Cranford

E >> Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell >> Cranford

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And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred
the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could,
quite on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering
under the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was
sadly afraid lest Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently.
She and her mistress were on very familiar terms in their every-day
intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to make several little
confidences to her, which Miss Barker was on thorns to hear, but
which she thought it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So she
turned away from all Peggy's asides and signs; but she made one or
two very malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized
with a bright idea, she exclaimed, "Poor, sweet Carlo! I'm
forgetting him. Come downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it
shall have its tea, it shall!"

In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I
thought she had forgotten to give the "poor ittie doggie" anything
to eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down chance
pieces of cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded--I was pleased
to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present
might think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have done at
their own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw
Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she did
everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told us,
on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in her
house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always gave us
Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent to Miss
Barker's want of knowledge of the customs of high life; and, to
spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a
placid, ruminating expression of countenance, not unlike a cow's.

After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. We were six
in number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two
there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid of
the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and
serious business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the
"pool." Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know
Spadille from Manille, was evidently hankering to take a hand. The
dilemma was soon put an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a
baron's daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I should
have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, overcome by the heat of
the room, and inclined to doze by nature, the temptation of that
very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, and Mrs
Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes with an
effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but by-and-by,
even her benevolence was not equal to this exertion, and she was
sound asleep.

"It is very gratifying to me," whispered Miss Barker at the card-
table to her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance
of the game, she was "basting" most unmercifully--"very gratifying
indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home in my poor
little dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compliment."

Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three
or four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old,
observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my especial
benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at pictures.
Carlo lay and snorted, and started at his mistress's feet. He,
too, was quite at home.

The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four ladies' heads,
with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of
the table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud
enough: and every now and then came Miss Barker's "Hush, ladies!
if you please, hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep."

It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs Forrester's
deafness and Mrs Jamieson's sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed
her arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester,
distorting her face considerably, in order to show, by the motions
of her lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at
us, and murmured to herself, "Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my
poor sister had been alive to see this day."

Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet,
with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps,
she had not been asleep--as she said almost directly, the room had
been so light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been
listening with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable
conversation. Peggy came in once more, red with importance.
Another tray! "Oh, gentility!" thought I, "can yon endure this
last shock?" For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not,
prepared, although she did say, "Why, Peggy, what have you brought
us?" and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure)
all sorts of good things for supper--scalloped oysters, potted
lobsters, jelly, a dish called "little Cupids" (which was in great
favour with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be
given, except on solemn and state occasions--macaroons sopped in
brandy, I should have called it, if I had not known its more
refined and classical name). In short, we were evidently to be
feasted with all that was sweetest and best; and we thought it
better to submit graciously, even at the cost of our gentility--
which never ate suppers in general, but which, like most non-
supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions.

Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made
acquainted with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of
us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrank back when she
proffered it us--"just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the
oysters and lobsters, you know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought
not very wholesome." We all shook our heads like female mandarins;
but, at last, Mrs Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, and we
followed her lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot
and so strong that we thought ourselves bound to give evidence that
we were not accustomed to such things by coughing terribly--almost
as strangely as Miss Barker had done, before we were admitted by
Peggy.

"It's very strong," said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty
glass; "I do believe there's spirit in it."

"Only a little drop--just necessary to make it keep," said Miss
Barker. "You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves to make
them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart."

I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson's
heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event,
respecting which she had been quite silent till that moment.

"My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me."

There was a chorus of "Indeed!" and then a pause. Each one rapidly
reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence
of a baron's widow; for, of course, a series of small festivals
were always held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of
our friends' houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the
present occasion.

Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. Mrs
Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss
Barker's narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally
"stopped the way." It required some skilful manoeuvring on the
part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to
carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery--long great-
coats, with small capes, coeval with the sedan, and similar to the
dress of the class in Hogarth's pictures) to edge, and back, and
try at it again, and finally to succeed in carrying their burden
out of Miss Barker's front door. Then we heard their quick pit-a-
pat along the quiet little street as we put on our calashes and
pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering about us with offers of
help, which, if she had not remembered her former occupation, and
wished us to forget it, would have been much more pressing.

CHAPTER VIII--"YOUR LADYSHIP"

Early the next morning--directly after twelve--Miss Pole made her
appearance at Miss Matty's. Some very trifling piece of business
was alleged as a reason for the call; but there was evidently
something behind. At last out it came.

