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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
named by her, the first time I had ever been aware that my lady recognised
her existence; but—I recollect it was a long rainy afternoon, and I sat with
her ladyship, and we had time and opportunity for a long uninterrupted talk
—whenever we had been silent for a little while, she began again, with
something like a wonder how it was that Captain James could ever have
commenced an acquaintance with “that man Brooke.” My lady
recapitulated all the times she could remember, that anything had occurred,
or been said by Captain James which she could now understand as throwing
light upon the subject.
“He said once that he was anxious to bring in the Norfolk system of
cropping, and spoke a good deal about Mr. Coke of Holkham (who, by the
way, was no more a Coke than I am—collateral in the female line—which
counts for little or nothing among the great old commoners’ families of pure
blood), and his new ways of cultivation; of course new men bring in new
ways, but it does not follow that either are better than the old ways.
However, Captain James has been very anxious to try turnips and bone
manure, and he really is a man of such good sense and energy, and was so
sorry last year about the failure, that I consented; and now I begin to see my
error. I have always heard that town bakers adulterate their flour with bone-
dust; and, of course, Captain James would be aware of this, and go to
Brooke to inquire where the article was to be purchased.”
My lady always ignored the fact which had sometimes, I suspect, been
brought under her very eyes during her drives, that Mr. Brooke’s few fields
were in a state of far higher cultivation than her own; so she could not, of
course, perceive that there was any wisdom to be gained from asking the
advice of the tradesman turned farmer.
But by-and-by this fact of her agent’s intimacy with the person whom in
the whole world she most disliked (with that sort of dislike in which a large
amount of uncomfortableness is combined—the dislike which conscientious
people sometimes feel to another without knowing why, and yet which they
cannot indulge in with comfort to themselves without having a moral reason
why), came before my lady in many shapes. For, indeed, I am sure that
Captain James was not a man to conceal or be ashamed of one of his
actions. I cannot fancy his ever lowering his strong loud clear voice, or
having a confidential conversation with any one. When his crops had failed,
all the village had known it. He complained, he regretted, he was angry, or
owned himself a —— fool, all down the village street; and the consequence
was that, although he was a far more passionate man than Mr. Horner, all
the tenants liked him far better. People, in general, take a kindlier interest in
any one, the workings of whose mind and heart they can watch and
understand, than in a man who only lets you know what he has been
thinking about and feeling, by what he does. But Harry Gregson was
faithful to the memory of Mr. Horner. Miss Galindo has told me that she
used to watch him hobble out of the way of Captain James, as if to accept
his notice, however good-naturedly given, would have been a kind of
treachery to his former benefactor. But Gregson (the father) and the new
agent rather took to each other; and one day, much to my surprise, I heard
that the “poaching, tinkering vagabond,” as people used to call Gregson
when I first had come to live at Hanbury, had been appointed gamekeeper;
Mr. Gray standing godfather, as it were, to his trustworthiness, if he were
trusted with anything: which I thought at the time was rather an experiment,
only it answered, as many of Mr. Gray’s deeds of daring did. It was curious
how he was growing to be a kind of autocrat in the village; and how
unconscious he was of it. He was as shy and awkward and nervous as ever
in any affair that was not of some moral consequence to him. But as soon as
he was convinced that a thing was right, he “shut his eyes and ran and
butted at it like a ram,” as Captain James once expressed it, in talking over
something Mr. Gray had done. People in the village said, “they never knew
what the parson would be at next;” or they might have said “where his
reverence would next turn up.” For I have heard of his marching right into
the middle of a set of poachers, gathered together for some desperate
midnight enterprise, or walking into a public-house that lay just beyond the
bounds of my lady’s estate, and in that extra-parochial piece of ground I
named long ago, and which was considered the rendezvous of all the ne’er-
do-weel characters for miles round, and where a parson and a constable
were held in much the same kind of esteem, as unwelcome visitors. And yet
Mr. Gray had his long fits of depression, in which he felt as if he were
doing nothing, making no way in his work, useless and unprofitable, and
better out of the world than in it. In comparison with the work he had set
himself to do, what he did seemed to be nothing. I suppose it was
constitutional, those attacks of lowness of spirits which he had about this
time; perhaps a part of the nervousness which made him always so
awkward when he came to the Hall. Even Mrs. Medlicott, who almost
worshipped the ground he trod on, as the saying is, owned that Mr. Gray
never entered one of my lady’s rooms without knocking down something,
and too often breaking it. He would much sooner have faced a desperate
poacher than a young lady any day. At least so we thought.
