Chapter Twelve
Letter No. 22
[Tuesday, 19th June?]
Dear Julia,
How depressing it is, to have all one’s worst prognostications come to pass; it is enough to make one give up the role of prophetess altogether. I did, indeed, awaken with all [the] marks of a dreadful cold, my throat so painful that I could find no comfort in anything, save the thought that I would at least be allowed to savor my misery without the strain of having to appear anything but bad-tempered. Nell does not regard my grumblings, and all the rest of the servants stay away, having no wish to be given a cold, even if it is a superior sort of cold, that does not disdain to attach itself to a daughter of the House of Northcott. My mother, of course, gave her directions to me through the door, advising me to take some lumps of sugar dipped in brandy if it grew worse. I wondered briefly if I could prevail upon her to take a message to my allies, as I knew Mrs. Warren would certainly worry if I did not make my usual appearance, but my mother was gone before I could decide on the attempt. Afterward I was glad she had not linger[ed], as I realized how silly it was for me to suppose that she would not be importuned by her court almost the moment she entered the pump-room alone, or that she would hesitate to make known the reason for my absence, with a suitable display of maternal anxiety. Sadly, a headcold is not dramatic enough to agitate even a mother’s tender heart for long; but there was always the possibility that she could persuade herself that I suffered from a hint of fever: judged through a door, as it was, my condition might have been dire indeed.
This is all I mean to write now, as I have really nothing further to say of this utterly wasted day, except that I am glad it is over. Perhaps Mrs. Warren will have found a way to tell Mrs. Barr of my state, and she will tell Miss Barr, who will send me a note tomorrow, and brighten my wretched existence. Or perhaps a long letter [from] my dear friend Julia will arrive instead, which will brighten it to an infinitely great[er] degree, even as its amusing descriptions of simple country pleasures rouses me to new, sharper pangs of longing to be home, and able to walk over to Merriweather whenever I please. How frustrating and unsatisfactory a thing, is a friendship composed of paper, ink, and sealing wax!
(Please tell your mother, that Nell appears to have taken her as a model for how one behaves toward an invalid, and has been cosseting me and speaking to me in calm and sensible tones, no matter how cross and fretful I may be. Some of her remedies have even proved a little efficacious, and since she tells me that the one with the Tamarind water is “Lady Frances’s own mixture”, I have to render to your mother double thanks, for sharing with Nell both her example and her receipt.)
The next evening.
My throat is somewhat improved today, since I obediently added the application of a flannel dipped in hartshorn to my nightly preparations. In addition, I have been able to read a number of Lyrical Ballads without a violent headache coming on, though this was small comfort, as I was forced into this unprofitable activity, from having no missive from Miss Parry to engage my attention, and solicit a reply—and only one page from Miss Barr. This last I received solely because of the thoughtfulness of Mrs. Warren, who not only encouraged her to write it, but actually undertook to see that it was delivered to me without any inconvenience to my mother. The contents of Miss Barr’s note were as follows:
Yesterday she was at last well enough to return to the public rooms, and inspired by the prospect of seeing me again, she ventured forth, only to be nearly crushed by disappointment and remorse, when she was apprised of my absence, and the reason for it. Fortunately, though her contrition may have been acute, it was not effusive—perhaps because of a shortage of paper—and having disposed of it in the first sentence, she then spent the two remaining paragraphs on the much more interesting intelligence, that she had spent the first part of the morning with Mrs. Warren and Mrs. Joles at their insistence, and that Mrs. Joles had just persuaded them that they should all go out in search of pastries, when Miss Barr had looked up, and to her astonishment seen her mother approaching, in company with ‘a strange gentleman in a blue coat.’ And yes, my dear Julia, this gentlemen turned out to be a friend of Mrs. Warren’s named Grayson.
Miss Barr thought Mr. Grayson—I collect that the ‘strange’ was merely in reference to her ignorance of his identity—very pleasant and agreeable, and when he learned from Mrs. Warren of Miss Northcott’s indisposition, he said he was very sorry to hear of it, and that his aunt would be similarly afflicted by the news, as she had been ‘very favorably impressed with Miss Northcott when they met.’ This aunt, Miss Barr was then astonished to discover, was at present playing cards with Mrs. Smithton, having persuaded her to engage in a game of piquet. According to Mr. Grayson, his aunt had very recently developed an irrational passion for cards, and as she played poorly and lost well, it had been suggested to her by more than one person that she might find herself most welcomed at Mrs. Smithton’s table.
Mrs. Barr had uttered a small laugh at this remark, and afterward raised a hand to her mouth, looking a trifle startled and alarmed, as if the sound had been both unexpected and involuntary; she then blushed and began immediately to speak of how very kind Mrs. Grayson had been to her. Miss Barr said she, too, had been astonished by her mother’s laughter, as it had been many months since her mother had found anything in her life amusing enough to win from her more than the briefest of smiles.
The interesting portion of the note ended here, leaving me almost deranged with impatience to rise from my bed and seek out more information. I eventually calmed myself with more Ballads, though not before I had reread Miss Barr’s account three or four more times, and extracted from it two points that had not at first struck me: 1) that she is entirely too susceptible to astonishment—what emotion is left to her if some truly shocking incident were to occur? And 2) Mrs. Warren is apparently capable of a deal more discretion than I had ever suspected, for she seems never even to have hinted to Miss Barr, of any connection between myself, and the Graysons’ sudden entry into the lives of Mrs. Smithton and Mrs. Barr. This was a disturbing discovery, for it has never been Mrs. Warren’s discretion that I valued; indeed, quite the opposite.
Ah well, one can hope that her silence on the subject was a mere aberration, and that in all other circumstances her tongue will run on as freely as ever.
Yours, improved in both body and spirit, Ann
PS. You will doubtless have noted, that Miss Barr was astonishingly reticent on the subject of Mr. Grayson’s appearance, choosing instead, most commendably and unnaturally, to concentrate upon those incorporeal virtues, which the homeliest of gentleman might also possess. Lest you assume from this that she is either incurably noble-minded, or deficient in taste, let me share with you my own conclusion on the matter, which is, that in all likelihood her reserve was entirely due to the fact, that she never looked at him, except from a considerable distance, at which point he appeared to her only as ‘a stranger in a blue coat.’ Once he began to approach near enough that she might have been able to distinguish his features, her shyness would have prevented her from raising her eyes much above the height of his upper waistcoat button—or at least, such has been my observation, whenever I was with her in the presence of a gentleman, whatever may have been his age, or personal attributes.
PPS. Do not imagine that because I only mentioned en passant the fact that I received no letter from you today, that I have forgotten this distressing circumstance. I forgive you for it; but be warned, I shall expect a manuscript tomorrow.