Mabel Volume Ii Part 3

On the Sat.u.r.day evening of the week which had been so eventful at Aston, the Villars family were a.s.sembled in their showily furnished drawing-room, in Sydney Place, Bath, each engaged in different occupations; but all eagerly expecting the promised arrival of their rich cousin, Colonel Hargrave. The drawing-room had been studiously arranged, and had not failed to become what it was intended to be--tempting morning and evening lounge, where every single, and eligible man, obtained an easy chair, an amusing chat, and a welcome, which flattered his vanity.

On the present occasion, the ladies of the family were all as finely and as tastefully dressed in the newest mode, as an evening at home could allow--and certainly, taken together, they might have been regarded as a singularly fine family.

Mrs. Villars we have already had occasion to describe; yet, _en pa.s.sant_, it is necessary to say that herself at Aston, (swayed by the conflicting feelings of conscience, and her sister's straightforward reasoning, exercised with a candour, known to their girlhood before either had chalked out her path in life,) was a very different personage, indeed, to Mrs. Villars in Bath. The stately importance, or smiling dignity, with which she received her levy of morning callers, or evening guests, showed no wavering conscience, or doubtful heart. A certain degree of intrigue many might have detected; but in the mother of so large and fair a family that was easily forgiven; and, while the gaiety of her conversation rendered her ever a welcome and popular guest, the size of her rooms, and brilliancy of her parties rendered her a valuable hostess. She was now moving about the room to adjust something or other, or taking a peep at the dining-table, to secure herself against anything which might give a bad impression to the expected guest.

Next, if not first, in dignity, stood her daughter Caroline. She was certainly beautiful, though rather fine than engaging, and her expression was haughty and severe--yet beautiful she certainly was, if the most perfect outline of feature is beauty. In figure she was above the middle height; but this was modified by a well rounded person, and a certain academical grace of movement. Her person did not belie her character; she did not rate herself below her real value, and might, indeed, often have erred on the wrong side. In her manners, she was overbearing, but seldom unlady-like. She was talented, yet wanted solidity--haughty and ill-tempered, yet seldom mean, unless greatly tempted. In her own family she rivalled her mother's influence--being a sort of person over whom it was very difficult to have authority. Her age was something beyond thirty, and the remembrance that, with all her beauty, she was still unmarried, gave her mind a sourness which greatly embittered the comfort of the circle of which she formed so prominent a part. On the present occasion, however, she was in one of her best moods, for, slow to take warning from the past, she looked on future conquest as certain. The expected arrival of Colonel Hargrave, about whom, for the last few months, she had been incessantly rallied by her mother and sisters, gave a brilliancy to her color, and a radiancy to her large black eyes--and as she leant over her harp, rambling over a few airs, which might form a romantic greeting to him, Mrs. Villars looked upon her with satisfied triumph. To tell the truth, she was very much afraid of her on account of the haughty and imperious temper, which, in childhood, she had forgotten to guide, and looked upon no scheme for the benefit of her family, with more interest than on the one which might secure Caroline a settlement, which would satisfy her temper, bring honor on herself, and, not least, remove her from all rivalry with her younger sisters. She had, therefore, on the present occasion, been spared nothing which could coax her wayward humour into rendering itself as fascinating as possible--for well did Mrs. Villars know that by a little ill-timed opposition, her anger might be roused, and thus all hopes of her settling be lost. Her expensive taste had, therefore, been for the last few weeks fully gratified, though Mrs.

Villars trembled at every request which she feared to refuse. Selina, her second sister, was lounging about the room, sometimes taking up an old alb.u.m, or a piece of knitting, and wondering where the Colonel could be. She was a very fair-skinned, fair-haired girl, with very light blue eyes--bearing an expression of indolent, good nature. Her prevailing taste was dancing, of which she was _pa.s.sionately fond_. Less talented than her elder sister, she yet understood better how to render herself acceptable in society. The pretty lisp with which she often declined attempting a difficult song, was by many deemed more pleasing than her sister's perfect execution of it; and the many pretty nothings about nothing, with which she entertained her partner in the dance, or the smile which meant anything he liked to interpret from it, was often preferred to Caroline's more sensible conversation. She was not, however, so silly as she sometimes chose to appear; a quiet sense of self-preservation usually befriended her, and rendered her sufficiently alive to her own interest. But though very generally liked, she was not often seriously admired.

Our friend Lucy was seated on a stool near the fire, seemingly anxious to catch the fitful light as it fell upon a picture of Finella, (her intended character for the fancy ball,) which she held in her hand. It might have been that she remembered something of the time when Captain Clair had so earnestly dissuaded her from going to that very ball, for the color came and went upon her cheeks as if her thoughts were far from the present scene, and as if they so much occupied her as to prevent her feeling the tedium of expectation.

