CHAPTER VII.
Shakspeare.
“Almack’s is sadly gone off this year,” said a lady whose single subscription was out. “I shan’t go there any more.”
I only believed the last part of what she said. I should have been sorry to have found the first true; for in spite of the murmurs of turbulent spirits, who describe it as a sort of a female Holy Alliance, conspiring to as absolute a dominion over the persons, as their male prototypes did over the minds of mankind, there is no comparison either as to the disinterestedness or benefit of the two institutions. Dr. Paley (an odd authority about Almack’s) says of civil government, that obedience to it must be founded on one of three things—prejudice, reason, or self-interest. Now as to one of these, reason, perhaps, like Joseph Surface’s honour, we had better ‘leave it entirely out of the question:’ but I shall be satisfied if I can ground obedience to this petticoat republic upon the other two, as a majority of the doctor’s three elective foundations. Prejudice is rather a question for the past than the future; but that Almack’s has such a proscription in its favour, is attested sufficiently in the shoals of little three-cornered applications which, on every succeeding Monday, for seasons past, have drifted down St. James’s Street—the answers to which have been anxiously expected by rank, fashion, and beauty. But that self-interest is concerned in its perpetuity, I think I shall have no difficulty in proving, as much among many who never entered its walls, as from its regular frequenters. To the latter it must certainly be preferable to be sure, at least one night in the week, of meeting in a room where there is elbow-room to dance and be seen, than to spend one half of the evening jammed fast upon some ladder-like staircase, and the rest in hunting from house to house the somebody who is hunting them elsewhere.
But what a blessing it is to the papas and elders of families whose abomination is a ball! It enables them to satisfy their daughters with a few seven shillings’ worth of gaiety, whereas otherwise they must each in turn have been turned out of their house because their wives were “at home,”—have probably been kept in town till after their hay was cut and their turnips sown, waiting for a night, and the next morning be condemned to sit grumbling over the bills in a study that still bore traces of having acted the part of supper-room the night before.
“But then,” say the opponents of Almack’s, “such a foolish fuss as is made about tickets, and such a ridiculous favour in granting them!” If this is so, depend upon it, it is in that more than either the cheapness or convenience of the institution that its attraction consists. Difficulty of access can make even dullness desired—and exclusion would give a fictitious value to the amusements even of the Escurial. The court is in most countries the criterion of society; but for many years in England the patronesses of Almack’s have been the ladies commissioners for executing the office of court.
Such as it is, with all its exaggerated pretensions and demerits, it was attended upon the last night of the first set by most of the persons whom the reader of these pages would expect to find there. Lady Latimer had not previously appeared any where since her arrival in town. She had remained at Latimer quietly during the last few weeks, the interval between the breaking up of the members of the last battue at the close of the shooting season, and their departure for London, being the only break in upon Lord Latimer’s otherwise unceasing round of boundless hospitality. This short period of repose had in this instance been unwelcomely intruded upon by his man of business, who begged to press upon his consideration the increasing difficulty he found in supplying funds for this unlimited expense.
But Lord Latimer never either would or could understand how a man of his rent-roll could be embarrassed. “Besides, his Whisker colt would win the Derby, and that would be ten thousand more than usual this year.” As his communications with his lady were never frequent or detailed, he had at least the good taste to take care that those he did make should not be disagreeable. He therefore hinted nothing about the disorder of his circumstances, and she remained unconscious of any difficulties of the kind.
Lady Latimer had not met Lady Boreton since they separated before the election. But as her manner towards that lady had always been rather civil than cordial, she had no difficulty, particularly as she was on the winning side, in being just as glad to see her as usual; and if Lady Boreton on her side felt any coolness, she did not think Almack’s the right place to show it.
“Is Miss Mordaunt still with you?” said Lady Boreton, wishing to start an indifferent subject.
“No,” replied Lady Latimer; “she left me some months since, on account of illness in her family, and I have since been unable to hear any thing of her, though I have written several times to the place I thought she lived at. By the by, perhaps, as it is in his neighbourhood, your friend Mr. Oakley might be able to give me some information about her. Is he here?”
“No—this is not exactly in his line. He is probably attending his duty at the House. I see Mr. Germain is here.” And the patriotic lady was content at thus far hinting her opinion of the mistake the county had made in its choice between the two candidates.
“It is certainly very noisy here,” said Lady Flamborough, from a seat under the orchestra, where she had established herself with her two daughters. “Can you see, Jane, who that is Mr. Germain is talking to, there on the other side of the opposite rope?”
“I can only see the top of her head; but it looks to me like Lady Singleton’s eternal coral comb.”
“I can’t stand this noise any longer,” said Lady Flamborough; and accordingly, when it had entirely ceased at the end of the quadrille, and the fall of the ropes left a free passage across the room, she made the best of the way across, steering by Lady Singleton’s coral comb. Her ladyship she found stationary where she expected; but Germain was flown. She was in despair. Again seating herself between her girls on the nearest sofa, her quick eye caught the figure of Germain strolling listlessly that way between the hind sofa and the wall.
