s annuity had never been claimed. This had made him very uneasy; he determined himself to leave town to examine into the cause; and had therefore called on Lady Boreton previous to his departure, to arrange some county business with her, which it was impossible that he could leave unsettled. It will have been observed that, to use a vulgar phrase, there was “no love lost” between him and Lady Flamborough.

He was therefore rather disconcerted, at finding her there; and she, on her part, abruptly concluded her visit on account of his coming in; but, as it was impossible with her well-practised eye for incipient flirtations, that his former attentions to Helen Mordaunt could have entirely escaped her observation, she said rather maliciously, just as she went out: “Indeed, my dear Lady Boreton, any thing one could do to get her in a decent line, would be quite a charity for her, poor thing! It is shocking to think of the temptations to which she may be exposed; for she certainly was rather pretty. You had better talk it over with Mr. Oakley; he is a governor of so many of those charitable institutions. The Magdalen, is it? No; that is not exactly what I mean: however, I’ll leave you to settle it all with him. Good morning.”

When Lady Boreton explained to Oakley that it was Helen Mordaunt of whom they had been speaking, he turned as pale as death; and had her ladyship not been engrossed in many projects on which she had long wished to consult him, she could not have avoided observing his emotion. It was in vain, however, that she attempted to command his attention, whilst she expounded to him several joint-stock schemes, in which she was then anxiously engaged. “You must take a hundred shares in this, Mr. Oakley, it is the best of all. It is called the ‘Joint Stock Staff of Life Company.’ You know there is nothing in which one is so shamefully abused as in the London bread. Well, we propose to bake in one immense oven, and the dough is to be kneaded by steam. Fitzalbert says, that if the dandies must go into the city for money, they had better give up fishmonger’s companies, and go into the best bread society, where they will be very much kneaded. Very good that, Mr. Oakley.”

But even this appeal did not force from Oakley an unconscious smile at Fitzalbert’s execrable pun, much less rouse him from his abstraction; though he rose mechanically, at Lady Boreton’s desire, to examine the model of the oven. In showing it off, Lady Boreton’s wrist got entangled in the machinery, and her bracelet broke and fell to the ground. Oakley stooped to pick it up, hardly knowing what he was doing, till his eye accidentally glancing upon that which he held in his hand, his attention instantly became riveted, whilst Lady Boreton went on indefatigably explaining that at which he was no longer pretending to look. The bracelet was made of hair, and irresistibly reminded him of one he had seen Helen Mordaunt, at Boreton, making of her own hair for Lady Latimer: it had been of a peculiarly ingenious manufacture, lately invented at Paris, and had not been previously known in this country; he remembered too being struck, at the time, with the admiration the company then bestowed on the workmanship; and not a little disgusted at the frivolity which could single out this, of all Helen’s accomplishments, the most to admire.

That which he now held in his hand, was of the same fashion, the same plaiting; and could he have believed it, he would almost have said, the same hair.

Lady Boreton, having finished her unheeded lecture on machinery, offered to take the bracelet away. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Oakley, the clasp is broken, I perceive. Bazaar goods never last.”

But Oakley was unwilling thus to part with it, and offered himself to take it there to be repaired; thinking that, by that means, he might perhaps obtain a clue to the discovery of Helen.

Lady Boreton looked not a little surprised at such an offer on his part, as it was a civility quite out of his usual line; but she nevertheless accepted his services.

Oakley hastened out of the house, went direct to the bazaar, and found out the stall mentioned by Lady Boreton; but, once there, he almost omitted his commission, and entirely forgot the explicit direction he had received as to the new setting, in the eagerness of his enquiries about the person from whom it had been procured. The shopwoman, having still some pretensions to good looks herself, gave not an over partial account of the personal appearance of her, the mere description of whom seemed to blind her hearer to the more obvious charms before him; but even from her account, Oakley extracted enough to convince him that it was Helen herself.

“You will oblige me with her direction,” said he. There was a strange expression, which was meant for propriety, on the shopwoman’s countenance, as she replied, “that indeed she knew nothing at all about her—that her goods were brought there for sale, and she paid honestly for them; but, as to any thing further than in the way of business, she knew nothing about her, nor she didn’t desire.”

“But I have to order another bracelet similar to this,” said Oakley, restraining himself: “when are you likely to see her again, as there is some hurry about it?”

“Oh, if it’s for that, sir,” said the woman, “I expected her here this morning; but I’m afraid she may have been a bit idle. Perhaps some other gentleman has been asking after her,” added she, meaning to look sly; but she checked herself, on seeing nothing in Oakley’s face which made it, on any account, expedient for her to do so.

“I think it is impossible that she should miss coming to-morrow morning; and she’s very early when she does come.”

Having, at length, extracted this piece of information, Oakley departed; and the shopwoman muttered, as he went out: “I should have guessed as much: it is always your demure-looking ones who are the worst.”