“Eminently so, I daresay, but it would not do to become intimate with that family, or with their friends. To be plain with you, Jessamy, they may be good, worthy people, but they aren’t up to the rig! Mrs Nutley’s patronage cannot give us consequence — in fact, it would be excessively harmful! Her manners, you know, are not distinguished, and, from what Buddle tells me, Mr Nutley is a very ungenteel person.”
“Buddle!” he ejaculated.
She smiled. “My dear, if Buddle holds up his nose you may depend upon it he is right! Papa once told me that a good butler may be trusted to smell out a commoner in the twinkling of a bedpost! Young Nutley, I own, has more polish than his parents, but he’s an April-squire, Jessamy!”
“If a man is good and worthy, as you’ve said yourself, Frederica, I care nothing for the rest!” announced Jessamy.
“Well, of all the plumpers —!” exclaimed Frederica. “You are the highest stickler of us all! Why, even the Master wasn’t so severe about that poor, good-natured man who hired the Grange two years ago! You said he was a thruster, and a City-mushroom, and — ”
“Two years ago!” he interrupted, flushing. “I hope I am wiser now!”
“Yes, love, so do I!” replied his sister frankly. “For if you mean to become a parson you ought not to condemn worthy men merely because, through ignorance, they thrust, or cram, or press upon hounds!”
That retort ended the discussion. Jessamy withdrew in haughty silence; and Frederica returned to the worldly matters which had brought her to London.
In these she received indifferent support from Charis, in whom her ambition was centred, and from Miss Winsham, who despised marriage as a career for females, but who reluctantly acknowledged that it was all that such a pretty pea-goose as Charis was fitted for. Charis herself looked forward to a London season with mild pleasure. To a girl who had never gone beyond the bounds of Herefordshire, and whose amusements had been confined to summer picnics and garden-parties, and such evening entertainments as small dances, or occasional amateur theatricals, the prospect of London balls, Venetian breakfasts, routs, assemblies, visits to the theatre and to the opera, and even, perhaps, to Almack’s, could not fail to be agreeable. But when she discovered that her dear Frederica meant to spend every available penny on her wardrobe, making shift for herself as best she might, she would have none of it. In general, the most docile girl imaginable, she could occasionally be obstinate; and no sooner did she realize that Frederica meant to commission Aunt Scrabster’s unassuming dressmaker to make a gown for herself to wear at the Alverstoke ball than she declared, looking as mulish as such a lovely, gentle creature could, that she disliked every one of the expensive dresses offered by the fashionable modiste to whose discreetly elegant premises in Bruton Street Alverstoke had directed Frederica.
Frederica had thanked him coolly for his advice, saying that she had no doubt of his being a good judge of such matters; but when, wickedly quizzing her, he had told her just to mention his name to Madame Franchot, if she wished to command that genius’s most inspired endeavours, she so far forgot herself as to respond, with a sad absence of maidenly propriety: “So I would, if I had the desire to be taken for a high flyer!”
“And what, may I ask, do you know about high flyers, Frederica?” he enquired, controlling a quivering lip.
“Not very much but Papa told me that they are dressy bits of mus — ”
She stopped short, but his lordship obligingly completed the phrase for her. “ — muslin! Very true, but, as your guardian, I am deeply shocked, and must request you to strive in future not to put me to the blush — at least in public!”
“Oh, no! I wouldn’t! I mean — ” she met his eyes, and broke into laughter. “You are the most detestable man I ever encountered! Now tell me which milliner you think most worthy of my valuable custom!”
“Certainly: visit Miss Starke, in Conduit Street! Her taste is impeccable.”
“I’m much obliged to you! I expect she is dreadfully expensive, but I shouldn’t wonder at it if she lowered her prices when she learns that Charis is to make her come-out thisseason, under Lady Buxted’s protection,” said Frederica shrewdly.
She was quite right. Miss Starke, too often compelled to employ her art in the making of hats and bonnets which would set off a plain face to the best possible advantage, and her sensibilities too often lacerated by the determination of a client well past her prime to purchase a hat designed for a girl in her first season, recognized in the younger Miss Merriville the realization of a dream. She had designed hats for many beautiful young ladies, her unerring eye perceiving at a glance that a high crown would not be becoming to Miss A., that Miss B. must not be allowed to wear a close bonnet, or Miss C. a daring hat a la Hussar; but never before had she been invited to supply hats to a client who looked ravishing in every hat that was tenderly placed over her shining curls. It was not a question of finding the hat to set off Miss Charis Merriville to advantage: Miss Charis set off the hats, transforming even the unsuccessful Angouleme bonnet of white thread net, which had pleased no one less than its creator, into a charming confection certain to inspire four out of five fond mothers with the resolve to purchase just such a bonnet for their own daughters. As for the pride of Miss Starke’s collection, with its extravagant crown, its huge, upstanding poke, and its cascade of curled plumes, when Miss Starke stood back to observe the effect of it on Charis’s head, her eyes filled with tears of triumph, and although she turned them towards her chief assistant, she saw that false critic only through a haze. Miss Throckley had doubted her genius, saying that the hat was too much in advance of the mode, and too exacting for any female to wear. Now what had Miss Throckley to say?
Miss Throckley, as might have been expected, was expressing her rapture at the picture presented by Miss in a hat which — if she might venture to say so — very few ladies could wear. It was not for her to advise, but when she thought of seeing it on another, and un-worthier head she could not — positively could not bear it!
This rhapsody, in which Miss Starke joined with enthusiasm, was interrupted by Frederica, who demanded to be told the price. Upon hearing it, she rose to her feet, smiling, but shaking her head. “Alas, no! I am afraid it is too costly. My sister needs several hats, you see, so we must not run mad over just one. To be sure, it’s very pretty, but, then, so is the Villager hat, with the flat crown and the flowers — only that is rather too dear as well. Come, Charis! we mustn’t waste any more of Miss Starke’s time — or, indeed, our own! It is a great pity, but you may be sure we shall find something you will like just as well.”
“Oh, yes!” agreed Charis happily, tying the ribbons of her own bonnet under her left ear. “For my part, I would as lief have the satin straw we saw in that window in Bond Street. Do let us go and look at it again!”
But during this interchange Miss Starke had been doing some rapid thinking, and as Charis began to draw on her gloves she begged her to be seated again, basely accusing Miss Throckley of having made a mistake in the price, and telling Frederica that it was her invariable custom to make substantial reductions when a lady wished to buy several hats. She added her assurance that it must be an object with her to oblige any friend of Lady Buxted.
In point of fact, she had never been called upon to supply her ladyship with so much as a lace cap, but she knew who she was, and that however dowdy she might be she moved in the first circles. Into these circles she would introduce the lovely Miss Merriville; and if the sight of that enchanting face, framed by an exquisite hat, did not bring a flock of matchmaking mamas, with their daughters in tow, to Conduit Street Miss Starke knew nothing of human nature. It was unnecessary to do anything so ungenteel as to hint to the elder Miss Merriville that an arrangement agreeable to both parties might be reached, if she let it be known that her sister’s hats were made for her by Miss Starke of Conduit Street. Few of the matrons would refrain from asking Miss Charis where she had found her charming hat; and it was very unlikely that that lovely innocent would withhold the desired information. The answer must be At Miss Starke’s, not At Clarimonde’s, in New Bond Street.