Count Altenberg arrived at Clermont-park, and as Lord Oldborough was still confined by the gout, Commissioner Falconer, to his lady’s infinite satisfaction, was deputed to show him every thing that was worth seeing in this part of the country. Every morning some party was formed by Mrs. Falconer, and so happily arranged that her Georgiana and the count were necessarily thrown together. The count rode extremely well; Miss Falconers had been taught to ride in a celebrated riding-house, and were delighted to display their equestrian graces. When they were not disposed to ride, the count had a phaeton; and Mrs. Falconer a barouche; and either in the phaeton, or the barouche seat, Miss Georgiana Falconer was seated with the count, who, as she discovered, drove uncommonly well.
The count had expressed a desire to see the place where M. de Tourville had been shipwrecked, and he really wished to be introduced to the Percy family, of whom, from the specimen he had seen in Alfred, and from all the hospitality they had shown the distressed mariners (some of whom were his countrymen), he had formed a favourable opinion. Half his wish was granted, the rest dispersed in empty air. Mrs. Falconer with alacrity arranged a party for Percy-hall, to show the count the scene of the shipwreck. She should be so glad to see it herself, for she was absent from the country at the time of the sad disaster; but the commissioner, who knew the spot, and all the circumstances, better than any other person, would show them every thing—and Sir Robert Percy, she was sure, would think himself much honoured by Count Altenberg’s visiting his place.
Count Altenberg had some confused recollection of Mr. Alfred Percy’s having told him that his father no longer lived at Percy hall; but this speech of Mrs. Falconer’s led the count to believe that he had misunderstood what Alfred had said.
The party arranged for Percy-hall consisted of the Miss Falconers, the two Lady Arlingtons, and some other young people, who were at Falconer-court. It was a fine morning, Mrs. Falconer was all suavity and smiles, both the Miss Falconers in charming hopes, and consequently in charming spirits.
Percy-hall was really a beautiful place, and Miss Arabella Falconer now looked at it with the pleasure of anticipated possession. Sir Robert Percy was not at home, he had been obliged that morning to be absent on some special business; but he had left orders with his steward and housekeeper to show the party of visitors the house and grounds. In going through the apartments they came to the gallery leading to the library, where they were stopped by some workmen’s trestles, on which were lying two painted glass windows, one that had been taken down, and another which was to be put in its stead. Whilst the workmen were moving the obstacles out of the way, the company had leisure to admire the painted windows. One of them was covered with coats of arms: the other represented the fire at Percy-hall, and the portrait of Caroline assisting the old nurse down the staircase. This painting immediately fixed Count Altenberg’s eye, and Miss Georgiana Falconer, not knowing whose portrait it was, exclaimed, as she looked at the figure of Caroline, “Beautiful! Exquisite! What a lovely creature that is assisting the old woman!”
“Yes,” said Count Altenberg, “it is one of the finest countenances I ever beheld.”
All the ladies eagerly pressed forward to look at it.
“Beautiful! Don’t you think it is something like Lady Anne Cope?” said Miss Falconer.
“Oh! dear, no!” cried Miss Georgiana Falconer: “it is a great deal handsomer than any of the Copes ever were, or ever will be!”
“It has a look of Lady Mary Nesbitt,” said one of the Lady Arlingtons.
“The eyes are so like Lady Coningsby, who is my delight,” said Georgiana.
“And it has quite the Arlington nose,” said Mrs. Falconer, glancing her eye upon the Lady Arlingtons. Count Altenberg, without moving his eye, repeated, “It is the most beautiful face I ever beheld.”
“Not nearly so beautiful as the original, sir,” said the painter.
“The original?—Is it a copy?”
“A portrait, sir.”
“Oh! a family portrait of one of our great, great grandmother Percys, I suppose,” said Miss Georgiana, “done in her youth—in a fancy piece, you know, according to the taste of those times—she must have been superlatively lovely.”
“Ma’am,” said the painter, “the young lady, of whom this is a portrait, is, I hope and believe, now living.”
“Where?—and who can she be?—for I am sure I don’t recollect ever having seen her in all my life—never met her in town any where—Pray, sir, who may it be?” added she, turning to the artist, with a mixture of affected negligence and real pride.
“Miss Caroline Percy, ma’am.”
“A daughter of Sir Robert Percy—of the gentleman of this house?” said Count Altenberg eagerly.
Mrs. Falconer, and her daughter Georgiana, answered rapidly, with looks of alarm, as they stood a little behind the count.
“Oh! no, no, Count Altenberg,” cried Mrs. Falconer, advancing, “not a daughter of the gentleman of this house—another family, relations, but distant relations of the commissioner’s: he formerly knew something of them, but we know nothing of them.”
The painter however knew a great deal, and seemed anxious to tell all he knew: but Mrs. Falconer walked on immediately, saying, “This is our way, is not it? This leads to the library, where, I dare say, we shall find the book which the count wanted.” The count heard her not, for with his eyes fixed on the picture he was listening to the account which the painter was giving of the circumstance it recorded of the fire at Percy-hall—of the presence of mind and humanity of Miss Caroline Percy, who had saved the life of the poor decrepit woman, who in the picture was represented as leaning upon her arm. The painter paused when he came to this part of his story—“That woman was my mother, sir.”—He went on, and with all the eloquence of filial affection and of gratitude, pronounced in a few words a panegyric on the family who had been his first and his best benefactors: all who heard him were touched with his honest warmth, except the Miss Falconers.
“I dare say those Percys were very good people in their day,” said Miss Falconer; “but their day is over, and no doubt you’ll find, in the present possessor of the estate, sir, as good a patron at least.”
The artist took up his pencil without making any reply, and went on with some heraldic devices he was painting.
“I am amazed how you could see any likeness in that face or figure to Lady Anne Cope, or Lady Mary Nesbitt, or any of the Arlingtons,” said Miss Georgiana Falconer, looking through her hand at the portrait of Caroline: “it’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw, certainly; but there’s nothing of an air of fashion, and without that—”
“Count Altenberg, I have found for you the very book I heard you tell the commissioner last night you wished so much to see,” said Mrs. Falconer. The count went forward to receive the book, and to thank the lady for her polite attention; she turned over the leaves, and showed him some uncommonly fine prints, which he was bound to admire—and whilst he was admiring, Mrs. Falconer found a moment to whisper to her daughter Georgiana, “Not a word more about the picture: let it alone, and it is only a picture—dwell upon it, and you make it a reality.”
