The Paper Cap. A Story of Love and Labor

“If you will go with me, aunt, I will do so.”

“Not I. Take Dick with thee. He will fill the bill all round.”

“Well, then, I will ask Dick;” and to these words the squire entered.

He appeared to be a little offended because no one had seen him coming and all three women assumed an air of contrition for having neglected to be on the lookout for him. “We were all so interested about Dick’s new sweetheart,” said Madam Annis, “and somehow, thou slipped out of mind for a few minutes. It was thoughtless, Antony, it was that.”

“Have you had a good meal lately, Antony?” asked his sister.

“No, Josepha, I hevn’t. I came to ask thee to give me a bit of lunch. I hev an appointment at three o’clock for The House and I shall need a good substantial bite, for there’s no saying when I’ll get away from there. What can thou give me?”

“Oysters, hare soup, roast beef, and a custard pudding.”

“All good enough. I suppose there’ll be a Yorkshire pudding with thy beef; it would seem queer and half-done without it.”

“Well, Antony, I suppose I do know how to roast beef before t’ fire and put a pudding under it. I’d be badly educated, if I didn’t.”

“If Yorkshire pudding is to be the test, Josepha, then thou art one of the best educated women in England.”

“Father, Dick’s new love is Miss De Burg. What do you think of that?”

“He might do worse than marry a De Burg, and he might do better. I’m not in a mood to talk about anyone’s marriage.”

“Not even of mine, father?”

“Thine, least of all. And thou hes to get a decent lover before thou hes to ask me if he can be thy husband.”

“I hev a very good lover, father.”

“No, thou hes not. Not one that can hev a welcome in my family and home. Not one! No doubt thou wilt hev plenty before we leave London. Get thy mother to help thee choose the right one. There now! That’s enough of such foolishness! My varry soul is full of matters of life or death to England. I hev not one thought for lovers and husbands at this time. Why, England is varry near rebellion, and I tell you three women there is no Oliver Cromwell living now to guide her over the bogs of misgovernment and anarchy. Russell said this morning, ‘it was the Reform Bill or Revolution.’” Then lunch was brought in and the subject was dropped until the squire lit his pipe for “a bit of a smoke.” Katherine was, however, restless and anxious; she was watching for her sister’s arrival and when the squire heard of the intended visit, he said: “I doan’t want to see Jane this afternoon. Tell her I’ll see her at her home this evening and, Josepha, I’ll smoke my pipe down the garden to the Watergate and take a boat there for Westminster. Then I can smoke all the way. I’m sure I can’t tell what I would do without it.”

And as they watched him down to the Watergate, they heard Jane’s carriage stop at the street entrance.

CHAPTER V – THE DISORDER CALLED LOVE

“She was good as she was fair
None on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are,
To know her was to love her!”

THE three ladies had reached the open door in time to watch Lady Jane leave her carriage, a movement not easy to describe, for it was the result of an action practiced from early childhood, and combining with the unconscious grace and ease of habitual action, a certain decisive touch of personality, that made for distinction. She was dressed in the visiting costume of the period, a not more ungraceful one than the fashion of the present time. Its material was rich violet poplin and it appeared to be worn over a small hoop. It was long enough to touch the buckles on her sandaled shoes and its belt line was in the proper place. The bodice was cut low to the shoulders and the sleeves were large and full to the elbows, then tight to the wrists. A little cape not falling below the belt and handsomely trimmed with ermine, completed the costume. The bonnets of that time were large and very high and open, adorned with ostrich feathers much curled and standing fancifully upright. Jane’s was of this shape and the open space across the head was filled with artificial flowers, but at the sides were loose, long curls of her own splendid hair, falling below her throat, and over the ermine trimmed cape. This bonnet was tied under the chin with a handsome bow of violet ribbon. All the smaller items of her dress were perfect in their way, not only with the mode, but also in strict propriety with her general appearance.

She was warmly welcomed and responded to it with hearty acquiescence, her attitude towards Katherine being specially lovely and affectionate. “My little sister is a beauty!” she said. “I am so proud of her. And now let us have a little talk about her gowns and bonnets! She must have some pretty ones, mother.”

“She shall have all that is needful, Jane,” said Mrs. Annis. “Their cost will not break her father, just yet.”

“You must ask me to go with you to shop, mother. I think I can be of great use.”

