The Letters of her Mother to Elizabeth Part 12

Just as Blanche and I were about to go to lunch, the Vicomte arrived. He looked immaculate and quite good-looking for a Frenchman; he had been inspecting automobiles the whole morning, and he was as hungry as a lion. We had lunch together in a corner, where we could see everybody; after lunch, the Vicomte had an engagement at the French Emba.s.sy, but he said he would be back to dine with us, and take us to a music hall. As the weather had mended, I said I would go to Alice Hughes to have my photograph taken, as I should have to pay if I did not keep the appointment; Blanche went to Marshall & Snelgrove to spend the afternoon. While I was waiting at the "studio," old Lady Blubber came in; she showed me her proofs, and was delighted with them. They didn't look the least bit like her; all the flabby rings under her eyes were smoothed out, and her mouth was made straight and the lump taken off the bridge of her nose. She said she should order three dozen, that they were the best likeness she had ever had taken! After that I went to a tea-shop in Bond Street, and came back to the Carlton to find that Therese had taken the afternoon out. As I can't, as you know, do the slightest thing for myself, I was absolutely helpless, so I just got into a wrapper, and read "Gyp" in front of the fire. By and bye Therese came; she was spattered with mud as if she had been spending the day in Fleet Street, and she brought with her a strong odour of malt.

{_Therese Takes an Afternoon out_}

When I scolded her, ever so gently, for going out without leave, she flew into a rage, and wanted to know if I wished a month's notice. Then she began to weep and pity herself, and her cheeks were the colour of lobsters, and she behaved very strangely. I told her to get my bath ready, and she fell asleep while it was filling, and the water overflowed and did no end of damage. I got very angry, and accused her of being drunk, which she indignantly denied, saying she had only been to see her mother who lives in Soho. I sent her to bed after that, and Blanche laced me up and did my hair, but I felt like a fright for the rest of the night.

{_Goes to the Theatre_}

Dinner was rather tame, as there were so few people in the room, but of course one can't expect the season to last all the year round. The Vicomte had, after great difficulty, managed to get seats for "Mr. and Mrs. Daventry." Between the acts we heard people discussing who wrote it, and in fact, it is as much of an enigma as the authors.h.i.+p of "An Englishwoman's Love Letters." Blanche thinks the same person wrote both.

The Vicomte thought the play very "polite," and was astonished that it had created such a sensation. He said we ought to see "La Dame aux Maximes" and "Demie-Vierge," both now running in Paris. We all agreed that the play was thoroughly representative of Society, but the unnatural parts were Daventry's suicide and the elopement of his wife with Ashurst. People don't do these things in our set. The company was excellent, and Blanche and I both wished we were Mrs. Pat Campbell to have love made to us so delightfully every night by young Du Maurier.

Even the Vicomte said they didn't do it better in France, and he is sure Du Maurier did it so well, because he was half French.

{_Supper at the Savoy_}

We had supper at the Savoy. The usual sight. At a table near us was an actress _tres decolletee_; six of our _jeunesse frivole_ were squabbling for her smiles. We left before the lights were turned out, because the people behave so badly in the corridor. The Vicomte leaves for Paris to-morrow; he is so much nicer in England than abroad.--Your dearest Mamma.

LETTER x.x.x

THE CARLTON HOTEL 17th November

DARLING ELIZABETH:

{_Elizabeth's Engagement_}

Hail, Marchioness of Valmond, all hail! Your letter gave me the greatest possible pleasure. You have made the match I desired for you, and I do not know who deserves the greatest credit for it--you who hooked this fine fish, Octavia who helped you to land it, or I who taught you how to fish, and then sent you to the pool where my lord trout disported himself. But apart from chaffing, Elizabeth, I am sincerely glad for you, because Valmond really seems to love you, and as men go, he will make you a good husband. As soon as your visit to Octavia is over, you must come straight to me; we will go to Paris for the trousseau and to Rome for the winter; a little delay and absence will do Valmond good, and then, darling, we will come to England and start the season with your _noces_, which shall be done as befits a Marquis and Marchioness of Valmond.

He wrote me to-day, as did Octavia; I am replying by this same post to both. a.s.sure them both of my unfaltering affection.

I had intended going back to Monk's Folly, but, since the news in your letter, I have decided to stop in town till you come in a day or two.

Blanche sends her congratulations; she has gone home, as Daisy wanted a rest. Mrs. Blaine is on the high road to recovery, and they will most likely go to Rome with us.

{_The Bazaar_}

Blanche left last night, after going with me to the Bazaar for Distressed Gentlewomen. It was held at Mauve House, lent by the Duke of Mauve, and was under the patronage of the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess, but organised by Mr. Albert D. Beake, editor and proprietor of "White Lies,"

said to be the most successful of all the Society papers. The Bazaar was opened by Royalty, and Mr. Beake must have cleared a large sum for the Distressed Gentlewomen as well as advertised his paper and juggled himself and wife into Society for once at any rate. His wife is the woman I wrote you about the other day, who came to the Carlton to lunch, and talked so much about Society. I said at the time she was an editor's wife. Mr. Beake was everywhere, but his wife had a stall with the d.u.c.h.ess of Mauve, who looked awfully bored.

