CHAPTER XVI.
A BRITISH MERCHANT.
Soon after four that afternoon, Davis's tumble-down cab might have beenseen standing outside the gate of the Gray House. Immediately afterwardsthe door was opened, and Mrs. Meadowsweet, in her rose-colored satin,with a black lace shawl, and a bonnet to match made her appearance.
She stepped into the cab, and was followed by Beatrice, Jane, the littlemaid, handing in after them a small band-box, which contained the captrimmed with Honiton lace.
Mrs. Meadowsweet's cheeks were slightly flushed, and her good-humoredeyes were shining with contentment and satisfaction.
"Oh, there's Mrs. Morris!" she said to Beatrice. "I'd better tell herwhere we are going. She's always so interested in the Manor folks.Davis, stop the cab a minute! Call to him, Bee. Da-vis!"
The cap stopped, and Mrs. Morris, eager and bustling, drew nigh.
"How are you, dear?" she said. "How do you do, Beatrice? Isn't it badfor you, dear love," turning again to the elder lady, "to have thewindow of the fly open? Although it is summer, and the doctor makes afuss about the thermometer being over eighty in the shade, I know for apositive fact that the wind is east, and very treacherous."
"I don't take cold easily, Jessie," replied Mrs. Meadowsweet. "No, Iprefer not to have the windows up, poor Bee would be over hot. We mustthink of the young things, mustn't we, Jessie? Well, you'll wonder why Iam in my best toggery! Bee and I are off to the Manor, no less, I assureyou. And to dinner, too! There's news for you."
"Well, I'm sure!" responded Mrs. Morris. Envy was in every tone of hervoice, and on every line of her face. As usual, when excited, she foundher voice, which came out quite thin and sharp. "Well, I'm sure," sherepeated. "I wish you all luck, Lucy. Not that it's such acondescension, oh, by no means. The doctor said the bedrooms were veryshabby in their furniture, and such a meal as those poor girls wereeating for breakfast. He said his heart quite ached for them. Nothingbut stale bread, and the name of butter, and tea like water bewitched.He said he'd rather never have a child than see her put down to suchfare."
"Dear, dear, you don't say so," answered Mrs. Meadowsweet. "Bee, mylove, we must have those nice girls constantly to the Gray House, andfeed them up all we can. I'm very sorry to hear your news, Jessie. ButI'm afraid we can't wait to talk any longer now. Nothing could have beenmore affable than Mrs. Bertram's letter, sent down by special messenger,and written in a most stylish hand."
"You haven't got it in your pocket, I suppose?" asked Mrs. Morris.
"To be sure I have. You'd like to see it; well, here it is. You can letme have it back to-morrow. Now, good-bye. Drive on, Davis."
The cab jumbled and rattled over the paving stones, and Mrs. Meadowsweetlay back against the cushions, and fanned her hot face.
"I wonder if it's true about those poor girls being so badly fed," sheinquired of her daughter. "Dear, dear, and there's nothing young thingswant like generous living. Well, it's grievous. When I think of thequarts of milk I used to put into you, Bee, and the pounds and pounds ofthe best beef jelly--jelly that you could fling over the house, forthickness and solidity, and the fowls I had boiled down for you afterthe measles--who's that coming down the street, Bee? Look, my love, I'ma bit short-sighted. Oh, it's Miss Peters, of course. How are you, MissPeters? Hot day, isn't it? Bee and I are off to the Manor--specialinvitation--letter--I lent it to Mrs. Morris. Oh, yes, to dinner. I havemy best cap in this band-box. What do you say? You'll look into-morrow--glad to see you. Drive on, Davis."
"Really, mother, if you stop to speak to every one we won't get to theManor to-night," gently expostulated Beatrice.
"Well, well, my love, but we don't go to see the Bertrams every day, andwhen one feels more pleased and gratified than ordinary, it's nice toget the sympathy of one's neighbors. I do think the people at Northburyare very sympathetic, don't you, Bee?"
"Yes, mother, I think they are," responded the daughter.
