The Visits of Elizabeth Part 15

I bowed as stiffly as I could in saying good-night to Lord Doraine and Lord Valmond, and they both looked so astonished, that perhaps it was Mr. Hodgkinson after all; it _is_ awkward not knowing, isn't it? This morning all the guests are going, and on Monday, as you know, Tom and Octavia take me with them to stay at Foljambe Place, with the Murray-Hartleys for the Gra.s.sfield Hunt Ball. It will be fun, I hope, but I can never enjoy myself more than I have done here.--Now, good-bye, dear Mamma, your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

[Sidenote: _The Murray-Hartleys_]

_P.S._--Octavia says the Murray-Hartleys aren't people you would know, but one must go with the times, and she will take care of me. E.

FOLJAMBE PLACE

Foljambe Place,

_15th November_.

[Sidenote: _The Coat of Arms_]

Dearest Mamma,--We arrived here this afternoon in time for tea. It is a splendid place, and everything has been done up for them by that man who chooses things for people when they don't know how themselves. He is here now, and he is quite a gentleman, and has his food with us; I can't remember his name, but I daresay you know about him.

Everything is Louis XV. and Louis XVI., but it doesn't go so well in the saloon as it might, because the panelling is old oak, with the Foljambe coats of arms still all round the frieze, and over the mantelpiece, which is Elizabethan. And I heard this--(Mr. Jones I shall have to call him)--say that it jarred upon his nervous system like an intense pain, but that Mrs. Murray-Hartley would keep them up, because there was a "Murray" coat of arms in one of the shields of the people they married, and she says it is an ancestor of hers, and that is why they bought the place; but as Octavia told me that their real name was Hart, and that they hyphened the "Murray," which is his Christian name (if Jews can have Christian names) and put on the "ley" by royal licence, I can't see how it could have been an ancestor, can you?

They are quite established in Society, Octavia says; they have been there for two seasons now, and every one knows them. They got Lady Greswold to give their first concert, and enclosed programmes with the invitations, so hardly any of the d.u.c.h.esses felt they could refuse, Octavia said, when they were certain of hearing the best singers for nothing; and it was a splendid plan, as many concerts have been spoilt by a rumour getting about that Melba was not really going to sing.

Everybody smart is here. I am one of the few unt.i.tled people.

[Sidenote: _A Friendly Little Party_]

Mrs. Murray-Hartley doesn't look a bit Jewish, or fat and uneasy, like Mrs. Pike, but then this is only Mrs. Pike's first year. She--Mrs.

M.-H.--is beautifully dressed, and awfully genial; she said it was "just more than delightful" of Octavia to bring me, and that it was so sweet of her to come to this friendly little party. "It is so much nicer to have just one's own friends," she said, "instead of those huge collections of people one hardly knows." There are quite twenty of us here, Mamma, so I don't call it such a very weeny party, do you?

My bedroom is magnificent, but it hasn't all the new books as they have at Chevenix, and although the writing-table things are tortoise-sh.e.l.l and gold, there aren't any pens in the holders, that is why I am writing this in pencil. The towels have such beautifully embroidered double crests on them, and on the Hartley bit, the motto is "_La fin vaut l'esch.e.l.le_." Octavia, who is in the room now looking at everything, said Lady Greswold chose it for them when they wanted a crest to have on their Sevres plates and things for their concert.

Octavia keeps laughing to herself all the time, as she looks at the things, and it puts me out writing, so I will finish this when I come to bed.

[Sidenote: _A Question of Taste_]

12.30.--We had a regular banquet, I sat next to Lord Doraine--I did not catch the name of the man who took me in--I forgot to tell you the Doraines and Sir Trevor and Lady Cecilia and lots of others I know are here. Mrs. Murray-Hartley does hostess herself, which Octavia says is very plucky of her, as both Lady Greswold, who gave her concert, and Lady Bobby Pomeroy, who brought all the young men, are staying in the house; and Octavia says it shows she is really clever to have emanc.i.p.ated herself so soon.

We had gold plate with the game, and china up to that, and afterwards Lady Greswold talked to Octavia, and asked her if she thought it would look better perhaps to begin gold with the soup, and have the _hors d'oeuvres_ on specimen Sevres just to make a point. I hate gold plate myself, one's knife does make such slate-pencilish noises on it.

[Sidenote: _Lord Valmond's Arrival_]

The man who took me in kept putting my teeth so on edge that I was obliged to speak to him about it at last. We had sturgeon from the Volga, or wherever the Roman emperors got theirs, but the plates were cold. Violins played softly all the time, behind a kind of Niagara Falls at the end of the room, which is magnificent; it is hung with aubusson, almost as good as what they had at Croixmare, which has been there always.