Maria, the youngest of the sisters, was standing by her, trying, at times, to rally her by remarks which dyed her cheek still deeper, though she remained determinately inattentive to them.

Over Maria her mother had spent many a desponding hour; to her, beauty was everything, and the beauty so lavishly given to her other daughters, was in Maria singularly wanting. Maria, however, possessed more energy than the others, and was not disposed to weep over a deficiency, which she very justly considered to be no fault of hers. Her mouth indeed was very misshapen, and her nose anything but Grecian--but the irregularity of these features was very much redeemed by a pair of handsome eyes, which, though they sometimes sparkled with satire, as often sparkled with fun, in which she peculiarly delighted, though, unfortunately, it occasionally degenerated into vulgarity. She had sufficient common sense to know that if she remained inactive, comparisons, which in most cases are odious, would be doubly so between herself and her sisters, and she seldom allowed her tongue to be sufficiently silent to lead any one to take the trouble to scan her countenance; and, perhaps, the knowledge of her own deficiency did much to compensate for its existence.

One of the first exclamations a stranger would feel inclined to make, on an introduction to this family circle, would be--Why are all these girls unmarried? but no satisfactory answer could be given. Maria suggested, when the subject was discussed in private, that luck was against them.

They were sought for, invited out, admired, flirted with by a host of young men, who professed they would have died to serve them, but somehow forgot to make those bona fide proposals, which would probably have been of more service to them than their deaths.

In leaving the description of Mr. Villars to the last, we are only following a fashion which was too prevalent in his household. There was little that was striking in his first appearance; he was only very thoughtful, very gentle, and very gentlemanly. He was the younger son of a wealthy merchant, and had been placed, much against his inclinations, in a firm of some consequence in London. His natural tastes led him to prefer rather cla.s.sical studies, than the active part in the world of business for which his father designed him. Respect for parental authority, however, prevented his choosing his own profession, in opposition to it; and, being a man of high principle, he resolved that the dislike he entertained for his employment, should not prevent his vigorously exerting himself in the state of life in which he found himself. His prudence was rewarded, and during the thirty years which he had unrepiningly given to his business, he was fortunate enough to realize a fortune which enabled him to retire from it, and having amply provided for his family, by insurances effected on his own life, he was enabled, during his lifetime, to gratify both himself and them in every reasonable way. Having ceased to take any active share in the business, he removed to Bath, where he hoped to find gaiety sufficient to satisfy their wishes, while he indulged his dearly prized leisure in literary pursuits. This plan, however, failed to answer his expectations; his former occupations had given him little time to inspect personally the rising characters of his children, who had been left entirely to their mother's guidance, and he now found, when too late, that they were little calculated to form that domestic circle towards which, through so many long years, he had looked, as the haven of his rest. His tastes were not theirs, and the self denying love which can atone for such deficiencies, had, in their education, been forgotten. They were fond of him in their own way, but this did not prevent their finding the time spent in his study, in hunting for a lost pa.s.sage, in a favorite author, or listening to some of his own elegant compositions, very dull indeed--though many efforts did he make to overcome this difficulty, and to find one, at least, amongst his four daughters, who might make a pleasant companion; but he had not the heart to command the attentions which he well knew love alone could supply, and with a sigh, he retired, not only companionless, but with a lower idea of his own merits than they deserved. The greater part of his time was now spent alone, in a way which little suited his gentle and domestic disposition; and, contented with holding the reins of domestic government, in serious matters, he let smaller arrangements take their course, without troubling or interesting himself in them. Such was the family group a.s.sembled to welcome Colonel Hargrave. The hour appointed, had, however, long pa.s.sed; Mr. Villars had taken out his watch for the twentieth time, and now stood with it in his hand. Mrs. Villars wearied of her repeated messages to the kitchen to put off the dinner, and Caroline looked lowering for a storm. But nothing availed; quarter followed quarter, counted by impatient minutes. Yet, still, Mrs. Villars referred to the Colonel's note, which she carefully carried in her bag, and again and again read his promise to be with them at the time mentioned, in order that he might accompany them to the ball on the Monday. She had boasted of this, in no unsparing language, and, should he fail her now, her mortification would be complete. Still, concealing her own fears, she glanced, every now and then, entreatingly, at her daughter.

At length, Mr. Villars declared he would wait no longer. This resolution being at length carried, they adjourned, in no very agreeable mood, to the dining-room, to partake of a fine dinner, completely spoilt. Mr.

Villars, feeling annoyed at the disrespect which a neglected appointment often implies, was not in the best possible humour, and his wife, eager to support the popularity of her unknown favorite, was obliged to exercise no small rhetoric to make all smooth. But when she looked at Caroline, and saw the cloud of ill-humour gathering fast, and, as quickly shading her beauty, she as fervently wished he would stay away for that night, at least, as she had before been eager for his arrival.

