Books: Peg Woffington
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Charles Reade >> Peg Woffington
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"But is he happy? Of course he is. Are we not to meet to-day after six
months? Ah! but never mind, they _are_ gone by."
"Lord bless her!" thought the faithful old fellow. "If sitting down and
crying could help her, I wouldn't be long."
By this time they were in the banqueting-room and at the preparations
there Mabel gave a start; she then colored. "Oh, he has invited his
friends to make acquaintance. I had rather we had been alone all this day
and to-morrow. But he must not know that. No; _his_ friends are _my_
friends, and shall be too," thought the country wife. She then glanced
with some misgiving at her traveling attire, and wished she had brought
_one_ trunk with her.
"James," said she, "where is my room? And, mind, I forbid you to tell a
soul I am come."
"Your room, Miss Mabel?"
"Well, any room where there is looking-glass and water."
She then went to a door which opened in fact on a short passage leading
to a room occupied by Mr. Vane himself.
"No, no!" cried James. "That is master's room."
"Well, is not master's room mistress's room, old man? But stay; is he
there?"
"No, ma'am; he is in the garden, with a power of fine folks."
"They shall not see me till I have made myself a little more decent,"
said the young beauty, who knew at bottom how little comparatively the
color of her dress could affect her appearance, and she opened Mr. Vane's
door and glided in.
Burdock's first determination was, in spite of her injunction, to tell
Colander; but on reflection he argued: "And then what will they do? They
will put their heads together, and deceive us some other way. No!"
thought James, with a touch of spite, "we shall see how they will all
look." He argued also, that, at sight of his beautiful wife, his master
must come to his senses, and the Colander faction be defeated; and
perhaps, by the mercy of Providence, Colander himself turned off.
While thus ruminating, a thundering knock at the door almost knocked him
off his legs. "There ye go again," said he, and he went angrily to the
door. This time it was Hunsdon, who was in a desperate hurry to see his
master.
"Where is Sir Charles Pomander, my honest fellow?" said he.
"In the garden, my Jack-a-dandy!" said Burdock, furiously.
(" Honest fellow," among servants, implies some moral inferiority.)
In the garden went Hunsdon. His master--all whose senses were playing
sentinel--saw him, and left the company to meet him.
"She is in the house, sir."
"Good! Go--vanish!"
Sir Charles looked into the banquet-room; the haunch was being placed on
the table. He returned with the information. He burned to bring husband
and wife together; he counted each second lost that postponed this (to
him) thrilling joy. Oh, how happy he was!--happier than the serpent when
he saw Eve's white teeth really strike into the apple!
"Shall we pay respect to this haunch, Mr. Quin?" said Vane, gayly.
"If you please, sir," said Quin, gravely. Colander ran down a by-path
with an immense bouquet, which he arranged for Mrs. Woffington in a vase
at Mr. Vane's left hand. He then threw open the windows, which were on
the French plan, and shut within a foot of the lawn.
The musicians in the arbor struck up, and the company, led by Mr. Vane
and Mrs. Woffington, entered the room. And a charming room it
was!--light, lofty, and large--adorned in the French way with white and
gold. The table was an exact oval, and at it everybody could hear what
any one said; an excellent arrangement where ideaed guests only are
admitted-- which is another excellent arrangement, though I see people
don't think so.
The repast was luxurious and elegant. There was no profusion of unmeaning
dishes; each was a _bonne-bouche_--an undeniable delicacy. The glass was
beautiful, the plates silver. The flowers rose like walls from the table;
the plate massive and glorious; rose-water in the hand-glasses; music
crept in from the garden, deliciously subdued into what seemed a natural
sound. A broad stream of southern sun gushed in fiery gold through the
open window, and, like a red-hot rainbow, danced through the stained
glass above it. Existence was a thing to bask in--in such a place, and so
happy an hour!
The guests were Quin, Mrs. Clive, Mr. Cibber, Sir Charles Pomander, Mrs.