"And she took care not to tell her parent of any little lurking doubtswhich might come to her now and then with regard to the sincerity ofthose kind neighbors, who so often partook of the hospitality of theGray House."
When they reached the lodge, old Mrs. Tester came out to open the gates.She nodded and smiled to Beatrice who had often been very kind to her,and Mrs. Meadowsweet bent forward in the cab to ask very particularlyabout the old woman's rheumatism. It was at that moment that Beatricecaught sight of a face framed in with jasmine and Virginia creeper,which looked at her from out of an upper casement window in Mrs.Tester's little lodge. The face with its half-tamed expression, theeager scrutiny in the eyes, which were almost too bold in theirbrightness, startled Beatrice and gave her a sense of uneasiness. Theface came like a flash to the window and then disappeared, and at thatsame moment Davis started the cab forward with a jerk. It was to thecredit of both Davis and his sorry-looking steed that they should make agood show in the avenue. For this they had been reserving themselves,and they went along now in such a heedless and almost frantic style thatMrs. Meadowsweet had her bonnet knocked awry, and the band-box whichcontained the precious cap absolutely dashed to the floor of the cab.
Beatrice had therefore no time to make any remark with regard to Mrs.Tester's unwonted visitor.
"This is delightful," said Mrs. Meadowsweet, as she clasped herhostess's hand, in the long, cool, refined-looking drawing-room. "I'mvery glad to come, and it's most kind of you to invite me. Dear, dear,what a cool room! Wonderful! How do you manage this kind of effect, Mrs.Bertram? Dearie me--_very_ pretty--_very_ pretty indeed."
Here Mrs. Meadowsweet sank down on one of the sofas, and gazed round herwith the most genuine delight.
"Where's Bee?" she said. "She ought to look round this room and takehints from it. We spent a lot of money over our drawing-room, but itnever looks like this. Where are you, Beatrice?"
"Never mind now," responded Mrs. Bertram, whose voice, in spite ofherself, had to take an extra well-bred tone when she spoke to Mrs.Meadowsweet. Miss Beatrice has just gone out with my girls, and Ithought you and I would have tea here, and afterwards sit under theshade of that oak-tree and watch the children at their game."
"Very nice, I'm sure," responded Mrs. Meadowsweet. She spread out herfat hands on her lap and untied her bonnet-strings. "It's hot," shesaid. "Do you find the dog-days try you very much, Mrs. Bertram?"
"I don't feel the heat particularly," said Mrs. Bertram. She was anxiousto assume a friendly tone, but was painfully conscious that her voicewas icy.
"Well, that's lucky for you," remarked the visitor. "I flush up a gooddeal. Beatrice never does. She takes after her father; he waswonderfully cool, poor man. Have you got a newspaper of any sort about,that you'd lend me, Mrs. Bertram?"
"Oh, certainly," answered Mrs. Bertram, in some astonishment. "Here isyesterday's _Times_."
"I'll make it into a fan, if you have no objection. Now, that's better.Dear, dear, what a nice room!"
Mrs. Bertram fidgetted on her chair. She wondered how many more timesMrs. Meadowsweet would descant on the elegancies of her drawing-room.She need not have feared. Whatever Mrs. Meadowsweet was she was honest;and at that very moment her eyes lighted on the felt which covered thefloor. Mrs. Meadowsweet had never been trained in a school of art, but,as she said to herself, no one knew better what was what than she did;above all, no one knew better what was _comme il faut_ in thematter of carpets. Meadowsweet, poor man, had been particular about hiscarpets. There were grades in carpets as in all other things, and felt,amongst these grades, ranked low, very low indeed. Kidderminster mightbe permitted in bedrooms, although Mrs. Meadowsweet would scorn to seeit in any room in _her_ house, but Brussels was surely the onlycorrect carpet for people of medium means to cover their drawing-roomfloors with. The report that Mrs. Bertram's drawing-room wore a mantleof felt had reached Mrs. Meadowsweet's ears. She had emphaticallydeclined to believe in any such calumny, and yet now her own eyes saw,her own good-humored, kind eyes, that wished to think well of all theworld, reste
d on that peculiar greeny-brown felt, which surely must havecome to its present nondescript hue by the aid of many suns. The wholeroom looked immediately almost sordid to the poor woman, and she felt nolonger anxious for Beatrice to appreciate its beauties.
