Hester · Chapter 22 (1/2)

XXII

Dancing Teas

It was shortly after the departure of Roland that a new era dawned for Hester in social life. Mrs. Algernon Merridew had felt from the moment of her return from Abroad that there was a work for her to do in Redborough. It was not the same as in her maiden days, when she had been at the head of Harry’s household, wonderfully enfranchised indeed, but still somewhat under the awe of Aunt Catherine. But now she was altogether independent, and nobody had any right to make suggestions as to who she should invite or how she should entertain, to a married lady, with an admiring husband, not to speak of brother⁠—and sisters-in-law, eagerly anticipating social elevation by her means, at her back. Ellen was not ill-natured. She was very willing to promote the happiness and prosperity of others, so long as she could do so without any diminution of her own⁠—a negative goodness which the world at large is very well pleased to acknowledge as satisfactory. And it is not at all probable that the representations of Harry, or the good-humoured suggestions of Algernon inspired by Harry, to the effect that it would be sublimely good of her to take up and brighten the life of Hester, would have come to very much, had it not at the same time occurred to Ellen that Hester was the best assistant she could have on her own side of the house, in the indispensable work of making her Thursdays “go.” Rather than that they should not “go,” she would have embraced her worst enemy, had she possessed one; and she did not care to rely upon the Merridew girls, feeling as she did that she had condescended in entering their family, and that they must never be allowed to forget that they owed everything to her, and she nothing to them. But at the same time she required a feminine auxiliary, a somebody to be her right hand, and help to make everything “go.” The result of her cogitations on this subject was that she set out for the Vernonry one afternoon in the little victoria, which Algernon, rather tremulous about the cost, had set up for her, and which, with the smart coachman who for the moment condescended to be gardener too, and the boy on the box who was of quite a fashionable size, looked a very imposing little equipage. Ellen lay back in her little carriage enveloped in her new sealskin, with a little hat of the same upon her head, and a muff also of the same, and her light hair looking all the brighter against that dark background, with bracelets enough to make a jingle wherever she went, and which she had to push up upon her arm from time to time, and a violet scent about herself and all her garments, at least the scent which is called violet at Piesse and Lubin’s, which served her purpose. When she drove up in this state, it may be supposed what a flutter she made in the afternoon atmosphere. The inmates of the Vernonry rushed to their windows.

“It is that little doll Ellen, come to show off more of her finery,” said one sister.

“I wonder why she comes here, when you set her down so, Matilda,” said the other.

They kept behind the curtains, one over the other’s shoulder, that she might not see how curious they were. But when Ellen floated in at the verandah door, and was evidently gone to see Mrs. John, their astonishment was boundless. They shrugged their shoulders and interchanged glances with Mr. Mildmay Vernon, who, with his newspaper in his hand, had appeared at his window.

“Did he think she was going to see him?” Miss Matilda said, even while addressing these satires in pantomime to him. “What interest can he take in Ellen? It is just prying and curiosity, and nothing more.”

The gentleman’s comments were not more friendly. He chuckled as he saw where Ellen was going.

“The old cats will think it a visit to them, and they will be disappointed,” he said to himself, all the same shrugging his shoulders back again to Miss Matilda. They kept on the watch all the time the visit lasted, and it was a long one. The sisters discussed the victoria, the horse, the little footman, the great fur rug which Ellen threw off as she jumped lightly out of the carriage. It was somewhat hard indeed that a little minx like Ellen should have all these things, and her seniors, her betters, who would have enjoyed them so much, none of them. But so it always is in this unjust world.

On the other side of the partition from where the sisters were sitting, Ellen’s appearance had caused an almost equal sensation. She was not looked for, and the proposal she made was a very startling one.

“I am going to begin my Thés Dansantes, and I want you to help me,” she said abruptly. “I want you to be my right hand; just like my sister. You know I can’t do everything myself. Mrs. John, you shall come too, I never intended to leave you out; but I want Hester to help me, for she is the only one that can help me. She is really my cousin. Clara and Connie are only my sisters-in-law, and I don’t care to have them about me in that position. It would be nice for me, and it would be giving Hester the best of chances. Now, Mrs. John, I am sure you will see it in that light. What could be better for a girl? All that she will meet will be the best sort of people: and she would have her chance.”