I do not know how it was that it came to pass that my lady became
reconciled to Miss Galindo about this time. Whether it was that her ladyship
was weary of the unspoken coolness with her old friend; or that the
specimens of delicate sewing and fine spinning at the school had mollified
her towards Miss Bessy; but I was surprised to learn one day that Miss
Galindo and her young friend were coming that very evening to tea at the
Hall. This information was given me by Mrs. Medlicott, as a message from
my lady, who further went on to desire that certain little preparations should
be made in her own private sitting-room, in which the greater part of my
days were spent. From the nature of these preparations, I became quite
aware that my lady intended to do honour to her expected visitors. Indeed
Lady Ludlow never forgave by halves, as I have known some people do.
Whoever was coming as a visitor to my lady, peeress, or poor nameless girl,
there was a certain amount of preparation required, in order to do them
fitting honour. I do not mean to say that the preparation was of the same
degree of importance in each case. I dare say, if a peeress had come to visit
us at the Hall, the covers would have been taken off the furniture in the
white drawing-room (they never were uncovered all the time I stayed at the
Hall), because my lady would wish to offer her the ornaments and luxuries
which this grand visitor (who never came—I wish she had! I did so want to
see that furniture uncovered!) was accustomed to at home, and to present
them to her in the best order in which my lady could. The same rule,
modified, held good with Miss Galindo. Certain things, in which my lady
knew she took an interest, were laid out ready for her to examine on this
very day; and, what was more, great books of prints were laid out, such as I
remembered my lady had had brought forth to beguile my own early days
of illness,—Mr. Hogarth’s works, and the like,—which I was sure were put
out for Miss Bessy.
No one knows how curious I was to see this mysterious Miss Bessy—
twenty times more mysterious, of course, for want of her surname. And then
again (to try and account for my great curiosity, of which in recollection I
am more than half ashamed), I had been leading the quiet monotonous life
of a crippled invalid for many years,—shut up from any sight of new faces;
and this was to be the face of one whom I had thought about so much and
so long,—Oh! I think I might be excused.
Of course, they drank tea in the great hall, with the four young
gentlewomen, who, with myself, formed the small bevy now under her
ladyship’s charge. Of those who were at Hanbury when first I came, none
remained; all were married, or gone once more to live at some home which
could be called their own, whether the ostensible head were father or
brother. I myself was not without some hopes of a similar kind. My brother
Harry was now a curate in Westmoreland, and wanted me to go and live
with him, as eventually I did for a time. But that is neither here nor there at
present. What I am talking about is Miss Bessy.
After a reasonable time had elapsed, occupied as I well knew by the
meal in the great hall,—the measured, yet agreeable conversation
afterwards,—and a certain promenade around the hall, and through the
drawing-rooms, with pauses before different pictures, the history or subject
of each of which was invariably told by my lady to every new visitor,—a
sort of giving them the freedom of the old family-seat, by describing the
kind and nature of the great progenitors who had lived there before the
narrator,—I heard the steps approaching my lady’s room where I lay. I think
I was in such a state of nervous expectation, that if I could have moved
easily, I should have got up and run away. And yet I need not have been, for
Miss Galindo was not in the least altered (her nose a little redder, to be sure,
but then that might only have had a temporary cause in the private crying I
know she would have had before coming to see her dear Lady Ludlow once
again.) But I could almost have pushed Miss Galindo away, as she
intercepted me in my view of the mysterious Miss Bessy.
