Arabella (3 page)

“My dear Arabella, don’t put yourself in a taking!
That
has all been thought of, I assure you. You must know that have had this scheme in my mind for many a long day.” She saw her daughter’s face of mystification, and laughed again. “Why, did you think I would send you into society looking like a rustic? I am not quite such a zany, I hope! I have been putting by for this very occasion since I don’t know when.”

“Mama!”

“I have a little money of my own, you know,” explained Mrs. Tallant. “Your dear Papa would never use it, but desired me to spend it only as I liked, because I used to be very fond of pretty things, and he never could bear to think I might not have them when I married him. That was all nonsense, of course, and I’m sure I very soon gave up thinking of such fripperies. But I was very glad to have it to spend on my children. And in spite of Margaret’s drawing-lessons, and Sophy’s music-master, and dearest Bertram’s new coat, and those yellow pantaloons which he dare not let Papa see—my love, was there ever such a foolish boy? As though Papa did not know all along!—and having to take poor Betsy to the doctor three times this year, I have quite a little nest-egg saved for you!”

“Oh, mama, no, no!” cried Arabella, distressed. “I would rather not go to London at all than that you should be put to such dreadful expense!”

That is because you are sadly shatterbrained, my dear,” replied her mother calmly. “I regard it as an investment, and I shall own myself extremely astonished if a great deal of good does not come of it.” She hesitated, looked a little conscious, and said, picking her words: “I am sure I do not have to tell you that Papa is a Saint. Indeed, I don’t suppose there is a better husband or father alive! But he is not at all practical, and when one has eight children to provide for, one must have a little worldly sense, or I don’t know how one is to go on. One need have no anxiety about dear James, to be sure; and since Harry is set on going to sea, and his uncle is so obliging as to use his influence in his behalf,
his
future is settled. But I own I cannot be happy about poor Bertram; and where I am to find suitable husbands for all you girls in this restricted neighbourhood, I have not the least notion! Now, that is speaking more plainly than perhaps Papa would like, but you are a sensible puss, Arabella, and I have no scruple in being open with you. If I can but contrive to establish you respectably, you may bring out your sisters, and perhaps, even, if you should be so fortunate as to marry a gentleman of position, you might be able to help Bertram to buy his commission. I do not mean, of course, that your husband should purchase it precisely, but he might very likely have an interest at the Horse Guards, or—or something of the sort!”

Arabella nodded, for it was no news to her that she, as the eldest of four sisters, was expected to marry advantageously. She knew it to be her duty to do so. “Mama, I will
try
not to disappoint you!” she said earnestly.

II

it was the candidly expressed opinion of the Vicar’s children that Mama must have had a great work to prevail upon Papa to consent to Arabella’s going to London. Few things were more reprehensible in his eyes than vanity and pleasure-seeking; and although he never raised any objection to Mama’s chaperoning Arabella and Sophia to the Assemblies at Harrowgate, and had even been known to comment favourably upon their gowns, he always impressed upon them that such diversions, innocent in themselves, would, if indulged in to excess, inevitably ruin the character of the most virtuous female. He had himself no taste for society, and had frequently been heard to animadvert severely on the useless and frivolous lives led by ladies of fashion. Moreover, although he was not in the least above enjoying a good joke, he had the greatest dislike of levity, could never be brought to tolerate idle chatter, and if the conversation turned upon worldly trifles would never fail to give it a more proper direction.

But Lady Bridlington’s invitation to Arabella did not take the Vicar by surprise. He knew that Mrs. Tallant had written to her old friend, and however little he approved of the chief motive behind her resolve to launch her daughter into society, certain of the arguments she employed to persuade him could not but carry weight.

“My dear Mr. Tallant,” said his lady, “do not let us dispute about the merits of an advantageous match! But even you will allow that Arabella is an uncommonly handsome girl!”

Mr. Tallant allowed it, adding reflectively that Arabella put him forcibly in mind of what her Mama was at the same age. Mrs. Tallant was not impervious to this flattery: she blushed, and looked a little roguishly, but said that he need not try to bamboozle her (an expression she had picked up from her sons).

“All I wish to point out to you, Mr. Tallant, is that Arabella is fit to move in the first circles!” she announced.

“My love,” responded the Vicar, with one of his humorous looks, “if I believed you, I should perhaps consider it my duty to show you that an ambition to move in the first circles, as you call them, could never be an ideal I could wish any of my daughters to aspire to. But as I am persuaded that you have a great many other arguments to advance, I will hold my peace, and merely beg you to continue!”

“Well,” said Mrs. Tallant seriously, “I fancy—but you must tell me if I am mistaken—that you would not regard with any degree of complaisance an alliance with the Draytons of Knaresborough!”

The Vicar was plainly startled, and directed an enquiring look at his spouse.