“Of course. We have calculated on your help. Will you come to the hotel for me?”

“Here! Hold on bit!” cried Aunt Josepha. “Am I invited, or not?”

“Certainly, Josepha,” answered Mistress Annis very promptly. “We cannot do without you. You will go with us, of course.”

“Well, as to-morrow is neither Wednesday, nor Friday, I may do so – but I leave myself free. I may not go.”

“Why would Wednesday and Friday be objectionable, Josepha?”

“Well, Annie, if thou hed done as much business with the world as I hev done, thou’d know by this time of thy life that thou couldn’t make a good bargain on either o’ them days. There’s some hope on a Friday because if Friday isn’t the worst day in the week it’s the very best. There is no perhaps about Wednesday. I allays let things bide as they are on Wednesday.”

“Shall I come here for you, aunt?”

“No, no, Jane. If I go with you I will be at the Clarendon with Annie at half-past nine. If I’m not there at that time I will not be going – no, not for love or money.”

“But you will go the next day – sure?”

“Not a bit of sureness in me. I doan’t know how I’ll be feeling the next day. Take off your bonnet and cape, Jane, and sit down. I want to see how you look. We’ll hev our little talk and by and by a cup of tea, and then thou can run away as soon as tha likes.”

“I cannot stay very long. I have a dinner tonight, and my servants need overlooking.”

“I hope that cynical De Burg is not going to eat with you. He’ll niver break bread at my table.”

“Why, aunt, he is a man of the highest culture and one of the best speakers in The House!”

“Let him talk as much as he likes in t’ House; there’s a few men to match him there.”

“How has he offended you, aunt? He is quite a favorite with Leyland and myself.”

“Whatever does tha see in his favor?”

“He has such a fine bearing and such graceful manners. Leyland says that in the most excited hubbubs of The House, he carries himself with all the serenity and aristocratic poise of an English gentleman – I should say, nobleman.”

“There’s no wonder tha forgets his nobility. It only counts to his grandfather. I’ll tell thee something, Jane – a gentleman is allays a nobleman, a nobleman may be a gentleman, and he may be varry far from it; but there, now! I’ll say no more, or I’ll mebbe say too much! How many dresses does our beauty want?”

This question opened a discussion of such interest that a servant entered with the tea service and hot crumpets before they were thinking of the time; and half an hour afterwards Katherine was ready to accompany her sister to the Leyland home.

During the first two weeks, the early part of Katherine’s days were spent either in shopping, or in “trying on,” and such events rarely need more than an allusion. Every woman has some, or all of the experiences incident to this trial; but though they may be of personal importance, they have no general interest. We may pass Katherine’s dressmaking trials, by knowing that they were in the hands of four or five women capable of arranging them in the most satisfactory manner. Katherine herself left them as early as possible, and spent the most of her time in her father’s company, and Lady Jane approved transiently of this arrangement. She did not wish Katherine to be seen and talked about until she was formally introduced and could make a proper grand entry into the society she wished her to enter. Of course there were suppositions floating about concerning the young lady seen so much with Lady Leyland; but as long as the talk remained indefinite, it was stimulating and working for a successful début.

This interval was in many ways very pleasant to Katherine for the squire took her to all those sights of London which people are expected to know all about – the Tower – the British Museum – St. Paul’s Church and Westminster Abbey; and so forth. Sometimes the squire met an old acquaintance from his own neighborhood and they went somewhere and had a cup of tea together, the squire simply saying, “This is my little girl, Denby; my youngest.” Such an introduction demanded nothing but a smile and a few courteous words, and these civilities Katherine managed with retiring modesty and simplicity.

Now, one morning, as they were walking down High Holborn, they met a near neighbor, a very shrewd, cheerful gentleman, called Samuel Wade, the squire of Everdeen. Annis and Katherine had turned into a pretty white dairy for a plate of Devonshire cream and Samuel Wade was slowly and thoughtfully partaking of the same dainty.

“Hello, Wade! Whatever hes brought thee away from thy hounds and kennels this fine spring weather?” asked Annis.

“I will tell thee, Annis, if tha’ will give me a halfhour and I know no man I could be so glad to see as thysen. I’m in a quandary, squire, and I would be glad of a word or two with thee.”

“Why, then, thou hes it! What does t’a want to say to me?”