“I don’t know what you mean by having my chance⁠—and I don’t want any chance,” said Hester, in a flush of shame and indignation; but Ellen put her down with a wave of her gloved hand and arm, all tinkling with bangles.

“Of course you don’t know anything about it,” she said, “an unmarried girl! We don’t want you to know. Your mother and I will talk about that; but you can understand that a nice dance in a nice house like ours will be something pleasant. And you would be there not just like a visitor, but like one of the family, and get a good deal of attention, and as many partners as ever you liked.”

“Of course, Ellen, of course,” cried Mrs. John. “I am sure I understand you. It would be very nice for Hester. At her age every girl likes a little gaiety, and in my position I have never been able to give it to her. It was very different when my husband was alive, when we were in the White House. I am sure I have never grudged it to you, but it made a great difference. I was not brought up to this sort of thing. I had my balls, and my parties, as many as could be wished, when I was Hester’s age. If her poor papa had lived, and we had stayed in the White House, she would have held a very different position. It gives me a little prick, you will understand, to think of Hester wanting anybody to be kind to her; but still, as it is so, and as you are her relation, I never could object. You will find no objection from me.”

“No, I should think not,” cried Ellen, throwing back her warm coat. It was at the time when sealskins were rare, when they were just “coming in,” and Mrs. John looked at it with admiration. She did not ask, as the Miss Vernon-Ridgways did, why this little minx should have everything; but she remembered with a little regret the days when she too had everything that a young woman could desire, and wondered, with a little flutter at her heart, whether when Hester married she would have a sealskin and a victoria, and all the other crowns of happiness. She looked with something of a pathetic look at her daughter. Ah! if she could but see Hester as Ellen was!

Meanwhile Hester was elevating her young head as was natural, in special scorn of the “chance” which her cousin meant to secure for her, and in defiance altogether of the scheme, which nevertheless (for she was but human and nineteen, and the prospect of a dance every week took away her breath) moved her in spite of herself.

“When I was a child,” Hester said, “when you first came to see us, Cousin Ellen, you said you must see a great deal of me, that I must go to your house, that you and Harry would take me out, that I should have a share in your pleasures. Perhaps my mother and you don’t remember⁠—but I do. How I used to look out for you every morning; how I used to watch at the window, thinking they will surely come or send, or take some notice today. I was very young, you know, and believed everything, and wished so much to drive about and to go to parties. But you never came.”

“To think she should remember all that!” cried Ellen, a little abashed. “Of course I didn’t. Why, you were only a child. One said so to please you; but how can you suppose one meant anything? What could I have done with you then⁠—a little thing among lots of people? Why, you wouldn’t have been allowed to come! It would have been bad for you. You would have heard things you oughtn’t to hear. You wouldn’t have let her come, would you, Mrs. John?”

“Certainly not, my dear,” said Mrs. John, promptly. To tell the truth, it was she who had complained the most though it was Hester who had been most indignant. She forgot this, however, in the new interest of the moment. “It would never have done,” she said, with all sincerity. “Your cousin, of course, only spoke to please you, Hester. I never could have permitted you, a little thing at your lessons, to plunge into pleasure at that age.”

“Then why⁠—” cried Hester, open-mouthed; but when she had got so far she paused. What was the use of saying any more? She looked at them both with her large brown eyes, full of light and wonder, and a little indignation and a little scorn, then stopped and laughed, and changed the subject. “When I go to Cousin Catherine’s,” she said, “which I never do when I can help it, we stand in a corner all the evening, my mother and I. We are thankful when anyone speaks to us⁠—the curate’s daughters and the Miss Reynoldses and we⁠—There is never anybody to take us in to supper. All the Redborough people sweep past while mamma stands waiting; and then perhaps some gentleman who has been down once before takes pity, and says, ‘Haven’t you been down to supper, Mrs. Vernon? Dear me! then let me take you.’ You will please to remember that my mother is Mrs. Vernon, Ellen, and not Mrs. John.”

