CHAPTER XVI.

Some difference of this dangerous kind, By which, though light, the links that bind, The fondest hearts may soon be riven; Some shadow in Love's summer heav'n. Which, though a fleecy cloud at first, May yet in awful thunders burst.

_Lalla Rookh._

The Falkinghams did not arrive till very late. Blanche knew that every moment's delay was injurious to the repast she was so anxious should be tolerably well dressed. She several times ran down into the kitchen herself, to enforce upon the cook that she must contrive to keep back the dinner without letting the meat be over-roasted.

At length they heard a great rumbling of wheels and hallooing of little boys, and the well-known carriage with four horses drove rapidly by, and drew up at the Sun Inn opposite. The postillions were soon directed to the right house; the whole equipage was turned round, and at length drew up before the little door.

All this caused a sensation; and well _crêpé_'d heads were seen popping up above the white blinds of the lawyer's opposite, and frilled caps appeared at the windows of the house with the cut lime-trees, and waiters, chamber-maids, and boots thronged to the door of the inn, hoping the coroneted carriage was going to put up at the Sun.

The first greetings were over, and Blanche was eager to show her mother to her room, for, "on hospitable thoughts intent," she was reflecting on the over-boiled chickens and the over-roasted beef. But their progress was arrested by the imperial! It was stuck in the turning of the stairs; and Lady Falkingham's tall footman, who measured six feet two inches and a half, and De Molton's omnipresent John Benton, were struggling, and lifting, and pushing, and shoving in vain!

This was an unlooked for misfortune; one which might have been laughed at, among people so nearly and intimately connected, and one which might have been an excuse for dining very merrily in travelling costume; but with Blanche's feelings, with Lady Falkingham's, with De Molton's feelings, the misadventure had a contrary effect. Blanche was extremely annoyed, and led her mother back to the drawing-room; while De Molton hastened to lend his assistance, and, with the help of his more judicious mode of turning the imperial, it was extricated from its inconvenient position, and was safely deposited in Lady Falkingham's room.

All this produced some delay; then came their respective toilets; and they were not seated in the dining-room till an hour and three quarters after the cook had expected to "dish up."

It requires the coolness, the presence of mind, the decision of the bolder sex, to be able to accelerate or to retard the dinner-hour. The humble cook of the De Moltons was thoroughly feminine in her timidity, and the consequence was, that the chickens fell to pieces in the dish, that the beef crackled under the teeth, that the potatoes were watery and sodden, that the greengages of the pudding had burst through their surrounding paste, and presented a shapeless, confused, and uninviting mass to the eye, while the maccaroni was stringy, strong, and burned.

De Molton had wished the dinner to be plain and without pretension, and he had flattered himself that, by attempting nothing, they must be secure from a failure. Alas! they had the mortification of seeing both their guests scarcely able to finish what they had upon their plates, and of perceiving that Lord Falkingham helped himself three times to cheese, and that Lady Falkingham demolished full half the sponge-cake at dessert! De Molton, who was habitually reserved and possessed much self-command, maintained a calm exterior; but Blanche, who, whatever might be her wish to do so, was never able to conceal her feelings for any length of time, was in a fussy state of agitation, and was the first to complain of the badness of the dinner.

Her remarks disturbed the equanimity of John Benton, who was most anxious that all should go off well. In his eagerness, he made more noise, jarred the plates, knocked the glasses together, clattered the knives and forks, and placed the dishes on the table in a more fearful undecided manner than he was ever known to do before; constantly brushing by Lady Falkingham's cap to give a finishing touch to the arrangement of the table. Blanche's martyrdom increased every moment!

It is very easy to be tranquil, composed, and agreeable at the head of one's table, if one has the comfortable assurance that all will proceed properly and decorously; but when one has no reliance that such will be the case, it is not so easy to preserve the careless air of perfect good-breeding; still less so, should one actually see one's guests hungry and incommoded: such tranquillity amounts to a lofty pitch of stoicism scarcely attainable by common mortals.