This last wish was fully gratified, for the evening wore away, and yet no Hargrave made his appearance.

CHAPTER V.

At me you smiled, but unbeguiled, I saw the snare and I retired.

TENNYSON.

The Monday appointed for the fancy ball arrived, and still nothing had been heard of Hargrave. Mrs. Villars fretted, and Caroline a.s.sumed a haughty and sulky indifference. During the day, every knock and ring brought disappointment, till the lateness of the hour warned them to prepare for the ball. It was then that Caroline, for the first time, announced her intention of remaining at home. In vain did Mrs. Villars remonstrate that her fancy Sultana's dress had cost more than twice as much as her sisters', and it was of as little use to flatter her vanity by representing that she would be the most elegantly dressed in the whole ball-room; Caroline's temper was not to be conquered in a single night. Tired of persuasion, her mother stormed, and changing entreaties for threats, commanded her to go; but Caroline was obstinate, and nothing but bodily force could have moved her from the arm-chair, in which she had settled herself for the evening, with a candle close to her elbow, and a new novel in her lap. She would not go, she declared, with a haughtiness which would have suited a more unworthy proposal. Nor would she move from her chair, even to give the a.s.sistance of her advice at her sisters' toilet, or, in any other way betray the slightest interest in an amus.e.m.e.nt for which they had all been so long and so busily preparing.

Extremely chagrined, Mrs. Villars was compelled to submit, and, as she gave a last glance at the beautiful velvet dress which taste and money had alike been expended to prepare, the bitterness of her disappointment was not a little increased by remembering that this fruitless purchase had been made with part of the loan so hardly wrung from her sister; and it was with an uneasy sensation of annoyance, that she led her fair daughters that night into the crowded ball-room.

Lucy, with a heart upon the rebound, and flushed with the determination of piquing Clair, if possible, had never looked more lovely than she did that night. A white dress of the greatest simplicity distinguished her character, as Finella, while her long light curls fell in careless tresses over her neck and shoulders, forming a veil, which enhanced the beauty they seemed bent upon concealing. How wildly beat the heart in that illregulated bosom? Her simply going to the ball would, she imagined, shew herself free from any deference to Arthur Clair's opinion, and if any thoughts of Amy Lesly came unbidden amongst the revelry, she banished the remembrance by a lighter laugh or a bolder sally. She could not fail to attract attention, and many strangers were anxious to be introduced to the fairy Villars, as she was that night called; but one only attracted, and soon absorbed her attention, he was a young man of a prepossessing appearance, with large melting eyes and a low persuasive voice. Evidently attracted by her appearance, he had obtained an introduction, under the name of Beauclerc. He waltzed to perfection, and the implied compliments he every now and then offered, in a tone and voice of great sweetness, Lucy took for deeper homage than he perhaps intended, and the ready blush deepened on her cheek, and her eye sparkled when she suffered herself to be led to a seat apart from the dancers, where his witty remarks afforded her ample amus.e.m.e.nt. So readily, indeed, flowed his language, that the absent Clair sunk into nothing, a mere every-day flirt, compared with this fascinating new acquaintance. Besides, he possessed the power of drawing her out, and made her feel quite clever, by leading her to display herself in a new light. He listened to her remarks with the most flattering attention, and resigned her to the gentleman who next claimed her hand for the dance, with apparent reluctance. She was then surprised to find that she had as little to say as formerly, and that her new partner's observations on the fashionable news of the day had become quite uninteresting. She was not, therefore, sorry to find Mr. Beauclerc again by her side, when the dance was over, and she had taken a seat by her mamma.

"Can you tell me?" she said, turning to him, with a smile, "why, just now, I had plenty to say, but immediately I began to dance with that gentleman, I felt so dull I could not say any thing at all. I have been labouring at conversation, I a.s.sure you, with as much industry and dulness as the noted donkey at Carrisbrooke Castle employs in his task, but with far less success, for he succeeds in fetching up some water--I am afraid I cannot say the same, of a single idea. Would you believe that I twice observed on the band, once on the room, and three times on the lights. Can you tell me why, since you seem to have the genius of explaining every thing?"

A well pleased smile pa.s.sed over his lips as he replied, only, by taking out a small hunting watch which he quietly opened, and then handing it to her, he presented her at the same time with the key of his _escritoir_.

"Will you," said he "oblige me by winding this watch."

"Oblige you," replied Lucy, laughing, "by breaking the spring, I suppose--that key belongs to your desk."

"You give me the very answer I desired. You cannot wind my watch, because I have not given you the right key. This ill.u.s.trates what I am going to say.

