“Not dance? I never heard such nonsense in my life,” said Lady Lambourn, very angry indeed, directing a formidably quelling glance at her niece and, at the same time, administering a sharp pinch to her arm. “Not dance when Sir Groby Feverel does you the honor to request your hand? Be off with you at once, miss, and let us hear no more of such nonsense, I beg! Juliana is quite new to our London ways,” she apologized smoothly.
“My dear ma’am, a little innocence and rusticity only make the young lady appear to greater advantage,” he replied, smiling, in a tone that horrified Juliana by the lewdness and depths of innuendo contained in it.
“I must rely on you, Sir Groby, to instruct Juliana how to go on in our society,” Lady Lambourn said.
“It will be the greatest pleasure, ma’am”—and, smiling still, he led the reluctant Juliana to the ballroom. There he insisted upon not one dance but three, from which Juliana could not escape, being acquainted with nobody else in the room. By the end of the third dance she was half fainting from the discomfort of his hot, feverish grip on her arm, the need to make some kind of civil rejoinder to the inanities he kept pouring out, and the highly unpleasant fetid odor of his breath as he leaned close to whisper his compliments.
At last suppertime drew near, and, with great presence of mind, she exclaimed that a ruffle had come unstitched on her gown, and so succeeded in making her escape to the ladies’ robing room. There she would gladly have remained for the rest of the evening, despite suspicious glances from the maidservant in attendance, but, a group of other ladies arriving, she was obliged to return downstairs. She perceived Sir Groby watching out for her, but managed to slip past him concealed behind a group of other persons and, in the dining room, was lucky enough to find her cousins sitting with the sandy-haired Ellesmere girls and their red-faced brothers. Thankfully she joined them, though greeted with unwelcoming looks from Kitty and Fanny. The young men, however, seemed glad of her company and began asking her how she liked London; was this her first visit?
She explained that she had seen nothing as yet.
“What? Not seen the Pantheon? Nor Vauxhall nor Bagnigge Wells, or the lions at the Tower? Nor visited Drury Lane nor Ranelagh nor the Haymarket? This must be remedied, bigod!”
“Our cousin is but now come from the country, and before that from foreign parts,” explained Kitty sourly, adding in a low voice, “And it’s no manner of use dangling after her, Hugh, for Ma says she hasn’t a penny to bless herself with.”
“And with looks like hers, what need?” he answered cheerfully, at which Kitty’s expression became even more disagreeable.
After supper several more young men came up and asked to be introduced; Juliana did not lack for partners, and began to feel more comfortable, though her cousins’ looks of sulky ill will greatly reduced her enjoyment, and she was in continual apprehension of being pounced on again by Sir Groby, whom she noticed on various occasions eyeing her from the side of the room. Twice more she was obliged to escape him by retiring to the cloakroom. Altogether it was a relief to her when carriages were called, and the evening ended, although she had to bear some spiteful remarks from her cousins on the ride home. Lady Lambourn, who had won fifteen pounds at silver loo, was in placid good humor and slept all the way back to Berkeley Square, as did Miss Ardingly.
Next day Lady Lambourn somewhat irritably took Juliana shopping to various silk mercers and milliners’ establishments. Since the twins were allowed to come too, and to buy such garments as their fancy dictated, the excursion put them in a better frame, and they became lively and voluble.
“Lord, cousin, why’n’t you buy this amber satin, why must you stick to such sad colors?”
Juliana pointed out that she was mourning.
“Oh dear, who cares about that? Not a soul in town knew your pa, so it can’t signify—what does it matter when he died?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, child,” said Lady Lambourn sharply. “Juliana is in the right. It would not be at all becoming in her to wear that amber.”
Juliana soon perceived that if she bought ready-made dresses, or even had them made up, her uncle’s fifty pounds would go nowhere; indeed, a sad hole had already been made in it by Lady Lambourn’s purchase of the lavender-and-white-striped dress; she therefore resolved on procuring several lengths of jaconet, mull, crepe, gauze, and muslin, so as to make her own garments; now that she had been given an opportunity to study what was being worn by ladies of ton, she felt quite confident of being able to fashion herself some gowns that were fit to be seen, for the modes worn that season were exceedingly simple, straight, slender, and high-waisted. Fanny and Kitty stared at such a notion, but their mother, for once, seemed quite approving of Juliana.
