So much for the 'accident' that led to Marion's seclusion. The 'design' was due to the cherished plans her aunt had formed—vaguely before her arrival, very actively9 on the night of her coming—for her niece's success. Lady Fairfax was delighted with her young guest. She was proud of this addition to her family treasures; a veritable jewel, she fondly said. But the jewel must be well set before being displayed to the public eye. To the inquirers visiting the house in Kensington or seeing her abroad, Lady Fairfax smilingly said that her niece had had a trying journey, and must have her beauty sleep—several days' beauty sleep, in fact (during which time it was decreed that my lady's tailor and sempstress should be hard driven). No word of this was hinted to Marion. She accepted the fact of her aunt's duties at Court as an ordinary event, and spent her time wandering about the great house and garden; noting the grandeur10 of the entertaining rooms, the numerous liveried servants, and the ordered stateliness of everyday life. Her windows looked out on Kensington Square, where she had glimpses of carriages coming and going, of chairmen setting down their burden at the gates, of men and women of such dress and deportment that Marion thought they must surely be the princes and princesses out of some fairy tale.
Kind Sir John Fairfax was concerned for the young lady under his roof. She seemed to him to be moping.
'Everything is for the best, on the whole,' declared his wife. 'I am truly grieved to leave her so much, but that would not be a loss if you would bear her company a little oftener. You forget the change this life is to the child. What is Garth? A wigwam in a forest. She must needs find her feet before she can run. And run she shall not till she be dressed. Romaine is altering a gown for everyday usage,' the lady went on, 'and then as soon as Her Majesty's malaise allows her to free me, we will have a few visitors some quiet night that I may see how she dances. Young Beckenham will not be sorry of the chance, and Sampson, I'll be bound, for all his languid airs, will be glad to make a leg again in a minuet. Then,' Lady Fairfax smiled demurely11, 'in another week or two a ball in the honour of the coming of my niece to Kensington. And if you don't like the fuss and the pother of the ball coming on, dear lad, why, get you to Whitehall and talk secrets with my Lord Churchill.'
'You are riding this hobby of her gowns to death!' grumbled12 Sir John. 'It is bad for the girl. She'll think that nothing matters but fal-lals. And she is too much alone. Can't Her Majesty spare you an hour this evening to take her to a play? Need she be dressed for her first play?'
The lady neatly13 dropped a kiss on the end of her husband's nose. 'That's for that!' she smiled. 'You have given me an idea. Not to-night, but Monday (Her Majesty has promised me Monday) our little niece shall go to the play. She shall wear her white muslin frock and a rose in her hair; and not a woman in the theatre but will be sick at the thought of the pots on her dressing-table.'
Sir John looked at his wife in despair, then laughed outright14.
'Upon my word, Connie,' said he, 'you'd have made a fine general. You lose no chances. You make every hummock15 into a bed for a culverin. I give it up!'
'But even you,' serenely16 concluded his companion, 'will agree that she cannot walk into Her Majesty's drawing-room in a muslin frock.'
To do Lady Fairfax justice, she had no intention of burdening Marion with fal-lals, for although in those days women wore most elaborate robes, it was not considered necessary to have a new one for each ball, play, or party they attended. Moreover fashion was a sleepy, slow-moving dame17, only rising to bestir herself once in a decade—and not, as is her present habit, setting a new step every year, and making her followers18 miserable19 if they fall behind in the march. A ball dress was a veritable 'creation,' made with infinite pains and pride, every stitch carefully put in, the embroideries21 a triumph of patience and skill (and eyesight), as indeed was all the needlework of those leisurely22 days, before machine-made imitations undermined its value. Dresses were worn by their owners year after year, and very often a valued gown was personally bequeathed to the next generation.
Lady Fairfax had carefully hidden the slight disdain23 she had felt for Marion's belongings24 when her French sempstress, to whom she had sent an urgent call, came early on the second day after Marion's arrival. Indeed Marion's eyes had watched her aunt narrowly, and the kind-hearted woman had guessed her nervous shrinking when Madame Romaine lifted from her trunk the simple garment made by the Plymouth tailor.
