My Lady Ludlow (2 page)

"Are we near the house?" said I, suddenly checked by the idea.

"Down there, Miss," replied he, pointing with his whip to certain stacks
of twisted chimneys rising out of a group of trees, in deep shadow
against the crimson light, and which lay just beyond a great square lawn
at the base of the steep slope of a hundred yards, on the edge of which
we stood.

I went down the steps quietly enough. I met Randal and the gig at the
bottom; and, falling into a side road to the left, we drove sedately
round, through the gateway, and into the great court in front of the
house.

The road by which we had come lay right at the back.

Hanbury Court is a vast red-brick house—at least, it is cased in part
with red bricks; and the gate-house and walls about the place are of
brick,—with stone facings at every corner, and door, and window, such as
you see at Hampton Court. At the back are the gables, and arched
doorways, and stone mullions, which show (so Lady Ludlow used to tell us)
that it was once a priory. There was a prior's parlour, I know—only we
called it Mrs. Medlicott's room; and there was a tithe-barn as big as a
church, and rows of fish-ponds, all got ready for the monks' fasting-days
in old time. But all this I did not see till afterwards. I hardly
noticed, this first night, the great Virginian Creeper (said to have been
the first planted in England by one of my lady's ancestors) that half
covered the front of the house. As I had been unwilling to leave the
guard of the coach, so did I now feel unwilling to leave Randal, a known
friend of three hours. But there was no help for it; in I must go; past
the grand-looking old gentleman holding the door open for me, on into the
great hall on the right hand, into which the sun's last rays were sending
in glorious red light,—the gentleman was now walking before me,—up a
step on to the dais, as I afterwards learned that it was called,—then
again to the left, through a series of sitting-rooms, opening one out of
another, and all of them looking into a stately garden, glowing, even in
the twilight, with the bloom of flowers. We went up four steps out of
the last of these rooms, and then my guide lifted up a heavy silk curtain
and I was in the presence of my Lady Ludlow.

She was very small of stature, and very upright. She wore a great lace
cap, nearly half her own height, I should think, that went round her head
(caps which tied under the chin, and which we called "mobs," came in
later, and my lady held them in great contempt, saying people might as
well come down in their nightcaps). In front of my lady's cap was a
great bow of white satin ribbon; and a broad band of the same ribbon was
tied tight round her head, and served to keep the cap straight. She had
a fine Indian muslin shawl folded over her shoulders and across her
chest, and an apron of the same; a black silk mode gown, made with short
sleeves and ruffles, and with the tail thereof pulled through the pocket-
hole, so as to shorten it to a useful length: beneath it she wore, as I
could plainly see, a quilted lavender satin petticoat. Her hair was
snowy white, but I hardly saw it, it was so covered with her cap: her
skin, even at her age, was waxen in texture and tint; her eyes were large
and dark blue, and must have been her great beauty when she was young,
for there was nothing particular, as far as I can remember, either in
mouth or nose. She had a great gold-headed stick by her chair; but I
think it was more as a mark of state and dignity than for use; for she
had as light and brisk a step when she chose as any girl of fifteen, and,
in her private early walk of meditation in the mornings, would go as
swiftly from garden alley to garden alley as any one of us.

She was standing up when I went in. I dropped my curtsey at the door,
which my mother had always taught me as a part of good manners, and went
up instinctively to my lady. She did not put out her hand, but raised
herself a little on tiptoe, and kissed me on both cheeks.

"You are cold, my child. You shall have a dish of tea with me." She
rang a little hand-bell on the table by her, and her waiting-maid came in
from a small anteroom; and, as if all had been prepared, and was awaiting
my arrival, brought with her a small china service with tea ready made,
and a plate of delicately-cut bread and butter, every morsel of which I
could have eaten, and been none the better for it, so hungry was I after
my long ride. The waiting-maid took off my cloak, and I sat down, sorely
alarmed at the silence, the hushed foot-falls of the subdued maiden over
the thick carpet, and the soft voice and clear pronunciation of my Lady
Ludlow. My teaspoon fell against my cup with a sharp noise, that seemed
so out of place and season that I blushed deeply. My lady caught my eye
with hers,—both keen and sweet were those dark-blue eyes of her
ladyship's:—

"Your hands are very cold, my dear; take off those gloves" (I wore thick
serviceable doeskin, and had been too shy to take them off unbidden),
"and let me try and warm them—the evenings are very chilly." And she
held my great red hands in hers,—soft, warm, white, ring-laden. Looking
at last a little wistfully into my face, she said—"Poor child! And
you're the eldest of nine! I had a daughter who would have been just
your age; but I cannot fancy her the eldest of nine." Then came a pause
of silence; and then she rang her bell, and desired her waiting-maid,
Adams, to show me to my room.