Woffington, and Messrs. Soaper and Snarl, critics of the day. This pair,
with wonderful sagacity, had arrived from the street as the haunch came
from the kitchen. Good-humor reigned; some cuts passed, but as the
parties professed wit, they gave and took.
Quin carved the haunch, and was happy; Soaper and Snarl eating the same,
and drinking Toquay, were mellowed and mitigated into human flesh. Mr.
Vane and Mrs. Woffington were happy; he, because his conscience was
asleep; and she, because she felt nothing now could shake her hold of
him. Sir Charles was in a sort of mental chuckle. His head burned, his
bones ached; but he was in a sort of nervous delight.
"Where is she?" thought he. "What will she do? Will she send her maid
with a note? How blue he will look! Or will she come herself? She is a
country wife; there must be a scene. Oh, why doesn't she come into this
room? She must know we are here! is she watching somewhere?" His brain
became puzzled, and his senses were sharpened to a point; he was all eye,
ear and expectation; and this was why he was the only one to hear a very
slight sound behind the door we have mentioned, and next to perceive a
lady's glove lying close to that door. Mabel had dropped it in her
retreat. Putting this and that together, he was led to hope and believe
she was there, making her toilet, perhaps, and her arrival at present
unknown.
"Do you expect no one else?" said he, with feigned carelessness, to Mr.
Vane.
"No," said Mr. Vane, with real carelessness.
"It must be so! What fortune!" thought Pomander.
_Soaper._ "Mr. Cibber looks no older than he did five years ago."
_Snarl._ "There was no room on his face for a fresh wrinkle."
_Soaper._ "He! he! Nay, Mr. Snarl: Mr. Cibber is like old port; the more
ancient he grows, the more delicious his perfume."
_Snarl._ "And the crustier he gets."
_Clive._ "Mr. Vane, you should always separate those two. Snarl, by
himself, is just supportable; but, when Soaper paves the way with his
hypocritical praise, the pair are too much; they are a two-edged sword."
_Woffington._ "Wanting nothing but polish and point."
_Vane._ "Gentlemen, we abandon your neighbor, Mr. Quin, to you."
_Quin._ "They know better. If they don't keep a civil tongue in their
heads, no fat goes from here to them."
_Cibber._ "Ah, Mr. Vane; this room is delightful; but it makes me sad. I
knew this house in Lord Longueville's time; an unrivaled gallant, Peggy.
You may just remember him, Sir Charles?"
_Pomander_ (with his eye on a certain door). "Yes, yes; a gouty old
fellow."
Cibber fired up. "I wish you may ever be like him. Oh, the beauty, the
wit, the _petits-soupers_ that used to be here! Longueville was a great
creature, Mr. Vane. I have known him entertain a fine lady in this room,
while her rival was fretting and fuming on the other side of that door."
"Ah, indeed!" said Sir Charles.
"More shame for him," said Mr. Vane.
Here was luck! Pomander seized this opportunity of turning the
conversation to his object. With a malicious twinkle in his eye, he
inquired of Mr. Cibber what made him fancy the house had lost its virtue
in Mr. Vane's hands.
"Because," said Cibber, peevishly, "you all want the true _savoir faire_
nowadays, because there is no _juste milieu,_ young gentlemen. The young
dogs of the day are all either unprincipled heathen, like yourself, or
Amadisses, like our worthy host." The old gentleman's face and manners
were like those of a patriarch, regretting the general decay of virtue,
not the imaginary diminution of a single vice. He concluded with a sigh
that, "The true _preux des dames_ went out with the full periwig; stap my
vitals!"
"A bit of fat, Mr. Cibber?" said Quin, whose jokes were not polished.
"Jemmy, thou art a brute," was the reply.
"You refuse, sir?" said Quin, sternly.
"No, sir!" said Cibber, with dignity. "I accept."
Pomander's eye was ever on the door.