"By the way, you'll think I'm strangely ignorant; but, do you
really know, I am puzzled how we ought to address Lady Glenmire.
Do you say, 'Your Ladyship,' where you would say 'you' to a common
person? I have been puzzling all morning; and are we to say 'My
Lady,' instead of 'Ma'am?' Now you knew Lady Arley--will you
kindly tell me the most correct way of speaking to the peerage?"

Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she put them on
again--but how Lady Arley was addressed, she could not remember.

"It is so long ago," she said. "Dear! dear! how stupid I am! I
don't think I ever saw her more than twice. I know we used to call
Sir Peter, 'Sir Peter'--but he came much oftener to see us than
Lady Arley did. Deborah would have known in a minute. 'My lady'--
'your ladyship.' It sounds very strange, and as if it was not
natural. I never thought of it before; but, now you have named it,
I am all in a puzzle."

It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise decision from
Miss Matty, who got more bewildered every moment, and more
perplexed as to etiquettes of address.

"Well, I really think," said Miss Pole, "I had better just go and
tell Mrs Forrester about our little difficulty. One sometimes
grows nervous; and yet one would not have Lady Glenmire think we
were quite ignorant of the etiquettes of high life in Cranford."

"And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as you come back,
please, and tell me what you decide upon? Whatever you and Mrs
Forrester fix upon, will be quite right, I'm sure. 'Lady Arley,'
'Sir Peter,'" said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall the old
forms of words.

"Who is Lady Glenmire?" asked I.

"Oh, she's the widow of Mr Jamieson--that's Mrs Jamieson's late
husband, you know--widow of his eldest brother. Mrs Jamieson was a
Miss Walker, daughter of Governor Walker. 'Your ladyship.' My
dear, if they fix on that way of speaking, you must just let me
practice a little on you first, for I shall feel so foolish and hot
saying it the first time to Lady Glenmire."

It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs Jamieson came on a
very unpolite errand. I notice that apathetic people have more
quiet impertinence than others; and Mrs Jamieson came now to
insinuate pretty plainly that she did not particularly wish that
the Cranford ladies should call upon her sister-in-law. I can
hardly say how she made this clear; for I grew very indignant and
warm, while with slow deliberation she was explaining her wishes to
Miss Matty, who, a true lady herself, could hardly understand the
feeling which made Mrs Jamieson wish to appear to her noble sister-
in-law as if she only visited "county" families. Miss Matty
remained puzzled and perplexed long after I had found out the
object of Mrs Jamieson's visit.

When she did understand the drift of the honourable lady's call, it
was pretty to see with what quiet dignity she received the
intimation thus uncourteously given. She was not in the least
hurt--she was of too gentle a spirit for that; nor was she exactly
conscious of disapproving of Mrs Jamieson's conduct; but there was
something of this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which made her
pass from the subject to others in a less flurried and more
composed manner than usual. Mrs Jamieson was, indeed, the more
flurried of the two, and I could see she was glad to take her
leave.

A little while afterwards Miss Pole returned, red and indignant.
"Well! to be sure! You've had Mrs Jamieson here, I find from
Martha; and we are not to call on Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs
Jamieson, half-way between here and Mrs Forrester's, and she told
me; she took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. I wish I had
thought of something very sharp and sarcastic; I dare say I shall
to-night. And Lady Glenmire is but the widow of a Scotch baron
after all! I went on to look at Mrs Forrester's Peerage, to see
who this lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: widow of
a Scotch peer--never sat in the House of Lords--and as poor as job,
I dare say; and she--fifth daughter of some Mr Campbell or other.
You are the daughter of a rector, at any rate, and related to the
Arleys; and Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one
says."

Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. That lady,
usually so kind and good-humoured, was now in a full flow of anger.

"And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be quite ready,"
said she at last, letting out the secret which gave sting to Mrs
Jamieson's intimation. "Mrs Jamieson shall see if it is so easy to
get me to make fourth at a pool when she has none of her fine
Scotch relations with her!"

In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which Lady Glenmire
appeared in Cranford, we sedulously talked together, and turned our
backs on Mrs Jamieson and her guest. If we might not call on her,
we would not even look at her, though we were dying with curiosity
to know what she was like. We had the comfort of questioning
Martha in the afternoon. Martha did not belong to a sphere of
society whose observation could be an implied compliment to Lady
Glenmire, and Martha had made good use of her eyes.

"Well, ma'am! is it the little lady with Mrs Jamieson, you mean? I
thought you would like more to know how young Mrs Smith was
dressed; her being a bride." (Mrs Smith was the butcher's wife).

Miss Pole said, "Good gracious me! as if we cared about a Mrs
Smith;" but was silent as Martha resumed her speech.