At that moment Clara appeared with the tea. Now, if there was a thingMrs. Meadowsweet was particular about it was her tea; she revelled inher tea; she always bought it from some very particular and exclusivehouse in London. She saw that it was served strong and hot; she wasparticular to have it made with what she called the "first boil"of the water. Water that had boiled for five minutes made, in Mrs.Meadowsweet's opinion, contemptible tea. Then she liked it wellsweetened, and flavored with very rich cream. Such a cup of tea, as sheexpressed it, set her up for the day. The felt carpet had given Mrs.Meadowsweet a kind of shock, but all her natural spirits revived whenshe saw the tea equipage. She approved of the exquisite eggshell china,and noted with satisfaction that the teapot was really silver.
"What a refreshment a cup of tea is!" exclaimed the good woman. "Nothinglike it, as I dare say you know, Mrs. Bertram."
Mrs. Bertram smiled languidly, and raising the teapot, prepared to pourout a cup for her guest. She was startled by a noise, which soundedsomething like a shout, coming from the fat lady's lips.
"Did you speak?" she asked.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bertram, but don't--it's cruel."
"Don't do what?"
"The tea isn't drawn. Let it rest a bit--why, it's the color of straw."
"This peculiar tea is always of a light color," replied Mrs. Bertram,her sallow face growing darkly red. "I hope you will appreciate it; butperhaps it is a matter of training. It is, however, I assure you, quitethe vogue among my friends in London."
Mrs. Meadowsweet felt crushed. She received the cup of flavorless,half-cold liquid presented to her in a subdued spirit, sipped it withthe air of a martyr, and devoutly wished herself back again in the GrayHouse.
Mrs. Bertram knew perfectly well that her guest thought the teadetestable and the cake stale. It was as necessary for people of Mrs.Meadowsweet's class to go in for strong tea and high living as it wasfor people of Mrs. Bertram's class to aspire to faded felt in the matterof carpets, and water bewitched in the shape of tea. Each after herkind, Mrs. Bertram murmured. But as she had an object in view it wasnecessary for her to earn the good-will of the well-to-do widow.
Accordingly, when the slender meal came to an end, and the two ladiesfound themselves under the shelter of the friendly oak-tree, matterswent more smoothly. Mrs. Bertram put her guest into an excellent humorby bestowing some cordial praise upon Beatrice.
"She is not like you," continued the good lady, with some naivete.
"No, no," responded the gratified mother. "And sorry I'd be to thinkthat Beatrice took after me. I'm commonplace. Mrs. Bertram. I have nofigure to boast of, nor much of a face either. What _he_ saw tolike in me, poor man, has puzzled my brain a score and score of times.Kind and affectionate he ever was, but he couldn't but own, as own I didfor him, that I was a cut below him. Beatrice features her father, Mrs.Bertram, both in mind and body."
Mrs. Bertram murmured some compliment about the mother's kind heart, andthen turned to a subject which is known to be of infallible interest toall ladies. She spoke of her ailments.
Mrs. Meadowsweet beamed all over when this subject came on the_tapis_. She even laid her fat hand on Mrs. Bertram's lap.
"Now, _did_ you ever try Eleazer Macjone's Pills of Life?" sheasked. "I always have a lot of them in the house; and I assure you, Mrs.Bertram, they are worth all the doctor's messes put together; for yearsI have taken the pills, and it's a positive fact that they're made tofit the human body all round. Headaches--it's wonderful what Macjone'spills do for headaches. If you have a low, all-overish feeling,Macjone's pills pick you up directly. They are wonderful, too, forcolds; and if there's any infection going they nip it in the bud. I wishyou would try them, Mrs. Bertram; I know they'd pull you round, I'llsend for a box for you with pleasure when I'm having my next chest oftea down from London. I always get my tea from London. I think what theysell here is little better than dishwater; so I say to Beatrice, 'Bee,my love, whatever happens, we'll get our tea from town."
