Two days afterwards, Elinor came to summon her to the drawing-room. They were all assembled, she said, to a rehearsal, and in the utmost confusion for want of a prompter, not a soul, except Miss Arbe, knowing a word, or a cue, of any part but his own; and Miss Arbe, who took upon her to regulate every thing, protested that she could not consent to go on any longer in so slovenly a manner.
In this dilemma it had occurred to Elinor to have recourse to the stranger; but the stranger desired to be excused: Mrs Maple seemed now to be softened in her favour; and it would be both imprudent and improper to risk provoking fresh irritation, by coming forward in an enterprise that was a known subject of dissention.
Elinor, when she had formed a wish, never listened to an objection. ‘What an old fashioned style you prose in!’ she cried; ‘who could believe you came so lately from France? But example has no more force without sympathy, than precept had without opinion! However, I’ll get you a licence from Aunt Maple in a minute.’
She went down stairs, and, returning almost immediately, cried, ‘Aunt Maple is quite contented. I told her I was going to send for Mr Creek, a horrible little pettifogging wretch, who lives in this neighbourhood, and whom she particularly detests, to be our prompter; and this so woefully tormented her, that she proposed you herself. I have ample business upon my hands, between my companions of the buskin, and this pragmatical old aunt; for Harleigh himself refused to act against her approbation, till I threatened to make over Lord Townly to Sir Lyell Sycamore, a smart beau at Brighthelmstone, that all the mammas and aunts are afraid of. And then poor aunty was fain, herself, to request Harleigh to take the part. I could manage matters no other way.’
Personal remonstrances were vain, and the stranger was forced down stairs to the theatrical group.
All that was known of her situation having been sketched by Elinor, and detailed by Selina, the mixt party there assembled, was prepared to survey her with a curiosity which she found extremely abashing. She requested to have the book of the play; but Elinor, engaged in arranging the entrances and exits, did not heed her. Harleigh, however, comprehending the relief which any occupation for the eyes and hands might afford her, presented it to her himself.
It preserved her not, nevertheless, from a volley of questions, with which she was instantly assailed from various quarters. ‘I find Ma’am, you are lately come from abroad,’ said Mr Scope, a gentleman self-dubbed a deep politician, and who, in the most sententious manner, uttered the most trivial observations: ‘I have no very high notion, I own, of the morals of those foreigners at this period. A man’s wife and daughters belong to any man who has a taste to them, as I am informed. Nothing is very strict. Mr Robertspierre, as I am told, is not very exact in his dealings.’
‘But I should like to know,’ cried Gooch, the young farmer, ‘whether it be true, of a reality, that they’ve got such numbers and numbers, and millions and millions of red-coats there, all made into generals, in the twinkling, as one may say, of an eye?’
‘Money must be a vast scarce commodity there,’ said Mr Stubbs, the steward: ‘did you ever happen to hear, Ma’am, how they go to work to get in their rents?’
Before the stranger could attempt any reply to these several addresses, Miss Arbe, who was the principal person of the party, seating herself in the chair of honour, desired her to advance, saying, ‘I understand you sing and play amazingly well. Pray who were your masters?’
While the Incognita hesitated, Miss Bydel, a collateral and uneducated successor to a large and unexpected fortune, said, ‘Pray, first of all, young woman, what took you over to foreign parts? I should like to know that.’
Elinor, now, being ready, cut short all further investigation by beginning the rehearsal.
During the first scenes, the voice of the Incognita was hardly audible. The constraint of her forced attendance, and the insurmountable awkwardness of her situation, made all exertion difficult, and her tones were so languid, and her pronunciation was so inarticulate, that Elinor began seriously to believe that she must still have recourse to Mr Creek. But Harleigh, who reflected how much the faculties depend upon the mind’s being disengaged, saw that she was too little at her ease to be yet judged.
Every one else, absorbed in his part and himself, in the hope of being best, or the shame of being worst; in the fear of being out, or the confusion of not understanding what next was to be done, was regardless of all else but his own fancied reputation of the hour.
Harleigh, however, as the play proceeded, and the inaccuracy of the performers demanded greater aid, found the patience of his judgment recompensed, and its appreciation of her talents just. Her voice, from seeming feeble and monotonous, became clear and penetrating: it was varied, with the nicest discrimination, for the expression of every character, changing its modulation from tones of softest sensibility, to those of archest humour; and from reasoning severity, to those of uncultured rusticity.
When the rehearsal was over, Miss Bydel, who had no other idea of the use of speech than that of asking questions, said, ‘I should be glad, before you go, to say a few words to you, young woman, myself.’