'But, dear heart,' Lady Fairfax had allowed herself to remark, 'where is your mother's lilac embroidered25 gown? Did not your father give it to you?'
'He never thinks of dress,' faltered26 Marion, feeling that she and her father were being found blameworthy, 'and—I don't think he could bear to see even me wearing my mother's bodices.'
Lady Fairfax's eyes softened27, and a memory came to her of the fair lady of Garth in that one winter when she flitted across the stage of London before she 'buried herself' in the west.
The Frenchwoman meanwhile was sniffing28 in the recesses29 of Marion's trunk. 'I have not smelt30 so great a sweetness, Mademoiselle, since I was a small little one—so—playing in the garden of my uncle in Avignon, a thousand years ago!'
'All my mother's things still smell sweet,' said Marion to her aunt. 'She made her own waters, and grew lavender and roses and all sorts of flowers specially31 for them. I cannot make them near so well. Mistress Trevannion says my mother was very beautiful, too. But Father will never talk of her, except,' added Marion disconsolately32, 'to say I do not in the least resemble her.'
The eyes of mistress and sempstress met over the golden brown head. Marion at the moment was busying herself with another small trunk, and took from it a japanned box.
'I had almost forgotten this, Aunt Constance,' she said. 'Father gave it to me in the greatest hurry, just when Curnow was fastening the boxes. If I had not known his ways, I should have thought he had been angry. But it was just that he did not want me to ask any questions.'
She opened the box with a little gold key. Inside was a length of heavy embroidered silk, worked in cream and gold, on a cream ground, with a straying touch of blue and green. Pinned to the end of the length was a slip of paper.
'Your mother was working this for you, and talking of when you would be grown, just before she died,' ran the words. 'Wear it, my child.' Nothing more.
'That was a very sweet lady,' emphatically said the Frenchwoman as she examined the length, the other two standing33 silent a space.
'It is most beautiful,' said Lady Fairfax. Then she glanced at the script again, and in spite of Marion's solemn look she chuckled34 a little.
'"Wear it!" says my lord. "Wear it!" How? Pinned on the front of your bodice? I'll warrant my brother is firmly of the idea he has given you a gown. But there's something else in this trunk—another box——'
Marion fumbled35 with the lid, and presently disclosed a casket with a velvet36 lining37. Curled in the folds of the velvet lay a necklace of turquoise38 and pearl.
Marion stood speechless.
'I shall never dare wear that!' she said at length.
Lady Fairfax, with a pleased smile, was turning the necklace about in the light.
'Your mother's too, I remember it. This settles the matter,' she added to the sempstress. 'Mademoiselle's gown shall be cream and gold, with a soup?on of the blue of these turquoises39. Let it be designed'—she went off into a string of technicalities. 'You will get Master Bingon at once, my good Romaine, and the two of you set to work. I give you seven days and nights for a month's employment. Can you, and will you?'
Madame Romaine glanced at Marion's face. 'Solely40 for les beaux yeux of Mademoiselle,' she briefly41 replied. 'I cannot, but I will.'
'Good. And bid the little Simone come here for a spell. She can have the small chamber42 next to Mademoiselle, and stitch at her flounces and petticoats, and perhaps persuade Mademoiselle to wear her new stays.'
Marion laughed. 'I give up the battle from this moment, Aunt Constance. I will even wear the sort of stays you wish. But not,' she added firmly, 'as hard and tight as yours.'
Lady Fairfax complacently43 surveyed her own beautiful figure in the long mirror on the wall.
'La, la, Mademoiselle,' put in the Frenchwoman, 'il faut souffrir pour être belle44.'
'Not that kind of suffering, Madame Romaine!' said Marion, with a touch of her father's dryness that made her aunt smile. 'Mademoiselle de Delauret wears hard stays, and she suffers greatly sometimes, but I have never seen any marked improvement in her looks. But who is this Simone who is coming to mount guard over me?'
Here the door opened and a page boy entered. He spoke45 to his mistress, who drew him out of earshot of the others.