Miss Bessy was, as I knew, only about eighteen, but she looked older.
Dark hair, dark eyes, a tall, firm figure, a good, sensible face, with a serene
expression, not in the least disturbed by what I had been thinking must be
such awful circumstances as a first introduction to my lady, who had so
dissapproved of her very existence: those are the clearest impressions I
remember of my first interview with Miss Bessy. She seemed to observe us
all, in her quiet manner, quite as much as I did her; but she spoke very little;
occupied herself, indeed, as my lady had planned, with looking over the
great books of engravings. I think I must have (foolishly) intended to make
her feel at her ease, by my patronage; but she was seated far away from my
sofa, in order to command the light, and really seemed so unconcerned at
her unwonted circumstances, that she did not need my countenance or
kindness. One thing I did like—her watchful look at Miss Galindo from
time to time: it showed that her thoughts and sympathy were ever at Miss
Galindo’s service, as indeed they well might be. When Miss Bessy spoke,
her voice was full and clear, and what she said, to the purpose, though there
was a slight provincial accent in her way of speaking. After a while, my
lady set us two to play at chess, a game which I had lately learnt at Mr.
Gray’s suggestion. Still we did not talk much together, though we were
becoming attracted towards each other, I fancy.
“You will play well,” said she. “You have only learnt about six months,
have you? And yet you can nearly beat me, who have been at it as many
years.”
“I began to learn last November. I remember Mr. Gray’s bringing me
‘Philidor on Chess,’ one very foggy, dismal day.”
What made her look up so suddenly, with bright inquiry in her eyes?
What made her silent for a moment, as if in thought, and then go on with
something, I know not what, in quite an altered tone?
My lady and Miss Galindo went on talking, while I sat thinking. I heard
Captain James’s name mentioned pretty frequently; and at last my lady put
down her work, and said, almost with tears in her eyes:
“I could not—I cannot believe it. He must be aware she is a schismatic; a
baker’s daughter; and he is a gentleman by virtue and feeling, as well as by
his profession, though his manners may be at times a little rough. My dear
Miss Galindo, what will this world come to?”
Miss Galindo might possibly be aware of her own share in bringing the
world to the pass which now dismayed my lady,—for, of course, though all
was now over and forgiven, yet Miss Bessy’s being received into a
respectable maiden lady’s house, was one of the portents as to the world’s
future which alarmed her ladyship; and Miss Galindo knew this,—but, at
any rate, she had too lately been forgiven herself not to plead for mercy for
the next offender against my lady’s delicate sense of fitness and propriety,
—so she replied:
“Indeed, my lady, I have long left off trying to conjecture what makes
Jack fancy Gill, or Gill Jack. It’s best to sit down quiet under the belief that
marriages are made for us, somewhere out of this world, and out of the
range of this world’s reasons and laws. I’m not so sure that I should settle it
down that they were made in Heaven; t’other place seems to me as likely a
workshop; but, at any rate, I’ve given up troubling my head as to why they
take place. Captain James is a gentleman; I make no doubt of that ever since
I saw him stop to pick up old Goody Blake (when she tumbled down on the
slide last winter) and then swear at a little lad who was laughing at her, and
cuff him till he tumbled down crying; but we must have bread somehow,
and though I like it better baked at home in a good sweet brick oven, yet, as
some folks never can get it to rise, I don’t see why a man may not be a
baker. You see, my lady, I look upon baking as a simple trade, and as such
lawful. There is no machine comes in to take away a man’s or woman’s
power of earning their living, like the spinning-jenny (the old busybody that
she is), to knock up all our good old women’s livelihood, and send them to
their graves before their time. There’s an invention of the enemy, if you
will!”
 “That’s very true!” said my lady, shaking her head.