After dinner, while we were in the drawing-room alone, a note came for Mrs. Murray-Hartley. She was talking to Octavia and me, so she read it aloud; it was from Lord Valmond, and sent from the inn in the little town. He said he had intended staying there by himself for the Hunt Ball, but that on arrival he found no fire in his room, so he was writing to ask if Mrs. Murray-Hartley would put him up. She was enchanted, and at once asked Lady Greswold if it would not be better to turn Lord Oldfield out of his room--which is the best in the bachelors'

suite--as he is only a baron; but Lady Greswold said she did not think it would matter. I do call it odd, don't you, Mamma? because Lord Valmond told me, when he left Chevenix on Sat.u.r.day, that he had to go to another party in Yorkshire, and was as cross as a bear because he would not be able to be at the Gra.s.sfield ball. He turned up beautifully dressed as usual, as quickly as it was possible for the brougham which was sent for him to get back. He could not have kept it waiting a moment; so I don't believe the story about there being no fire in his room, do you?

[Sidenote: _Friendly Offers_]

Mrs. Murray-Hartley did gush at him. Octavia says it is the first time she has been able to get him to her house, as he is ridiculously old-fashioned and particular, and actually in London won't go to places unless he knows the host and hostess personally. He stood with a vacant frown on his face all the time Mrs. Murray-Hartley was speaking, and a child could have seen he wanted to get away. It is in these kind of ways Frenchmen are more polite, because the Marquis always wore an interested grin when G.o.dmamma kept him by her. He got away at last, and came across the room, but by that time Sir Trevor and Mr.

Hodgkinson were talking to me, and there was no room for him on our sofa, and he had to speak to Lady Cecilia, who was near. She was as absent as usual, and he was talking at random, so their conversation was rather funny; I heard sc.r.a.ps of it.

[Sidenote: _A Sense of Honour_]

Mr. Murray-Hartley must be very nice, although he looks so unimportant, for all the men call him "Jim," and are awfully friendly. Lord Oldfield and Lord Doraine seem ready to do anything for him. Lord Oldfield offered to hunt about and get him just the right stables for his house in Belgrave Square; he knew of some splendid ones, he said, that were going a great bargain, on a freehold that belongs to his sister's husband. And Lord Doraine says he will choose his horses for him at Tattersall's next week, as he wants some good hunters; he knows of the very ones for him. "You leave it all to me, dear boy," he said; and at that Sir Trevor, who was listening (they were all standing close to our sofa) went into a guffaw of laughter. "Hunters," he whispered, quite loud, "beastly little Jew, he'd have to have a rocking-horse, and hold on by its mane." And when I said I did not think one ought to speak so of people when one was eating their salt, he seemed to think that quite a new view of the case, and said, "By Jove! you are right, Elizabeth.

Our honour and our sense of hospitality are both blunted nowadays."

Presently Lady Cecilia called Mr. Hodgkinson to her, and in one moment Lord Valmond had slipped into his place. I asked him why he was not in Yorkshire, and he said that he thought, after all, it was too far to go, and it was his duty to be at the Gra.s.sfield ball, as he has hunted with this pack sometimes. He looked and looked at me, and I don't know why, Mamma, but I felt so queer--I almost wish he had not come. I suppose Mrs. Smith is somewhere in this neighbourhood, and that is why he did not go to Yorkshire. Sir Trevor monopolised most of the conversation, until we all got up to play baccarat. I did not want to play as I don't know it, and Lord Valmond said it would be much nicer to sit and talk, but Mrs. Murray-Hartley would not hear of our not joining in; and Octavia handed me a five-pound note and said I was not to lose more than that, so I thought I had better not go on refusing, and we went with the rest into the saloon, where there was a long table laid out with cards and counters.

[Sidenote: _Playing Baccarat_]

Lord Valmond said he would teach me the game, and that we would bank together; however, Lady Doraine sat down in the chair he was holding for me, and she put her hand on his coat sleeve and said in such a lovely voice, "Harry, it is ages since I have had a chat with you, sit down here by me." But he answered No, he had promised to show me how to play, and his mouth was set quite square. She looked so alluring I don't know how he could have done it, it was almost as flattering to me as the Vicomte's riding all night from Versailles. She laughed--but it was not a very nice laugh--and she said, "Poor boy, is it as bad as that?" and he looked back at her in an insolent way, as if they were crossing swords, but he said nothing more, only we moved to the other side of the table, to where there were two empty chairs together.

When we sat down he said women were devils, which I thought very rude of him. I told him so, and he said I wasn't a woman; but I remember now, Mamma, he called me a "little devil" that time when he was so rude at Nazeby, so it shows how inconsistent men are, doesn't it? I sometimes think he would like to say all the nice things the Vicomte used to, only with Englishmen I suppose you have to be alone in the room for them to do that; they have not the least idea, like the French, of managing while they are speaking out loud about something else.