Miss Georgiana had quickness and ability sufficient to feel the value of her mother’s knowledge of the world and of human nature, but she had seldom sufficient command of temper to imitate or to benefit by Mrs. Falconer’s address. On this occasion she contented herself with venting her spleen on the poor painter, whose colouring and drapery she began to criticize unmercifully. Mrs. Falconer, however, carried off the count with her into the library, and kept him there, till the commissioner, who had been detained in the neighbouring village by some electioneering business, arrived; and then they pursued their walk together through the park. Miss Falconer was particularly delighted with the beauties of the grounds. Miss Georgiana, recovering her good-humour, was again charming—and all went on well; till they came near the sea-shore, and the count asked Commissioner Falconer to show him the place where the shipwreck had happened. She was provoked that his attention should be withdrawn from her, and again by these Percys. The commissioner called to one of the boatmen who had been ordered to be in readiness, and asked him to point out the place where the Dutch vessel had been wrecked. The man, who seemed rather surly, replied that they could not see the right place where they stood, and if they had a mind to see it, they must come into the boat, and row a piece up farther.
Now some of these town-bred ladies were alarmed at the idea of going to sea, and though Miss Georgiana was very unwilling to be separated from the count, and though her mother encouraged the young lady to vanquish her fears as much by precept and as little by example as possible, yet when she was to be handed into the boat, she drew back in pretty terror, put her hands before her face, and protested she could not venture even with Count Altenberg. After as much waste of words as the discussion of such arrangements on a party of pleasure usually involves, it was at length settled that only the commissioner should accompany the count, that the rest of the gentlemen and ladies should pursue their walk, and that they should all meet again at the park-gate. The surly boatman rowed off, but he soon ceased to be surly when the count spoke of the humanity and hospitality which had been shown to some of his countrymen by Mr. Percy. Immediately the boatman’s tongue was loosed.
“Why, ay, sir, if you bees curous about that there gentleman, I can tell you a deal about him. But them as comes to see the new man does not covet to hear talk of the old master; but, nevertheless, there’s none like him—he gave me and wife that there white cottage yonder, half ways up the bank, where you see the smoke rising between the trees—as snug a cottage it is!—But that is no matter to you, sir. But I wish you had but seed him the night of the shipwreck, he and his son, God above bless him, and them—wherever they are, if they’re above ground. I’d row out the worse night ever we had, to set my eyes on them again before I die, but for a minute. Ay, that night of the shipwreck, not a man was willing to go out with them, or could be got out the first turn, but myself.”
Upon this text he spoke at large, entering into a most circumstantial and diffuse history of the shipwreck, mingling his own praises with those which he heartily bestowed upon the Percys of the right good old branch. Commissioner Falconer meantime was not in a condition to throw in any thing in favour of his new friend Sir Robert Percy; he was taking pinch after pinch of snuff, looking alternately at the water and the boat, sitting stiffly upright in anxious silence. Although in the incessant practice of suppressing his own feelings, corporeal and mental, from respect or complaisance to his superiors in rank and station, yet he presently found it beyond the utmost efforts of his courtly philosophy to endure his qualms of mind and body. Interrupting the talkative boatman, he first conjured the orator to mind what he was about; at last, Mr. Falconer complaining of growing very sick, the count gave up all thoughts of proceeding farther, and begged the boatman to put them ashore as soon as he could. They landed near the village, which it was necessary that they should pass through, before they could reach the appointed place of meeting. The poor commissioner, whose stomach was still disordered, and whose head was giddy, observed that they had yet a long walk to take, and proposed sending for one of the carriages—accordingly they waited for it at the village inn. The commissioner, after having made a multitude of apologies to the count, retired to rest himself—during his absence, the count, who, wherever he was, endeavoured to see as much as possible of the manners of the people, began talking to the landlord and landlady. Again the conversation turned upon the characters of the late and the present possessors of Percy-hall; and the good people, by all the anecdotes they told, and still more by the warm attachment they expressed for the old banished family, increased every moment his desire to be personally acquainted with those who in adversity were preferred to persons in present power and prosperity. Count Altenberg, young as he was, had seen enough of the world to feel the full value of eulogiums bestowed on those who are poor, and who have no means of serving in any way the interests of their panegyrists.
When the carriage came, and the commissioner was sufficiently refitted for conversation, the count repeatedly expressed his earnest wish to become acquainted with that Mr. Percy and his family, to whom his countrymen had been so much obliged, and of whom he said he had this morning heard so many interesting anecdotes. The commissioner had not been present when the count saw the picture of Caroline, nor indeed did he enter into Mrs. Falconer’s matrimonial designs for her daughter Georgiana. The commissioner generally saw the folly, and despaired of the success, of all castle-building but his own, and his castles in the air were always on a political plan. So without difficulty he immediately replied that nothing would give him more pleasure than to introduce the count to his relations, the Percys. The moment this was mentioned, however, to Mrs. Falconer, the commissioner saw through the complacent countenance, with which she forced herself to listen to him, that he had made some terrible blunder, for which he should have to answer in private.
Accordingly the first moment they were alone, Mrs. Falconer reproached him with the rash promise he had made. “I shall have all the difficulty in the world to put this out of the count’s head. I thought, Mr. Falconer, that you had agreed to let those Percys drop.”
“So I would if I could, my dear; but how can I, when Lord Oldborough persists in holding them up?—You must go and see them, my dear.”
“I!” cried Mrs. Falconer, with a look of horror; “I!—not I, indeed! Lord Oldborough holds up only the gentlemen of the family—his lordship has nothing to do with the ladies, I suppose. Now, you know visiting can go on vastly well, to all eternity, between the gentlemen of a family without the ladies having any sort of intimacy or acquaintance even. You and Mr. Percy—if it is necessary for appearance sake with Lord Oldborough—may continue upon the old footing; but I charge you, commissioner, do not involve me—and whatever happens, don’t take Count Altenberg with you to the Hills.”