“You’d better sit up there behind, Jane, and leave room for Lady Boreton here. I am very anxious to speak to Lady Boreton.”
This succeeded perfectly; for though Lady Boreton seemed to have much more to say to her than she had to Lady Boreton, yet she had still opportunity to observe, whilst apparently listening attentively, that Germain made a full stop behind that part of the back sofa where she had posted Lady Jane, and seemed, in spite of his position blocking up the passage, not the least inclined to move.
“I have been telling Flamborough,” said Fitzalbert, coming up to Lady Flamborough, “that he ought to have Smith to cut his hair. He has come here with a head like a stable-boy’s.”
“Is that your son?” said Lady Boreton. “I never saw him before. What is his turn? Is he literary?”
Lady Flamborough hesitated how to answer this query, but Fitzalbert replied for her: “Oh yes! very. He made a book upon the Oaks last year.”
“A pastoral poem, I presume,” said Lady Boreton, to whom he spoke in enigmas.
“Not exactly: a modern eclogue,” said Fitzalbert, laughing; and here the subject of the conversation joined them. At the same moment the music struck up, and Lady Flamborough’s eyes glistened with pleasure as she saw Lady Jane working her way through the defile of the sofa, led by Germain. But her happiness was short-lived. They were met by young Lord Flamborough, who said: “Oh, by the by, Germain, you are a member of ——’s Club. I wish you would just go there, and help to make a ballot for me, for I am up to-night.”
“But I am just going to dance with your sister. Afterwards I will go, if there is still time.”
“But there won’t be time; and I’ve just got the number if you’ll go; and I’m sure Jane don’t care about dancing with you—she’ll find plenty of partners here.”
“Flamborough, for shame,” said his mother half aside: “what does it signify to you to belong to ——’s Club? I am sure you are just as well without being a member of it.”
“But I am not just as well without it,” said he; “for it would be somewhere to pass my evenings, without the bore of staying at home, or the trouble of dressing.”
“You had better go, if you don’t much dislike it,” whispered Lady Jane to Germain, “for if you don’t we shall never hear the last of it at home. A wilful child, you know—and that’s what he is—must have his way.”
So pressed, Germain’s good-nature urged him to go, accompanied by Fitzalbert, whose prophetic spirit, as to the future situation in the world of a noble minor with a large rent-roll, prevented his openly showing all the contempt he felt for young Lord Flamborough: but as he descended the stairs with Germain, he broke out—“A most unlicked cub, indeed. This comes of boys playing at men without first learning the game.”
And so ended Lady Flamborough’s hopes for the evening. Neither Fitzalbert nor Germain returned. The fact was, that as the result of the ballot produced only one white ball out of twelve, it was impossible that they could both have played their young friend fair; and though from the openness and good-nature of Germain’s character it was next to impossible that he should be suspected of such treachery, yet it was an awkward state of things for any of the party to have to explain, where the odds were just eleven to one against your being believed. So they determined to stay where they were, and sit down to écarté, an arrangement that was mutually agreeable, and peculiarly advantageous to Fitzalbert.
At last, at three o’clock, all hopes of their re-appearance having been lost by Lady Flamborough, she had her carriage called. “Home,” yawned out her ladyship to the sleepy footman, and “Home” was repeated to the no less sleepy coachman; and it was expressed through the medium of the whip to the more sleepy horses.
Lady Flamborough drew up the side-window. This is a moment of the four-and-twenty hours most dreaded by young ladies who are in the habit of suffering under maternal lectures; the only protection upon such an occasion being the actual presence of a good match, who has incautiously accepted the offer to be set down: otherwise the drive home is the opportunity most usually taken by the chaperon, (whose temper has not been improved by the tedium of the last few hours,) to comment upon awkwardnesses committed or oversights observed; to expatiate upon the encouragement of “detrimentals,” or the slight of good parties; to inveigh against the sin of having said too much; to inquire into the misfortune of having danced so little.
It was a part of the evening to which both Lady Caroline and Lady Jane, but particularly the latter, always looked forward with horror. But in this instance they felt safe. Their brother had been the great delinquent, and accordingly Lady Flamborough began: “I must say, you behaved very ill, Flamborough, in quite spoiling the evening by sending away Mr. Germain and Fitzalbert.”
“I am sure there were enough people left there without them. I know I wish there had been one less, and that’s myself. I don’t know why you made me come. I hardly knew a woman there, except old Lady Marsden, who used to come to my father’s; and she asked me how my little poney was, as if I was a child still.”
“I am sure you behave very like one,” said his mother, who here broke off the conversation, not wishing to prolong the dispute at the imminent risk of losing the little influence she still possessed over him.