If the Falkinghams had smiled good-humouredly, it might have been better; but the mother preserved a civil semblance of not perceiving what was amiss, evidently treating the present, as the best entertainment it was in the power of the De Moltons to give, and considerately sparing their feelings. When the ladies retired after dinner, Lady Falkingham made no allusion to the house, the establishment, the cookery, or any part of the _ménage_, except the baby, on whose growth she expatiated, and whom she wished to see in its crib.

Blanche accordingly took her mother upstairs to the garret, where Lady Falkingham was shocked at finding two beds in the small room. "My dear Blanche, do you allow two people to sleep in such an apartment as this? It is very bad for the baby to be so confined as to air and space."

"My maid sleeps here just now," Blanche replied; "it cannot hurt the baby for a little while."

"The weather is so hot, I own I should dislike it very much; I always was very particular about giving you all an airy nursery;--but I suppose it cannot be helped," added Lady Falkingham, checking herself.

"Oh this house is horrid!" exclaimed Blanche; "if you had but come to see us in our Devonshire cottage, mamma--!"

"I wish I had, my dear."

"But you know we have this only for a time, mamma; and next year we may be quartered in a prettier country, and a nicer neighbourhood, and where we can get something out of a town."

"I hope you will, my love," replied Lady Falkingham, who was resolved to dwell as little as possible upon her daughter's present discomfort, and who thought herself very kind and very meritorious in not saying what she thought, felt, and looked,--viz. "I told you how it would be."

The breakfast was not more prosperous. The bread was baker's bread: the French rolls, well rasped and very tough, were exceedingly unlike the rolls and cakes of every variety which graced the breakfast-table of Temple Loseley. The butter was bought at the shop; and Turton was situated in an arable, not a grazing country: they churned every morning at Temple Loseley. The cream was thin, colourless, and tasteless: the Alderneys at Temple Loseley were renowned for their perfection in beauty and breeding.

Most assuredly, urban and rural poverty are very different things. With a pretty garden; with flowers, poultry, cream, butter, eggs, and vegetables in profusion; vulgarity and discomfort may always be avoided, though splendour may not be attained.

The Falkinghams went away, sincerely commiserating their daughter, although Lady Falkingham's sincere sorrow was somewhat alleviated by being able to remark to her husband how precisely everything had turned out as she had foreseen and predicted.

When they had driven from the door, Blanche sat down to work at her needle, with a sensation of depression more over-whelming than she had ever felt before. "I am glad mamma is gone!" she exclaimed, after having hemmed nearly a yard of muslin without uttering: "when people are no longer young, they miss the comforts to which they have been accustomed!"

De Molton said nothing. He also had been deeply hurt, mortified in every way; hurt to see his wife exposed to mortification, and mortified to see her feel it so keenly.

"Not but what mamma behaved beautifully," continued Blanche, for she was half angry with her husband for his very silence:--she wished him to declare how annoyed and unhappy he also was; but he was a proud man, and when such a man does feel mortification, it does not find vent in words. Being somewhat displeased at his silence, she did not spare him. The feelings of the daughter got the better of those of the wife, and she proceeded: "Mamma never complained of anything. It was only through her maid that I heard she could not sleep a wink on account of the baby crying over head; and the partition being so thin, she heard her as plainly as if she had been in the same room. Mamma was very kind, she took care to say nothing to vex me."

De Molton thought mamma would have been infinitely more kind if she had appeared a little less miserable, and had not looked at Blanche as if she thought her a victim. He did not feel in charity with Lady Falkingham; he found no pleasure in hearing her praised.

"I am going to call on Colonel Jones," said De Molton; "I shall be at home again in time to walk with you." He took his cap and his stick, and sallied forth; but he had walked far beyond Colonel Jones's, before he recollected his intention of calling upon him, and he had to retrace his steps for some quarter of a mile. He found him just returning from a long walk with some of his children, who were joyously sporting around him; and they all together mounted the narrow staircase which led to a drawing-room much in the same style as Blanche's, though somewhat larger in its dimensions.

