CHAPTER IX.

SIGNOR BRUNONI

SOON after the events of which I gave an account in my last paper, I was

summoned home by my father’s illness; and for a time I forgot, in

anxiety about him, to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were

getting on, or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to the dulness

of the long visit which she was still paying to her sister-in-law, Mrs

Jamieson. When my father grew a little stronger I accompanied him to the

seaside, so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford, and was

deprived of the opportunity of hearing any chance intelligence of the

dear little town for the greater part of that year.

Late in November—when we had returned home again, and my father was once

more in good health—I received a letter from Miss Matty; and a very

mysterious letter it was. She began many sentences without ending them,

running them one into another, in much the same confused sort of way in

which written words run together on blotting-paper. All I could make

out was that, if my father was better (which she hoped he was), and

would take warning and wear a great-coat from Michaelmas to Lady-day, if

turbans were in fashion, could I tell her? Such a piece of gaiety was

going to happen as had not been seen or known of since Wombwell’s lions

came, when one of them ate a little child’s arm; and she was, perhaps,

too old to care about dress, but a new cap she must have; and, having

heard that turbans were worn, and some of the county families likely to

come, she would like to look tidy, if I would bring her a cap from the

milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her to forget that

she wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit next Tuesday; when she

hoped to have something to offer me in the way of amusement, which she

would not now more particularly describe, only sea-green was her

favourite colour. So she ended her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she

thought she might as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to

Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit his wonderful

magic in the Cranford Assembly Rooms on Wednesday and Friday evening in

the following week.

I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty,

independently of the conjuror, and most particularly anxious to prevent

her from disfiguring her small, gentle, mousey face with a great

Saracen’s head turban; and accordingly, I bought her a pretty, neat,

middle-aged cap, which, however, was rather a disappointment to her

when, on my arrival, she followed me into my bedroom, ostensibly to poke

the fire, but in reality, I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban

was not inside the cap-box with which I had travelled. It was in vain

that I twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side fronts:

her heart had been set upon a turban, and all she could do was to say,

with resignation in her look and voice—

“I am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just like the caps all the

ladies in Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs for a year, I

dare say. I should have liked something newer, I confess—something more

like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; but it

is very pretty, my dear. And I dare say lavender will wear better than

sea-green. Well, after all, what is dress, that we should care anything

about it? You’ll tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the

bell. I suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?”

So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the room,

leaving me to dress for the evening, when, as she informed me, she

expected Miss Pole and Mrs Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel

myself too much tired to join the party. Of course I should not; and I

made some haste to unpack and arrange my dress; but, with all my speed,

I heard the arrivals and the buzz of conversation in the next room

before I was ready. Just as I opened the door, I caught the words, “I

was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of the Drumble shops;

poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, for all that, I had

rather that she blamed Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a

turban.

Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now

assembled, to have had adventures. She was in the habit of spending the

morning in rambling from shop to shop, not to purchase anything (except

an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), but to see the new

articles and report upon them, and to collect all the stray pieces of

intelligence in the town. She had a way, too, of demurely popping

hither and thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity on

any point—a way which, if she had not looked so very genteel and prim,

might have been considered impertinent. And now, by the expressive way

in which she cleared her throat, and waited for all minor subjects (such

as caps and turbans) to be cleared off the course, we knew she had

something very particular to relate, when the due pause came—and I defy

any people possessed of common modesty to keep up a conversation long,

where one among them sits up aloft in silence, looking down upon all the

things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible compared to what

they could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss Pole began—

“As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I chanced to go into the

‘George’ (my Betty has a second-cousin who is chambermaid there, and I

thought Betty would like to hear how she was), and, not seeing anyone

about, I strolled up the staircase, and found myself in the passage

leading to the Assembly Room (you and I remember the Assembly Room, I am

sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de la cour!); so I went on, not

thinking of what I was about, when, all at once, I perceived that I was

in the middle of the preparations for to-morrow night—the room being

divided with great clothes-maids, over which Crosby’s men were tacking

red flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I

was going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a

gentleman (quite the gentleman, I can assure you) stepped forwards and

asked if I had any business he could arrange for me. He spoke such

pretty broken English, I could not help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw,

and the Hungarian Brothers, and Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy

picturing his past life to myself, he had bowed me out of the room. But

wait a minute! You have not heard half my story yet! I was going

downstairs, when who should I meet but Betty’s second-cousin. So, of

course, I stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that

I had really seen the conjuror—the gentleman who spoke broken English

was Signor Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the

stairs, making such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a

curtsey—all foreigners have such polite manners, one catches something

of it. But when he had gone downstairs, I bethought me that I had

dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all the

time, but I never found it till afterwards); so I went back, and, just

as I was creeping up the passage left on one side of the great screen

that goes nearly across the room, who should I see but the very same

gentleman that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, coming

now forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there is no

entrance—you remember, Miss Matty—and just repeating, in his pretty

broken English, the inquiry if I had any business there—I don’t mean

that he put it quite so bluntly, but he seemed very determined that I

should not pass the screen—so, of course, I explained about my glove,

which, curiously enough, I found at that very moment.”

Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror—the real, live conjuror! and

numerous were the questions we all asked her. “Had he a beard?” “Was

he young, or old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did he look”—(unable to shape my

question prudently, I put it in another form)—“How did he look?” In

short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s

encounter. If she was not the rose (that is to say the conjuror) she

had been near it.

Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of

the evening. Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to think

there might be a scientific solution found for even the proceedings of

the Witch of Endor. Mrs Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to

death-watches. Miss Matty ranged between the two—always convinced by

the last speaker. I think she was naturally more inclined to Mrs

Forrester’s side, but a desire of proving herself a worthy sister to

Miss Jenkyns kept her equally balanced—Miss Jenkyns, who would never

allow a servant to call the little rolls of tallow that formed

themselves round candles “winding-sheets,” but insisted on their being

spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister of hers to be superstitious! It

would never do.

After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for that

volume of the old Encyclopædia which contained the nouns beginning with

C, in order that Miss Pole might prime herself with scientific

explanations for the tricks of the following evening. It spoilt the

pool at Preference which Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester had been looking

forward to, for Miss Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, and

the plates by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel

to disturb her otherwise than by one or two well-timed yawns, which I

threw in now and then, for I was really touched by the meek way in which

the two ladies were bearing their disappointment. But Miss Pole only

read the more zealously, imparting to us no more information than this—

“Ah! I see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. Put A

between B and D—no! between C and F, and turn the second joint of the

third finger of your left hand over the wrist of your right H. Very

clear indeed! My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere

affair of the alphabet. Do let me read you this one passage?”

Mrs Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child

upwards, she never could understand being read aloud to; and I dropped

the pack of cards, which I had been shuffling very audibly, and by this

discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was to

have been the order of the evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly,

that the pool should commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over

the other two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had one or two twinges

of self-reproach for having interrupted Miss Pole in her studies: and

did not remember her cards well, or give her full attention to the game,

until she had soothed her conscience by offering to lend the volume of

the Encyclopædia to Miss Pole, who accepted it thankfully, and said

Betty should take it home when she came with the lantern.

The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter at the idea of

the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress betimes, and hurried

me until I was ready, when we found we had an hour-and-a-half to wait

before the “doors opened at seven precisely.” And we had only twenty

yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would not do to get too

much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; so she thought we had

better sit quietly, without lighting the candles, till five minutes to

seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted.

At length we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the

“George,” we met Mrs Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter was discussing

the subject of the evening with more vehemence than ever, and throwing

X’s and B’s at our heads like hailstones. She had even copied one or

two of the “receipts”—as she called them—for the different tricks, on

backs of letters, ready to explain and to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.

We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty gave

a sigh or two to her departed youth, and the remembrance of the last

time she had been there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before the

strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The Assembly Room had

been added to the inn, about a hundred years before, by the different

county families, who met together there once a month during the winter

to dance and play at cards. Many a county beauty had first swung

through the minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen Charlotte in

this very room. It was said that one of the Gunnings had graced the

apartment with her beauty; it was certain that a rich and beautiful

widow, Lady Williams, had here been smitten with the noble figure of a

young artist, who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood for

professional purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford

Assembly. And a pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome

husband, if all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled

along the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist won

hearts by his bow, _chapeau bras_ in hand; the old room was dingy; the

salmon-coloured paint had faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster had

chipped off from the fine wreaths and festoons on its walls; but still a

mouldy odour of aristocracy lingered about the place, and a dusty

recollection of the days that were gone made Miss Matty and Mrs

Forrester bridle up as they entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as

if there were a number of genteel observers, instead of two little boys

with a stick of toffee between them with which to beguile the time.