“Why not, my dear?”
“My dear, I have my reasons. You were not in the gallery at Percy-hall this morning, when the count saw that painted glass window?”
The commissioner begged an explanation; but when he had heard all Mrs. Falconer’s reasons, they did not seem to strike him with the force she desired and expected.
“I will do as you please, my dear,” said he, “and, if I can, I will make the count forget my promised introduction to the Percys; but all the time, depend upon it, your fears and your hopes are both equally vain. You ladies are apt to take it for granted that men’s heads are always running on love.”
“Young men’s heads sometimes are,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Very seldom in these days,” said the commissioner. “And love altogether, as one should think you might know by this time, Mrs. Falconer—a sensible woman of the world, as you are; but no woman, even the most sensible, can ever believe it—love altogether has surprisingly little to do in the real management and business of the world.”
“Surprisingly little,” replied Mrs. Falconer, placidly. “But seriously, my dear, here is an opportunity of making an excellent match for Georgiana, if you will be so obliging as not to counteract me.”
“I am the last man in the world to counteract you, my dear; but it will never do,” said Mr. Falconer; “and you will only make Georgiana ridiculous, as she has been several times already, from the failure of these love-matches. I tell you, Mrs. Falconer, Count Altenberg is no more thinking of love than I am—nor is he a man in the least likely to fall in love.”
“He is more than half in love with my Georgiana already,” said the mother, “if I have any eyes.”
“You have eyes, and very fine eyes, my dear, as every body knows, and no one better than myself—they have but one defect.”
“Defect!”
“They sometimes see more than exists.”
“You would not be so incredulous, Mr. Falconer, if you had seen the rapture with which the count listens to Georgiana when she plays on the harp. He is prodigiously fond of music.”
“And of painting too,” said the commissioner; “for, by your account of the matter, he seemed to have been more than half in love also with a picture this morning.”
“A picture is no very dangerous rival, except in a modern novel,” replied Mrs. Falconer. “But beware, commissioner—and remember, I understand these things—I warn you in time—beware of the original of that picture, and never again talk to me of going to see those Percys; for though the girl may be only an unfashioned country beauty, and Georgiana has so many polished advantages, yet there is no knowing what whim a young man might take into his head.”
The commissioner, though he remained completely of his own opinion, that Mrs. Falconer’s scheme for Georgiana would never do, disputed the point no farther, but left the room, promising all she required, for promises cost him nothing. To do him justice, he recollected and endeavoured to the best of his power to keep his word; for the next morning he took his time so well to propose a ride to the Hills, just at the moment when Lord Oldborough and the count were deep in a conversation on the state of continental politics, that his lordship would not part with him. The commissioner paid his visit alone, and Mrs. Falconer gave him credit for his address; but scarcely had she congratulated herself, when she was thrown again into terror—the commissioner had suggested to Lord Oldborough the propriety and policy of giving, whilst he was in the country, a popularity ball! His lordship assented, and Mrs. Falconer, as usual, was to take the trouble off his hands, and to give an entertainment, to his lordship’s friends. Lord Oldborough had not yet recovered from the gout, and he was glad to accept of her offer: his lordship not being able to appear, or to do the honours of the fête, was a sufficient apology for his not giving it at Clermont-park.
The obsequious commissioner begged to have a list of any friends whom Lord Oldborough particularly wished to have invited; but his lordship, with a look of absence, replied, that he left all that entirely to Mrs. Falconer; however, the very evening of the day on which the commissioner paid his visit alone at the Hills, Lord Oldborough put into his hands a list of the friends whom he wished should be invited to the ball, and at the head of his list were the Percys.
“The Percys! the very people I first thought of!” said Mr. Falconer, commanding his countenance carefully: “but I fear we cannot hope to have them, they are at such a distance, and they have no carriage.”
“Any of my carriages, all of them, shall be at their command,” said Lord Oldborough.
The commissioner reported this to Mrs. Falconer, observing that he had gone to the very brink of offending Lord Oldborough to oblige her, as he knew by his lordship’s look and tone of voice; and that nothing now could be done, but to visit the Percys, and as soon as possible, and to send them a card of invitation for the ball.
“And, my dear, whatever you do, I am sure will be done with a good grace,” added the commissioner, observing that his lady looked excessively discomfited.
“Very well, commissioner; you will have your daughter upon your hands, that’s all.”
“I should be as sorry for that, my love, as you could be; but what can be done? we must not lose the substance in running after the shadow. Lord Oldborough might turn short round upon us.”
“Not the least likely upon such a trifling occasion as this, where no politics are in question. What can Mrs. or Miss Percy’s being or not being at this ball signify to Lord Oldborough?—a man who never in his life thought of balls or cared any thing about women, and these are women whom he has never seen. What interest can it possibly be of Lord Oldborough’s?”
“I cannot tell you, my dear—I don’t see any immediate interest. But there’s an old private friendship in the case. Some way or other, I declare I cannot tell you how, that old cousin Percy of mine has contrived to get nearer to Lord Oldborough than any one living ever could do—nearer to his heart.”
“Heart!—Private friendship!” repeated Mrs. Falconer, with a tone of ineffable contempt. “Well, I only wish you had said nothing about the matter to Lord Oldborough; I could have managed it myself. Was there ever such want of address! When you saw the Percys at the head of the list, was that a time to say any thing about your fears of their not coming? Do you think Lord Oldborough could not translate fears into hopes? Then to mention their having no carriages!—when, if you had kept your own counsel, that would have been our sufficient excuse at last. They must have refused: nothing need have been said about it till the night of the ball; and I would lay my life, Lord Oldborough would never, in the mean time, have thought of it, or of them. But so silly! to object in that way, when you know that the slightest contradiction wakens Lord Oldborough’s will, and then indeed you might as well talk to his own Jupiter Tonans. If his lordship had set a beggar-woman’s name at the head of his list, and you had objected that she had no carriage, he would directly have answered ‘She shall have mine.’ Bless me! It’s wonderful that people can pique themselves on address, and have so little knowledge of character.”