“Your cousin cannot afford, as you can, to be buying gowns from fashionable houses, so it is fortunate that she has learned some skill with her needle—and it will give her a useful occupation indoors. I daresay, if you ask her, she may be pleased to alter such of your dresses as have something amiss with them or need mending.”
“Oh, yes,” said Kitty directly. “There is my jonquil crepe that has a great rent in it; Juliana will be able to mend that for me, I daresay, and I shall be very glad, for it is my favorite and then I could wear it to the Gazehams’ ridotto.”
Juliana felt somewhat dismayed at the prospect of continual darning that seemed to lie ahead of her, but if this was the way to earn her cousins’ goodwill and make life more comfortable in Berkeley Square, she supposed she must be glad of it.
Indeed, as she sat and sewed that afternoon on a half dress of fine silvery-gray sarsenet, ornamented with a small glossy spot, which was to be worn over a robe of white silk, her cousin Fanny appeared and in a manner that was half commanding, half cajoling, exclaimed, “Dear cousin Juliana, I know you can somehow contrive so that this nasty spot does not show on my pink velvet! Partridge says that it is not worth the trouble, but I am so fond of this habit!”
“Oh, I believe it could be managed,” said Juliana. “The skirt is so full that we can take in the front breadth and so remove the spot… But why are you not gone to Cox’s Museum this afternoon with cousin Kitty and my aunt?”
“I am sick to death of Cox’s Museum—I have seen it above a dozen times, and do not at all admire mechanical music and pineapples full of singing birds! So I told Ma that I had a headache and must lay down on my bed—and now I have stolen a fine march on Kit, for I know she has several dresses that she wishes you to improve for her… Ay, that is famous,” Fanny exclaimed approvingly, as Juliana, by taking a tuck in the material, managed to conceal the offending grease spot. “I was sure you would know how to put it to rights.”
The doorbell rang downstairs, and she went to the window and peered out.
“Now it rains—how glad I am that I did not go out with Mama and Kit! Oh, there is that odious old cull, Sir Groby, come a-calling! I quite detest him, with his poxy skin and his mincing nasty ways and his foul breath—I pity his next wife… No, Fitton, we are not at home,” she added as the butler came to inquire if the young ladies were ready to receive company. “My cousin Juliana has better things to do with her time than receive the addresses of that old monster—besides, I wish to wear my rose-colored habit in the park tomorrow morning.” Fitton retired again, and Fanny went on, “Ma intends you to have Sir Groby, I know, but it won’t hurt the old toad to be kept wondering a while longer. I know he’s a monstrous fine catch, for he has fifteen thousand a year, but he has buried three wives already—Lucy Ellesmere says he starves them to death—so he can just wait a while!”
“You mean your mother intends that I shall marry Sir Groby?” faintly inquired Juliana.
“For sure she does! And you might as well make up your mind to it, for Ma always has her way in the end. I daresay it may not be so bad,” said Fanny encouragingly. “Once you are married, you know, you may have any number of lovers and cicisbei—though they do sa
y Sir Groby has a very jealous disposition. But then you are quite likely to outlive him, you know, and may be a rich widow.”
“I have not the least intention of marrying him,” said Juliana, very decidedly.
“Mercy! You had best not let Ma hear you say that,” said Fanny, staring. “Or she will very likely have you on bread and water in the attic, as she used with me and Kit when Miss Lurgashall said we would not learn our lesson. Well, I would not care for him myself, I allow, but beggars in your position, you know, cannot be choosers. You have no portion, after all.”
Juliana said that she could think of many alternatives to marrying Sir Groby.
“Not for you,” Fanny told her earnestly. “Besides, your mother was so very scandalous that Ma says you must be thankful for any eligible connection.”
“What did she do?” Juliana could not resist inquiring.
“Oh Lord, I don’t know! It was all long ago—when I was in my cradle.”
