The Pit Town Coronet Volume Ii Part 8

Much as King Lear looked when he first detected the real natures of Regan and Goneril, so did Mr. Sleek gaze in horror on his two rebellious daughters.

"Bos.h.!.+" he exclaimed with indignation. "Do you mean to tell me that after romping together all the afternoon in the hay, and getting their skins full of my champagne, they won't amalgamate, as you call it? Why, they'll be calling each other by their Christian names before supper time."

But the sisters showed no signs of yielding.

"I tell you what it is, girls," said their father in anger, "you're a pair of ungrateful minxes. Don't 'pa' me," he added at the duet of deprecation that followed. "My daughters are going to dance with a lord," he continued with tragic fervour, "and their poor old father isn't good enough for them."

Mr. Sleek did not go to business that morning. A terrible ceremony that lasted a good hour and a half was gone through. Mr. Sleek's list, which had originally contained over a hundred names, was shorn of its fair proportions, till but a little handful of the least objectionable remained. With the eloquence of a Cicero and the skill of an attorney-general, Miss Sleek "showed cause" against everybody. Though he fought hard he had to yield, for the girls were two to one. But he did not give in without a struggle, and he fought loyally for the absent Dabbler, but the girls were inexorable.

"Mr. Dabbler is too dreadful, papa. I'm sure he'd forget himself, and he would insist on dancing."

Now both the Misses Sleek had a vivid recollection of poor Dabbler's terpsich.o.r.ean efforts at a certain Guildhall ball. Not contented with walking through his square dances, as is the lazy custom now-a-days, Mr.

Dabbler had _danced_ them with a vigour and ingenuity which would have a.s.suredly brought down the house at a transpontine theatre. Even at the Guildhall, Dabbler's style was peculiar to himself, and productive of amazement and delight to all but his partners and those who figured in the same set. Dabbler was a vigorous dancer. When he set to his partner, he performed a sort of cellar-flap breakdown; when he stood in the middle of the quadrille while his _vis-a-vis_ advanced and retired with the two ladies, he still continued dancing. "To dance implies that a man is glad," and Dabbler was a cheerful-minded fellow enough, but no lady danced with him a second time. The eyes of the Misses Sleek flashed with unaffected rage and horror at the terrible remembrance of that dreadful night in the City.

There was nothing for it but to yield, and Mr. Sleek, when he had had time to cool, came to the conclusion that perhaps after all his daughters were right.

Romping among the hayc.o.c.ks may be very good fun, but the elaborate toilettes in which he found his daughters arrayed on the eventful afternoon effectually convinced him that the romping, if romping there was to be, would be entirely confined to the few juveniles who graced the entertainment with their presence.

The house was turned inside out. The drawing-room floor had been duly chalked in elaborate devices; the staff at The Park, in new gowns, caps and ap.r.o.ns, was reinforced by an army of myrmidons from the City. Huge blocks of ice decorated the dining-room, and Messrs. Toot and Kinney's band already discoursed sweet music from the Italian summer-house. The plump charms of his two daughters were freely displayed in elaborate Parisian costumes, _merveilleuse_ dresses of striped satin; one girl affected pink, the other sky blue. So resplendent was their appearance that the proud father hardly recognized his two buxom daughters in their gay attire.

But carriages, dog-carts and antediluvian flys began to pour into The Park. Every lady on her arrival received a bouquet of hot-house flowers, every gentleman was presented with an elaborate b.u.t.ton-hole of orchids.

Not a single invitation had been refused. King's Warren and the region round about had come to the philosophical conclusion that if Mr. Sleek, of The Park, was good enough for Squire Warrender, he was good enough for them. More than this, even those who had once pa.s.sed the Sleek girls with a condescending nod, or with their noses high in air, had deigned to intrigue for invitations; and in the hour of their triumph the girls had not been ill-natured, n.o.body had been refused.

There was quite a crowd in the shady corner of the hay-field to watch the so-called haymaking, a familiar sight enough to the King's Warreners, and there _was_ romping among the hayc.o.c.ks. But the pastoral amus.e.m.e.nt was only indulged in by the children of the village school.