“My dear,” said the commissioner, “if you reproach me from this time till to-morrow, the end of the matter will be, that you must go and see the Percys. I say, Mrs. Falconer,” added he, assuming a peremptory tone, for which he had acquired a taste from Lord Oldborough, but had seldom courage or opportunity to indulge in it, “I say, Mrs. Falconer, the thing must be done.” He rang the bell in a gloriously authoritative manner, and ordered the carriage.
A visit paid thus upon compulsion was not likely to be very agreeable; but the complaints against the roads, the dreadful distance, and the horrid necessity of being civil, need not be recorded. Miss Falconers exclaimed when they at last came to the Hills, “La! I did not think it was so tolerable a place!” Miss Georgiana hoped that they should, at least, see Miss Caroline—she owned she was curious to see that beautiful original, of whom the painter at Percy Hall, and her brother Buckhurst, had said so much.
Mrs. Percy and Rosamond only were at home. Caroline had taken a walk with her father to a considerable distance.
Mrs. Falconer, who had, by this time, completely recovered her self-command, presented herself with such smiling grace, and expressed, in such a tone of cordiality, her earnest desire, now that she had been so happy as to get into the country, to enjoy the society of her friends and relations, that Rosamond was quite charmed into a belief of at least half of what she said. Rosamond was willing to attribute all that had appeared, particularly of late, in contradiction of this lady’s present professions, to some political motives of Commissioner Falconer, whom she disliked for his conduct to Buckhurst, and whom she was completely willing to give up as a worldly-minded courtier. But whilst the manners of the mother operated thus with Rosamond in favour of her moral character, even Rosamond’s easy faith and sanguine benevolence could not see or hear any thing from the daughters that confirmed Mrs. Falconer’s flattering speeches; they sat in languid silence, looking upon the animate and inanimate objects in the room with the same air of supercilious listlessness. They could not speak so as to be heard, they could not really understand any thing that Rosamond said to them; they seemed as if their bodies had been brought into the room by mistake, and their souls left behind them: not that they were in the least timid or abashed; no, they seemed fully satisfied with their own inanity, and proud to show that they had absolutely no ideas in common with those into whose company they had been thus unfortunately compelled. Once or twice they turned their heads with some signs of vivacity, when the door opened, and when they expected to see Miss Caroline Percy enter: but though the visit was protracted, in hopes of her return, yet at last they were obliged to depart without having their curiosity satisfied.
Mrs. Falconer’s fears of rivalship for her Georgiana were not diminished by this visit. By those of the family whom she saw this day, she judged of Caroline, whom she had not seen; and she had tact sufficient to apprehend, that the conversation and manners of Mrs. Percy and of Rosamond were such as might, perhaps, please a well-bred and well-informed foreigner better, even, than the fashionable tone and air of the day, of which he had not been long enough in England to appreciate the conventional value. Still Mrs. Falconer had a lingering hope that some difficulties about dress, or some happy cold, might prevent these dangerous Percys from accepting the invitation to the ball. When their answers to her card came, she gave one hasty glance at it.
“Will do themselves the honour.”
“My dear, you are alarming yourself unnecessarily,” cried the commissioner, who pitied the distress visible, at least to his eyes, in her countenance; or who feared, perhaps, a renewal of reproaches for his own want of address, “quite unnecessarily, believe me. I have had a great deal of conversation with Count Altenberg since I spoke of him to you last, and I am confirmed in my opinion that he merely feels the curiosity natural to an enlightened traveller to become acquainted with Mr. Percy, a man who has been described to him as a person of abilities. And he wants to thank him in the name of his countrymen, who were assisted, you know I told you, by the Percys, at the time of the shipwreck. You will see, my dear, that the ladies of the family will be nothing to him.”
Mrs. Falconer sighed, and bit her lips.
“In half an hour’s conversation, I would engage to find out the ruling passion of any man, young or old. Now, remember I tell you, Mrs. Falconer, Count Altenberg’s ruling passion is ambition.”
“Ruling passion!” repeated Mrs. Falconer; “one of your book-words, and book-notions, that are always misleading you in practice. Ruling passion!—Metaphysical nonsense! As if men were such consistent creatures as to be ruled regularly by one passion—when often ten different passions pull a man, even before your face, ten different ways, and one cannot tell one hour what will be the ruling passion of the next. Tell me the reigning fashion, and I will tell you the ruling passion!—Luckily,” continued Mrs. Falconer, after a pause of deep consideration, “Georgiana is very fashionable—one of the most fashionable young women in England, as the count might have seen when he was in London. But then, on the other hand, whether he is judge enough of English manners—Georgiana must be well dressed—and I know the Count’s taste in dress; I have made myself mistress of that—commissioner, I must trouble you for some money.”
“Mrs. Falconer, I have no money; and if I had,” said the commissioner, who always lost his temper when that subject was touched upon, “if I had, I would not give it to you to throw away upon such a losing game—a nonsensical speculation! Georgiana has not the least chance, nor has any other English woman, were she as handsome as Venus and dressed in bank notes—why, Mrs. Falconer, since you put me in a passion, I must tell you a secret.”
But checking himself, Mr. Falconer stood for a moment silent, and went on with “Count Altenberg has made up his quarrel with the hereditary prince, and I have it from undoubted authority, that he is to be the prince’s prime minister when he comes to the throne; and the present prince, you know, as Cunningham says, is so infirm and asthmatic, that he may be carried off at any moment.”
“Very well—very likely—I am glad of it,” said Mrs. Falconer: “but where’s the secret?”
“I’ve thought better of that, and I cannot tell it to you. But this much I tell you positively, Mrs. Falconer, that you will lose your labour, if you speculate upon the Count for Georgiana.”
“Is he married? Answer me that question, and I will ask no more—and that I have a right to ask.”