'Master Beckenham again, my lady. Master Beckenham's compliments, and may he have the pleasure of waiting on your ladyship and inquiring after the health of Mistress Penrock?'
'Did I not tell you what to say should this happen?
'I said it, my lady, and Master——'
'Go and say it again.'
The page boy made a deep obeisance46 and withdrew.
Lady Fairfax, smiling at her own thoughts, rejoined her niece and the sempstress. Meanwhile Madame Romaine, whose delight at finding a receptive audience was great, was telling a story about some one called Simone, a protégée of hers whose services in her own house Lady Fairfax had just requested. Simone, it appeared, had been found many years ago on a doorstep in the city—in Crutched47 Friars—by the Frenchwoman on her way home from a client's house. The sempstress had been minded to pass by—there are always plenty of crying children in the gutters48—but she had heard the child babbling49 in her own tongue. And the kind-hearted woman, whose country was her dear love, picked up the little one, and solely for the sake of la belle France, carried her home.
The child, emaciated50, almost starved to death, had fallen into a fever and a severe illness from which she had barely escaped with her life, and not altogether, Madame Romaine sometimes feared, with her reason. She had babbled51 of strange things sometimes, but the memory of her childhood seemed to have fallen off, with all the hair from her head, during her illness. 'She is one of my most valued needlewomen,' declared the sempstress, 'which is why, I suppose, my lady demands her presence here, just as if she were but a chair to sit upon, and no good whatever to me!'
'You have others,' placidly52 said Lady Fairfax, busy with her powdering box at her dressing-table. 'And I have a certain liking53 for the little Simone. But of course, if you prefer it—I wish not to drive you hardly—send Alice Hepworthy—but spare us her history. Seven days and nights you have. 'Tis not wise to waste an hour talking of people who do not matter in the least. Marion, my dear,' Lady Fairfax swung round, 'take warning by Romaine, and if ever you find yourself chattering54, think of her. She cares not what her subject may be, so long as her tongue may wag. You are an insufferable bore, my good Romaine, with your Simones and your gutters. Begone, you rogue55, and let me see your progress soon.'
With a smile and a curtsey the Frenchwoman departed. She counted it one of her greatest privileges to be rated by Lady Fairfax.
Madame Romaine's little French needlewoman took up her abode56 in a small chamber that opened off Marion's, and when that young lady was not engaged with her aunt or uncle, or the stray visitors she was allowed to see before she was presented to London society, she found Simone Leblanc very pleasant company.
Simone, like Elise, had that instinct for dress which is the birthright of all Frenchwomen and the envy of their Anglo-Saxon sisters. Did Marion require a ribbon in her sunny hair, Simone knew by an unfailing instinct just where the knot should fall, found without a second's hesitation57 the one spot to place a rose. And when Marion, seeing herself stumble in these paths so easily tripped by the little French feet, was minded to voice her discontent with herself, Simone would reply with her rare smile: 'No, no! Mademoiselle deceives herself. Mademoiselle has great qualities. As for a little nothing like a bow or an ornament58, Mademoiselle will surely see that it is one's métier, the placing of bows and ornaments59.'
Marion liked the quiet, grave girl who sat so industriously60 hemming61 the flounces for her petticoats and otherwise filling the gaps her over-tried employer left neglected in the programme of Mademoiselle's dresses. Sometimes Marion would take a needle and help her, and they talked of London, Simone offering crumbs62 for Marion's hungering curiosity of the ways of this new world. Always when she entered the little chamber she would see the small brown head bent63 over a lapful of silk and muslins, the dainty hand stitching away, the face, with its look of settled gravity and absorption combined, turning at her entrance.
'If she were not so serious,' mused64 Marion on one or two occasions, 'that little Simone would be a beautiful girl.'
But beautiful or not, Simone wrought65 exactly the change Lady Fairfax had desired. Marion unconsciously studied the little sempstress's way of wearing her own simply made gowns: a new spectacle this, for Elise's dresses had never been simple. And the grave rebuke66 in the dark eyes when Marion, on seating herself, adjusted a skirt in an unbecoming way had the effect of subduing67 the young lady at once.
