One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work--it was before twelve o'clock, and Miss Matty had not changed the cap with yellow ribbons that had been Miss Jenkyns's best, and which Miss Matty was now wearing out in private, putting on the one made in imitation of Mrs Jamieson's at all times when she expected to be seen--Martha came up, and asked if Miss Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. Miss Matty assented1, and quickly disappeared to change the yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came upstairs; but, as she had forgotten her spectacles, and was rather flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of the other. She was quite unconscious of it herself, and looked at us, with bland2 satisfaction. Nor do I think Miss Barker perceived it; for, putting aside the little circumstance that she was not so young as she had been, she was very much absorbed in her errand, which she delivered herself of with an oppressive modesty3 that found vent4 in endless apologies.
Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk at Cranford who had officiated in Mr Jenkyns's time. She and her sister had had pretty good situations as ladies' maids, and had saved money enough to set up a milliner's shop, which had been patronised by the ladies in the neighbourhood. Lady Arley, for instance, would occasionally give Miss Barkers the pattern of an old cap of hers, which they immediately copied and circulated among the elite5 of Cranford. I say the elite, for Miss Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and piqued6 themselves upon their "aristocratic connection." They would not sell their caps and ribbons to anyone without a pedigree. Many a farmer's wife or daughter turned away huffed from Miss Barkers' select millinery, and went rather to the universal shop, where the profits of brown soap and moist sugar enabled the proprietor7 to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he found his customers too patriotic8 and John Bullish to wear what the Mounseers wore) London, where, as he often told his customers, Queen Adelaide had appeared, only the very week before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed them, trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had been complimented by King William on the becoming nature of her head-dress.
Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and did not approve of miscellaneous customers, throve notwithstanding. They were self-denying, good people. Many a time have I seen the eldest9 of them (she that had been maid to Mrs Jamieson) carrying out some delicate mess to a poor person. They only aped their betters in having "nothing to do" with the class immediately below theirs. And when Miss Barker died, their profits and income were found to be such that Miss Betty was justified10 in shutting up shop and retiring from business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford almost as decided11 as setting up a gig is among some people. She dressed finer than any lady in Cranford; and we did not wonder at it; for it was understood that she was wearing out all the bonnets12 and caps and outrageous13 ribbons which had once formed her stock-in-trade. It was five or six years since she had given up shop, so in any other place than Cranford her dress might have been considered passee.
And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss Matty to tea at her house on the following Tuesday. She gave me also an impromptu14 invitation, as I happened to be a visitor--though I could see she had a little fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, he might have engaged in that "horrid15 cotton trade," and so dragged his family down out of "aristocratic society." She prefaced this invitation with so many apologies that she quite excited my curiosity. "Her presumption16" was to be excused. What had she been doing? She seemed so over-powered by it I could only think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide to ask for a receipt for washing lace; but the act which she so characterised was only an invitation she had carried to her sister's former mistress, Mrs Jamieson. "Her former occupation considered, could Miss Matty excuse the liberty?" Ah! thought I, she has found out that double cap, and is going to rectify17 Miss Matty's head-dress. No! it was simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful18 action, she did not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her head-dress. But I do not think she did, for she recovered her balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending19 manner, very different from the fidgety way she would have had if she had suspected how singular her appearance was. "Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you said?" asked Miss Matty.
"Yes. Mrs Jamieson most kindly20 and condescendingly said she would be happy to come. One little stipulation21 she made, that she should bring Carlo. I told her that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs."
"And Miss Pole?" questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as a partner.
"I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not think of asking her until I had asked you, madam--the rector's daughter, madam. Believe me, I do not forget the situation my father held under yours."
"And Mrs Forrester, of course?"
"And Mrs Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to her before I went to Miss Pole. Although her circumstances are changed, madam, she was born at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of Bigelow Hall."
Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being a very good card-player.
"Mrs Fitz-Adam--I suppose" -
"No, madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs Jamieson would not, I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam. I have the greatest respect for Mrs Fitz-Adam--but I cannot think her fit society for such ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns."
Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth. She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although a retired22 milliner, she was no democrat23, and understood the difference of ranks.
"May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling24, as possible, Miss Matilda? Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has kindly promised not to delay her visit beyond that time--half-past six." And with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her leave.
My prophetic soul foretold25 a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, who usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event--or indeed in sight of any event--to talk it over with her.
"Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few," said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes.
"Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam."
Now Mrs Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the Cranford surgeon, whom I have named before. Their parents were respectable farmers, content with their station. The name of these good people was Hoggins. Mr Hoggins was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked the name and considered it coarse; but, as Miss Jenkyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it would not be much better. We had hoped to discover a relationship between him and that Marchioness of Exeter whose name was Molly Hoggins; but the man, careless of his own interests, utterly26 ignored and denied any such relationship, although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, he had a sister called Mary, and the same Christian27 names were very apt to run in families.
Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr Fitz-Adam, she disappeared from the neighbourhood for many years. She did not move in a sphere in Cranford society sufficiently28 high to make any of us care to know what Mr Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his fathers without our ever having thought about him at all. And then Mrs Fitz-Adam reappeared in Cranford ("as bold as a lion," Miss Pole said), a well-to-do widow, dressed in rustling29 black silk, so soon after her husband's death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in the remark she made, that "bombazine would have shown a deeper sense of her loss."
I remember the convocation of ladies who assembled to decide whether or not Mrs Fitz-Adam should be called upon by the old blue- blooded inhabitants of Cranford. She had taken a large rambling30 house, which had been usually considered to confer a patent of gentility upon its tenant31, because, once upon a time, seventy or eighty years before, the spinster daughter of an earl had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting this house was not also believed to convey some unusual power of intellect; for the earl's daughter, Lady Jane, had a sister, Lady Anne, who had married a general officer in the time of the American war, and this general officer had written one or two comedies, which were still acted on the London boards, and which, when we saw them advertised, made us all draw up, and feel that Drury Lane was paying a very pretty compliment to Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing that Mrs Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss Jenkyns died; and, with her, something of the clear knowledge of the strict code of gentility went out too. As Miss Pole observed, "As most of the ladies of good family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows without children, if we did not relax a little, and become less exclusive, by-and-by we should have no society at all."
Mrs Forrester continued on the same side.
"She had always understood that Fitz meant something aristocratic; there was Fitz-Roy--she thought that some of the King's children had been called Fitz-Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence, now--they were the children of dear good King William the Fourth. Fitz- Adam!--it was a pretty name, and she thought it very probably meant 'Child of Adam.' No one, who had not some good blood in their veins32, would dare to be called Fitz; there was a deal in a name-- she had had a cousin who spelt his name with two little ffs-- ffoulkes--and he always looked down upon capital letters and said they belonged to lately-invented families. She had been afraid he would die a bachelor, he was so very choice. When he met with a Mrs ffarringdon, at a watering-place, he took to her immediately; and a very pretty genteel woman she was--a widow, with a very good fortune; and 'my cousin,' Mr ffoulkes, married her; and it was all owing to her two little ffs."
Mrs Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting with a Mr Fitz- anything in Cranford, so that could not have been her motive33 for settling there. Miss Matty thought it might have been the hope of being admitted into the society of the place, which would certainly be a very agreeable rise for ci-devant Miss Hoggins; and if this had been her hope it would be cruel to disappoint her.
So everybody called upon Mrs Fitz-Adam--everybody but Mrs Jamieson, who used to show how honourable34 she was by never seeing Mrs Fitz- Adam when they met at the Cranford parties. There would be only eight or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs Fitz-Adam was the largest of all, and she invariably used to stand up when Mrs Jamieson came in, and curtsey very low to her whenever she turned in her direction--so low, in fact, that I think Mrs Jamieson must have looked at the wall above her, for she never moved a muscle of her face, no more than if she had not seen her. Still Mrs Fitz-Adam persevered35.
The spring evenings were getting bright and long when three or four ladies in calashes met at Miss Barker's door. Do you know what a calash is? It is a covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads fastened on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful impression on the children in Cranford; and now two or three left off their play in the quiet sunny little street, and gathered in wondering silence round Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent too, so that we could hear loud, suppressed whispers inside Miss Barker's house: "Wait, Peggy! wait till I've run upstairs and washed my hands. When I cough, open the door; I'll not be a minute."
And, true enough it was not a minute before we heard a noise, between a sneeze and a crow; on which the door flew open. Behind it stood a round-eyed maiden36, all aghast at the honourable company of calashes, who marched in without a word. She recovered presence of mind enough to usher37 us into a small room, which had been the shop, but was now converted into a temporary dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook ourselves, and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet and gracious company-face; and then, bowing backwards38 with "After you, ma'am," we allowed Mrs Forrester to take precedence up the narrow staircase that led to Miss Barker's drawing-room. There she sat, as stately and composed as though we had never heard that odd-sounding cough, from which her throat must have been even then sore and rough. Kind, gentle, shabbily-dressed Mrs Forrester was immediately conducted to the second place of honour--a seat arranged something like Prince Albert's near the Queen's--good, but not so good. The place of pre-eminence was, of course, reserved for the Honourable Mrs Jamieson, who presently came panting up the stairs--Carlo rushing round her on her progress, as if he meant to trip her up.
And now Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy woman! She stirred the fire, and shut the door, and sat as near to it as she could, quite on the edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, tottering39 under the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. She and her mistress were on very familiar terms in their every-day intercourse40, and Peggy wanted now to make several little confidences to her, which Miss Barker was on thorns to hear, but which she thought it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So she turned away from all Peggy's asides and signs; but she made one or two very malapropos answers to what was said; and at last, seized with a bright idea, she exclaimed, "Poor, sweet Carlo! I'm forgetting him. Come downstairs with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, it shall!"
