Her Season in Bath Part 8

"Meat-pies are bad for sick folks," he said, shaking his head. "Very bad! He mustn't touch it."

"I'll keep the bun then, and p'raps that may tempt him with a drop of the wine you brought yesterday. But, Brian, he is very ill!"

"Well, eat your pie, and then we'll talk," the boy said.

"Not loud, or he may wake."

"I have something to tell you. There's a young gentleman who plays the violoncello grandly! He comes to the Octagon, you know, and I believe it was that very gentleman you saw at Mr. Herschel's yesterday. I'm going to hunt him up; and I'll bring him here, and he is certain to be good to you."

"I don't want to beg! Oh, Brian, I do not like to beg, and be spurned like Mr. Herschel spurned me yesterday!"

"He was in a hurry--he did not mean anything unkind. But I have got to sing a solo at a rehearsal, and I must be gone. Cheer up, Norah! What's all this rubbish?"

"It's the theatre dresses. Mrs. Betts, the keeper of the wardrobe, gave me the job. She will pay me, you know."

Brian nodded, and then left the room. His quaint little figure, in knee-breeches and swallow-tail short coat, with a wide crimped frill falling over the collar and the wrist-bands, would excite a smile now if seen in the streets of Bath.

Heavy leather shoes, tied with wide black ribbon, and dull yellow stockings, which met the legs of the breeches, and were fastened with buckles, completed his attire. But the fine open face, with its winning smile, and white forehead shaded by cl.u.s.tering curls, could not be disguised. Brian had a charm about him few people could resist.

He lived with his aunts, who were fas.h.i.+onable mantua-makers and milliners in John Street, and their rooms were frequented by many of the _elite_, who came to them to consult about the fas.h.i.+on and the mode, although the Miss Hoblyns' fame was not, in 1779, what it became when the d.u.c.h.ess of York consulted them as to her "top-gear" a few years later.

At this time they were young women, and had only laid the foundation of the large fortune which the patronage of the Royal d.u.c.h.ess is said to have built up at last. Brian Bellis was therefore lifted far above anything like poverty, and his aunts gave him a trifle for his pocket, as well as his schooling, and were proud of his prominence in the choir of the Octagon Chapel, where on Sundays the sisters always appeared in the latest fas.h.i.+ons. Indeed their dress on Sundays was eagerly scanned by ladies of the fas.h.i.+onable congregation as we might scan a fas.h.i.+on-book in these days.

Brian had seen Norah several times with a burden he thought too heavy for her to carry, and he had gallantly taken the basket from her hand and carried it for her.

Those were the days when there was money to pay for marketings, and before the accident happened which had laid her father low. But Brian was not a fair-weather friend, and that meat-pie and bun were not the first that he had bought out of his pocket-money for the now forlorn child.

He was running away to the rehearsal for next Sunday's music, when he jostled against Leslie Travers, who was coming out of the Pump Room.

Brian came to a dead stop, and said respectfully:

"Sir, there is a man and a little girl in great want in Crown Alley; the child was at Mr. Herschel's door last night."

"This is a lucky chance," Leslie Travers said, "for I am looking for Brian Bellis. Are you Brian Bellis? I know your face amongst the singers in the Octagon"--adding to himself, "a face not likely to forget."

It was lighted now with the fire of enthusiasm, as he said:

"Oh! sir; yes, I am Brian Bellis, and I can show you the way to Crown Alley; not now, for I have to be at the rehearsal. But, sir, I will come to the Pump Room this afternoon, and I will go with you then. I wish I could stay now, but I dare not. Mr. Herschel never overlooks absence from a rehearsal for Sunday."

"Very good; I will be there. Come to the lobby about four, and you will find me."

The Pump Room was full that afternoon.

Lady Betty was of course there, laying siege to the young Lord Basingstoke, and laughing her senseless little laugh, and flirting her fan as she lounged on a sofa, with the young man leaning over her.

Sir Maxwell Danby had had a twinge of gout, and was in an ill temper. He did not care two straws for Lady Betty, but he did not like to see his territory invaded, knowing, too, that a peer weighed heavily in the balance against a baronet.

Griselda had rebuffed him too decidedly for him to risk another public manifestation of her repugnance to him, and he watched her with his small close-set eyes with anything but a benign expression.

Griselda was surrounded by a mother and two smart, gawky daughters, who were strangers at Bath, and were of the veritable type of "country-cousins," which was so distinct a type in the society of those days. Now refinement, or what resembles it, has penetrated into country towns and villages, and the farmers' wives and daughters of to-day are more successful in presenting themselves in what is called "good society," than were the squires' and small landed proprietors' families when "the country" districts were separated by impa.s.sable roads from frequent intercourse with the gay world beyond.

These good people talked in loud resonant tones, with a decided provincial tw.a.n.g.

"La, ma! what a fine lady that is!" said one of the girls. "Did you ever see such a hat?"

"And look at the gentleman courting her!"

"Hush now, my dear! He is a lord, and the t'other is a baronet."

"Well, we _are_ in fine company. I wish we knew some of 'em. I say, ma----"

At this moment the very stout mamma dropped her fan, and Griselda, who was nearest to it, picked it up and handed it to her with a gracious smile.

"Thank you, my dear, I am sure. Won't you take a seat here?" she continued, gathering together the ample folds of her moreen pelisse trimmed with fur, and edging up to her daughters, who were on the same bench.

A quick glance showed Griselda that Sir Maxwell was meditating a raid on her, so she accepted the offer, and almost at the same moment the Marchioness of Lothian appeared, and Sir Maxwell advanced to her, bowed low, and led her to a seat.

At least he would show Griselda, that if she chose to slight him, a live Marchioness was of a different mind.

The band now struck up, and Mrs. Greenwood beat time with her large foot, and nodded her head till the plume of feathers in her hat waved like the plumes of a palm-tree in the tropics.

Her daughters did not allow the band to hinder their remarks on the company, as some promenaded up and down, and others reclined, like Lady Betty, on the crimson-covered lounges.

Presently Griselda received a nudge from one of the young ladies' rather sharp elbows:

"Pray, miss, who's that fine gentleman walking with? He is looking this way. Bab, don't giggle, I think he was speaking of us."

"Who is the lady?"

"The Marchioness of Lothian," Griselda said.

"Lor', ma; do you hear?" Miss Barbara exclaimed, leaning across Griselda, "that's a Marchioness!"

It really gave these good people intense pleasure to be in the same room with those who rejoiced in t.i.tles. It gave Mrs. Greenwood a sense of added importance, and made her even dream of the possibility of some lord falling in love with Bab. Thus a return to the remote country town of Widdicombe Episopi, where Mr. Greenwood farmed his own acres, and lived in a house which had come down to the Greenwoods from the time of Charles II., would be a triumphal return indeed.

"I shouldn't wonder, miss, if you was a t.i.tled lady," Mrs. Greenwood said, as the music stopped, and conversation in more subdued tones was possible.

Griselda smiled.

"No, I have no t.i.tle of honour," she said.

"Ah, well! you _look_ as if you might have, and that's something. I do like to see a genteel air; as I say to Bab and Bell, it's half the battle--it's more than a pretty face. We are come to Bath for Bell's health. She has been so peaky and puling of late. Do you take the waters, miss?"

"No," Griselda said. "I am quite well."

"Then you came for pleasure?"

"Yes," Griselda replied.