Every one looks very anxious here when they play; it is not at all a joke as the roulette used to be at Nazeby; and they do put a lot on, although counters don't seem to be much to look at. It is not at all a difficult game, Mamma, and some of the people were so lucky turning up "naturels," but we lost in spite of them at our side of the table, and Lord Doraine said at last, that it was because we--Lord Valmond and I--were sitting together. Valmond looked angry, but he chaffed back. I don't know what it was all about, and I was getting so sleepy, that when a fresh deal was going to begin I asked Octavia, who was near, if I might not go to bed. She nodded, so I slipped away. Lord Valmond followed, to light my candle he said, but as there is nothing but electric light that was nonsense. He was just beginning to say something nice, when we got beyond the carved oak screen that separates the staircase from the saloon, and there there were rows of footmen and people peeping in, so he just said "Good-night."

[Sidenote: _A Good-night_]

And I also will say good-night to you, Mamma, or I shall look ugly to-morrow for the ball.--Love from your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

Foljambe Place,

_16th November_.

[Sidenote: _Bad Weather_]

Dearest Mamma,--I have just come up to dress for tea, but I find it is earlier than I thought, so I shall have time to tell you about to-day.

It has absolutely poured with rain and sleet and snow and blown a gale from the moment we woke this morning until now--quite the most horrid weather I ever remember. All the men were in such tempers, as it was impossible to shoot. Mr. Murray-Hartley had prepared thousands of tame pheasants for them, Tom said, although this wasn't to be a big shoot, only to amuse them by the way; and they were all looking forward to a regular slaughter.

Octavia, and I, and Lady Bobby, were among the few women down to breakfast besides our hostess, who is so bright and cheery in the morning; and when you think how morose English people are until lunch time it is a great quality. Some of the men came down ready to start, and these were the ones in the worst humour. After breakfast half of them disappeared to the stables, and the rest played "Bridge," except Lord Valmond and Mr. Hodgkinson, who wanted to stay with us, only we would not have them, so we were left to ourselves more or less.

[Sidenote: _An Amusing Mistake_]

Mrs. Murray-Hartley took us to see the pictures and the collections of china and miniatures; and she talks about them all just like a book, and calls them simple little things, and you would never have guessed they cost thousands, and that she had not been used to them always, until she showed us a beautiful enamel of Madame de Pompadour, and called it the Princesse de Lamballe, and said so sympathetically that it was quite too melancholy to think she had been hacked to pieces in the Revolution; only perhaps it served her right for saying "_Apres moi le deluge!_". Octavia was in fits, and I wonder no one noticed it. Then she said she must leave us for a little in the music-room, as she always went to see her children at this hour--they live in another wing.

[Sidenote: _Gossip_]

By that time Lady Doraine and Lady Greswold, and most of the others were down, and some of them looked as if they had been up awfully late.

It seems they did not finish the baccarat until half-past three, and that Lord Oldfield won more than a thousand pounds. Mrs. Murray-Hartley had hardly got out of the door, when Lady Doraine said what a beautiful woman she was, and Lady Greswold began "yes and such tact," and Lady Bobby said, "and so charming," and Lady Cecilia--who was doing ribbon work on a small frame that sounds like a drum every time you put the needle through--looked up and drawled in her voice right up at the top, "Yes, I have noticed very rich people always are."

Then they all talked at once, and by listening carefully one made out that they were saying a nice thing about every one, only with a different ending to it, like: "she is perfectly devey but what a pity she makes herself so remarkable," and "Darling Florrie, of course she is as straight as a die, but wearing those gowns so much too young for her, and with that very French figure, it does give people a wrong impression," and "It is extraordinary luck for dear Rosie, her husband's dying before he knew anything." I suppose it is all right, Mamma, but it sounds to me like giving back-handers. The French women never talked like this; they were witty and amusing and polite, just the same as if the men were in the room.

[Sidenote: _The Gossips Rebuked_]

Octavia did not join in it, but read the papers, and when they got round to Mrs. Murray-Hartley again, and this time simply clawed her to pieces, Octavia looked up and said in a downright way, "Oh! come, we need none of us have known this woman unless we liked, and we are all getting the _quid pro quo_ out of her, so for goodness' sake let us leave her alone." That raised a perfect storm, they denied having said a word and were quite indignant at the idea of getting anything out of her; but "It's all bosh," Octavia said, "I am here because it is the nearest house to the Gra.s.sfield ball, and the whole thing amuses me, and I suppose you all have your reasons." Lady Doraine looked at her out of the corner of her eyes, and said in her purry voice, "Darling Octavia--you are so original," and then she turned the conversation in the neatest way.

[Sidenote: _Octavia's Philosophy_]