In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant as before; but I thought she had forgotten to give the "poor ittie doggie" anything to eat, judging by the avidity with which he swallowed down chance pieces of cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded--I was pleased to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present might think it vulgarly heaped up. I know they would have done at their own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she did everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had told us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in her house, it reminded her so much of scented41 soap. She always gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs Jamieson was kindly indulgent to Miss Barker's want of knowledge of the customs of high life; and, to spare her feelings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a placid42, ruminating43 expression of countenance44, not unlike a cow's.
After tea there was some little demur45 and difficulty. We were six in number; four could play at Preference, and for the other two there was Cribbage. But all, except myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of the "pool." Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not know Spadille from Manille, was evidently hankering to take a hand. The dilemma46 was soon put an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a baron's daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I should have said Mrs Jamieson did so then; for, overcome by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze47 by nature, the temptation of that very comfortable arm-chair had been too much for her, and Mrs Jamieson was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes with an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; but by-and-by, even her benevolence48 was not equal to this exertion49, and she was sound asleep.
"It is very gratifying to me," whispered Miss Barker at the card- table to her three opponents, whom, notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, she was "basting50" most unmercifully--"very gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a greater compliment."
Miss Barker provided me with some literature in the shape of three or four handsomely-bound fashion-books ten or twelve years old, observing, as she put a little table and a candle for my especial benefit, that she knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay and snorted, and started at his mistress's feet. He, too, was quite at home.
The card-table was an animated52 scene to watch; four ladies' heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the table in their eagerness to whisper quick enough and loud enough: and every now and then came Miss Barker's "Hush53, ladies! if you please, hush! Mrs Jamieson is asleep."
It was very difficult to steer54 clear between Mrs Forrester's deafness and Mrs Jamieson's sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her arduous55 task well. She repeated the whisper to Mrs Forrester, distorting her face considerably56, in order to show, by the motions of her lips, what was said; and then she smiled kindly all round at us, and murmured to herself, "Very gratifying, indeed; I wish my poor sister had been alive to see this day."
Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo started to his feet, with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs Jamieson awoke: or, perhaps, she had not been asleep--as she said almost directly, the room had been so light she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening with great interest to all our amusing and agreeable conversation. Peggy came in once more, red with importance. Another tray! "Oh, gentility!" thought I, "can yon endure this last shock?" For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not, prepared, although she did say, "Why, Peggy, what have you brought us?" and looked pleasantly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all sorts of good things for supper--scalloped oysters57, potted lobsters58, jelly, a dish called "little Cupids" (which was in great favour with the Cranford ladies, although too expensive to be given, except on solemn and state occasions--macaroons sopped59 in brandy, I should have called it, if I had not known its more refined and classical name). In short, we were evidently to be feasted with all that was sweetest and best; and we thought it better to submit graciously, even at the cost of our gentility-- which never ate suppers in general, but which, like most non- supper-eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions.
Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made acquainted with the beverage60 they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered61 it us--"just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome62." We all shook our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought ourselves bound to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such things by coughing terribly--almost as strangely as Miss Barker had done, before we were admitted by Peggy.
"It's very strong," said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty glass; "I do believe there's spirit in it."
"Only a little drop--just necessary to make it keep," said Miss Barker. "You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves to make them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart51."
I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson's heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, respecting which she had been quite silent till that moment.
"My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me."
There was a chorus of "Indeed!" and then a pause. Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence of a baron's widow; for, of course, a series of small festivals were always held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends' houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present occasion.
Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were announced. Mrs Jamieson had the sedan-chair, which had squeezed itself into Miss Barker's narrow lobby with some difficulty, and most literally63 "stopped the way." It required some skilful64 manoeuvring on the part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day, but when summoned to carry the sedan dressed up in a strange old livery--long great- coats, with small capes65, coeval66 with the sedan, and similar to the dress of the class in Hogarth's pictures) to edge, and back, and try at it again, and finally to succeed in carrying their burden out of Miss Barker's front door. Then we heard their quick pit-a- pat along the quiet little street as we put on our calashes and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker hovering67 about us with offers of help, which, if she had not remembered her former occupation, and wished us to forget it, would have been much more pressing.
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1
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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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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bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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impromptu
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| adj.即席的，即兴的；adv.即兴的(地)，无准备的(地) | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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stipulation
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| n.契约，规定，条文；条款说明 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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foretold
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| v.预言，预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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ruminating
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| v.沉思( ruminate的现在分词 )；反复考虑；反刍；倒嚼 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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demur
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| v．表示异议，反对 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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48
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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50
basting
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| n.疏缝；疏缝的针脚；疏缝用线；涂油v.打( baste的现在分词 )；粗缝；痛斥；（烤肉等时）往上抹[浇]油 | |
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51
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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53
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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lobsters
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| 龙虾( lobster的名词复数 )； 龙虾肉 | |
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sopped
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| adj.湿透的，浸透的v.将（面包等）在液体中蘸或浸泡( sop的过去式和过去分词 )；用海绵、布等吸起（液体等） | |
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beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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65
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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coeval
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| adj.同时代的；n.同时代的人或事物 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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