"The old are so unjust to the young," said he. "You pretend that the
Deluge washed away iniquity, and that a rake is a fossil. What," said he,
leaning as it were on every word, "if I bet you a cool hundred that Vane
has a petticoat in that room, and that Mrs. Woffington shall unearth
her?"
The malicious dog thought this was the surest way to effect a dramatic
exposure, because if Peggy found Mabel to all appearances concealed,
Peggy would scold her, and betray herself.
"Pomander!" cried Vane, in great heat; then, checking himself, he said
coolly: "but you all know Pomander."
"None of you," replied that gentleman. "Bring a chair, sir," said he,
authoritatively, to a servant; who, of course, obeyed.
Mrs. Clive looked at him, and thought: "There is something in this!"
"It is for the lady," said he, coolly. Then, leaning over the table, he
said to Mrs. Woffington, with an impudent affectation of friendly
understanding: "I ran her to earth in this house not ten minutes ago. Of
course I don't know who she is! But," smacking his lips, "a rustic
Amaryllis, breathing all May-buds and Meadowsweet."
"Have her out, Peggy!" shouted Cibber. "I know the run--there's the
covert! Hark, forward! Ha, ha, ha!"
Mr. Vane rose, and, with a sternness that brought the old beau up with a
run, he said: "Mr. Cibber, age and infirmity are privileged; but for you,
Sir Charles--"
"Don't be angry," interposed Mrs. Woffington, whose terror was lest he
should quarrel with so practiced a swordsman. "Don't you see it is a
jest! and, as might be expected from poor Sir Charles, a very sorry one.
"A jest!" said Vane, white with rage. "Let it go no further, or it will
be earnest!"
Mrs. Woffington placed her hand on his shoulder, and at that touch he
instantly yielded, and sat down.
It was at this moment, when Sir Charles found himself for the present
baffled--for he could no longer press his point, and search that room;
when the attention of all was drawn to a dispute, which, for a moment,
had looked like a quarrel; while Mrs. Woffington's hand still lingered,
as only a woman's hand can linger in leaving the shoulder of the man she
loves; it was at this moment the door opened of its own accord, and a
most beautiful woman stood, with a light step, upon the threshold!
Nobody's back was to her, except Mr. Vane's. Every eye but his was
spellbound upon her.
Mrs. Woffington withdrew her hand, as if a scorpion had touched her.
A stupor of astonishment fell on them all.
Mr. Vane, seeing the direction of all their eyes, slewed himself round in
his chair into a most awkward position, and when he saw the lady, he was
utterly dumfounded! But she, as soon as he turned his face her way,
glided up to him, with a little half-sigh, half-cry of joy, and taking
him round the neck, kissed him deliciously, while every eye at the table
met every other eye in turn. One or two of the men rose; for the lady's
beauty was as worthy of homage as her appearing was marvelous.
Mrs. Woffington, too astonished for emotion to take any definite shape,
said, in what seemed an ordinary tone: "Who is this lady?"
"I am his wife, madam," said Mabel, in the voice of a skylark, and
smiling friendly on the questioner.
"It is my wife!" said Vane, like a speaking-machine; he was scarcely in a
conscious state. "It is my wife!" he repeated, mechanically.
The words were no sooner out of Mabel's mouth than two servants, who had
never heard of Mrs. Vane before, hastened to place on Mr. Vane's right
hand the chair Pomander had provided, a plate and napkin were there in a
twinkling, and the wife modestly, but as a matter of course, courtesied
low, with an air of welcome to all her guests, and then glided into the
seat her servants obsequiously placed before her.
The whole thing did not take half a minute!
CHAPTER XI.
MR. VANE, besides being a rich, was a magnificent man; when his features
were in repose their beauty had a wise and stately character. Soaper and
Snarl had admired and bitterly envied him. At the present moment no one
of his guests envied him--they began to realize his position. And he, a
huge wheel of shame and remorse, began to turn and whir before his eyes.
He sat between two European beauties, and, pale and red by turns, shunned
the eyes of both, and looked down at his plate in a cold sweat of
humiliation, mortification and shame.