"The little lady in Mrs Jamieson's pew had on, ma'am, rather an old
black silk, and a shepherd's plaid cloak, ma'am, and very bright
black eyes she had, ma'am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over
young, ma'am, but yet, I should guess, younger than Mrs Jamieson
herself. She looked up and down the church, like a bird, and
nipped up her petticoats, when she came out, as quick and sharp as
ever I see. I'll tell you what, ma'am, she's more like Mrs Deacon,
at the 'Coach and Horses,' nor any one."

"Hush, Martha!" said Miss Matty, "that's not respectful."

"Isn't it, ma'am? I beg pardon, I'm sure; but Jem Hearn said so as
well. He said, she was just such a sharp, stirring sort of a body"
-

"Lady," said Miss Pole.

"Lady--as Mrs Deacon."

Another Sunday passed away, and we still averted our eyes from Mrs
Jamieson and her guest, and made remarks to ourselves that we
thought were very severe--almost too much so. Miss Matty was
evidently uneasy at our sarcastic manner of speaking.

Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out that Mrs
Jamieson's was not the gayest, liveliest house in the world;
perhaps Mrs Jamieson had found out that most of the county families
were in London, and that those who remained in the country were not
so alive as they might have been to the circumstance of Lady
Glenmire being in their neighbourhood. Great events spring out of
small causes; so I will not pretend to say what induced Mrs
Jamieson to alter her determination of excluding the Cranford
ladies, and send notes of invitation all round for a small party on
the following Tuesday. Mr Mulliner himself brought them round. He
WOULD always ignore the fact of there being a back-door to any
house, and gave a louder rat-tat than his mistress, Mrs Jamieson.
He had three little notes, which he carried in a large basket, in
order to impress his mistress with an idea of their great weight,
though they might easily have gone into his waistcoat pocket.

Miss Matty and I quietly decided that we would have a previous
engagement at home: it was the evening on which Miss Matty usually
made candle-lighters of all the notes and letters of the week; for
on Mondays her accounts were always made straight--not a penny
owing from the week before; so, by a natural arrangement, making
candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday evening, and gave us a
legitimate excuse for declining Mrs Jamieson's invitation. But
before our answer was written, in came Miss Pole, with an open note
in her hand.

"So!" she said. "Ah! I see you have got your note, too. Better
late than never. I could have told my Lady Glenmire she would be
glad enough of our society before a fortnight was over."

"Yes," said Miss Matty, "we're asked for Tuesday evening. And
perhaps you would just kindly bring your work across and drink tea
with us that night. It is my usual regular time for looking over
the last week's bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle-
lighters of them; but that does not seem quite reason enough for
saying I have a previous engagement at home, though I meant to make
it do. Now, if you would come, my conscience would be quite at
ease, and luckily the note is not written yet."

I saw Miss Pole's countenance change while Miss Matty was speaking.

"Don't you mean to go then?" asked she.

"Oh, no!" said, Miss Matty quietly. "You don't either, I suppose?"

"I don't know," replied Miss Pole. "Yes, I think I do," said she,
rather briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty look surprised, she added,
"You see, one would not like Mrs Jamieson to think that anything
she could do, or say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it
would be a kind of letting down of ourselves, that I, for one,
should not like. It would be too flattering to Mrs Jamieson if we
allowed her to suppose that what she had said affected us a week,
nay ten days afterwards."

"Well! I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so long about
anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not mean to vex us. But
I must say, I could not have brought myself to say the things Mrs
Jamieson did about our not calling. I really don't think I shall
go."

"Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our friend Mrs
Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than most people, and does not
enter into the little delicacies of feeling which you possess in so
remarkable a degree."

"I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs Jamieson called to
tell us not to go," said Miss Matty innocently.

But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, possessed
a very smart cap, which she was anxious to show to an admiring
world; and so she seemed to forget all her angry words uttered not
a fortnight before, and to be ready to act on what she called the
great Christian principle of "Forgive and forget"; and she lectured
dear Miss Matty so long on this head that she absolutely ended by
assuring her it was her duty, as a deceased rector's daughter, to
buy a new cap and go to the party at Mrs Jamieson's. So "we were
most happy to accept," instead of "regretting that we were obliged
to decline."

The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally in that one
article referred to. If the heads were buried in smart new caps,
the ladies were like ostriches, and cared not what became of their
bodies. Old gowns, white and venerable collars, any number of
brooches, up and down and everywhere (some with dogs' eyes painted
in them; some that were like small picture-frames with mausoleums
and weeping-willows neatly executed in hair inside; some, again,
with miniatures of ladies and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a
nest of stiff muslin), old brooches for a permanent ornament, and
new caps to suit the fashion of the day--the ladies of Cranford
always dressed with chaste elegance and propriety, as Miss Barker
once prettily expressed it.