Mrs. Jones and her eldest girl were busily engaged in needle-work, while the second daughter was reading history aloud. She cordially greeted De Molton, and said they had been taking advantage of the Colonel's having cleared the house of the boys to get on with the education of the girls; "for in a small house, and with such a family, it is difficult to find a quiet moment," added Mrs. Jones, with a cheerfulness and good-humour which seemed to prove she found nothing unpleasant or disgraceful in poverty.

She was the daughter of a country curate, and although well educated, and tolerably well born, she did not feel the want of luxuries and elegancies to which she had never been accustomed, and which none of those with whom she associated missed any more than herself.

De Molton wished he could teach his wife to accommodate herself to her circumstances, as Mrs. Jones did. But how many habits had she to unlearn and to forget before she could be happy as Mrs. Jones was happy!

He resolved to cultivate the Joneses, and he asked them to dinner that very day, frankly bidding them come and feast upon the remains of the provisions they had laid in for his father and mother in law. The happy and good-humoured Joneses accepted the invitation in the same unceremonious spirit in which it was made, and De Molton returned home to inform his wife of the company she might expect. She detested the thoughts of encountering another dinner in her own house; but De Molton was not a person who would ever condescend to ask his wife's permission before he invited a friend to dinner, and of that she was fully aware.

The Joneses arrived just five minutes before the appointed hour; and Mrs. Jones asked Blanche's leave to take off her bonnet, and arrange her hair at her looking-glass, as she had walked from her own house. She shortly re-appeared with her bows and her ringlets in the most perfect order, for she had never been in the habit of depending upon the services of a maid. She also appeared in a smart silk gown; her fair, fat, handsome arms uncovered, a necklace on her neck, and ear-rings in her ears.

Blanche, on the contrary, was in a more seemly costume for a country dinner by day-light; and Mrs. Jones wondered her hostess should wear in the evening what seemed to her a morning dress.

The cook's nerves had not been agitated, and the dinner was very good. Colonel Jones was gay and conversible: he had served in the Peninsula; he, and his wife also, had been at Paris when the allied armies entered it; they had seen many different countries, had been mixed up in many of the events of that period, when every day brought changes which affected empires; they had been thrown with many of the personages who already figure as historical characters. They were delighted with De Molton, who was an excellent listener; delighted with Lady Blanche, who possessed the charm to which all people in all ranks are sensible,--the real good-breeding of real high fashion; and Blanche was astonished to find herself in better spirits than she had been in for some days.

No fund of natural spirits, however inexhaustible it may be, can stand the trial of seeing the guests under your roof, cold, abstracted, and comfortless; whereas the phrenologists could certainly point out some organ in the human head which takes pleasure in being developed when you feel that those towards whom you are exercising the rites of hospitality are really and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

There was a good deal of broad humour about Colonel Jones, and no shyness; he was animated in his descriptions. De Molton's wine was good of its sort; and the dinner was gay,--noisily gay. Blanche thought them a little vulgar, but still she liked them both; and after the cheerless restraint which had prevailed during the two preceding days between the nearest and dearest relations, there was something which expanded the heart in the warmth and cordiality of the Joneses.

The dinner which they gave the De Moltons in return proved less agreeable. The astonishing clatter made by the servants, the badness of the cookery, the multitude of children, and the friends who were invited to make up the party, did not conduce to reconcile Blanche to the real work-day details of poverty, as De Molton had at first intended it should, by showing her how happy people could be in its despite.

The summer wore away, but without any summer enjoyments; the autumn succeeded, and winter followed in due succession. They had many invitations from different friends, but travelling was expensive; and having been in London for some months during the spring, they could not obtain leave of absence for any length of time which might make it answer to leave home.

The following year saw them removed to a fresh habitation, and saw another olive-branch added to the parent stock.