"There are some minds suited to other minds, as this watch is to its key. This beautiful piece of mechanism," said he, playing with the watch in his hand, "would be to me, or to any one else, perfectly useless without the key, which, however simple in its construction, is yet so necessary to the watch, that it alone can render it of any service. It is so with the human mind, we may live for years without being fortunate enough to meet with one answering mind which can unlock the treasures of our heart, and the secret springs of feeling, and of thought, and bring them into exercise. It is the sympathy of those around us which we need, the power which others possess of understanding us; to place ourselves in a true light--do you understand me?"

"Partly," replied Lucy, hesitating, and looking down.

"Partly, but not entirely," returned Mr. Beauclerc, repeating her words, with an emphasis, which argued a slight degree of superiority, to which Lucy readily bowed. "Yet I would say you were made to enjoy these things as well as understand them. Nay, you must not think me rude if I say I read as much when first introduced to you; and that I felt I should be understood if I ventured to speak in a way which the world too often ridicules, because it does not comprehend it. It is only the simple language of truth; yet, because it is not exactly the same as the hacknied language of the world, it is regarded as nonsense."

Lucy did not quite understand all he said, but she felt that she was receiving an admiration more flattering, because paid to her understanding; and she only broke up the conversation after repeated invitations to the dance, and her pulse fluttered quickly as she heard, or fancied she heard, a sigh from the accomplished Beauclerc, as she gracefully resigned herself to a young officer, upon whose arm she was soon whirled past him in the giddy round.

Mrs. Villars smiled with secret pride, when some of her friends rallied her on her daughter's conquest, and she took an early opportunity of asking a friend who he might be.

"Have you not heard?" was the reply, "that he has brought his own carriage, and two hunters, to the Castle, and Ball--and, besides, his person speaks for itself, it is so _distingue_."

Mrs. Villars sought for Lucy, to impart these particulars, but was not sorry to find her waltzing with Mr. Beauclerc.

"What a handsome couple they would make," thought she; "and, oh, if Caroline and Hargrave were but here, I should be quite happy." But she little dreamt of the pleasure yet in store for that evening.

Mr. Villars soon beginning to feel impatient, she was compelled to draw her party together. Beauclerc accompanied them to the door; and as he handed Lucy into the carriage, she fancied his hand trembled. With this pleasing impression, she leant back in the fly which conveyed them home, and gave herself up to pleasant reverie, and castle building. She ran over every word which had pa.s.sed in their long conversations, and thought they were an easy beginning to a more pleasing acquaintance than they often met with--she began then to feel quite surprised that she ever had given a tear to Captain Clair.

"Willingly," she said to herself; "will I resign him to Mabel, if she will have him; yet there was something in him I liked, though I cannot well remember what it was now. Why, he never talked in six weeks, half the sense which Mr. Beauclerc has thrown into one conversation. I feel quite grateful to him for deserting me, since, otherwise, I never should have met this very superior man, who, as he himself observed, though not in plain words exactly, possesses the key to my mind--and does not that seem like affection?"

These pleasing considerations were interrupted by their stopping at their own door, paying the driver, and running gaily up stairs.

"Hark," said Mrs. Villars, "there are voices in the drawing-room, I am certain. There are, I do believe."

"Why mamma," said Maria, who, with more courage, had applied her eye to the key-hole; it is only Caroline talking to somebody. When, upon this information, they opened the door, Caroline was discovered _tete-a-tete_, with a strange gentleman, with as much ease and nonchalance as if at the regular calling hour.

There was a slight tone of triumph in her voice as she said:--

"Colonel Hargrave, papa?"

"Oh, Colonel," said Mrs. Villars, taking the words out of her husband's mouth; "I can scarcely forgive you for obliging us to go to the ball without you."

"He has excused himself most ably," said Caroline; "the death of a friend detained him."

"I a.s.sure you," said he, with the greatest courtesy, "that nothing but so serious a reason would have prevented my keeping my appointment; and I trust, my dear sir, that you will excuse my keeping your dinner waiting on Sat.u.r.day; but, as I said, just now, some very sad circ.u.mstances detained me on my road."

"Pray, say not another word," said Mrs. Villars; "we are very sorry for you, I am sure."

"I suppose," said Maria, "you did not arrive in time to join us?"

"Do you think," said Caroline, "that he could go to a fancy ball after attending the death-bed of a friend?"

"No, truly," said he, "I was in no humor for such gaiety, and was more pleased by the quiet welcome I have already received."

"Caroline has only expressed the feelings we should all entertain," said Mrs. Villars, smiling benignly, "and, indeed, I am most happy to see my truant nephew, at last."

Hargrave slightly started at the word nephew, not being able to divine how his distant connection with the family could be twisted into so close a relationship.

"I trust," continued Mrs. Villars, "that Caroline has taken every care of you, and that you have had some refreshment."