“No—not married; but I can tell no more. Only let me beg that you will just put all love notions out of Georgiana’s head and your own, or you’ll make the girl ridiculous, and expose yourself, my dear. But, on the other hand, let there be no deficiency of attention to the count, for all our civilities to him will pay a hundred fold, and, perhaps, sooner than you expect—for he may be prime minister and prime favourite at Cunningham’s court in a month, and of course will have it in his power to forward Cunningham’s interests. That is what I look to, Mrs. Falconer; for I am long-sighted in my views, as you will find.”
“Well, time will show. I am glad you tell me he positively is not married,” concluded Mrs. Falconer: “as to the rest, we shall see.”
The evening appointed for Mrs. Falconer’s ball at length arrived; and all the neighbouring gentry assembled at Falconer-court. They were received by Mrs. Falconer in a splendid saloon, newly furnished for this occasion, which displayed in its decorations the utmost perfection of modern taste and magnificence.
Mrs. Falconer was fitted, both by art and nature, to adorn a ball-room, and conduct a ball. With that ease of manner which a perfect knowledge of the world and long practice alone can give, she floated round the circle, conscious that she was in her element. Her eye, with one glance, seemed to pervade the whole assembly; her ear divided itself amongst a multitude of voices; and her attention diffused itself over all with equal grace. Yet that attention, universal as it seemed, was nicely discriminative. Mistress of the art of pleasing, and perfectly acquainted with all the shades of politeness, she knew how to dispose them so as to conceal their boundaries, and even their gradation, from all but the most skilful observers. They might, indeed, have formed, from Mrs. Falconer’s reception of each of her guests, an exact estimate of their rank, fashion, and consequence in the world; for by these standards she regulated her opinion, and measured her regard. Every one present knew this to be her theory, and observed it to be her practice towards others; but each flattered themselves by turns that they discovered in her manner a personal exception in their own favour. In the turn of her countenance, the tone of her voice, her smile or her anxiety, in her distant respect or her affectionate familiarity, some distinction was discerned peculiar to each individual.
The Miss Falconers, stationary at one end of the room, seemed to have adopted manners diametrically opposite to those of their mother: attraction being the principle of the mother, repulsion of the daughters. Encircled amongst a party of young female friends, Miss Falconers, with high-bred airs, confined to their own coterie their exclusive attention.
They left to their mother the responsibility and all the labour of doing the honours of her own house, whilst they enjoyed the glory of being remarked and wondered at by half the company; a circumstance which, far from embarrassing, seemed obviously to increase their gaiety.
The ball could not begin till the band of a regiment, quartered in the neighbourhood, arrived. Whilst they were waiting for the music, the Miss Falconers and their party stationed themselves directly opposite to the entrance of the saloon, so as to have a full view of the antechamber through which the company were to pass—no one passed uncensured by this confederacy. The first coup-d’oeil decided the fate of all who appeared, and each of the fair judges vied with the others in the severity of the sentence pronounced on the unfortunate persons who thus came before their merciless tribunal.
“But I am astonished the Percys do not make their appearance,” cried Miss Georgiana Falconer.
“Has Sir Robert Percy any one with him?” asked one of the young ladies.
“I am not speaking of Sir Robert Percy,” replied Miss Georgiana, “but of the other branch, the fallen branch of the Percys—our relations too—but we know nothing of them—only mamma was obliged to ask them for to-night—And, Bell, only conceive how horribly provoking! because they come, we sha’n’t have Sir Robert Percy—just sent to excuse himself.”
“Abominable! Now, really!—And for people quite out of the world, that nobody ever heard of, except Lord Oldborough, who, ages ago, had some political connexion, I think they say, with the father,” said Miss Arabella.
“No, they met abroad, or something of that sort,” replied Miss Georgiana.
“Was that it? Very likely—I know nothing about them: I only wish they had stayed at home, where they are so fond of staying, I hear. You know, Georgiana, Buckhurst told us, that when they had something to live upon they never lived like other people, but always were buried alive in the country; and Lady Jane Granville, with her own lips, told me, that, even since they lost their fortune, she had asked one of these girls to town with her and to Tunbridge—Now only conceive how kind! and what an advantage that would have been—And, can you believe it? Mr. Percy was so unaccountable, and they all so odd, that they refused—Lady Jane, of course, will never ask them again. But now, must not they be the silliest creatures in the universe?”
“Silly! Oh! dear, no: there you are wrong, Bell; for you know they are all so wise, and so learned, so blue, such a deep blue, and all that sort of thing, that, for my part, I shall never dare to open my lips before them.”
“Fortunately,” said one of the young ladies, “you have not much to fear from their learning at a ball; and as dancers I don’t apprehend you have much to dread from any of them, even from the beauty.”
“Why, scarcely,” said Miss Georgiana; “I own I shall be curious to see how they will get on—‘comment ces savantes se tireront d’affaire.’ I wonder they are not here. Keep your eye on the door, dear Lady Frances—I would not miss their entrée for millions.”
In vain eyes and glasses were fixed in expectation of the arrival of these devoted objects of ridicule—another, and another, and another came, but not the Percys.
The band was now ready, and began to play—Count Altenberg entered the room. Quick as grace can venture to move, Mrs. Falconer glided to receive him. Miss Georgiana Falconer, at the same moment, composed her features into their most becoming position, and gave herself a fine air of the head. The Count bowed to her—she fanned herself, and her eye involuntarily glanced, first at a brilliant star he wore, and then at her mother, whilst, with no small degree of anxiety, she prepared to play off, on this decisive evening, all her artillery, to complete her conquest—to complete her victory, for she flattered herself that only the finishing blow was wanting. In this belief her female companions contributed to confirm her, though probably they were all the time laughing at her vanity.
Mrs. Falconer requested Count Altenberg to open the ball with Lady Frances Arlington. After having obeyed her orders, he next led out Miss Georgiana Falconer, evidently to her satisfaction; the more so, as she was conscious of being, at that moment, the envy of at least half the company.
Count Altenberg, quite unconscious of being himself the object of any attention, seemed to think only of showing his partner to advantage; if he danced well, it appeared to be only because he habitually moved with ease and dignity, and that whatever he did he looked like a gentleman. His fair partner danced admirably, and now surpassed herself.