The nurse now professed her inability to attend to two children, "both babies as it were; she could not do justice to the dear little loves. Miss Emma, she was just old enough to get into mischief; and she was more work, a body might say, than the infant himself." There was no denying the reason and truth of the nurse's statement. It was also true, as the nurse added, "that my lady was very particular, and liked to see the children always nice; that it was not as if she did not mind their being just dressed in brown holland pinafores, and such like, as the little Master Joneses were; that, for her part, she could not a-bear to see children look so,--just like anybody's children."

De Molton, as well as Blanche, was proud of little Emma's exquisite beauty, and they could neither of them endure the thoughts of their children not being thoroughly well taken care of. "Could you not ask Mrs. Green to help nurse?" suggested De Molton; "she might walk out with Emma, and might make her clothes. Our life is such a quiet one, surely she must have a great deal of time upon her hands."

Blanche stood rather in awe of Mrs. Green, who was a regular fine lady, and who felt the change in her situation to the full as acutely as Blanche herself could do, and who had not the same strong motive for bearing it with uncomplaining fortitude, inasmuch as she was not married to the man of her choice, neither had she any character for consistency to maintain. In many of the minor distresses and difficulties which had occurred, Mrs. Green had not failed to make her mistress feel how great was her merit in submitting to them; and Blanche knew it was utterly impossible to accomplish what De Molton (who was not so well versed in the nice limits and boundaries of the honourable office of lady's maid) thought could be so easily arranged.

"It is quite impossible, my dear Frank! Green has already put up with a great deal to oblige me, and I could not ask her to wait upon the nursery."

"I do not want her to wait upon the nursery, but she might assist the nurse."

"I can part with her, Frank; but I cannot propose to her to attend upon the children."

De Molton, who saw no reason why one woman should sit idle, while another had more to do than she could well perform, was half annoyed with Blanche, and he answered rather quickly, "All I can say is, I cannot afford to keep another servant."

"I will tell Green what you say," replied Blanche, with the tone of a heroine and a martyr; and accordingly she lost no time in informing Green that she must look out for another situation unless she would wait on Miss Emma, as Captain De Molton wished; and as, of course, Mrs. Green declined to do.

So much separated from all former connexions, friends, and relations, as Blanche had been of late, she naturally felt a good deal annoyed at parting with a person whom habit had rendered agreeable to her, who was an excellent lady's maid, and was pleasing in her manners. De Molton could not sympathise in her annoyance at getting rid of a fine lady, and infinitely preferred the stout good-humoured girl who came in her stead, and who was too happy to fetch and carry, and was too much honoured by being allowed to wait on my lady.

Unfortunately, the last remnant of Blanche's trousseau was growing very shabby, and her wardrobe needed recruiting. Green was gone; the girl Phœbe was no milliner; Blanche could embroider beautifully, and she could now accomplish children's frocks with considerable success, but she could not make her own clothes. How should she? She was obliged therefore to have her wants supplied by the country milliners, and both she and De Molton were appalled at the bills which were the inevitable consequence.

Blanche wished exceedingly not to be expensive, but she knew not how to avoid being so. She had never had any allowance when a girl: she had been so amply supplied with every article of dress upon her marriage, and had since led so retired a life, that little occasion to spend money had occurred until now; and she was ignorant how miraculously, when once the purse-strings are opened, the contents vanish as it were of themselves.

It is a great fault in the education of girls, to omit teaching them, in some measure, the value of money. They suddenly find themselves at the head of an establishment, in which, if large, considerable sums pass through their hands; if small, on them depends the comfort, or discomfort of the _ménage_; and they are not aware, (except from theory, which has little to say to practice) that twenty shillings make a pound.