“I only say it for⁠—short,” said Ellen, apologetically; “and how can I help what happens at Aunt Catherine’s? I don’t go in for her ways. I don’t mean to do as she does. Why do you talk of Aunt Catherine to me?”

“It is only to let you see that I will not be treated so,” the girl said with indignation. “If you think I will go to your house like that, just because you are a relation, I won’t, Ellen; and you had better understand this before we begin.”

“What a spitfire it is!” said Ellen, raising her hand with a toss of all her bracelets to brush Hester’s downy cheek with a playful touch. “To think she should put all these things down in her book against us! I should never remember if it were me. I should be furious for the moment, and then I should forget all about it. Now, Hester, you look here. I am not asking you for your own pleasure, you silly; I am asking you to help me. Don’t you see that makes all the difference? You are no good to Aunt Catherine. She doesn’t need you. She asks you only for civility. But it stands to reason, you know, that I can’t look after all the people myself if I am to have any of the fun. I must have someone to help me. Of course you will have every attention paid you; for, don’t you see, you are wanted. I can’t get on without you. Oh, of course, that makes all the difference! I am sure your mamma understands very well, even if you are too young and too silly to understand!”

“Yes, Hester, your cousin is quite right,” said Mrs. John, eagerly. The poor lady was so anxious to secure her child’s assent to what she felt would be so manifestly for her advantage that she was ready to back up everything that Ellen said. A spark of animation and new life had lighted up in Mrs. John’s eyes. It was not a very elevated kind of hope perhaps, yet no hope that is centred in the successes of another is altogether ignoble. She wanted to see her child happy; she wanted Hester to have her chance, as Ellen said. That she should be seen and admired and made much of, was, Mrs. John felt, the first object in her life. It would not be without some cost to herself, but she did not shrink from the idea of the lonely evenings she would have to spend, or the separation that might ensue. Her mind, which was not a great mind, jumped forward into an instant calculation of how the evening dresses could be got, at what sacrifice of ease or comfort. She did not shrink from this, whatever it might be. Neither did she let any visionary pride stand in her way as Hester did. She was ready to forgive, to forget, to condone all offences⁠—and in the long discussion and argument that followed, Mrs. John was almost more eloquent than Ellen on the mutual advantages of the contract. She saw them all the instant they were set before her. She was quite tremulous with interest and expectation. She ran over with approval and beaming admiration as Ellen unfolded her plans. “Oh, yes, I can quite understand; you want to strike out something original,” cried Mrs. John. “You must not think I agree with Hester about Catherine’s parties. I think Catherine’s parties are very nice; and relations, you know, must expect to give way to strangers, especially when there are not enough of gentlemen; but it will be much pleasanter for you to strike out something original. I should have liked it when I was in your circumstances, but I don’t think I had the energy. And I am sure if Hester can be of any use⁠—Oh, my darling! of course you will like it very much. You always are ready to help, and you have plenty of energy⁠—far more than I ever had⁠—and so fond of dancing too; and there are so few dances in Redborough. Oh, yes, I think it is a capital plan, Ellen! and Hester will be delighted to help you. It will be such an opening for her,” Mrs. John said, with tears of pleasure in her eyes.

Hester did not say much while the talk ran on. She was understood to fall into the scheme, and that was all that was necessary. But when Ellen, after a prolonged visit and a detailed explanation to Mrs. John, which she received with the greatest excitement and interest, of all her arrangements as to the music, the suppers, and every other particular they could think of between them, rose to take her leave, she put her hand within Hester’s arm, and drew her aside for a few confidential words.

“Don’t think of coming to the door,” she said to Mrs. John; “it is so cold you must not stir. Hester will see me out. There is one thing I must say to you, dear,” she added, raising herself to Hester’s ear when they were out of the mother’s hearing, “and you are not to take it amiss. It must be a condition beforehand⁠—now please, Hester, mind, and don’t be offended. You must promise me that you will have nothing to say to either of the boys.”

The quick flush of offence sprang to Hester’s face.

“I don’t know what you mean. You mean something you have no right to say, Ellen!”