"And your pills from town, too," responded Mrs. Bertram. "I think youare a very wise woman, Mrs. Meadowsweet. How well your daughter playstennis. Yes, she is decidedly graceful. I have heard of many pills in myday, and patent pills invariably fit one all round, but I have never yetheard of Eleazer Macjone's Life Pills. You look very well, Mrs.Meadowsweet, so I shall recommend them in future. For my part, I thinkthe less drugs one swallows the better."
"You are quite right, Mrs. Bertram, quite right. Except for the pills Inever touch medicine. And now I'd like to give you a wrinkle. I wouldn'tspend much money, if I were you, on Dr. Morris. He's all fads, poor man,all fads. He speaks of the Life Pills as poison, and his terms--I haveover and over told his wife, Jessie Morris, that her husband's terms arepreposterous."
"Then I am afraid he will not suit me," replied Mrs. Bertram, "I cannotafford to meet preposterous terms, for I, alas! am poor."
"Dear, dear, I'm truly sorry to hear it, Mrs. Bertram. And with yourfine young family, too. That lad of yours is as handsome a young fellowas I've often set eyes on. And your girls, particularly Miss Catherine,are specially genteel."
"A great many people consider Catherine handsome," replied her mother,who began to shiver inwardly under the infliction of Mrs. Meadowsweet'stalk. She tried to add something about Loftus, but for some reason orother words failed her. After a moment's pause she resumed:
"Only those who know what small means are can understand the constantself-denial they inflict.
"And that's true enough, Mrs. Bertram."
"Ah, Mrs. Meadowsweet, you must be only assuming this sympathetic tone.For, if all reports are true, you and Miss Beatrice are wealthy."
Mrs. Meadowsweet's eyes beamed lovingly on her hostess.
"We have enough and to spare," she responded. "Thank the good God wehave enough and to spare. Meadowsweet saw to that, poor man."
"Your husband was in business?" gently in quired Mrs. Bertram.
"He kept a shop, Mrs. Bertram. I'm the last to deny it. He kept a good,thriving draper's shop in the High Street. The best of goods he had, andhe sold fair. I used to help him in those days. I used to go to Londonto buy the Spring fashions, and pretty things I'd buy, uncommonlypretty, and the prettiest of all, you may be sure, for little Beatrice.Ah! you could get a stylish hat in Northbury in those days. Poor man, hehad the custom of all the country round. There was no shop likeMeadowsweet's. Well, he made his fortune in it, and he died full ofmoney and much respected. What could man do more?"
"And your daughter Beatrice resembles her father?"
"She does, Mrs. Bertram. He was a very genteel man--a cut above me, as Isaid before. He was fond of books, and but for me maybe he'd have gotinto trade in the book line. But I warned him off that shoal. I said tohim, scores of times, 'Mark my words, William, dress will last, andbooks won't. People must be clothed, but they needn't read.' He was wiseenough to stick to my words, and he made his fortune."
"I suppose," said Mrs. Bertram, in a slow, meditative voice, "thata--um--merchant--in a small town like this, might, with care, realize,say, two or three thousand pounds."
Mrs. Meadowsweet's eyes almost flashed.
"Two or three thousand!" she said, "dearie me, dearie me. When peopletalk of fortunes, in Northbury, they _mean_ fortunes, Mrs. Bertram."
"And your daughter will inherit?" asked the hostess of her guest.
"There's full and plenty for me, Mrs. Bertram, and when Beatrice comesof age, or when she marries with her mother's approval, she'll havetwenty thousand pounds. Twenty thousand invested in the funds, that'sher fortune, not bad for a shopkeeper's daughter, is it, Mrs. Bertram?"Mrs. Bertram said that it was anything but bad, and she inwardlyreflected on the best means of absolutely suppressing the memory of theshopkeeper, and h
ow, by a little judicious training, she might induceMrs. Meadowsweet to speak of her late partner as belonging to the rollof British merchants.