When Lady Lambourn returned and was informed by Partridge that the young ladies had had themselves denied to Sir Groby, she was exceedingly angry, and visited her displeasure immediately on her niece, storming and railing at Juliana until the latter felt quite sick and weak.
“Obstinate, ungrateful girl! You will receive his attentions with complaisance, or it will be the worse for you! Why do you think I took Kitty off to Cox’s Museum? You need not think you can afford to be picking and choosing. What is wrong with Sir Groby, pray?”
Juliana, battered beyond endurance, could only retort, “He lacks the least resemblance to King Charles the First, ma’am!” before, with tears starting from her eyes, she ran away to her own room.
She was not to be left in peace for long. A message came to her by Partridge that she must dress herself in readiness to accompany her aunt and cousins to the Pantheon Rooms for a concert that evening.
Juliana would rather have done anything else, but she saw no help for it; she therefore bathed her eyes, and put on the gray sarsenet dress.
“You want I should do your hair, miss?” inquired Partridge sneeringly.
“No, thank you, Partridge, that will not be necessary,” replied Juliana, and bound it up herself with a ribbon of gray material left over from the dress.
“Miss is so clever that she might as well be a lady’s maid herself,” was Partridge’s parting salvo as she flounced out of the door.
The Pantheon, Juliana discovered, was a large, impressive concert hall which had something the appearance of a chapel. It was much ornamented inside, with vaulted arches, pilasters, and many statues. To Juliana’s dismay Sir Groby appeared almost immediately, and sat down beside her at the beginning of the concert. Her pleasure in the music—a Coronation anthem by Handel—was quite spoiled, the more so as the rest of the audience talked loudly all through the playing. Sir Groby was no exception, plying her with his fulsome compliments, admiring her hair, her gown, and everything about her, pinching her arm, and squeezing her hand.
“Sir, I infinitely prefer the sound of the music to that of your voice!” she exclaimed impatiently at last, and reduced him to an affronted silence. She thought she saw his eyes flash vengefully at her boldness, but his silence was so grateful to her ears that it seemed worth his hostility.
After the concert they strolled about the hall, meeting numerous acquaintances of Lady Lambourn and the twins. Sir Groby accompanied them. Presently they went below to the tearoom, which was in the basement. Here they had to wait for a table some little while, and Sir Groby beguiled this time with knowledgeable gossip about Court circles.
“They say the King rewards his mistresses with sweepstakes tickets,” he remarked with a titter. “Is he not a famous old miser?”
“And, pray, how do you reward yours?” Kitty muttered under her breath.
“When he becomes angry he takes off his hat and wig and kicks them about the room! It is said that he is very angry indeed at the Prince’s reception of Princess Charlotte. Prinney must marry her, of course, or his debts will never be paid, so he might as well do it with a good grace.”
“Is the Princess really such a sloven?” inquired Fanny.
“Indeed, yes!” cried Kitty. “Hugh Ellesmere, whose mother went down to Greenwich with Lady Jersey to meet the Princess, said that she smells like a stable, and cannot even put on her stockings right side outwards. Poor Prinney!”
“And he so used to have nothing but the best about him!” Fanny giggled.
Juliana thought, for the first time in weeks, of her odd traveling companion, Herr Welcker, and his cargo of rarities for the Prince. Had he arrived in time for his dinner party, and been adequately rewarded?
“Ah, there is a table free,” said Sir Groby, and secured it, by sticking his elbow sharply into the side of a young gentleman who was just about to sit down there. The young gentleman threw him an angry look, and then his eyes widened as he glanced past Sir Groby and saw Juliana. He gazed at her with unconcealed admiration. She gave him a slight, commiserating smile, at which his expression lightened; he made a half bow to her and moved away while the Lambourns, with Sir Groby, arranged themselves round the table and called for tea and refreshments. Juliana, who had been most favorably impressed by the young man’s air and appearance, followed him with her eyes to the other side of the room, where she saw him take the arm of a tall woman and move away; they presently found seats quite at the other end of the room. Juliana could not see her companion’s face or form any conclusion as to her age.