{_Lady Hildegarde_}

One of the features of the bazaar was the Stage Stall. Mr. Beake had got most of the best known actors and actresses to take part. It was a huge success; the people were three deep round the stall, crus.h.i.+ng to see the professionals; they sold everything. It was rather odd to observe the stall immediately next to the stage one. Lady Hildegarde Merrioneath presided, and was a.s.sisted by some young and pretty girls. The crowd did not know who they were, and they hardly sold a thing. Lady Hildegarde, who is the most refined and aristocratic woman I know, with that mixture of Vere de Vere and sweetness which so often marks our best born women, stood in the back of her stall, looking rather amused at the complete desertion of it. Here was the type of the real aristocrat, the real great lady, and the _parvenus_ couldn't see it! I felt like telling the people that they were blind and fools, that if they had any taste, any appreciation, any refinement, all the other stalls would be deserted to overwhelm Lady Hildegarde's. Mr. Beake, running about with a china pig in his hands, which he was trying to raffle, noticed that Lady Hildegarde was not a success, and he actually had the impudence to patronise her. I suppose his vulgar commercial head was turned with the thought that the bazaar was his work, and that his wife was side by side with a real live d.u.c.h.ess. Lady Hildegarde replied with some conventional remark, and her smile seemed to me more amused than ever, as if it were all very funny and not worth being angry about. For, after all, she was Lady Hildegarde Merrioneath, and Mr. Beake was only Mr. Beake, and his actors and actresses stars whose lights went out. I shall never forget the picture Lady Hildegarde made in her deserted stall, side by side with the crowded booth of the actors. It made me think of the French Revolution, and the n.o.blesse going to the guillotine in the tumbrils, so far above her surroundings, was Lady Hildegarde.

{_The Existing Regime_}

A little more pus.h.i.+ng and shoving and playing the "Charity trick," and Mr. and Mrs. Beake will be like the Vane-Corduroys, if, for all I know, they are not already _range_. But, as Blanche said, the sentiments that pervade the mind of Mr. Beake and his kidney are the mainstay of our national life and the existing regime, and it doesn't do to guard the portals to the high born too closely. As a future marchioness, I pray you shudder when you read the Sunday papers at Chevenix Castle with the detailed account of Mr. Beake's bazaar.

Blanche and I bought nothing, nor did the few of our set who were there, which as usual left the charity to the crowd.

I saw Blanche off at Paddington, and wished I had decided to go with her; you need not be surprised if you get a telegram from me to-morrow to say I have gone home. It is wretchedly dull by myself, and I can't take Therese with me everywhere; besides I have to come up to my room early, as it is not proper for me to sit in the public rooms by myself at night.

{_Talks of Marrying again_}

Therese, in brus.h.i.+ng out my hair to-night, asked me why I didn't marry again; she said that she knew men admired me, for one of the Vane-Corduroys' footmen at Shotover had told her I was a woman to drive men mad. Therese of course gauges the value of men's admiration from the footman cla.s.s, but I think I have not yet got to the shady side of beauty, and that perhaps it is just as well Valmond saw you before he met me. As money will never be a consideration, and I have social position, and as I am not yet forty-five, I shall not marry for love, so I shall keep my freedom, which I enjoy so much.

Once again, my darling, I congratulate you, and wish you all happiness.

Good-night.--Your dearest Mamma.

LETTER x.x.xI

MONK'S FOLLY, 19th November

DARLING ELIZABETH:

{_Home again_}

Simply couldn't endure it in town in November by myself, so came home to-day. Yesterday, after Blanche left, I counted up the things I could do by myself in order to kill time. In spite of London being so big, there are so few things one can do by oneself to amuse oneself. The early post brought me the proofs from Alice Hughes; Paquin comes out splendidly, but I look silly in the one in which I am standing near a bal.u.s.trade, holding a sheaf of wheat. I have ordered a dozen of myself in a garden, under a lovely old tree, with a stuffed greyhound at my side. It looks awfully natural, and you would never dream I was more than twenty. I thought the proofs had been sent me by mistake, till I recognised my frock, and then when you look at them a long time, you see how really like you they are. They are just the thing to send one's acquaintances.