It was so small that I think it must have been a cell. The walls were
whitewashed stone; the bed was of white dimity. There was a small piece
of red staircarpet on each side of the bed, and two chairs. In a closet
adjoining were my washstand and toilet-table. There was a text of
Scripture painted on the wall right opposite to my bed; and below hung a
print, common enough in those days, of King George and Queen Charlotte,
with all their numerous children, down to the little Princess Amelia in a
go-cart. On each side hung a small portrait, also engraved: on the left,
it was Louis the Sixteenth; on the other, Marie-Antoinette. On the
chimney-piece there was a tinder-box and a Prayer-book. I do not
remember anything else in the room. Indeed, in those days people did not
dream of writing-tables, and inkstands, and portfolios, and easy chairs,
and what not. We were taught to go into our bedrooms for the purposes of
dressing, and sleeping, and praying.

Presently I was summoned to supper. I followed the young lady who had
been sent to call me, down the wide shallow stairs, into the great hall,
through which I had first passed on my way to my Lady Ludlow's room.
There were four other young gentlewomen, all standing, and all silent,
who curtsied to me when I first came in. They were dressed in a kind of
uniform: muslin caps bound round their heads with blue ribbons, plain
muslin handkerchiefs, lawn aprons, and drab-coloured stuff gowns. They
were all gathered together at a little distance from the table, on which
were placed a couple of cold chickens, a salad, and a fruit tart. On the
dais there was a smaller round table, on which stood a silver jug filled
with milk, and a small roll. Near that was set a carved chair, with a
countess's coronet surmounting the back of it. I thought that some one
might have spoken to me; but they were shy, and I was shy; or else there
was some other reason; but, indeed, almost the minute after I had come
into the hall by the door at the lower hand, her ladyship entered by the
door opening upon the dais; whereupon we all curtsied very low; I because
I saw the others do it. She stood, and looked at us for a moment.

"Young gentlewomen," said she, "make Margaret Dawson welcome among you;"
and they treated me with the kind politeness due to a stranger, but still
without any talking beyond what was required for the purposes of the
meal. After it was over, and grace was said by one of our party, my lady
rang her hand-bell, and the servants came in and cleared away the supper
things: then they brought in a portable reading-desk, which was placed on
the dais, and, the whole household trooping in, my lady called to one of
my companions to come up and read the Psalms and Lessons for the day. I
remember thinking how afraid I should have been had I been in her place.
There were no prayers. My lady thought it schismatic to have any prayers
excepting those in the Prayer-book; and would as soon have preached a
sermon herself in the parish church, as have allowed any one not a deacon
at the least to read prayers in a private dwelling-house. I am not sure
that even then she would have approved of his reading them in an
unconsecrated place.

She had been maid of honour to Queen Charlotte: a Hanbury of that old
stock that flourished in the days of the Plantagenets, and heiress of all
the land that remained to the family, of the great estates which had once
stretched into four separate counties. Hanbury Court was hers by right.
She had married Lord Ludlow, and had lived for many years at his various
seats, and away from her ancestral home. She had lost all her children
but one, and most of them had died at these houses of Lord Ludlow's; and,
I dare say, that gave my lady a distaste to the places, and a longing to
come back to Hanbury Court, where she had been so happy as a girl. I
imagine her girlhood had been the happiest time of her life; for, now I
think of it, most of her opinions, when I knew her in later life, were
singular enough then, but had been universally prevalent fifty years
before. For instance, while I lived at Hanbury Court, the cry for
education was beginning to come up: Mr. Raikes had set up his Sunday
Schools; and some clergymen were all for teaching writing and arithmetic,
as well as reading. My lady would have none of this; it was levelling
and revolutionary, she said. When a young woman came to be hired, my
lady would have her in, and see if she liked her looks and her dress, and
question her about her family. Her ladyship laid great stress upon this
latter point, saying that a girl who did not warm up when any interest or
curiosity was expressed about her mother, or the "baby" (if there was
one), was not likely to make a good servant. Then she would make her put
out her feet, to see if they were well and neatly shod. Then she would
bid her say the Lord's Prayer and the Creed. Then she inquired if she
could write. If she could, and she had liked all that had gone before,
her face sank—it was a great disappointment, for it was an all but
inviolable rule with her never to engage a servant who could write. But
I have known her ladyship break through it, although in both cases in
which she did so she put the girl's principles to a further and unusual
test in asking her to repeat the Ten Commandments. One pert young
woman—and yet I was sorry for her too, only she afterwards married a
rich draper in Shrewsbury—who had got through her trials pretty
tolerably, considering she could write, spoilt all, by saying glibly, at
the end of the last Commandment, "An't please your ladyship, I can cast
accounts."

