Margaret Capel, vol. 1

CHAPTER X

The morning was, as Elizabeth had predicted, bright as a poet's dream, or a poet's waking; but a north wind swept the half-clothed boughs of the trees, and warned all discreet persons to protect themselves from the cold air. Horses and carriages were assembling in front of the house, and the guests were collecting by slow degrees in the drawing-room previous to starting.

Harriet Conway appeared in her habit, which very much became her slender figure. She threw her riding whip and gauntlets into her hat which stood in the window seat, looked round for Margaret, who had become quite a little pet of hers; drew her into the window, examined her dress and praised it; told her how she ought to wear her hair under a hat; looked at her rings and admired her hands, and asked her how it was arranged that she should go to the course. George Gage, who was standing near talking to Mr. Conway, turned round on hearing the question, and said that he hoped Miss Capel would not retract the permission she had almost given him to drive her thither; upon which Hubert announced his intention of calling out his brother, which made everybody laugh except Margaret who was sadly confused. She said in a low voice to Harriet that she heartily wished Bessy would take her, for of all things, she dreaded being driven by Mr. Gage.

"How's that?" asked Harriet suddenly, "are you afraid?"

"No," returned Margaret, "but I—he is quite a stranger to me."

"Do you mind me, then?" asked Harriet.

"No," said Margaret laughing.

"Good," said Harriet, putting on her hat and gloves, "come, we are all ready, and I know Uncle Gage is impatient to be off. I'll manage it."

They stood on the steps while some of the elder persons of the party went off; and when George Gage's carriage drew up, Harriet came forward.

"I will drive Miss Capel, Mr. Gage;" she said, "for she has not a great deal of courage, and I shall be less likely than you to put it to the test."

"Surely not—surely you are not afraid of my driving;" said Mr. Gage, bending down to the level of Margaret's bonnet. "I had promised myself so great a pleasure, and you cannot doubt my caution on such an occasion."

"You are very good," said Margaret, "but really—those horses—"

"Come, come!" said Harriet, "give me the reins, I shall not be trying to show off as you would. Do be good-natured George, and let me drive; you can easily find a horse."

While she spoke, Margaret was struck with the alteration in Mr. Gage's countenance. Her chance was quite over with him, poor little girl; though she was entirely ignorant of ever having had any. He looked delighted, handed in Harriet and Margaret with the greatest care, and stood on the step arranging everything for Harriet's convenience.

"Why, I thought," he said, "you had given up all these bad habits. Will you like another pair of horses? You had better drive a four-in-hand, now you are about it."

"No," said Harriet, "I wish to go quietly for the sake of my little friend here; so let every one get out of my way, and will you tell Charles to send my groom on with my horse?"

As she spoke, she touched the horses, and swept out of the gates. She was silent for a short time, and then said as with a sigh, as if to herself, "Bless me, I called him George."

"I am so much obliged to you," said Margaret after a pause, "now I shall quite enjoy this day's pleasure."

Harriet laughed, and drove on as fast as she could.

"So shall I," she said; "my horse will be as fresh as a lark when we get to the course; and these horses are worth driving. George—Mr. Gage, I mean, knows how to buy a horse."

"Suppose," said Margaret, "they were to run away."

"Then we should get to S– all the faster," said Harriet.

"But you have not strength to stop them," said Margaret.

"Granted," said Harriet. "Here, will you take the reins for a moment?"

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Margaret looking up into her companion's face.

"I know where George keeps his cigars. I am going to take one, that's all."

Margaret looked aghast.

"They are perfectly quiet, on my word," said Harriet. "Oh! about the smoking. Do you mind it then?"

"No," returned Margaret, who had never been in company with any one while smoking. "I'll take the reins; but pray be quick."

Harriet was quick; before Margaret had time to be frightened, she had lit a cigar, and resumed the reins with all the unconcern in the world.

"I learned this at Madrid," she said from between her teeth. "Some day, if you please me, I'll tell you my history."

"All of it?" asked Margaret, looking up into her companion's face.

"Oh, yes! no half measures," returned Harriet.