{_Lady Sophia Dashton's Novel_}

The morning was so foggy that I couldn't go out, so I put on a very _chic_ costume, and sat in the gla.s.s-roof place which they call a "garden," and read Lady Sophia Dashton's novel. It is all about the Roman Emperors and the catacombs, and the love of a princess and a slave. The language is so beautiful, and the descriptions are wonderful: they seem as if they would never end, and you forget all about the story. The book has been well reviewed, and Lady Sophia has taken up literature seriously. I have heard she is making a great deal of money out of it. Mr. Beake will publish anything she writes--all the ill.u.s.trated papers have got her portrait this week--and there are stories of hers now running in two of the leading Society papers. She began to write for pleasure, but has received such encouragement that she decided to win the laurel. Everybody in Society has bought her book.

The whole family are talented. Her father's speeches in the House of Lords on the London drains have been edited at 7s. 6d., with the family arms on the cover; the _Times_ said they had the "ring of Burke in them," and Lady Sophia's brother's "Poems in odd Moments," which have appeared in the "Temple of Folly," are to be brought out in book form. I forget the name of Lady Sophia's novel; Mrs. Jack Strawe, in recommending it to me the day of Miss Parker's wedding, said she didn't know the name, and that very few people did, but when ordering it, it was only necessary to mention Lady Sophia Dashton's name, and the bookseller would know what you meant.

I sent Therese to Mudie's for it, and told her to ask for any other books that were being widely read, as I like to be posted on what is being talked of. She brought back somebody's work on Aristotle, with an introduction by the Duke of Mauve, and Mrs. Katurah P. Glob's "There is no Death." Mrs. Glob is a Christian Scientist, and states in her preface that she is the seventh daughter of a seventh son. I could only get as far as what she had to say on vaccination; I make out that she preferred to "render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's," rather than to incur the penalty of the law.

{_Dry Books_}

After struggling the whole morning with Glob and Aristotle and Lady Sophia, and wondering how learned people were, and how they found time to acquire so much knowledge, I had lunch. Creme velours, sole princesse, noisettes Souvaroff, pommes nouvelles, etc., with Felix Boubel, carte d'or, took the dry taste of the books completely out of my mouth.

Having spent such a morning improving my mind at the Carlton, I thought I deserved some relaxation in the afternoon.

{_At the Aquarium_}

_Que faire?_ Should I consult Salambo, the well-known Oriental lady in Bond Street, as to the future? Should I go to Exeter Hall and observe the Ranter on his native heath? Should I go to St. James Hall and revel in Alice Gome's superb voice? I did none of these things; I took Therese with me and drove to that popular place of amus.e.m.e.nt, the Aquarium, as I had never been there, and I wanted to see the fishes. Alas! How sadly we English take our pleasures! The only fish at the Aquarium are some monsters of _papier mache_ and a lonely _piscis vulgaris_ condemned to solitary confinement in a slimy tank. Therese thought she would like to see the sword-swallowers, so I took seats, and while we waited, such a funny man told us he would impersonate celebrities in quick change. He did a lot of men with beards and long hair, and held up bits of cardboard to let us know who they were, and he called himself Meyerbeer and Rossini, and, as Therese said, without the cardboard you wouldn't have known which was which. Then he did Lord Roberts and Baden-Powell and the Prince of Wales; and when I saw him put on his Lord Roberts' wig and jerk the antimaca.s.sar off an arm-chair, I knew that he would impersonate the Queen. And he did, and you can have no idea how grotesque it was, and the curtain dropped and n.o.body applauded.

The sword-swallower did some amazing things, and smacked his lips, as if the swords tasted nice. His wife swallowed an electric light, and then he told us of a trick he could do which no one had ever done before in England, namely, to swallow a sword and hang weights on to the hilt, but he didn't do it, as he said he had a sore throat. I wouldn't wait for the lady who dives from a trapeze into a tank, or drop pennies into slots, or have my photo taken while I waited, though I let Therese have six shots at a Boer behind a kopje in the shooting gallery, but she nearly killed the attendant after the third shot.

{_A Rustic Footman_}

Therese was so frightened, and began to scream in French, that we had a crowd round us in no time, and a policeman came up and took our names.

After that I decided the Carlton was the best place for me, till I could get my things packed and go home. When I got back to the hotel, I found some letters and a ten of diamonds on the table in my room. At a loss to know what significance it could have, I asked the porter how it came into my room. He said it had been left by a footman, but I was none the wiser till this morning, when I received a note from the Honourable Mrs.

Maxolme, explaining that her footman was a simple honest rustic whom she had brought up from the country with her, and who was new to his duties.

She had spent the afternoon paying calls, and before starting had explained that it was merely a case of leaving cards, and she told the youth to take charge of them and bring a sufficient number. She had paid all the calls, when she suddenly remembered I was stopping at the Carlton and she drove there. The footman gave the card to the porter, and then Mrs. Maxolme drove to a house where she wished to leave two cards, and called the footman and told him. But it seems he had exhausted all he had brought, and horrified Mrs. Maxolme by saying that he had none left, as he had only brought from the ace to the king of diamonds. Poor Mrs. Maxolme has been writing to everybody since to explain, and as she simply could not write personally so many letters, she wrote one and had the rest type-written.