The stranger stood still.
‘In the first place, tell me, if you please, what’s your name?’
The Incognita coloured at this abrupt demand, but remained silent.
‘Nay,’ said Miss Bydel, ‘your name, at least, can be no such great secret, for you must be called something or other.’
Ireton, who had hitherto appeared decided not to take any notice of her, now exclaimed, with a laugh, ‘I will tell you what her name is, Miss Bydel; ’tis L.S.’
The stranger dropt her eyes, but Miss Bydel, not comprehending that Ireton meant two initial letters, said. ‘Elless? Well I see no reason why any body should be ashamed to own their name is Elless.’
Selina, tittering, would have cleared up the mistake; but Ireton, laughing yet more heartily, made her a sign to let it pass.
Miss Bydel continued: ‘I don’t want to ask any of your secrets, as I say, Mrs Elless, for I understand you don’t like to tell them; but it will be discovering no great matter, to let me know whether your friends are abroad, or in England? and what way you were maintained before you got your passage over in Mrs Maple’s boat.’
‘Don’t let that young person go,’ cried Miss Arbe, who had now finished the labours of her theatrical presidency, ‘till I have heard her play and sing. If she is so clever, as you describe her, she shall perform between the acts.’
The stranger declared her utter inability to comply with such a request.
‘When I believed myself unheard,’ she cried, ‘musick, I imagined, might make me, for a few moments, forget my distresses: but an expected performance—a prepared exhibition!—pardon me!—I have neither spirits nor powers for such an attempt!’
Her voice spoke grief, her look, apprehension; yet her manner so completely announced decision, that, unopposed even by a word, she re-mounted the stairs to her chamber.
She was, there, surprised by the sight of a sealed packet upon her table, directed, ‘For L.S. at her leisure.’
She opened it, and found ten bank notes, of ten pounds each.
A momentary hope which she had indulged, that this letter, by some accidental conveyance, had reached her from abroad, was now changed into the most unpleasant perplexity: such a donation could not come from any of the females of the family; Mrs Maple was miserly, and her enemy; and the Miss Joddrels knew, by experience, that she would not refuse their open assistance: Mr Harleigh, therefore, or Mr Ireton, must have conveyed this to her room.
If it were Mr Ireton, she concluded he meant to ensnare her distress into an unguarded acceptance, for some latent purpose of mischief; if it were Mr Harleigh, his whole behaviour inclined her to believe, that he was capable of such an action from motives of pure benevolence: but she could by no means accept pecuniary aid from either, and determined to keep the packet always ready for delivery, when she could discover to whom it belonged.
She was surprised, soon afterwards, by the sight of Selina. ‘I would not let Mr Ireton hinder me from coming to you this once,’ she cried, ‘do what he could; for we are all in such a fidget, that there’s only you, I really believe, can help us. Poor Miss Arbe, while she was teaching us all what we have to do, put her part into her muff, and her favourite little dog, that she doats upon, not knowing it was there, poor thing, poked his nose into the muff to warm himself; and when Miss Arbe came to take her part, she found he had sucked it, and gnawed it, and nibbled it, all to tatters! And she says she can’t write it out again if she was to have a diamond a word for it; and as to us, we have all of us got such immensities to do for ourselves, that you are the only person; for I dare say you know how to write. So will you, now, Ellis? for they have all settled, below, that your real name is Ellis.’
The stranger answered that she should gladly be useful in any way that could be proposed. The book, therefore, was brought to her, with writing implements, and she dedicated herself so diligently to copying, that the following morning, when Miss Arbe was expected, the part was prepared.
Miss Arbe, however, came not; a note arrived in her stead, stating that she had been so exceedingly fatigued the preceding day, in giving so many directions, that she begged they would let somebody read her part, and rehearse without her; and she hoped that she should find them more advanced when she joined them on Monday.
The stranger was now summoned not only as prompter, but to read the part of Lady Townly. She could not refuse, but her compliance was without any sort of exertion, from a desire to avoid, not promote similar calls for exhibition.
Elinor remarked to Harleigh, how inadequate were her talents to such a character. Harleigh acquiesced in the remark; yet his good opinion, in another point of view, was as much heightened, as in this it was lowered: he saw the part which she had copied for Miss Arbe; and the beautiful clearness of the hand-writing, and the correctness of the punctuation and orthography, convinced him that her education had been as successfully cultivated for intellectual improvement, as for elegant accomplishments.
Elinor herself, now, would only call the stranger Miss Ellis, a name which, she said, she verily believed that Miss Bydel, with all her stupidity, had hit upon, and which therefore, henceforth, should be adopted.
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