'I don't know what is the matter with me,' confessed Marion to her aunt. 'Simone makes me feel too large, too clumsy. I haven't got big feet'—she complacently surveyed her projected slipper—'but when Simone walks across a room I think I have. I did not think there was anything the matter with my arms till I saw Simone's glance if I placed them so. Am I very countrified, Aunt Constance?'
'My little lamb,' said that lady with a fond embrace, 'you are finding your feet. Never mind how big they are. They are very well.'
Simone had passed triumphantly68 the test of the shrewd, watching eyes of Lady Fairfax, who had long ago singled out the quiet girl as being the most deft69 of the Frenchwoman's assistants. And now, as she saw her coming and going about her niece's affairs, she decided70 that, considering her as a waiting woman, deftness71 was the least of her qualities. There was something in the ease of the girl's movements no matter in what company she found herself; something in the way she entered a thronged72 room on some errand, spoke to her young mistress and went out again; something in the restraint of her speech and the subtle charm of her low soft voice, that made Lady Fairfax congratulate herself again and again on the waiting woman she had found for her niece. And it was a matter of sincere regret in the entire household when Madame Romaine obdurate73 for once, insisted on her apprentice's return in order to help with the mass of work that was driving the sempstress into an untimely grave. As soon as the load was eased somewhat, Simone might be allowed to return; but in the meantime, excellent needlewomen were hard to find, while waiting women grew in every garden, so to speak. Thus Madame Romaine.
Simone's departure, Mrs. Martin, Lady Fairfax's woman was obliged to find time to divide her care between two mistresses, and visitors coming more and more to the house, Marion's empty hours were few.
True to her promise (being graciously allowed by Her Majesty) Lady Fairfax took her niece on the Monday night to see the play at the theatre near Blackfriars Bridge, Colonel Sampson being the only visitor in the box. When Marion had seated herself, and realised that the box was in full view of the body of the theatre filled with people of fashion, she shrank back in uttermost confusion. Her aunt, serenely surveying the house, nodding to acquaintances and smiling at the stiff backs of her honest enemies, was forgetful for the moment of her niece's predicament. But the gentleman at the rear of the box came to her rescue. Colonel Sampson, slipping round her chair, leisurely placed his elegantly garbed74 shoulder and elbow on the edge of the box, and leaning down to talk to her, sheltered her from the view of the gossiping folk in the body of the theatre. Marion vowed75 friendship for Colonel Sampson from that moment.
Then, when the curtain rose, and her companion returned to his own chair, Marion forgot the gay crowd, forgot past, present, and future. Leaning on the edge of the box, utterly76 unconscious of the fact that Lady Fairfax's 'little niece' in a white muslin dress and with a rose in her hair, was being fully20 as much regarded as the stage, she gave herself up to the pleasure of her first play. She did not know that her laugh rose here and there the first in the house; she was totally unaware77 of the horror in her face when the villain78 of the piece unmasked his villainy. When a duel79 came to be fought, and swords gleamed out, she half turned and grasped Sir John's sleeve, not daring to see the blades clash. And when the curtain fell, she needed the positive assurance of her uncle and Colonel Sampson (Lady Fairfax being at the door of the box, smilingly and inexorably keeping visitors without) that the men lying there on the stage were not really dead.
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1
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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rime
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| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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hummock
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| n.小丘 | |
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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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turquoises
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| n.绿松石( turquoise的名词复数 )；青绿色 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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44
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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45
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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46
obeisance
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| n.鞠躬，敬礼 | |
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47
crutched
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| 用拐杖支持的，有丁字形柄的，有支柱的 | |
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48
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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49
babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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50
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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51
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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52
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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53
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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54
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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55
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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56
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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57
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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59
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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industriously
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61
hemming
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| 卷边 | |
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62
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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63
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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64
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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67
subduing
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| 征服( subdue的现在分词 )； 克制； 制服； 色变暗 | |
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68
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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69
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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71
deftness
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72
thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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77
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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78
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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