They went to S– by a cross-country road, and therefore fell in with very few of those who were likewise bound for the course. And by those few, Harriet, with her hat and habit, her short hair and cigar, was supposed as she whirled past them, to be a handsome boy.

Mr. Gage was already on the course with his party; he rode up with his brother and Mr. Haveloc to escort the ladies to the stand. Harriet had her horse brought up to the steps of the carriage, mounted at once, and rode off with Mr. Conway; and Hubert insisted on conducting Margaret to Elizabeth pleading his sister's commands to that effect.

And now they were seated in the very front of the stand, Elizabeth and Margaret together; the gentlemen of their party were dispersed about the course, and Margaret could distinguish in the distance the slight figure of Harriet Conway, guiding her spirited horse among the company, followed by her father and brother. She soon, however, lost sight of her in the crowd, and began to feel impatient for the first race to begin.

Now, their places being very good, attracted the envy of a couple of insolent dragoon officers, who had just arrived, and who tried by pushing in a most unjustifiable manner, to edge themselves in. Elizabeth turned round in haughty surprise, Margaret in childish wonder, and presented to the eyes of the eager officers, two of the loveliest faces on the race course.

"Oh!" said one of these cavaliers to the other, drawing back with a very blank and crest-fallen face, "Oh! I didn't know they were young uns!"

Margaret could hardly restrain her laughter at this audible ejaculation. Miss Gage contented herself by thanking Heaven with a curved lip, that they were soldiers.

"No sailor," she said to Margaret, "would ever annoy a woman, young or old. I am glad they were rude, these dragoons!"

The contempt with which this last word was pronounced, all the keener for its calmness, can scarcely be imagined.

"But I ought to apologise to you, dear," she continued; "though to suppose that your brave father had the most distant affinity to these popinjays, would be indeed too insulting."

Presently the race began, and Margaret forgot all about the rudeness of the officers in the interest of the scene.

After the race, they were joined by some of the gentlemen of their party. George Gage came up to his sister and leaned against the railing by her side, in that frame of mind so common to English people, which is called an ill-humour.

"Have you lost, George?" asked Elizabeth.

"No. I have no inducement to bet here," said Mr. Gage; "a miserable counterfeit of a race like this. I keep my losses for Epsom."

"And whereabouts is Harriet?"

"On the other side of the course with Charles Conway, and Lord Raymond. I congratulate her very much upon her choice. The fellow seems to have been born and bred in a stable."

"I hardly know him," said Elizabeth; "but I am afraid Harriet will be very tired, riding about so long, I wish she could be persuaded to sit quietly here until we go home."

"I will try if you wish it," said Mr. Gage, "but it can hardly be expected that she should leave so great an attraction as Lord Raymond."

"Go," said Elizabeth laughing, "I don't imagine his Lordship to be so irresistible."

As Mr. Gage was leaving the stand, he encountered the two officers before mentioned, who had crept to some distance from the ladies. One of these worthies had only lately exchanged from Mr. Gage's regiment into the one he now adorned, and he presented his companion to George.

There was some bowing, and lifting of hats and shaking of hands, and then George invited them to dine at his father's before the ball, and join their party thither, to which they readily agreed.

His mission proved successful. In a few minutes Harriet came in followed by her brother and Lord Raymond.

Margaret was very curious to see this nobleman; and although she had thought Mr. Gage's remark very harsh, she was not much surprised at it when he made his appearance. He was ill-dressed, not very young, clumsy in his person, and heavy in the expression of his features. He stammered a good deal, and was not happy in his conversational powers. His ideas were rather slow of circulation. He had got it into his head that it was the duty of an Englishman to cultivate racing; and it would have taken more years than he was likely to live, to convince him that it was a pernicious and disgraceful occupation. He was very much on the turf, but he was just skilful and cautious enough neither to gain or lose much in a year by the vice. At the present moment, Harriet was the object of his attention, and he therefore talked of nothing else.

One of the party congratulated him upon his horse, which had just won the race.

"Yes," he said, "he was glad of it; for Miss Conway had betted upon Rory O'More."

Miss Gage asked him "if he had any other horse running that day?"