Young Mr. Wurzel, in the s.h.i.+niest of boots, yellow gloves, a pink tie and a white hat, his bride-elect, Miss Grains, upon his arm, looked on approvingly, and it is not to be wondered at if the young fellow's eye dwelt, somewhat too long for Miss Grains' satisfaction, upon their young hostesses. The Reverend John Dodd, as usual, was surrounded by a throng of female wors.h.i.+ppers, the party from The Warren was in full force, and it somewhat astonished the Misses Sleek to note that Georgie and her cousin were in ordinary afternoon muslin dresses. No doubt the Sleek family would have been more gratified if, instead of his brown billyc.o.c.k, Lord Spunyarn had worn his coronet; he probably didn't travel with it, however.

All went merry as a marriage bell.

"My dear young ladies, surely we ought to join in this," said the Reverend Jack with a smile, addressing his hostesses, as he pointed to the children who were pelting each other with the perfumed hay.

But the _merveilleuse_ costumes of the Sleek girls were better suited for looking on than for taking part in the actual performance.

"Oh, we should like it of all things, Mr. Dodd, but _we_ must reserve ourselves. You see _we_ are almost bound to dance every dance, and there is so much to do, and so much to see to. But if any one would like to make hay we should be so pleased, and so would the children."

"You are not haymakers to-day, then, only shepherdesses looking after an unruly and, I see, rapidly increasing flock. It's a very sweet pastoral, you only want your crooks to complete the picture. I, too, am a shepherd, you know; but a shepherd in black and without his crook is somewhat in the way. With your permission, then, I shall join the children," said the vicar with a smile.

"The crook will come in time, Dodd; you may depend upon it we shall see you a bishop one of these days, after all," laughed Haggard good-naturedly.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Haggard," said a deep voice at his elbow, which made him start; "thank you so much for attempting to recall my poor husband from this frivolous scene to higher things. My unhappy husband, Mr. Haggard," she added in a confidential whisper, "has no ambition.

John Dodd, Mr. Haggard, is, I regret to say, a trifler. It has been the labour of my life to try and withdraw his mind from frivolities, and to keep him in the path which would ultimately lead him to what should be the goal of every clergyman's ambition. Oh, if he would only try to be a little more like my dear father. If he would only think less of carnal things," and here the vicaress gave a snort and looked spitefully at the Misses Sleek, between whom the Reverend Jack still lingered.

The Misses Sleek were plump, the Misses Sleek were pretty, even if they were a little over-dressed; but to call them "carnal things" was at least unkind.

"Console yourself, dear Mrs. Dodd," said Haggard with a smile; "the vicar will be just as attentive to the school children in the hay as he is to our young hostesses now," he added with intention.

"Too well I know it, Mr. Haggard. And can there be a sadder sight than to see the vicar of this parish romping in the hay with village hoydens?"

Haggard's prophecy turned out to be correct, for the vicar threw off his coat and joined the children; and he, the greatest child of them all, was soon thoroughly enjoying himself.

Nearly all the ladies were accommodated with seats, all save the Misses Sleek; they, poor girls, alas, could not sit. One can walk, flirt and dance in a _Merveilleuse_ costume, but it is next to impossible to sit down in it. They bore their sufferings with fort.i.tude, however, and, like the Spartan boy with his fox, concealed their agony.

And now the loud summons of a gong called everybody to the more serious business of the evening. A big marquee of striped canvas had been erected; the guests trooped into it. Soon all the little tables were filled, and everybody did full justice to the delicacies set before them. After standing in the sun a considerable time, the crowd was not sorry to eat and drink its fill. The eyes of bashful bucolic youth began to sparkle with the effects of Mr. Sleek's champagne; rosy cheeks grew rosier; even the vicar's wife unbent; that blighted maiden, Stacey Dodd, almost felt her hopes revive under the influence of _pate de foie gras_, and the immediate proximity of the squire. But, even in the country, people can't eat and drink for ever; and the marquee was at last deserted for the superior attractions of the dance.

For that evening, at least, cla.s.s distinctions were for once forgotten in King's Warren. Young Mr. Wurzel screwed his courage up so far as to ask Miss Warrender to dance with him, while the vicar took out the village schoolmistress, and Mrs. Dodd herself condescended to waltz with her host. But after her toes had been trodden on three times in a couple of rounds, she felt that she had already done more than enough; she danced no more, and relapsed into her old position of tutelary G.o.ddess, or guardian angel, to society in general. Connie and her sister were in great demand, and the cup of their happiness was filled to overflowing, each having danced with the real live lord. Young Wurzel having done enough for honour, did as engaged young men should, and stood up for dance after dance, as a matter of course, with the object of his affections.