The iron passed through Mrs. Woffington's soul. So! this was a villain,
too, the greatest villain of all--a hypocrite! She turned. very faint,
but she was under an enemy's eye, and under a rival's; the thought drove
the blood back from her heart, and with a mighty effort she was
Woffington again. Hitherto her liaison with Mr. Vane had called up the
better part of her nature, and perhaps our reader has been taking her for
a good woman; but now all her dregs were stirred to the surface. The
mortified actress gulled by a novice, the wronged and insulted woman, had
but two thoughts; to defeat her rival--to be revenged on her false lover.
More than one sharp spasm passed over her features before she could
master them, and then she became smiles above, wormwood and red-hot steel
below--all in less than half a minute.
As for the others, looks of keen intelligence passed between them, and
they watched with burning interest for the _denouement._ That interest
was stronger than their sense of the comicality of all this (for the
humorous view of what passes before our eyes comes upon cool reflection,
not often at the time).
Sir Charles, indeed, who had foreseen some of this, wore a demure look,
belied by his glittering eye. He offered Cibber snuff, and the two
satirical animals grinned over the snuff-box, like a malicious old ape
and a mischievous young monkey.
The newcomer was charming; she was above the middle height, of a full,
though graceful figure, her abundant, glossy, bright brown hair glittered
here and there like gold in the light; she had a snowy brow, eyes of the
profoundest blue, a cheek like a peach, and a face beaming candor and
goodness; the character of her countenance resembled "the Queen of the
May," in Mr. Leslie's famous picture, more than any face of our day I can
call to mind.
"You are not angry with me for this silly trick?" said she, with some
misgiving. "After all I am only two hours before my time; you know,
dearest, I said four in my letter--did I not?"
Vane stammered. What could he say?
"And you have had three days to prepare you, for I wrote, like a good
wife, to ask leave before starting; but he never so much as answered my
letter, madam." (This she addressed to Mrs. Woffington, who smiled by
main force.)
"Why," stammered Vane, "could you doubt? I--I--"
"No! Silence was consent, was it not? But I beg your pardon, ladies and
gentlemen, I hope you will forgive me. It is six months since I saw
him--so you understand--I warrant me you did not look for me so soon,
ladies?"
"Some of us did not look for you at all, madam," said Mrs. Woffington.
"What, Ernest did not tell you he expected me?"
"No! He told us this banquet was in honor of a lady's first visit to his
house, but none of us imagined that lady to be his wife."
Vane began to writhe under that terrible tongue, whose point hitherto had
ever been turned away from him.
"He intended to steal a march on us," said Pomander, dryly; "and, with
your help, we steal one on him;" and he smiled maliciously on Mrs.
Woffington.
"But, madam," said Mr. Quin, "the moment you did arrive, I kept sacred
for you a bit of the fat; for which, I am sure, you must be ready. Pass
her plate!"
"Not at present, Mr. Quin," said Mr. Vane, hastily. "She is about to
retire and change her traveling-dress."
"Yes, dear; but, you forget, I am a stranger to your friends. Will you
not introduce me to them first?"
"No, no!" cried Vane, in trepidation. "It is not usual to introduce in
the _beau monde."_
"We always introduce ourselves," rejoined Mrs. Woffington. She rose
slowly, with her eye on Vane. He cast a look of abject entreaty on her;
but there was no pity in that curling lip and awful eye. He closed his
own eyes and waited for the blow. Sir Charles threw himself back in his
chair, and, chuckling, prepared for the explosion. Mrs. Woffington saw
him, and cast on him a look of ineffable scorn; and then she held the
whole company fluttering a long while. At length: "The Honorable Mrs.
Quickly, madam," said she, indicating Mrs. Clive.
This turn took them all by surprise. Pomander bit his lip.
"Sir John Brute--"
"Falstaff," cried Quin; "hang it."
"Sir John Brute Falstaff," resumed Mrs. Woffington. "We call him, for
brevity, Brute."