"No," he replied, "as he should leave the course presently. How was Miss Conway going home?"

Lady Conway remarked to him, "that it was a cold day."

"It was, indeed," he said, "he did not think Miss Conway seemed to be sufficiently wrapped up."

Harriet replied to both his remarks at once. "She said, that she meant to drive herself home, and that she was quite warm enough."

And by this time, the races being over for the day, and the company beginning to disperse, Harriet called to Margaret, and sent her brother to look for the carriage. Margaret was not sorry to be gone; she had a head-ache, which had been gradually growing worse, and she hoped that the fresh air would blow it away. Harriet lit another cigar as they went off the course; she asked Margaret again "if she objected to it?" and again Margaret said "No;" for though she thought it a very odd fancy in her companion, she did not find the smell disagreeable enough to oppose it. But her head became worse, and when she reached home, she was scarcely able to dress for dinner. She made an effort, however, and went down stairs. There were no candles in the drawing-room, which was dimly lighted by a very moderate fire.

Margaret felt chilly, and took a chair as close as she could to the fire-place, next to a person who seemed to be in a uniform, as far as she could tell by the glimmering light. He entered into general conversation with her, and among other desultory remarks, asked her "if she meant to accompany her daughter to the ball that evening?"

Margaret ascribed the mistake to the darkness, and contented herself with replying in the negative.

The stranger was directed to take her into the dining-room, and as they came into a blaze of light on crossing the hall, he discovered that the lady he had the honour of escorting was young and beautiful; for he had mistaken her for Mrs. Somerton, who was about Margaret's height.

As soon as his ideas became enlightened on this subject, he began to stammer out a few of those incoherent sentences with which young men of no education are apt to try to express their meaning.

"Upon my word—I—it is very strange now—I have a thousand apologies to—the most singular—I actually thought you—"

"Yes," said Margaret quietly, in one moment recognizing her friend of the race course, "it is not the first time to-day you have thought I was not a 'young un.'"

It would have done any artist good to have seen the officer's face. His line was a bad one, but he was not first rate in his line—not a Lovelace, or a Pelham. He had not learned to be found out with a good grace. Like Fag, it hurt his conscience. He changed colour, and looked a good deal smaller than usual. Of course the first thing he did was to tell a lie. He hoped he had not pushed against her in the stand—some people behind, had been pressing upon him so scandalously, that he almost feared he had inconvenienced some ladies in the front of the stand; he hoped it had not been the case.

Margaret, rather amused at the way in which he got through the difficulty, made some slight reply, and took her place at the table. By some accident she was separated from the hero of the race course, and found herself between Mr. Haveloc, and Hubert Gage. Harriet Conway, still in her riding habit, sat on the other side of the said hero.

"Hubert, cannot you save Margaret the trouble of carving that dish, whatever it is?" said Harriet, seeing that Margaret looked embarrassed at the task.

"I could, but I do not wish it," said Hubert. "It is so very becoming," he added in a low voice to Margaret, "ladies with such beautiful arms should always carve."

"I wish you would help me, instead of talking nonsense," said Margaret, who was colouring very much under the impression that two or three persons had their eyes fixed on her, "you see how disagreeable it is to me."

Before she had done speaking, Mr. Haveloc had taken the knife and fork from her hands.

"That's right," said Harriet, speaking across to Mr. Haveloc.

"I do wish you would go to the ball, Harriet," said Hubert.

"Don't you really go the ball?" echoed Mr. Elliot, the hero before mentioned, "how can you be so cruel as to remain at home?"

"Yes—you wish to dance with me, don't you?" said Harriet, turning suddenly round upon him. "I'll tell you why I don't go. I detest dancing; unless one could hire a partner as they do in Flanders, and the man felt his value to be one kreutzer, and no more." A good many men can get on very well with people who are exactly like every body they are in the habit of meeting, but any thing like a character puts them quite out. So Mr. Elliot got up a little laugh and was silent. At last, he enquired of Harriet what amusement she preferred to dancing.

"Pistol shooting," said Harriet. "There's the man with the champagne. Don't you take any?"

"You take no wine?" said Mr. Elliot.