"I can't dance as _she_ does," whispered the Village Rose in his ear; "but hold me tight and turn me round quickly, William," she added with a sigh of satisfaction.

The young farmer did as he was bid, and owing to their united exertions, they were soon both the colour of a couple of peonies.

The big conservatory had been judiciously only dimly lighted by a few Chinese lanterns, and by common consent had been given up to the lazy philanderers, who sought its leafy shades between the dances. Connie Sleek had volunteered to show the plants to Lord Spunyarn; they were both tired, and Connie in considerable trepidation managed to sit down in one of the dimly-lighted nooks, at his good-natured lords.h.i.+p's suggestion. Spunyarn, however, didn't make love to Connie, but the young lady felt that she had her chance, and she availed herself of it.

"I've been on my feet since four o'clock, Lord Spunyarn," she said, with a not unmusical sigh, "and I feel as if I could sit here for ever. Don't you?" she added.

What is an easy-natured young man to say under such circ.u.mstances? Given an exceptionally substantial collation, warm weather, some dozen round dances, and nothing particular to do, most men would have probably replied just as Lord Spunyarn did.

"With you, Miss Sleek? Well, do you know, I believe I could."

Connie Sleek's eyes sparkled like coals of fire. Visions of herself as Lady Spunyarn presented at Court on her marriage, and patronizing her elder sister, flitted through her young and innocent but giddy brain.

But his lords.h.i.+p's next remark rather damped her hopes; the descent from the sublime to the ridiculous is at times a little too sudden.

"By Jove!" said Spunyarn, "I should like to be one of these plants, and never move out of my pot, with nothing to think of but to look forward to the time when the gardener would come and syringe me. I wish he'd come and syringe me now, don't you? _They_ seem to be enjoying themselves, don't they? Uncommonly, by Jove!" he added, looking towards the farther end of the conservatory.

The guileless Connie saw a pink ma.s.s in the dim shadows opposite her.

The pink ma.s.s was evidently her sister. A small incandescent speck, which sparkled about a foot from where that sister's head would be, indicated her partner in enjoyment, also that the gentleman was smoking a cigarette.

"Why, it's Lottie. I wouldn't have her see me here for the world, Lord Spunyarn. She's a dreadful tease, and I should never hear the last of it," and here the young lady, exactly upon the principle of the ostrich, who is said to bury its head in the sand when it wishes to escape observation, unfolded an enormous blue fan which effectually screened both herself and her fellow criminal. If Spunyarn had sought a _tete-a-tete_, he had now got it with a vengeance.

Precisely the same feelings evidently animated the young lady in pink.

She, too, unfurled a big fan. The conversation of both couples for the next five minutes must have been interesting, for both fans, which were originally used merely as screens, were frequently violently agitated.

No doubt, the conversation of both pairs was instructive as well as amusing. Both ladies evidently enjoyed the unhoped-for but well-deserved rest. Had it not been for an unfortunate disturbing influence, who can tell but that Connie Sleek might have risen from the settee Lord Spunyarn's affianced bride. When even a worldly-wise young peer occupies the half of a seat only intended for one person for fully five minutes, behind a big fan, beside a becomingly-dressed young woman of undoubted crispness, and who is not troubled with bashfulness, who can say of what folly he may not be guilty?

But Providence willed it otherwise; for Mr. Sleek suddenly entered his conservatory in a state of considerable excitement.

"Gals," he said--when excited, Sleek _pere_ always addressed his daughters as "gals"--"where on earth is Mr. Haggard? I've been looking for him everywhere."

The two men rose to their feet; the one behind the pink fan, not much to Lord Spunyarn's surprise, turned out to be Haggard. But neither young lady moved; their dresses wouldn't let them, poor things.

"It's pa!" they both exclaimed in a sort of astonished chorus. "Oh, pa, it's so hot," said the elder girl, regaining her _aplomb_ at once. But Connie, more indignant, only sighed; she felt, poor girl, that she had had her chance and lost it. There are moments in girls' lives when even a father is _de trop_.

"What is it, old fellow?" cried Haggard with unusual condescension as he advanced.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, Mr. Haggard. Here's a telegram for you. I hope it's no bad news," he added.

The two girls, with considerable effort and many an ominous crack, covered, too, with rosy blushes, perhaps from their exertions, had now managed to regain their feet.

"Oh, I do hope it's nothing dreadful," said the elder girl with pretty sympathy.