It was repeated to Mrs. Falconer, that Colonel Bremen, the Count’s friend, had told some one that the Count had declared he had never seen any thing equal to Miss Georgiana Falconer, except at the opera at Paris. At this triumphant moment Miss Georgiana could have seen, with security and complacency, the arrival of Miss Caroline Percy. The more prudent mother, however, was well satisfied with her absence. Every thing conspired to Mrs. Falconer’s satisfaction. The ball was far advanced, and no Percys appeared. Mrs. Falconer wondered, and deplored, and at length it came near the hour when supper was ordered—the commissioner inquired whether Mrs. Falconer was certain that she had named the right day on the card?
“Oh! certain—But it is now so late, I am clear they will not be here to-night.”
“Very extraordinary, to keep Lord Oldborough’s carriage and servants!” said the commissioner: “they went in time, I am sure, for I saw them set out.”
“All I know is, that we have done every thing that is proper,” said Mrs. Falconer, “and Lord Oldborough cannot blame us—as to the Count, he seems quite content.”
Mrs. Falconer’s accent seemed to imply something more than content; but this was not a proper time or place to contest the point. The husband passed on, saying to himself “Absurd!” The wife went on, saying “Obstinate!”
Count Altenberg had led his partner to a seat, and as soon as he quitted her, the young ladies of her party all flattered her, in congratulatory whispers: one observed that there was certainly something very particular in Count Altenberg’s manner, when he first spoke to Miss Georgiana Falconer; another remarked that he always spoke to Miss Georgiana Falconer with emotion and embarrassment; a third declared that her eye was fixed upon the Count, and she saw him several times change colour—all, in short, agreed that the Count’s heart was Miss Georgiana Falconer’s devoted prize. She the while, with well-affected incredulity and secret complacency, half repressed and half encouraged these remarks by frequent exclamations of “La! how can you think so!—Why will you say such things!—Dear! how can you be so tormenting—so silly, now, to have such fancies!—But did he really change colour?”—In love with her! She wondered how such an idea could ever come into their heads—she should, for her part, never have dreamed of such a thing—indeed, she was positive they were mistaken. Count Altenberg in love with her!—Oh, no, there could be nothing in it.
Whilst she spoke, her eyes followed the Count, who, quite unconscious of his danger, undisturbed by any idea of Miss Georgiana Falconer and love, two ideas which probably never had entered his mind together, was carelessly walking down the room, his thoughts apparently occupied with the passing scene. He had so much the habit of observing men and manners, without appearing to observe them, that, under an air of gaiety, he carried his understanding, as it were, incognito. His observation glanced on all the company as he passed. Miss Georgiana Falconer lost sight of him as he reached the end of the saloon; he disappeared in the antechamber.
Soon afterwards a report reached her that the Percy family were arrived; that Count Altenberg had been particularly struck by the sight of one of the Miss Percys, and had been overheard to whisper to his friend Colonel Bremen, “Very like the picture! but still more mind in the countenance!”
At hearing this, Miss Georgiana Falconer grew first red and then turned pale; Mrs. Falconer, though scarcely less confounded, never changed a muscle of her face, but leaving every body to choose their various comments upon the Count’s words, and simply saying, “Are the Percys come at last?” she won her easy way through the crowd, whispering to young Petcalf as she passed, “Now is your time, Petcalf, my good creature—Georgiana is disengaged.”
Before Mrs. Falconer got to the antechamber, another report met her, “that the Percys had been overturned, and had been terribly hurt.”
“Overturned!—terribly hurt!—Good Heavens!” cried Mrs. Falconer, as she entered the antechamber. But the next person told her they were not in the least hurt—still pressing forward, she exclaimed, “Mrs. Percy! Where is Mrs. Percy? My dear madam! what has happened? Come the wrong road, did you?—broken bridge—And were you really overturned?”
“No, no, only obliged to get out and walk a little way.”
“Oh! I am sorry—But I am so glad to see you all safe!—When it grew late, I grew so uneasy!” Then turning towards Caroline, “Miss Caroline Percy, I am sure, though I had never, till now, the pleasure of seeing her.”
An introduction of Caroline by Mrs. Percy, in due form, took place. Mrs. Falconer next recognized Mr. Percy, declared he did not look a day older than when she had seen him fifteen years before—then recurring to the ladies, “But, my dear Mrs. Percy, are you sure that your shoes are not wet through?—Oh! my dear madam, Miss Percy’s are terribly wet! and Miss Caroline’s!—Positively, the young ladies must go to my dressing-room—the shoes must be dried.” Mrs. Falconer said that perhaps her daughters could accommodate the Miss Percys with others.
It was in vain that Rosamond protested her shoes were not wet, and that her sister’s were perfectly dry; a few specks on their white justified Mrs. Falconer’s apprehensions.
“Where is my Arabella? If there was any body I could venture to trouble—”
Count Altenberg instantly offered his services. “Impossible to trouble you, Count! But since you are so very good, perhaps you could find one of my daughters for me—Miss Falconer—if you are so kind, sir—Georgiana I am afraid is dancing.”
Miss Falconer was found, and despatched with the Miss Percys, in spite of all they could say to the contrary, to Mrs. Falconer’s dressing-room. Rosamond was permitted, without much difficulty, to do as she pleased; but Mrs. Falconer’s infinite fears lest Caroline should catch her death of cold could not be appeased, till she had submitted to change her shoes.
“Caroline!” said Rosamond, in a low voice, “Caroline! do not put on those shoes—they are too large—you will never be able to dance in them.”
“I know that—but I am content. It is better to yield than to debate the point any longer,” said Caroline.
When they returned to the ball-room, Count Altenberg was in earnest conversation with Mr. Percy; but Mrs. Falconer observed that the Count saw Miss Caroline Percy the moment she re-appeared.
“Now is not it extraordinary,” thought she, “when Georgiana dances so well! is infinitely more fashionable, and so charmingly dressed!—What can strike him so much in this girl’s appearance?”
