The Ladies": A Shining Constellation of Wit and Beauty Part 11

The lady shook her head, a little melancholy.

"Gold? Not much of that on the stage, young miss. 'Tis found there--true; but--but--indirectly. However, this concerns you not. Madam, I am in no need of such an attendant as you describe, having my dresser and--"

"I might have guessed it! When did luck ever come our way? Farewell, Madam. Return to your own happiness and abandon us to our misery."

Heart-rending! The lady drew nearer.

"Gemini, Madam! You misjudge me. A woman can but offer what's in her power. A good word from me to our manager, Mr Sheridan, and with such faces I doubt not small parts can be found for your daughters in one of the plays to be produced here, even now rehea.r.s.e it, and the parts of Susan and Careless go begging, for the girls that took them are called away by their mama's illness. But dare I mention such a proposal?"

"Madam, you are all goodness and beauty!" cries Elizabeth. And Maria fell on her knees like one distraught and kissed the pretty hand in its black mitten. 'Twas known to them that Mr Sheridan's company was from London and would return there; and indeed this came like a sunburst through the cloud, for 'twas food, clothes, admiration, money, hope--and many other charming things that set them dreaming on worlds to conquer.

They swept their mama away on the wave of their delight; and indeed that poor lady was always p.r.o.ne to take gilding for gold so long as it glittered sufficiently.

"And what, Madam, is this play in which Susan and Peggy appear?"

"Child, 'tis 'The Golden Vanity'--a play of a poor girl that weds a rich lord and--"

Heavens and earth! She could not continue, for how describe the joy and wonder of the family! Reserve fled away. Prudence borrowed the wings of Hope, and dressed her face with rainbows. Crowding around the stranger, they entreated her name, that it might grace their prayers; and she, radiant with the sunshine she dispensed, calls out:--

"Why, girls, sure you have heard it. 'Tis I am the leading lady in all Mr Sheridan produces at present. I am George Anne Bellamy."

"George!" screams Mrs G. "'A woman with a man's name,' said old Mother Corrigan. Girls, your luck's come!" And with that falls into strong hysterics and frights them all to death.

But joy is a strong cordial, and 'twas not long ere she sat up, panting and dishevelled, with George Anne's hand in hers, telling her the story of Mother Corrigan. 'Tis to be supposed Mrs G. had heard that Mrs Bellamy's heart was not marble in any sense; but what was the lady to do? For my Lord Mayo spent his rents five years ahead, and though his good nature would give the coat off his back, that would neither clothe nor feed her family; while, as for Mr Gunning, that gentleman regarded his wife and children no more than the cuckoo that leaves her offspring to chance.

Mrs Bellamy was all ears. 'Twas prodigious, 'twas vastly astonishing, she vowed. Maria was sent out with half a guinea, and they had a comfortable dish of tea, with currant bread and what not; and she told them tales of the stage and the fine matches made by Mrs This and Signorina That, displaying little of its threadbare and much of its tinsel; and by the time the candles were lit, they were all sworn friends. They parted with embraces; for Mrs G. was as easy as George Anne, and the girls must needs follow the example set.

She had her way with Mr Sheridan, who knew 'twas as much as his play was worth to offend Mrs Bellamy; and she returned next day to announce her success, triumphing and rattling on like a girl herself, so pleased was she with their pleasure. All was joy and gladness, and she named the hour of the first rehearsal and their introduction to Mr Sheridan, who knew as well as another how pretty faces fill the playhouse; and was proceeding, when Maria, turning archly upon her, says:--

"Look you here, dearest Mrs Bellamy! Think what it will cost us to refuse this." And so holds up a splendid card, thick as boards and embellished with a gilt edge and the Royal Arms and the Irish Harp, and Heaven knows what braveries, inviting the Honourable Mrs Gunning, Miss Gunning, and Miss Elizabeth Gunning to the Birthnight ball at the Castle, on the part of his Excellency, the Earl of Harrington. Diamonds were never so bright as the eyes that sparkled above it; for the charming new prospect of the Stage had quite effaced the ball, and poor Mr Harry's trouble in securing the invitation was like to go for nothing.

"I care nothing now for it!" cries Maria, and Elizabeth echoed her; while George Anne looked thoughtfully at the Lion and Unicorn guarding a Paradise she could not hope to enter. Maria made to tear the card across; but Mrs Bellamy caught it from her hand and did not smile.

"Children," says she at last, "you know not what you talk of. I would have a word alone with your mama. Take the little ones in your hand, and go out a while in the sunshine." She thrust some cream-cakes upon them, and they did so, looking doubtfully at her cloudy eyes; and when the door shut, she turned to Mrs Gunning.