“But baking bread is wholesome, straight-forward elbow-work. They
have not got to inventing any contrivance for that yet, thank Heaven! It
does not seem to me natural, nor according to Scripture, that iron and steel
(whose brows can’t sweat) should be made to do man’s work. And so I say,
all those trades where iron and steel do the work ordained to man at the
Fall, are unlawful, and I never stand up for them. But say this baker Brooke
did knead his bread, and make it rise, and then that people, who had,
perhaps, no good ovens, came to him, and bought his good light bread, and
in this manner he turned an honest penny, and got rich; why, all I say, my
lady, is this,—I dare say he would have been born a Hanbury, or a lord, if he
could; and if he was not, it is no fault of his, that I can see, that he made
good bread (being a baker by trade), and got money, and bought his land. It
was his misfortune, not his fault, that he was not a person of quality by
birth.”
“That’s very true,” said my lady, after a moment’s pause for
consideration. “But, although he was a baker, he might have been a
Churchman. Even your eloquence, Miss Galindo, shan’t convince me that
that is not his own fault.”
“I don’t see even that, begging your pardon, my lady,” said Miss
Galindo, emboldened by the first success of her eloquence. “When a Baptist
is a baby, if I understand their creed aright, he is not baptized; and,
consequently, he can have no godfathers and godmothers to do anything for
him in his baptism; you agree to that, my lady?”
My lady would rather have known what her acquiescence would lead to,
before acknowledging that she could not dissent from this first proposition;
still she gave her tacit agreement by bowing her head.
“And, you know, our godfathers and godmothers are expected to
promise and vow three things in our name, when we are little babies, and
can do nothing but squall for ourselves. It is a great privilege, but don’t let
us be hard upon those who have not had the chance of godfathers and
godmothers. Some people, we know, are born with silver spoons,—that’s to
say, a godfather to give one things, and teach one one’s catechism, and see
that we’re confirmed into good church-going Christians,—and others with
wooden ladles in their mouths. These poor last folks must just be content to
be godfatherless orphans, and Dissenters, all their lives: and if they are
tradespeople into the bargain, so much the worse for them; but let us be
humble Christians, my dear lady, and not hold our heads too high because
we were born orthodox quality.”
“You go on too fast, Miss Galindo! I can’t follow you. Besides, I do
believe dissent to be an invention of the Devil’s. Why can’t they believe as
we do? It’s very wrong. Besides, it’s schism and heresy, and, you know, the
Bible says that’s as bad as witchcraft.”
My lady was not convinced, as I could see. After Miss Galindo had
gone, she sent Mrs. Medlicott for certain books out of the great old library
up stairs, and had them made up into a parcel under her own eye.
“If Captain James comes to-morrow, I will speak to him about these
Brookes. I have not hitherto liked to speak to him, because I did not wish to
hurt him, by supposing there could be any truth in the reports about his
intimacy with them. But now I will try and do my duty by him and them.
Surely, this great body of divinity will bring them back to the true church.”
I could not tell, for though my lady read me over the titles, I was not any
the wiser as to their contents. Besides, I was much more anxious to consult
my lady as to my own change of place. I showed her the letter I had that
day received from Harry; and we once more talked over the expediency of
my going to live with him, and trying what entire change of air would do to
re-establish my failing health. I could say anything to my lady, she was so
sure to understand me rightly. For one thing, she never thought of herself,
so I had no fear of hurting her by stating the truth. I told her how happy my
years had been while passed under her roof; but that now I had begun to
wonder whether I had not duties elsewhere, in making a home for Harry,—
and whether the fulfilment of these duties, quiet ones they must needs be in
the case of such a cripple as myself, would not prevent my sinking into the
querulous habit of thinking and talking into which I found myself
occasionally falling. Add to which, there was the prospect of benefit from
the more bracing air of the north.
It was then settled that my departure from Hanbury, my happy home for
so long, was to take place before many weeks had passed. And as, when one
period of life is about to be shut up for ever, we are sure to look back upon
it with fond regret, so I, happy enough in my future prospects, could not
avoid recurring to all the days of my life in the Hall, from the time when I
came to it, a shy, awkward girl, scarcely past childhood, to now, when a
grown woman,—past childhood—almost, from the very character of my
illness, past youth,—I was looking forward to leaving my lady’s house (as a
residence) for ever. As it has turned out, I never saw either her or it again.