The loss of Green was an annoyance of daily recurrence. Blanche could not dress her own hair; and the awkward attempts of the shy and frightened red-fisted maid to brush and to curl, to braid and to _crêper_, made her every morning come down to breakfast in a ruffled and uncomfortable state. She found it necessary now and then to buy herself a cap, and unluckily the bill for these caps came in at a time when De Molton's finances were at a very low ebb. Blanche had no pin-money, and she applied to him for the requisite sum.

"What nonsense, Blanche, to buy tawdry caps, when you have all that beautiful brown hair, which is so much prettier and more becoming than any cap that can be made."

"I never learned to dress hair; and since Green is gone, I find it impossible to do without a cap. I have not quite made up my mind to go about a perfect figure, yet; but I dare say I soon shall. It is impossible to be well-dressed without a maid."

"But surely you could soon learn to arrange your hair. You told me Mrs. Jones always dressed her own, and I am sure it is very smart--in bows, and all kinds of things."

This was too much for Blanche to endure. To have been forced to part with her maid! To be refused a cap! To be twitted with Mrs. Jones! To have Mrs. Jones set up as a pattern! "Indeed I should be very sorry to look like Mrs. Jones!" she exclaimed, with a heightened colour, and an eye which was very beautiful in its increased brilliancy: "if you wished to have a wife who should look and dress like Mrs. Jones, you should not have selected me! I hope I may never arrive at such a pitch of vulgarity as that! I had rather look like anybody in the whole world than Mrs. Jones!" and in her anger and petulance, she spoke, as she would not have done in a cooler moment, of a person whom she both respected and liked.

"Mrs. Jones is a most excellent and exemplary woman," replied De Molton, with some solemnity of manner; "one who performs the duties of her situation in life cheerfully and admirably. I have a very great regard for Mrs. Jones. Where is this bill?" he added, with an awful calmness: "I am sorry to say you must buy no more caps. I have not the means of paying for them!" He gave her the money, which she took with pain and indignation.

It is very disagreeable to ask for money,--very disagreeable to receive it when it is given grudgingly. Women should have, settled upon them when they marry, the sum which, in proportion to the income of their husband, they may in fairness spend upon their dress; otherwise, if extravagant, there are no regular limits to their extravagance: while, on the other hand, however economical they may be, and however liberal the husband may wish to be, they may chance to ask for money at a moment when it may prove inconvenient to produce a sum which the man had not calculated would be called for at that particular moment.

An expression of annoyance will wound and distress a high-minded woman, will anger a high-spirited one, or will induce a timid one to conceal her bills, and to acquire the habit of contracting debts unknown to her husband.

Blanche received the money with a swelling indignant heart, and her feelings were not soothed when a tradesman entered with a long bill, for which De Molton drew a draft without a remark or a murmur, and most politely dismissed the man, pleased with his exactness and punctuality.

Blanche thought, "After all, he is not really so poor as he pretends to be. He only talks thus to prevent my spending anything. He has money enough for every one else."

De Molton had appointed that very morning to pay that very bill. He had purposely reserved the requisite sum, and he remained with scarcely enough for the weekly unavoidable expenses. But he did not explain all this to his wife. He was resolved never to run into debt, and he was unapproachably serious and correct upon the subject. If he had candidly explained the state of the case to her, shown it her in black and white, perhaps she would have joined with him in cheerfully accommodating herself to existing circumstances; but he dealt in general expressions of poverty and distress, and yet, at the very moment he complained most bitterly, the money was forthcoming for those things which must be paid for. It was exactly _because_ he would have wherewithal to meet necessary expenses, that he so strenuously opposed any which he deemed unnecessary.

Having once come to the conclusion that he had acquired a habit of complaining, and that he could find money if he chose to do so, she only felt injured when he enforced economy, and mentally accused him of making needless difficulties.

Two more years elapsed, and their family consisted of four promising children, when De Molton's regiment was ordered to Brighton: they were again thrown among people of their own class, and friends of former days.

They had been married nearly five years, and during those years words had been spoken which could not be forgotten. Poverty had come in at the door, and if Love had not quite flown out at the window, he fluttered on the window-sill.