And with three new caps, and a greater array of brooches than had
ever been seen together at one time since Cranford was a town, did
Mrs Forrester, and Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that
memorable Tuesday evening. I counted seven brooches myself on Miss
Pole's dress. Two were fixed negligently in her cap (one was a
butterfly made of Scotch pebbles, which a vivid imagination might
believe to be the real insect); one fastened her net neckerchief;
one her collar; one ornamented the front of her gown, midway
between her throat and waist; and another adorned the point of her
stomacher. Where the seventh was I have forgotten, but it was
somewhere about her, I am sure.

But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses of the
company. I should first relate the gathering on the way to Mrs
Jamieson's. That lady lived in a large house just outside the
town. A road which had known what it was to be a street ran right
before the house, which opened out upon it without any intervening
garden or court. Whatever the sun was about, he never shone on the
front of that house. To be sure, the living-rooms were at the
back, looking on to a pleasant garden; the front windows only
belonged to kitchens and housekeepers' rooms, and pantries, and in
one of them Mr Mulliner was reported to sit. Indeed, looking
askance, we often saw the back of a head covered with hair powder,
which also extended itself over his coat-collar down to his very
waist; and this imposing back was always engaged in reading the St
James's Chronicle, opened wide, which, in some degree, accounted
for the length of time the said newspaper was in reaching us--equal
subscribers with Mrs Jamieson, though, in right of her
honourableness, she always had the reading of it first. This very
Tuesday, the delay in forwarding the last number had been
particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and Miss Matty,
the former more especially, had been wanting to see it, in order to
coach up the Court news ready for the evening's interview with
aristocracy. Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by
the forelock, and been dressed by five o'clock, in order to be
ready if the St James's Chronicle should come in at the last
moment--the very St James's Chronicle which the powdered head was
tranquilly and composedly reading as we passed the accustomed
window this evening.

"The impudence of the man!" said Miss Pole, in a low indignant
whisper. "I should like to ask him whether his mistress pays her
quarter-share for his exclusive use."

We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her thought; for
Mr Mulliner was an object of great awe to all of us. He seemed
never to have forgotten his condescension in coming to live at
Cranford. Miss Jenkyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted
champion of her sex, and spoken to him on terms of equality; but
even Miss Jenkyns could get no higher. In his pleasantest and most
gracious moods he looked like a sulky cockatoo. He did not speak
except in gruff monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when we
begged him not to wait, and then look deeply offended because we
had kept him there, while, with trembling, hasty hands we prepared
ourselves for appearing in company.

Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went upstairs, intended,
though addressed to us, to afford Mr Mulliner some slight
amusement. We all smiled, in order to seem as if we felt at our
ease, and timidly looked for Mr Mulliner's sympathy. Not a muscle
of that wooden face had relaxed; and we were grave in an instant.

Mrs Jamieson's drawing-room was cheerful; the evening sun came
streaming into it, and the large square window was clustered round
with flowers. The furniture was white and gold; not the later
style, Louis Quatorze, I think they call it, all shells and twirls;
no, Mrs Jamieson's chairs and tables had not a curve or bend about
them. The chair and table legs diminished as they neared the
ground, and were straight and square in all their corners. The
chairs were all a-row against the walls, with the exception of four
or five which stood in a circle round the fire. They were railed
with white bars across the back and knobbed with gold; neither the
railings nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a japanned table
devoted to literature, on which lay a Bible, a Peerage, and a
Prayer-Book. There was another square Pembroke table dedicated to
the Fine Arts, on which were a kaleidoscope, conversation-cards,
puzzle-cards (tied together to an interminable length with faded
pink satin ribbon), and a box painted in fond imitation of the
drawings which decorate tea-chests. Carlo lay on the worsted-
worked rug, and ungraciously barked at us as we entered. Mrs
Jamieson stood up, giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and
looking helplessly beyond us at Mr Mulliner, as if she hoped he
would place us in chairs, for, if he did not, she never could. I
suppose he thought we could find our way to the circle round the
fire, which reminded me of Stonehenge, I don't know why. Lady
Glenmire came to the rescue of our hostess, and, somehow or other,
we found ourselves for the first time placed agreeably, and not
formally, in Mrs Jamieson's house. Lady Glenmire, now we had time
to look at her, proved to be a bright little woman of middle age,
who had been very pretty in the days of her youth, and who was even
yet very pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her dress in
the first five minutes, and I take her word when she said the next
day -

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