We stopped short at the second front row; I could hardly understand why,

until I heard Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the county families

were expected; and when he shook his head, and believed not, Mrs

Forrester and Miss Matty moved forwards, and our party represented a

conversational square. The front row was soon augmented and enriched by

Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We six occupied the two front rows, and

our aristocratic seclusion was respected by the groups of shopkeepers

who strayed in from time to time and huddled together on the back

benches. At least I conjectured so, from the noise they made, and the

sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; but when, in weariness of the

obstinate green curtain that would not draw up, but would stare at me

with two odd eyes, seen through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I

would fain have looked round at the merry chattering people behind me,

Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not

the thing.” What “the thing” was, I never could find out, but it must

have been something eminently dull and tiresome. However, we all sat

eyes right, square front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly

speaking intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the

vulgarity of making any noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs

Jamieson was the most fortunate, for she fell asleep.

At length the eyes disappeared—the curtain quivered—one side went up

before the other, which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with a

fresh effort, and a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up,

revealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume,

seated before a little table, gazing at us (I should have said with the

same eyes that I had last seen through the hole in the curtain) with

calm and condescending dignity, “like a being of another sphere,” as I

heard a sentimental voice ejaculate behind me.

“That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; and so audibly

that I am sure he heard, for he glanced down over his flowing beard at

our party with an air of mute reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no

beard—but perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled herself into

patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred through her eye-glass,

wiped it, and looked again. Then she turned round, and said to me, in a

kind, mild, sorrowful tone—

“You see, my dear, turbans _are_ worn.”

But we had no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole

chose to call him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni.

“I don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant manner. He

looked at her again, with the same dignified upbraiding in his

countenance. “I don’t!” she repeated more positively than ever.

“Signor Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about his chin, but

looked like a close-shaved Christian gentleman.”

Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening up Mrs

Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention—a

proceeding which silenced Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk to

proceed, which he did in very broken English—so broken that there was no

cohesion between the parts of his sentences; a fact which he himself

perceived at last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action.

Now we _were_ astonished. How he did his tricks I could not imagine;

no, not even when Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper and began

reading aloud—or at least in a very audible whisper—the separate

“receipts” for the most common of his tricks. If ever I saw a man frown

and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk frown at Miss Pole; but, as she

said, what could be expected but unchristian looks from a Mussulman? If

Miss Pole were sceptical, and more engrossed with her receipts and

diagrams than with his tricks, Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester were

mystified and perplexed to the highest degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking

her spectacles off and wiping them, as if she thought it was something

defective in them which made the legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had

seen many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with the

tricks, and would not at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared that

anybody could do them with a little practice, and that she would,

herself, undertake to do all he did, with two hours given to study the

Encyclopædia and make her third finger flexible.

At last Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. They

whispered together. I sat just behind them, so I could not help hearing

what they were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester “if she thought

it was quite right to have come to see such things? She could not help

fearing they were lending encouragement to something that was not

quite”— A little shake of the head filled up the blank. Mrs Forrester

replied, that the same thought had crossed her mind; she too was feeling

very uncomfortable, it was so very strange. She was quite certain that

it was her pocket-handkerchief which was in that loaf just now; and it

had been in her own hand not five minutes before. She wondered who had

furnished the bread? She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was

the churchwarden. Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards me—

“Will you look, my dear—you are a stranger in the town, and it won’t

give rise to unpleasant reports—will you just look round and see if the

rector is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that this wonderful

man is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a great relief to my

mind.”

I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting

surrounded by National School boys, guarded by troops of his own sex

from any approach of the many Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all

agape with broad smiles, and the boys around him were in chinks of

laughing. I told Miss Matty that the Church was smiling approval, which

set her mind at ease.

[Picture: Afraid of matrimonial reports]

I have never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to-do and

happy young woman, never came in contact with him. He was an old

bachelor, but as afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad about him

as any girl of eighteen: and he would rush into a shop or dive down an

entry, sooner than encounter any of the Cranford ladies in the street;

and, as for the Preference parties, I did not wonder at his not

accepting invitations to them. To tell the truth, I always suspected

Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase to Mr Hayter when he first

came to Cranford; and not the less, because now she appeared to share so

vividly in his dread lest her name should ever be coupled with his. He

found all his interests among the poor and helpless; he had treated the

National School boys this very night to the performance; and virtue was

for once its own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung

round him as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He felt

so safe in their environment that he could even afford to give our party

a bow as we filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, and pretended to

be absorbed in convincing us that we had been cheated, and had not seen

Signor Brunoni after all.