It was not her appearance that struck him. He was too well accustomed to see beauty and fashion in public places to be caught at first sight by a handsome face, or by a young lady’s exhibition of her personal graces at a ball; but a favourable impression had been made on his mind by what he had previously heard of Miss Caroline Percy’s conduct and character: her appearance confirmed this impression precisely, because she had not the practised air of a professed beauty, because she did not seem in the least to be thinking of herself, or to expect admiration. This was really uncommon, and, therefore, it fixed the attention of a man like Count Altenberg. He asked Caroline to dance; she declined dancing. Mr. Temple engaged Rosamond, and the moment he led her away, the Count availed himself of her place, and a conversation commenced, which soon made Mrs. Falconer regret that Caroline had declined dancing. Though the Count was a stranger to the Percy family, yet there were many subjects of common interest of which he knew how to avail himself. He began by speaking of Mr. Alfred Percy, of the pleasure he had had in becoming acquainted with him, of the circumstance which led to this acquaintance: then he passed, to Lord Oldborough—to M. de Tourville—to the shipwreck. He paused at Percy-hall, for he felt for those to whom he was speaking. They understood him, but they did not avoid the subject; he then indulged himself in the pleasure of repeating some of the expressions of attachment to their old landlord, and of honest affection and gratitude, which he had heard from the peasants in the village.
Mrs. Falconer moved away the moment she foresaw this part of the conversation, but she was only so far removed as to prevent the necessity of her taking any part in it, or of appearing to hear what it might be awkward for her to hear, considering her intimacy with Sir Robert Percy. She began talking to an old lady about her late illness, of which she longed to hear from her own lips all the particulars; and whilst the old lady told her case, Mrs. Falconer, with eyes fixed upon her, and making, at proper intervals, all the appropriate changes of countenance requisite to express tender sympathy, alarm, horror, astonishment, and joyful congratulation, contrived, at the same time, through the whole progress of fever, and the administration of half the medicines in the London Pharmacopoeia, to hear every thing that was said by Count Altenberg, and not to lose a word that was uttered by Caroline. Mrs. Falconer was particularly anxious to know what would be said about the picture in the gallery at Percy-hall, with which the Count had been so much charmed. When he got into the gallery, Mrs. Falconer listened with breathless eagerness, yet still smiling on the old lady’s never-ending history of her convalescence, and of a shawl undoubtedly Turkish, with the true, inestimable, inimitable, little border.
Not a word was said of the picture—but a pause implied more to alarm Mrs. Falconer than could have been expressed by the most flattering compliment.
Mrs. Falconer wondered why supper was so late. She sent to order that it might be served as soon as possible; but her man, or her gentleman cook, was not a person to be hurried. Three successive messengers were sent in vain. He knew his importance, and preserved his dignity. The caramel was not ready, and nothing could make him dispense with its proper appearance.
How much depended on this caramel! How much, of which the cook never dreamed! How much Mrs. Falconer suffered during this half hour, and suffered with a smiling countenance! How much, with a scowling brow, Miss Georgiana Falconer made poor Petcalf endure!
Every thing conspired to discomfit Mrs. Falconer. She saw the manner in which all the principal gentry in the country, one after another, expressed satisfaction at meeting the Percy family. She saw the regard and respect with which they were addressed, notwithstanding their loss of fortune and station. It was quite astonishing to Mrs. Falconer. Every body in the rooms, except her own set of town friends, seemed so strangely interested about this family. “How provoking that I was obliged to ask them here!—And Count Altenberg sees and hears all this!”
Yes—all this confirmed, by the testimony of their equals in rank, the favourable ideas he had first received of the Percys from their inferiors and dependants. Every person who spoke to or of Caroline—and he heard many speak of her who had known her from childhood—showed affection in their countenance and manner.
At length, supper was announced, and Mrs. Falconer requested Count Altenberg would take Lady Frances Arlington into the supper-room. Miss Georgiana Falconer was anxious to sit as near as possible to her dear Lady Frances, and this was happily accomplished.
The Count was more than usually agreeable; but whether this arose from his desire to please the ladies who sat beside him, or those who sat opposite to him, those to whom he was in politeness bound to address his conversation, or those whose attention he might hope it would attract, were questions of difficult solution.
As they were returning into the ball-room, Rosamond watched her opportunity, made her way along a passage which led to Mrs. Falconer’s dressing-room, seized her sister’s shoes, returned with the prize before Caroline reached the antechamber, and, unseen by all, made her put them on—“Now promise me not to refuse to dance, if you are asked again.”
Count Altenberg engaged Miss Georgiana Falconer the first two dances—when these were finished, he asked Caroline to dance, and Mrs. Falconer, who dreaded the renewal of conversation between them, and who knew nothing of Rosamond’s counter-manoeuvre about the shoes, was surprised and rejoiced when she saw Caroline comply, and suffer herself to be led out by Count Altenberg. But Miss Georgiana, who had observed that Rosamond danced well, had fears—the mother’s hopes were disappointed, the daughter’s fears were justified. Caroline showed all the capability of dancing without being a dancer, and it certainly did not escape the Count’s observation that she possessed what is most desirable in female accomplishments, the power to excel without the wish to display. Immediately after she had finished these dances, the favour of her hand was solicited by a certain Colonel Spandrill. Colonel Spandrill, celebrated for his fashionable address and personal accomplishments, had been the hoped-for partner of many rival ladies, and his choice excited no small degree of emotion. However, it was settled that he only danced with Miss Percy because Mrs. Falconer had made it her particular request. One of these ladies declared she had overheard that request; Colonel Spandrill then was safe from all blame, but the full fire of their resentment was directed against poor Caroline. Every feature of her face was criticised, and even the minutiæ of her dress. They all allowed that she was handsome, but each found some different fault with her style of beauty. It was curious to observe how this secondary class of young ladies, who had without discomfiture or emotion seen Caroline the object of Count Altenberg’s attention, were struck with indignation the moment they suspected her of pleasing Colonel Spandrill. Envy seldom takes two steps at once: it is always excited by the fear of losing the proximate object of ambition; it never exists without some mixture of hope as well as of fear. These ladies having no hope of captivating Count Altenberg, Caroline did not then appear to be their rival; but now that they dreaded her competition with a man whom they had hopes of winning, they pulled her to pieces without mercy.