Like a piece of sea-wreck, I have drifted away from those days: quiet,
happy, eventless days, very happy to remember!
I thought of good, jovial Mr. Mountford,—and his regrets that he might
not keep a pack, “a very small pack,” of harriers, and his merry ways, and
his love of good eating; of the first coming of Mr. Gray, and my lady’s
attempt to quench his sermons, when they tended to enforce any duty
connected with education. And now we had an absolute school-house in the
village; and since Miss Bessy’s drinking tea at the Hall, my lady had been
twice inside it, to give directions about some fine yarn she was having spun
for table-napery. And her ladyship had so outgrown her old custom of
dispensing with sermon or discourse, that even during the temporary
preaching of Mr. Crosse, she had never had recourse to it, though I believe
she would have had all the congregation on her side if she had.
And Mr. Horner was dead, and Captain James reigned in his stead.
Good, steady, severe, silent Mr. Horner! with his clock-like regularity, and
his snuff-coloured clothes, and silver buckles! I have often wondered which
one misses most when they are dead and gone,—the bright creatures full of
life, who are hither and thither and everywhere, so that no one can reckon
upon their coming and going, with whom stillness and the long quiet of the
grave seems utterly irreconcilable, so full are they of vivid motion and
passion,—or the slow, serious people, whose movements—nay, whose very
words, seem to go by clock-work; who never appear much to affect the
course of our life while they are with us, but whose methodical ways show
themselves, when they are gone, to have been intertwined with our very
roots of daily existence. I think I miss these last the most, although I may
have loved the former best. Captain James never was to me what Mr.
Horner was, though the latter had hardly changed a dozen words with me at
the day of his death. Then Miss Galindo! I remembered the time, as if it had
been only yesterday, when she was but a name—and a very odd one—to
me; then she was a queer, abrupt, disagreeable, busy old maid. Now I loved
her dearly, and I found out that I was almost jealous of Miss Bessy.
Mr. Gray I never thought of with love; the feeling was almost reverence
with which I looked upon him. I have not wished to speak much of myself,
or else I could have told you how much he had been to me during these
long, weary years of illness. But he was almost as much to every one, rich
and poor, from my lady down to Miss Galindo’s Sally.
The village, too, had a different look about it. I am sure I could not tell
you what caused the change; but there were no more lounging young men
to form a group at the cross-road, at a time of day when young men ought to
be at work. I don’t say this was all Mr. Gray’s doing, for there really was so
much to do in the fields that there was but little time for lounging now-a
days. And the children were hushed up in school, and better behaved out of
it, too, than in the days when I used to be able to go my lady’s errands in the
village. I went so little about now, that I am sure I can’t tell who Miss
Galindo found to scold; and yet she looked so well and so happy that I think
she must have had her accustomed portion of that wholesome exercise.
Before I left Hanbury, the rumour that Captain James was going to marry
Miss Brooke, Baker Brooke’s eldest daughter, who had only a sister to
share his property with her, was confirmed. He himself announced it to my
lady; nay, more, with a courage, gained, I suppose, in his former profession,
where, as I have heard, he had led his ship into many a post of danger, he
asked her ladyship, the Countess Ludlow, if he might bring his bride elect
(the Baptist baker’s daughter!) and present her to my lady!
I am glad I was not present when he made this request; I should have felt
so much ashamed for him, and I could not have helped being anxious till I
heard my lady’s answer, if I had been there. Of course she acceded; but I
can fancy the grave surprise of her look. I wonder if Captain James noticed
it.
I hardly dared ask my lady, after the interview had taken place, what she
thought of the bride elect; but I hinted my curiosity, and she told me, that if
the young person had applied to Mrs. Medlicott, for the situation of cook,
and Mrs. Medlicott had engaged her, she thought that it would have been a
very suitable arrangement. I understood from this how little she thought a
marriage with Captain James, R.N., suitable.
About a year after I left Hanbury, I received a letter from Miss Galindo, I
think I can find it.—Yes, this is it.