"No—I never do," returned Harriet.

"And what can you hit with the pistol?"

"A wine-glass at sixteen paces."

"How often?"

"Sometimes. What can you hit?"

"A—why—a—"

"A hay-stack, I suppose. Tell somebody to bring me the cream."

"Have you heard Fornasari?" asked Mr. Elliot.

"No. What is he like?"

"Oh, very fine really! You would be delighted!"

"What is fine?" asked Harriet impatiently. "I want to know the sort of singer; and you call him fine!"

Mr. Elliot never having heard of a definition, was naturally silent under this attack.

"Have you been to town lately?" asked Harriet.

"Yes. I am only just returned."

"Have you seen the new marbles then?"

"The—I beg your pardon."

"The marble from Xanthis in the British Museum?"

"I don't quite—I believe they took me once to the Museum when I was a boy in the Christmas holidays, along with the pantomimes."

"Ah! it is not now in the same place with the pantomimes; we have changed all that," said Harriet. "I say, Hubert, my Skye terrier caught a rat yesterday out walking."

"No, did he? I wish I had been there," said Hubert, "Why did not you let me walk with you?"

"It was before you came home. Don't you know you were only just in time for dinner."

"So I was. What did you win of me, Miss Capel?"

"Nothing," said Margaret, "I would not bet at all."

"I was so sorry for your determination," said George Gage, across the table to Margaret, "it would have been such a pleasure to lose to you."

And upon this gallant speech, he and Harriet exchanged one of their singular glances.

"You did not care which horse won, did you?" asked Hubert.

"Yes, I did," said Margaret, "but I knew that one would not win."

"Which was it?"

"Hyacinth. It was such a pretty name."

"And how did you contrive to form so correct an estimate of Hyacinth's merits?" asked George Gage.

"Oh! I knew nothing about it," said Margaret. "Harriet told me."

"Miss Conway has the advantage of a friend behind the scenes," said George coolly; and then another glance flashed across the table from Harriet's splendid eyes.

Mr. Elliot mentioned the name of the person to whom Hyacinth belonged—made some remark upon the fore-foot of the animal, and then was silent; naturally thinking that he had instructed the company enough for one while.

When Margaret returned to the drawing-room, she found her head so very much worse, that she was obliged to tell Elizabeth, in confidence, that she did not think she would be able to go to the ball.

She said this with her eyes full of tears; partly on account of the delicate white crape dress, which was laid out in her room with its pretty garniture of lilac primroses.

Elizabeth was all kindness. She would not hear of her giving up the ball, but took her into her own sitting-room, and tried every remedy that her ingenuity could suggest. At last, while bathing her forehead with eau de Cologne, she exclaimed, "My dear child, I hope that foolish Harriet has not been persuading you to smoke."

"No, indeed!" said Margaret earnestly, "but it was the horrid scent of those cigars. I had no head-ache before."

"How vexatious!" exclaimed Miss Gage. "I must read her a lecture upon it. But if you keep very quiet until we set off, my dear Margaret, you may be able to go. I cannot endure that you should be disappointed. Indeed, two or three people," said she smiling, "will endure it as ill as myself."

Margaret blushed, and wondered to herself who Elizabeth could mean; but she was suffering too much to make the attempt. She was too giddy to stand, too ill to think of undergoing another toilet, or to be able to sit up all night afterwards. She made the best of it, however; said the pleasure was only postponed; tried not to think of her lilac primroses, and laughed at Harriet who was really distressed, when she learned that she had caused her little friend's illness.

Hubert Gage was very much discomposed. He was quite certain that Margaret had not tried the proper remedies, and that if he could see her, he would set every thing to rights in a moment. She ought to have brandy—but ladies never knew what was good for them. His complaints were disregarded however; so he turned away and asked Blanche Somerton to dance with him.

Mr. Haveloc looked annoyed, "regretted exceedingly to hear that Miss Capel was suffering," and went to learn the particulars of Miss Gage.

George seemed the most vexed of the party; for he naturally thought it was very wrong that every thing should not happen just as he liked, and he had wished to waltz with Margaret.