Meanwhile the Ellesmere girls and their brothers had come gaily up and contrived to squeeze round the table, which was only intended for four or five persons. Sir Groby was evidently displeased at this, but it gave him an excuse to squeeze very close to Juliana and slide his arm round her waist.
The others were conducting a cheerful and preposterous conversation about the mixtures used by ladies to improve and preserve their complexions.
“I know for a fact,” cried Hugh Ellesmere, “that my aunt Cholmondelay lays a pound of minced veal on her face every morning for an hour, to remove blemishes and imperfections. And afterwards it is given to her pug for his breakfast.”
“Ma uses cucumber water and lemon juice, don’t you, Ma?” cried Kitty. “And shall I tell you what cousin Ardingly uses for a lip salve?” She lowered her voice to a carrying whisper, and hissed out, “Cat’s piss, boiled with loaf sugar! Did you ever hear anything so nasty in your life?”
“Grandmother Bethune uses cat’s dung to remove hair,” countered one of the Ellesmere girls. “Mixed with vinegar.”
“I wonder what your beau puts on his complexion?” whispered Fanny in Juliana’s ear. “It puts me in mind of a graveled road!”
“Who would want to remove hair, anyway?” demanded one of the boys, carelessly glancing at Sir Groby’s scanty locks. “Most people would rather wish to grow it.”
“Not Granny Bethune! She has the longest beard in Berkshire.”
Sir Groby, looking with dislike at this rowdy company, suggested to Juliana that if she had drunk her tea, he and she should take a turn about the room together. She would gladly have declined, but a savage glance from Lady Lambourn, and a sharp kick on her ankle, persuaded her to be conformable, and so, very reluctantly, she stood up and moved away with Sir Groby.
The room was now very crowded, and they had to edge their way slowly along; while waiting for a group of gaily dressed personages to walk by, Juliana saw again the young man who had been elbowed aside by Sir Groby. He was seated, talking earnestly to his female companion. When Juliana had seen him for the first time, there had been something in his countenance that struck her as strangely familiar; now she understood the reason for this. He had a rather grave air, and wore luxuriantly curling beard and mustaches, unlike the generality of other men in the room, who were clean-shaven. His eyes were shadowed and thoughtful, his hair and beard of a darkish brown, inclining to ch
estnut. And what gave him his appearance of familiarity was his striking resemblance to King Charles the First! Juliana could not help being struck by it. She would have liked a friend to be near, with whom she could laugh and exclaim over the coincidence; she could not help remembering Herr Welcker’s comment: “Even in England, you don’t see replicas of King Charles the First scattered all abroad.” For a moment she wished that Herr Welcker was at hand. There would be no use in remarking on the odd resemblance to Sir Groby; she felt quite certain of that.
The press of people around them increased, and Juliana found herself thrust in a different direction from Sir Groby. At that moment she observed an expression of extreme annoyance, and something else—what, she was not quite sure—calculation? spite?—come over his unprepossessing countenance.
“Wait here a moment, child,” he said sharply, and thrust his way through the crowd toward where the young man was sitting with his companion.
Juliana, impelled in a different direction by the crowd, was now too far off to hear what ensued; she saw the young man jump to his feet with what looked like a flush of rage; then several more persons pushed by, and Juliana had much ado to keep her feet. She resolved to retrace her way to where Lady Lambourn sat with the girls, but, to her extreme chagrin, when she reached the table where they had been, she found it now occupied by strangers. After seeking vainly about the tearoom she returned to the upper concert hall, where the crowd was now thinner, but her relations were nowhere to be seen.
Juliana stood still in some distress, wondering what was best to be done. After waiting a while for her aunt and cousins, she began to believe that they must have started for home without her, perhaps assuming that she could return under the escort of Sir Groby—a thing she was most anxious to avoid doing.
But she had no money on her to pay for a hackney cab or sedan chair; and, moreover, on going to the entrance, she discovered that the rain poured down violently; it would be impossible to walk, and in any case she had no very clear notion of the way, only that it had taken about half an hour in her aunt’s carriage. While she stood hesitating, biting her lip, she heard again the hateful accents of Sir Groby.