‘Hanbury, May 4, 1811.
‘Dear Margaret,
 ‘You ask for news of us all. Don’t you know there is no news in
Hanbury? Did you ever hear of an event here? Now, if you have answered
“Yes,” in your own mind to these questions, you have fallen into my trap,
and never were more mistaken in your life. Hanbury is full of news; and we
have more events on our hands than we know what to do with. I will take
them in the order of the newspapers—births, deaths, and marriages. In the
matter of births, Jenny Lucas has had twins not a week ago. Sadly too much
of a good thing, you’ll say. Very true: but then they died; so their birth did
not much signify. My cat has kittened, too; she has had three kittens, which
again you may observe is too much of a good thing; and so it would be, if it
were not for the next item of intelligence I shall lay before you. Captain and
Mrs. James have taken the old house next Pearson’s; and the house is
overrun with mice, which is just as fortunate for me as the King of Egypt’s
rat-ridden kingdom was to Dick Whittington. For my cat’s kittening decided
me to go and call on the bride, in hopes she wanted a cat; which she did,
like a sensible woman, as I do believe she is, in spite of Baptism, Bakers,
Bread, and Birmingham, and something worse than all, which you shall
hear about, if you’ll only be patient. As I had got my best bonnet on—the
one I bought when poor Lord Ludlow was last at Hanbury in ’99—I thought
it a great condescension in myself (always remembering the date of the
Galindo Baronetcy) to go and call on the bride; though I don’t think so
much of myself in my every-day clothes, as you know. But who should I
find there but my Lady Ludlow! She looks as frail and delicate as ever, but
is, I think, in better heart ever since that old city merchant of a Hanbury
took it into his head that he was a cadet of the Hanburys of Hanbury, and
left her that handsome legacy. I’ll warrant you the mortgage was paid off
pretty fast; and Mr. Horner’s money—or my lady’s money, or Harry
Gregson’s money, call it which you will,—is invested in his name, all right
and tight, and they do talk of his being captain of his school, or Grecian, or
something, and going to college, after all! Harry Gregson the poacher’s son!
Well! to be sure, we are living in strange times!
‘But I have not done with the marriages yet. Captain James’s is all very
well, but no one cares for it now, we are all so full of Mr. Gray’s. Yes,
indeed, Mr. Gray is going to be married, and to nobody else but my little
Bessy! I tell her she will have to nurse him half the days of her life, he is
such a frail little body. But she says she does not care for that, so that his
body holds his soul, it is enough for her. She has a good spirit, and a brave
heart, has my Bessy! It is a great advantage that she won’t have to mark her
clothes over again; for when she had knitted herself her last set of
stockings, I told her to put G for Galindo, if she did not choose to put it for
Gibson, for she should be my child if she was no one else’s. And now, you
see, it stands for Gray. So there are two marriages, and what more would
you have? And she promises to take another of my kittens.
‘Now, as to deaths, old Farmer Hale is dead—poor old man, I should
think his wife thought it a good riddance, for he beat her every day that he
was drunk, and he never was sober, in spite of Mr. Gray. I don’t think (as I
tell him) that Mr. Gray would ever have found courage to speak to Bessy as
long as Farmer Hale lived, he took the old gentleman’s sins so much to
heart, and seemed to think it was all his fault for not being able to make a
sinner into a saint. The parish bull is dead too. I never was so glad in my
life. But they say we are to have a new one in his place. In the meantime I
cross the common in peace, which is convenient just now, when I have so
often to go to Mr. Gray’s to see about furnishing.
‘Now you think I have told you all the Hanbury news, don’t you? Not so.