Vane drew a long breath. "Your neighbor is Lord Foppington; a butterfly
of some standing, and a little gouty."
"Sir Charles Pomander."
"Oh," cried Mrs. Vane. "It is the good gentleman who helped us out of the
slough, near Huntingdon. Ernest, if it had not been for this gentleman, I
should not have had the pleasure of being here now." And she beamed on
the good Pomander.
Mr. Vane did not rise and embrace Sir Charles.
"All the company thanks the good Sir Charles," said Cibber, bowing.
"I see it in all their faces," said the good Sir Charles, dryly.
Mrs. Woffington continued: "Mr. Soaper, Mr. Snarl; gentlemen who would
butter and slice up their own fathers!"
"Bless me!" cried Mrs. Vane, faintly.
"Critics!" And she dropped, as it were, the word dryly, with a sweet
smile, into Mabel's plate.
Mrs. Vane was relieved; she had apprehended cannibals. London they had
told her was full of curiosities.
"But yourself, madam?"
"I am the Lady Betty Modish; at your service."
A four-inch grin went round the table. The dramatical old rascal, Cibber,
began now to look at it as a bit of genteel comedy; and slipped out his
note-book under the table. Pomander cursed her ready wit, which had
disappointed him of his catastrophe. Vane wrote on a slip of paper: "Pity
and respect the innocent!" and passed it to Mrs. Woffington. He could not
have done a more superfluous or injudicious thing.
"And now, Ernest," cried Mabel, "for the news from Willoughby."
Vane stopped her in dismay. He felt how many satirical eyes and ears were
upon him and his wife. "Pray go and change your dress first, Mabel,"
cried he, fully determined that on her return she should not find the
present party there.
Mrs. Vane cast an imploring look on Mrs. Woffington. "My things are not
come," said she. "And, Lady Betty, I had so much to tell him, and to be
sent away;" and the deep blue eyes began to fill.
Now Mrs. Woffington was determined that this lady, who she saw was
simple, should disgust her husband by talking twaddle before a band of
satirists. So she said warmly: "It is not fair on us. Pray, madam, your
budget of country news. Clouted cream so seldom comes to London quite
fresh."
"There, you see, Ernest," said the unsuspicious soul. "First, you must
know that Gray Gillian is turned out for a brood mare, so old George
won't let me ride her; old servants are such tyrants, my lady. And my
Barbary hen has laid two eggs; Heaven knows the trouble we had to bring
her to it. And Dame Best, that is my husband's old nurse, Mrs. Quickly,
has had soup and pudding from the Hall everyday; and once she went so far
as to say it wasn't altogether a bad pudding. She is not a very grateful
woman, in a general way, poor thing! I made it with these hands."
Vane writhed.
"Happy pudding!" observed Mr. Cibber.
"Is this mockery, sir?" cried Vane, with a sudden burst of irritation.
"No, sir; it is gallantry," replied Cibber, with perfect coolness.
"Will you hear a little music in the garden?" said Vane to Mrs.
Woffington, pooh-poohing his wife's news.
"Not till I hear the end of Dame Bess."
"Best, my lady."
"Dame Best interests _me,_ Mr. Vane."
"Ay, and Ernest is very fond of her, too, when he is at home. She is in
her nice new cottage, dear; but she misses the draughts that were in her
old one--they were like old friends. 'The only ones I have, I'm
thinking,' said the dear cross old thing; and there stood I, on her
floor, with a flannel petticoat in both hands, that I had made for her,
and ruined my finger. Look else, my Lord Foppington?" She extended a hand
the color of cream.
"Permit me, madam?" taking out his glasses, with which he inspected her
finger; and gravely announced to the company: "The laceration is, in
fact, discernible. May I be permitted, madam," added he, "to kiss this
fair hand, which I should never have suspected of having ever made itself
half so useful?"
"Ay, my lord!" said she, coloring slightly, "you shall, because you are
so old; but I don't say for a young gentleman, unless it was the one that
belongs to me; and he does not ask me."