"Madam, you know well't is my wish to serve you and yours. But seeing this invitation, there's thoughts comes into my head that I must needs speak out. This" (she flicked the card) "is the life for the Miss Gunnings, and not the stage. 'T would scarce become me to tell a lady like yourself what must be faced there, but--but--'t is much! Ask Peg Woffington--ask Kitty Clive--ask George Anne Bellamy!" She hung her head.

There was silence. Mrs G. stared at her, all aghast.

"Why, yesterday, all your talk was of pleasure and success. Sure, dear Mrs Bellamy, 't was not like your kindness to draw on the poor things till they can think of naught else, and now so far otherwise."

"Why, Madam, I thought there was no other way; and if so, needs must. But seeing this, my mind misgives me and I falter. I'm a plain-dealer, Madam, with all my faults, and 't is easy to be seen your daughters are a world's wonder. I never saw the like, and that being so, 't is certain the dangers are tenfold for them. They'll see the glories and grandeurs, sure enough, but not through a wedding ring."

"If you mean, Madam, that my daughters--" Mrs Gunning flamed out, furious; but George Anne was not to be turned from her purpose. She raised her hand in a fine stage att.i.tude.

"Madam, I wish vastly to serve you. Hear my proposal. Accept this invitation."

"Impossible. We have no dresses, no shoes, no equipage, and no means to get them. 'T is absurd!"

"'Tis not absurd. Hear me. In the theatre properties is a fine dress for Lady Modish and two more for Peggy and Susan Careless. Not perhaps what such ladies might expect, but pa.s.sable. And--I know men. There's not a man will look at their gowns for looking at their faces, though the suits are well enough when all's said. I vow, Madam, you have so long lived beside the two that you forget what beauties they are. I wager my next benefit to a China orange that you'll have no more care once they are seen, but all the women mad with jealousy and the men with love. Indeed, your young madams are what one reads of in romances, but don't see. Give them this chance, and if it fails, I'm good for my offer; but I'm much mistook if you hold me to it. Gemini, Madam; use your wits! Would you have them what I won't name, when they may be what your old witch foretold?"

She smiled her charming smile, and pressed Mrs G.'s hand. The lady pondered. 'Twas disagreeable to owe such a thing to a mere actress, and one, too, whose reputation was a trifle flyblown. The stage she might have swallowed--being the lady's province and she a queen on the boards. But an entry to the world where she and her daughters had a birthright--Fie!

'twas a very different pair of shoes. But George Anne had that in her eye that would be obeyed; and seeing it, Mrs G. dropped her high tone and returned the pressure with an air of sensibility.

"'Twas said by old Corrigan that 'twas you to bring us luck, dearest Madam, and 'tis certain you are prudence itself. Sure a mother can risk nothing for her darlings. If you will ensure us the dresses, I accept; and, indeed, my Lord Harrington's father was a friend of my own revered father in happier days. 'T is possible--"

"'T is certain," cries George Anne gaily. "Not a word will I drop to Mr Sheridan, who is a perfect Israelite where theatre matters are in hand.

Count on me."

She was gone ere the girls returned, and 'tis needless to tell their wonder. They preferred the stage, yet condescended to say they would favour the ball, since Mrs Bellamy counselled it. "But, never, never will it turn my heart from the charming footlights!" says Maria. "What say you, sister?"

"I know not. My taste is quieter than yours. I will tell you my mind the day after the ball. Poor Harry--'tis he has given us this."

She would say no more, but sat thoughtful.

'Twas the evening of the Birthnight ball when George Anne arrived, in a hackney coach, attended by her dresser, and scarce visible for mantua boxes. The three children were put away--their usual fate--in the beds within, and though not able to sleep for excitement, were mute as mice, lest they be punished by the closing of the door upon the ravishing glimpses they had of the parlour.

'Tis not for a mere scribbler to intrude upon the chaste mysteries of the toilet. Suffice it therefore to say that, when all was completed, George Anne and Mrs. March the dresser stood back, breathless, to contemplate the work of their hands.

Mrs. Gunning, her fine brown hair piled on her head into an edifice twisted with gauze and feathers that granted her five inches more of height, looked a Roman empress--her fine bust displayed to advantage and sustaining a necklace of stage emeralds set in pinchbeck, which could not be told from the veritable jewels, so closely were they copied for George Anne from her Grace the d.u.c.h.ess of Bridgewater's. Her hoop was very wide, and over it a green satin brocade flowered with gold, wherein George Anne had played Lady Modish but twenty times, and so rich that 'twould serve her great-granddaughter. 'Twas ruffled at neck and elbow with Mechlin, and the girls gazed in awe at their splendid mama. 'Twas a changed woman. She expanded, she glided, she moved, as a swan floating through her native element differs from the same lurching along the bank.