"Go away, wench," said my lady in a hurry, "you're only fit for trade;
you will not suit me for a servant." The girl went away crestfallen: in
a minute, however, my lady sent me after her to see that she had
something to eat before leaving the house; and, indeed, she sent for her
once again, but it was only to give her a Bible, and to bid her beware of
French principles, which had led the French to cut off their king's and
queen's heads.

The poor, blubbering girl said, "Indeed, my lady, I wouldn't hurt a fly,
much less a king, and I cannot abide the French, nor frogs neither, for
that matter."

But my lady was inexorable, and took a girl who could neither read nor
write, to make up for her alarm about the progress of education towards
addition and subtraction; and afterwards, when the clergyman who was at
Hanbury parish when I came there, had died, and the bishop had appointed
another, and a younger man, in his stead, this was one of the points on
which he and my lady did not agree. While good old deaf Mr. Mountford
lived, it was my lady's custom, when indisposed for a sermon, to stand up
at the door of her large square pew,—just opposite to the
reading-desk,—and to say (at that part of the morning service where it
is decreed that, in quires and places where they sing, here followeth the
anthem): "Mr. Mountford, I will not trouble you for a discourse this
morning." And we all knelt down to the Litany with great satisfaction;
for Mr. Mountford, though he could not hear, had always his eyes open
about this part of the service, for any of my lady's movements. But the
new clergyman, Mr. Gray, was of a different stamp. He was very zealous
in all his parish work; and my lady, who was just as good as she could be
to the poor, was often crying him up as a godsend to the parish, and he
never could send amiss to the Court when he wanted broth, or wine, or
jelly, or sago for a sick person. But he needs must take up the new
hobby of education; and I could see that this put my lady sadly about one
Sunday, when she suspected, I know not how, that there was something to
be said in his sermon about a Sunday-school which he was planning. She
stood up, as she had not done since Mr. Mountford's death, two years and
better before this time, and said—

"Mr. Gray, I will not trouble you for a discourse this morning."

But her voice was not well-assured and steady; and we knelt down with
more of curiosity than satisfaction in our minds. Mr. Gray preached a
very rousing sermon, on the necessity of establishing a Sabbath-school in
the village. My lady shut her eyes, and seemed to go to sleep; but I
don't believe she lost a word of it, though she said nothing about it
that I heard until the next Saturday, when two of us, as was the custom,
were riding out with her in her carriage, and we went to see a poor
bedridden woman, who lived some miles away at the other end of the estate
and of the parish: and as we came out of the cottage we met Mr. Gray
walking up to it, in a great heat, and looking very tired. My lady
beckoned him to her, and told him she should wait and take him home with
her, adding that she wondered to see him there, so far from his home, for
that it was beyond a Sabbath-day's journey, and, from what she had
gathered from his sermon the last Sunday, he was all for Judaism against
Christianity. He looked as if he did not understand what she meant; but
the truth was that, besides the way in which he had spoken up for schools
and schooling, he had kept calling Sunday the Sabbath: and, as her
ladyship said, "The Sabbath is the Sabbath, and that's one thing—it is
Saturday; and if I keep it, I'm a Jew, which I'm not. And Sunday is
Sunday; and that's another thing; and if I keep it, I'm a Christian,
which I humbly trust I am."