CHAPTER III.

_Containing the Arrival at Ducie of a Distinguished Guest_.

IT WAS about three weeks after Ferdinand Armine had quitted Ducie that

Mr. Temple entered the breakfast-room one morning, with an open note in

his hand, and told Henrietta to prepare for visitors, as her old friend,

Lady Bellair, had written to apprise him of her intention to rest the

night at Ducie, on her way to the North.

‘She brings with her also the most charming woman in the world,’ added

Mr. Temple, with a smile.

‘I have little doubt Lady Bellair deems her companion so at present,’

said Miss Temple, ‘whoever she may be; but, at any rate, I shall be glad

to see her ladyship, who is certainly one of the most amusing women in

the world.’

This announcement of the speedy arrival of Lady Bellair made some bustle

in the household of Ducie Bower; for her ladyship was in every respect a

memorable character, and the butler who had remembered her visits to Mr.

Temple before his residence at Ducie, very much interested the

curiosity of his fellow-servants by his intimations of her ladyship’s

eccentricities.

‘You will have to take care of the parrot, Mary,’ said the butler;

‘and you, Susan, must look after the page. We shall all be well

cross-examined as to the state of the establishment; and so I advise you

to be prepared. Her ladyship is a rum one, and that’s the truth.’

In due course of time, a handsome travelling chariot, emblazoned with a

viscount’s coronet, and carrying on the seat behind a portly man-servant

and a lady’s maid, arrived at Ducie. They immediately descended, and

assisted the assembled household of the Bower to disembark the contents

of the chariot; but Mr. Temple and his daughter were too well acquainted

with Lady Bellair’s character to appear at this critical moment.

First came forth a stately dame, of ample proportions and exceedingly

magnificent attire, being dressed in the extreme of gorgeous fashion,

and who, after being landed on the marble steps, was for some moments

absorbed in the fluttering arrangement of her plumage; smoothing her

maroon pelisse, shaking the golden riband of her emerald bonnet, and

adjusting the glittering pelerine of point device, that shaded the fall

of her broad but well-formed shoulders. In one hand the stately dame

lightly swung a bag that was worthy of holding the Great Seal itself,

so rich and so elaborate were its materials and embroidery; and in the

other she at length took a glass which was suspended from her neck by

a chain-cable of gold, and glanced with a flashing eye, as dark as her

ebon curls and as brilliant as her well-rouged cheek, at the surrounding

scene.

The green parrot, in its sparkling cage, followed next, and then came

forth the prettiest, liveliest, smallest, best-dressed, and, stranger

than all, oldest little lady in the world. Lady Bellair was of childlike

stature, and quite erect, though ninety years of age; the tasteful

simplicity of her costume, her little plain white silk bonnet, her grey

silk dress, her apron, her grey mittens, and her Cinderella shoes,

all admirably contrasted with the vast and flaunting splendour of

her companion, not less than her ladyship’s small yet exquisitely

proportioned form, her highly-finished extremities, and her keen

sarcastic grey eye. The expression of her countenance now, however, was

somewhat serious. An arrival was an important moment that required all

her practised circumspection; there was so much to arrange, so much to

remember, and so much to observe.

The portly serving-man had advanced, and, taking his little mistress in

his arms, as he would a child, had planted her on the steps. And then

her ladyship’s clear, shrill, and now rather fretful voice was heard.

‘Here! where’s the butler? I don’t want you, stupid [addressing her

own servant], but the butler of the house, Mister’s butler; what is his

name, Mr. Twoshoes’ butler? I cannot remember names. Oh! you are there,

are you? I don’t want you. How is your master? How is your charming

lady? Where is the parrot? I don’t want it. Where’s the lady? Why don’t

you answer? Why do you stare so? Miss Temple! no! not Miss Temple! The

lady, my lady, my charming friend, Mrs. Floyd! To be sure so; why did

not you say so before? But she has got two names. Why don’t you say

both names? My dear,’ continued Lady Bellair, addressing her travelling

companion, ‘I don’t know your name. Tell all these good people your

name; your two names! I like people with two names. Tell them, my dear,

tell them; tell them your name, Mrs. Thingabob, or whatever it is, Mrs.

Thingabob Twoshoes.’

Mrs. Montgomery Floyd, though rather annoyed by this appeal, still

contrived to comply with the request in the most dignified manner; and

all the servants bowed to Mrs. Montgomery Floyd.

To the great satisfaction of this stately dame, Lady Bellair, after

scanning everything and everybody with the utmost scrutiny, indicated

some intention of entering, when suddenly she turned round:

‘Man, there’s something wanting. I had three things to take charge of.

The parrot and my charming friend; that is only two. There is a third.

What is it? You don’t know! Here, you man, who are you? Mr. Temple’s

servant. I knew your master when he was not as high as that cage. What

do you think of that?’ continued her ladyship, with a triumphant smile.

‘What do you laugh at, sir? Did you ever see a woman ninety years

old before? That I would wager you have not. What do I want? I want

something. Why do you tease me by not remembering what I want? Now, I

knew a gentleman who made his fortune by once remembering what a very

great man wanted. But then the great man was a minister of state. I dare

say if I were a minister of state, instead of an old woman ninety years

of age, you would contrive somehow or other to find out what I wanted.

Never mind, never mind. Come, my charming friend, let me take your

arm. Now I will introduce you to the prettiest, the dearest, the most

innocent and charming lady in the world. She is my greatest favourite.

She is always my favourite. You are my favourite, too; but you are only

my favourite for the moment. I always have two favourites: one for the

moment, and one that I never change, and that is my sweet Henrietta

Temple. You see I can remember her name, though I couldn’t yours. But

you are a good creature, a dear good soul, though you live in a bad

set, my dear, a very bad set indeed; vulgar people, my dear; they may

be rich, but they have no _ton_. This is a fine place. Stop, stop,’ Lady

Bellair exclaimed, stamping her little foot and shaking her little arm,

‘Don’t drive away; I remember what it was. Gregory! run, Gregory! It is

the page! There was no room for him behind, and I told him to lie under

the seat. Poor dear boy! He must be smothered. I hope he is not dead.

Oh! there he is. Has Miss Temple got a page? Does her page wear a

feather? My page has not got a feather, but he shall have one, because

he was not smothered. Here! woman, who are you? The housemaid. I thought

so. I always know a housemaid. You shall take care of my page. Take him

at once, and give him some milk and water; and, page, be very good, and

never leave this good young woman, unless I send for you. And, woman,

good young woman, perhaps you may find an old feather of Miss Temple’s

page. Give it to this good little boy, because he was not smothered.’