But Elizabeth--O beautiful! Sure 'twas joy to see her! Her hair, agleam with gold, was rolled back and carried in ma.s.sive braids that crowned and bound her head in the Grecian taste, confined by a bandeau of pearls that crossed her brow. Her Grecian robe (indeed the fair Miss Lebeau had played Calista in it) was a white satin with a fall of lace, and round her slender throat a chain of seed pearl. Mrs Bellamy knew her business. 'Twas simple, but simplicity becomes a G.o.ddess, and frills and flounces can but distract the eye from loveliness that seems native to heaven. Her mother surveyed her in a kind of amaze and then turned to Maria.

'Twas peculiar to these two fair sisters that they adorned each other and each appeared more beautiful when both were in company. Indeed't was said later that this contributed much to their triumphs. Maria now appeared in a fine India muslin embroidered in gold wheat-ears--a robe which't is to be feared Mr Sidney of the East India Company, the rich nabob of Jubblepore, had laid at the feet of George Anne in pursuance of a suit not wholly disdained. No matter! On Maria it shone like the raiment of the youngest of the angels, draping yet expressing her fair limbs with a seductive reserve that was art embellishing nature. She had a row of seed pearl like her sister, and one rose of faintest pink nestled in her virgin bosom. Her hair of burning gold was dressed in curls _a la mouton_, as Mrs March expressed it, and a string of pearls wove through the rich tresses.

But 'tis useless to describe beauty. As well dry a rose in a book and look for bloom and dew. It depends on bright eye and smiling lip and wordless sweetness and the fall of exquisite lashes and the tone of music and--and this poor scribbler lays down his pen and attempts no more to paint where the great artists later owned themselves vanquished.

"And all is prepared," cries George Anne, exulting. "For my mother's job coach is at hand to take my three beauties; and distress not yourself, my dearest Madam, for I engage to remain with your little family will return in the coach when it deposits you here. And now, children, peep and whisper no longer, but come see your lovely mama and sisters before they go to conquer the world."

'Twas the kindest heart! She clapped her hands, and in rushed the three children like Bedlam let loose, careering round and about the three, shouting, laughing, and begging to be took also. Raisins and oranges from George Anne's reticule alone restored them to their beds in peace.

"'The Golden Vanity' has sent forth two incomparable beauties," says she at the door as they stepped into the coach. "May it bring them the luck of its heroine and more."

St. Patrick's Hall was all of a blaze with wax candles and flambeaux, and shining mirrors set in with gilt Cupids, and twinkling of fairy lights in the great gla.s.s l.u.s.tres and their glittering chains of drops and pendants.

Garlands of green, with roses interspersed, were in swags and loops about the splendid walls, where hung the pictures of bygone viceroys in ribbon and star, in frames to match the mirrors that multiplied the scene a hundredfold.

And, more than all, the handsomest women in Ireland were decked out in silks and satins and all the family jewels, and they sparkling like the l.u.s.tres above their heads. And all the gentlemen in uniforms and silk stockings showing off their fine calves, and they strutting with their swords and squiring the ladies and bowing. And above it all the Throne, with the velvet canopy and the Royal Arms, and my Lord Harrington, his Excellency, sitting like a picture of himself, with his stars and orders and his coat of sky-blue velvet laced and embroidered with gold; and as each pretty lady came up to him and swept her curtsey he lifted her by the hand and kissed her cheek; for the Viceroy has that privilege, and many a man envied him a few of the kisses, if they did not envy them all.

And now at the great doors appeared three ladies, quietly, like persons used to a.s.semblies, though to be honest their knees were trembling under them and their little hearts quaking. So they were pa.s.sed on from one golden image to another, until they arrived before his Excellency, the company politely making way, and a whisper that rose to a buzz running with them. "Lord! who are they?"--"Who can they be?"--"Look at the girls!"--"Exquisite!"--"Beautiful!"--"For my part I see nothing in them.

Vilely dressed. Very far from modish."--"Too tall."--"Too short"--in fact, every expression of approval and disfavour. But every lady stood on the tips of her satin shoes to see, and every gentleman took the fullest advantage of his height; and had poor Harry been there, he had died of jealousy. Alas! even his fond letters were not in Elizabeth's gentle bosom, but tossed forgot on the bed in Britain Street, with George Anne casting the eye of sensibility on them.

And now the officer who performed the introduction took Mrs Gunning's gloved hand, very stately, and led her before the Throne.

"The Honourable Mrs. Gunning, your Excellency."

Down she flowed in a magnificent curtsey, her hands supporting her brocade on either side, her head bent majestic--Beauty adoring Power. Suddenly my Lord steps nimbly forward on the dais.