The very greatest thing of all is to come. I won’t tantalize you, but just out
with it, for you would never guess it. My Lady Ludlow has given a party,
just like any plebeian amongst us. We had tea and toast in the blue drawing-
room, old John Footman waiting, with Tom Diggles, the lad that used to
frighten away crows in Farmer Hale’s fields, following in my lady’s livery,
hair powdered and everything. Mrs. Medlicott made tea in my lady’s own
room. My lady looked like a splendid fairy queen of mature age, in black
velvet, and the old lace, which I have never seen her wear before since my
lord’s death. But the company? you’ll say. Why we had the parson of
Clover, and the parson of Headleigh, and the parson of Merribank, and the
three parsonesses; and Farmer Donkin and two Miss Donkins; and Mr. Gray
(of course), and myself and Bessy; and Captain and Mrs. James; yes, and
Mr. and Mrs. Brooke: think of that! I am not so sure the parsons liked it; but
he was there. For he has been helping Captain James to get my lady’s land
into order; and then his daughter married the agent; and Mr. Gray (who
ought to know) says, after all, Baptists are not such bad people; and he was
right against them at one time, as you may remember. Mrs. Brooke is a
rough diamond, to be sure. People have said that of me, I know. But, being
a Galindo, I learnt manners in my youth, and can take them up when I
choose. But Mrs. Brooke never learnt manners, I’ll be bound. When John
Footman handed her the tray with the tea-cups, she looked up at him as if
she were sorely puzzled by that way of going on. I was sitting next to her,
so I pretended not to see her perplexity, and put her cream and sugar in for
her, and was all ready to pop it into her hands,—when who should come up,
but that impudent lad Tom Diggles (I call him lad, for all his hair is
powdered, for you know that it is not natural grey hair), with his tray full of
cakes and what not, all as good as Mrs. Medlicott could make them. By this
time, I should tell you, all the parsonesses were looking at Mrs. Brooke, for
she had shown her want of breeding before; and the parsonesses, who were
just a step above her in manners, were very much inclined to smile at her
doings and sayings. Well! what does she do but pull out a clean Bandanna
pocket-handkerchief, all red and yellow silk, spread it over her best silk
gown; it was, like enough, a new one, for I had it from Sally, who had it
from her cousin Molly, who is dairy-woman at the Brookes’, that the
Brookes were mighty set-up with an invitation to drink tea at the Hall.
There we were, Tom Diggles even on the grin (I wonder how long it is since
he was own brother to a scarecrow, only not so decently dressed) and Mrs.
Parsoness of Headleigh,—I forget her name, and it’s no matter, for she’s an
ill-bred creature, I hope Bessy will behave herself better,—was right-down
bursting with laughter, and as near a hee-haw as ever a donkey was, when
what does my lady do? Ay! there’s my own dear Lady Ludlow, God bless
her! She takes out her own pocket-handkerchief, all snowy cambric, and
lays it softly down on her velvet lap, for all the world as if she did it every
day of her life, just like Mrs. Brooke, the baker’s wife; and when the one
got up to shake the crumbs into the fire-place, the other did just the same.
But with such a grace! and such a look at us all! Tom Diggles went red all
over; and Mrs. Parsoness of Headleigh scarce spoke for the rest of the
evening; and the tears came into my old silly eyes; and Mr. Gray, who was
before silent and awkward, in a way which I tell Bessy she must cure him
of, was made so happy by this pretty action of my lady’s, that he talked
away all the rest of the evening, and was the life of the company.
‘Oh! Margaret Dawson, I sometimes wonder if you’re the better off for
leaving us. To be sure, you’re with your brother, and blood is blood. But
when I look at my lady and Mr. Gray, for all they’re so different, I would
not change places with any in England.’
 Alas! alas! I never saw my dear lady again. She died in eighteen hundred
and fourteen, and Mr. Gray did not long survive her. As I dare say you
know the Reverend Henry Gregson is now vicar of Hanbury, and his wife is
the daughter of Mr. Gray and Miss Bessy.

As any one may guess, it had taken Mrs. Dawson several Monday
evenings to narrate all this history of the days of her youth. Miss Duncan
thought it would be a good exercise for me, both in memory and
composition, to write out on Tuesday mornings all that I had heard the night
before; and thus it came to pass that I have the manuscript of “My Lady
Ludlow” now lying by me.

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET.

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