The Miss Falconers and their quadrille-set were resting themselves, whilst this country dance was going on. Miss Georgiana was all the time endeavouring to engage Count Altenberg in conversation. By all the modern arts of coquetry, so insipid to a man of the world, so contemptible to a man of sense, she tried to recall the attention of the Count. Politeness obliged him to seem to listen, and he endeavoured to keep up that kind of conversation which is suited to a ball-room; but he relapsed continually into reverie, till at last, provoked by his absence of mind, Miss Georgiana, unable to conceal her vexation, unjustly threw the blame upon her health. She complained of the headache, of heat, of cold, of country dances—such barbarous things!—How could any one bear any thing but quadrilles? Then the music—the band was horrid!—they played vastly too fast—shocking! there was no such thing as keeping time—did not Count Altenberg think so?
Count Altenberg was at that moment beating time with his foot, in exact cadence to Miss Caroline Percy’s dancing: Miss Falconer saw this, but not till she had uttered her question, not till it had been observed by all her companions. Lady Frances Arlington half smiled, and half a smile instantly appeared along a whole line of young ladies. Miss Georgiana suddenly became sensible that she was exposed to the ridicule or sarcastic pity of those who but an hour before had flattered her in the grossest manner: she had expected to produce a great effect at this ball—she saw another preferred. Her spirits sunk, and even the powers of affectation failed. The struggle between the fine lady and the woman ceased. Passion always conquers art at a coup de main. When any strong emotion of the soul is excited, the natural character, temper, and manners seldom fail to break through all that is factitious—those who had seen Miss Georgiana Falconer only through the veil of affectation were absolutely astonished at the change that appeared when it was thrown aside. By the Count the metamorphosis was unnoticed, for he was intent on another object; but by many of the spectators it was beheld with open surprise, or secret contempt. She exhibited at this moment the picture of a disappointed coquette—the spasm of jealousy had seized her heart; and, unable to conceal or endure the pain in this convulsion of mind, she forgot all grace and decorum. Her mother from afar saw the danger at this crisis, and came to her relief. The danger in Mrs. Falconer’s opinion was, that the young lady’s want of temper should be seen by Count Altenberg; she therefore carried him off to a distant part of the room, to show him, as she said, “a bassoon player, who was the exact image of Hogarth’s enraged musician.”
In the mean time Colonel Spandrill and Caroline had finished their dance: and the colonel, who made it a principle to engross the attention of the prettiest woman in the room, was now, after his manner, paying his adorations to his fair partner. Promising himself that he should be able to recede or advance as he thought proper, he used a certain happy ambiguity of phrase, which, according to the manner in which it is understood, or rather according to the tone and look with which it is accompanied, says every thing—or nothing. With prudent caution, he began with darts, flames, wounds, and anguish; words which every military man holds himself privileged to use towards every fine woman he meets. Darts, flames, wounds, and anguish, were of no avail. The colonel went on, as far as bright eyes—bewitching smiles—and heavenly grace. Still without effect. With astonishment he perceived that the girl, who looked as if she had never heard that she was handsome, received the full fire of his flattery with the composure of a veteran inured to public admiration.
Mrs. Falconer was almost as much surprised and disappointed by this as the colonel could be. She had purposely introduced the gallant Colonel Spandrill to the Miss Percys, in hopes that Caroline’s head might be affected by flattery; and that she might not then retain all that dignity of manner which, as Mrs. Falconer had sense enough to see, was her distinguishing charm in the eyes of the Count. Frustrated, and dreading every instant that with all her address she should not be able to manage her Georgiana’s temper, Mrs. Falconer became excessively impatient for the departure of the Percy family.
“Mr. Falconer!” cried she; “Commissioner! Mrs. Percy ordered her carriage a considerable time ago. They have a great way to return, and a dreadful road—I am uneasy about them—do pray be so good to see what detains her carriage.”
The commissioner went out of the room, and a few minutes afterwards returned, and taking Mrs. Falconer aside, said, “I have something to tell you, my dear, that will surprise you—indeed I can scarcely believe it. Long as I have known Lord Oldborough, I never knew him do, or think of doing such a thing—and he ill—at least ill enough with the gout, for an excuse—an excuse he thought sufficient for the whole county—and there are people of so much more consequence—I protest I cannot understand it.”
“Understand what, commissioner?—Will you tell me what has happened, and you may be as much surprised as you please afterwards? Lord Oldborough has the gout,” added she, in an accent which expressed “Well, all the world knows that.”
“Lord Oldborough’s own confidential man Rodney, you know—”
“Well, well, Rodney I do know—what of him?”
“He is here—I have seen him this instant—from his lord, with a message to Mr. Percy, to let him know that there are apartments prepared for him and all his family at Clermont-park; and that he insists upon their not returning this night to the Hills, lest the ladies should be tired.”
“Lord Oldborough!” repeated Mrs. Falconer; “Lord Oldborough!—the ladies!—Clermont-park! where none but persons of the first distinction are invited!”
“Ay, now you are surprised,” cried the commissioner.
“Surprised! beyond all power of expression,” said Mrs. Falconer.
“Beyond all power of dissimulation,” she should have said.
“Count Altenberg, too, going to hand them to their carriage—going to Clermont-park with them!—I wish to Heaven,” said Mrs. Falconer to herself, “I had never given this unfortunate ball!”
Mrs. Falconer was mistaken in this idea. It was not the circumstance of meeting Caroline at a ball that made this impression on Count Altenberg; wherever he had seen her, if he had had opportunity of conversing, and of observing the dignity and simplicity of her manner, the same effect would have been produced—but in fact Mrs. Falconer’s fears, and her daughter’s jealousy, had much magnified the truth. Count Altenberg had not, as they fancied, fallen desperately in love at first sight with Caroline—he had only been pleased and interested sufficiently to make him desirous to see more of her. Caroline, though so much the object of jealousy, had not the slightest idea that she had made a conquest—she simply thought the count’s conversation agreeable, and she was glad that she should see him again at breakfast the next morning.