"My dear Mabel; pray remember we are not at Willoughby."
"I see we are not, Ernest." And the dove-like eyes filled brimful; and
all her innocent prattle was put an end to.
"What brutes men are," thought Mrs. Woffington. "They are not worthy even
of a fool like this."
Mr. Vane once more pressed her to hear a little music in the garden; and
this time she consented. Mr. Vane was far from being unmoved by his
wife's arrival, and her true affection. But she worried him; he was
anxious, above all things, to escape from his present position, and
separate the rival queens; and this was the only way he could see to do
it. He whispered Mabel, and bade her somewhat peremptorily rest herself
for an hour after her journey, and he entered the garden with Mrs.
Woffington.
Now the other gentlemen admired Mrs. Vane the most. She was new. She was
as lovely, in her way, as Peggy; and it was the young May-morn beauty of
the country. They forgave her simplicity, and even her goodness, on
account of her beauty; men are not severe judges of beautiful women. They
all solicited her to come with them, and be the queen of the garden. But
the good wife was obedient. Her lord had told her she was fatigued; so
she said she was tired.
"Mr. Vane's garden will lack its sweetest and fairest flower, madam,"
cried Cibber, "if we leave you here."
"Nay, my lord, there are fairer than I."
"Poor Quin!" cried Kitty Clive; "to have to leave the alderman's walk for
the garden-walk."
"All I regret," said the honest glutton, stoutly, "is that I go without
carving for Mrs. Vane."
"You are very good, Sir John; I will be more troublesome to you at
supper-time."
When they were all gone, she couldn't help sighing. It almost seemed as
if everybody was kinder to her than he whose kindness alone she valued.
"And he must take Lady Betty's hand instead of mine," thought she. "But
that is good breeding, I suppose. I wish there was no such thing; we are
very happy without it in Shropshire." Then this poor little soul was
ashamed of herself, and took herself to task. "Poor Ernest," said she,
pitying the wrongdoer, like a woman, "he was not pleased to be so taken
by surprise. No wonder; they are so ceremonious in London. How good of
him not to be angry!" Then she sighed; her heart had received a damp. His
voice seemed changed, and he did not meet her eyes with the look he wore
at Willoughby. She looked timidly into the garden. She saw the gay colors
of beaux, as well as of belles--for in these days broadcloth had not
displaced silk and velvet--glancing and shining among the trees; and she
sighed, but, presently brightening up a little, she said: "I will go and
see that the coffee is hot and clear, and the chocolate well mixed for
them." The poor child wanted to do something to please her husband.
Before she could carry out this act of domestic virtue, her attention was
drawn to a strife of tongues in the hall. She opened the folding-doors,
and there was a fine gentleman obstructing the entrance of a somber,
rusty figure, with a portfolio and a manuscript under each arm.
The fine gentleman was Colander. The seedy personage was the eternal
Triplet, come to make hay with his five-foot rule while the sun shone.
Colander had opened the door to him, and he had shot into the hall. The
major-domo obstructed the farther entrance of such a coat.
"I tell you my master is not at home," remonstrated the major-domo.
"How can you say so," cried Mrs. Vane, in surprise, "when you know he is
in the garden?"
"Simpleton!" thought Colander.
"Show the gentleman in."
"Gentleman!" muttered Colander.
Triplet thanked her for her condescension; he would wait for Mr. Vane in
the hall. "I came by appointment, madam; this is the only excuse for the
importunity you have just witnessed."
Hearing this, Mrs. Vane dismissed Colander to inform his master. Colander
bowed loftily, and walked into the servants' hall without deigning to
take the last proposition into consideration.
"Come in here, sir," said Mabel; "Mr. Vane will come as soon as he can
leave his company." Triplet entered in a series of obsequious jerks. "Sit
down and rest you, sir." And Mrs. Vane seated herself at the table, and
motioned with her white hand to Triplet to sit beside her.
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