“Young Joseph Drayton is growing extremely particular in his attentions,” pronounced Mrs. Tallant, in a voice of doom. She observed the effect of this, and continued in the blandest way: “Of course, I am aware that he is considered to be a great catch, for he will inherit all his father’s wealth.”

The Vicar was betrayed into an unchristian utterance. “I could not consent to it! He smells of the shop!”

“Exactly so!” agreed Mrs. Tallant, well-satisfied. “But he has been dangling after Arabella these past six months.”

“Do you tell me,” demanded the Vicar, “that a daughter of mine encourages his attentions?”

“By no means!” promptly responded the lady. “Any more than she encourages the attentions of the curate, young Dewsbury, Alfred Hitchin, Humphrey Finchley, or a dozen others! Arabella, my dear sir, is by far the most sought-after belle of these parts!”

“Dear me!” said the Vicar, shaking his head in wonderment. “I must confess, my love, that none of these young gentlemen would be welcome to me as a son-in-law.”

“Then, perhaps, Mr. Tallant, you cherish hopes of seeing Arabella married to her cousin Tom?”

“Nothing,” said the Vicar forcibly, “could be farther from my wishes!” He recollected himself, and added in a more moderate tone: “My brother is a very worthy man, according to his lights, and I wish his children nothing but good; but on several counts, which I need not enumerate, I should not desire to see any of my daughters marry their cousins. And, what is more, I am very sure that he has quite other designs for Tom and Algernon!”

“Indeed he has!” corroborated Mrs. Tallant cordially. “He means them to marry heiresses.”

The Vicar bent an incredulous gaze upon her. “Does my daughter affect any of these young men?” he demanded.

“I fancy not,” replied Mrs. Tallant. “That is to say, she does not show any marked preference for any one of them. But when a girl sees no other gentlemen than those who have been dangling after her ever since she left the schoolroom, what, my dear Mr. Tallant, must be the end of it? And young Drayton,” she added musingly, “is possessed of a considerable fortune. I do not mean that Arabella would consider
that
,
but there is no denying that the man who drives a smart curricle, and can afford to be begging a female’s acceptance of all the most elegant trifles imaginable, has a decided advantage over his rivals.”

There was a pregnant silence, while all the implications of this speech sank into the Vicar’s brain. He said at length, rather wistfully: “I had hoped that one day a suitable
parti
would present himself, to whom I might have given Arabella with a thankful heart.”

Mrs. Tallant threw him an indulgent glance. “Very likely, my dear, but it would be a great piece of nonsense to pretend that such things happen when one has made not the least push to bring them about! Eligible
partis
do not commonly appear as by magic in country villages: one must go out into the world to find them!” She saw that the Vicar was looking a little pained, and laughed. “Now, do not tell me that it was otherwise with us, Mr. Tallant, for you know very well I met you first at a party in York! I own it was not in the expectation of my falling in love with
you
that my Mama took me there, but in your turn
you
will own that we should never have met if I had sat at home waiting for you!”

He smiled. “Your arguments are always unanswerable, my love. Yet I cannot entirely like it. I believe Arabella to be a well-behaved girl enough, but she is very young, after all, and I have thought sometimes that her spirits might, lacking wiser guidance, betray her into unbecoming conduct. Under Lady Bridlington’s roof, she would, I fear, lead a life gay to dissipation, such as must make her unfit afterwards for rational society.”

“Depend upon it,” said Mrs. Tallant soothingly, “she is by far too well-behaved a girl to occasion us a moment’s anxiety. I am sure, too, that her principles are too sound to allow her to lose her head. To be sure, she can be a sad romp, and
that
,
my dear sir, is because she has not yet enjoyed the advantages of town polish. I am hopeful of seeing her much improved by a season spent with Bella Bridlington. And if—mind, I only say—if!—she were to contract a suitable alliance I am sure you would be as thankful as anyone could be!”

“Yes,” agreed the Vicar, sighing. “I should certainly be glad to see her comfortably established, the wife of a respectable man.”

“And
not
the wife of young Dewsbury!” interpolated Mrs. Tallant.

“Indeed, no! I cannot suppose that any child of mine could attain happiness with a man whom I must—with reluctance—think a very vulgar fellow!”

“In that case, my dear,” said Mrs. Tallant, rising briskly to her feet, “I will write to accept Lady Bridlington’s most obliging invitation.”

“You must do as you think right,” he said. “I have never interfered with what you considered proper for your daughters.”

Thus it was that, at four o’clock on this momentous day, when the Vicar joined his family at the dinner-table, he surprised them by making a humorous reference to Arabella’s projected trip. Not even Betsy would have ventured to have mentioned the scheme, for it was generally supposed that he must disapprove of it. But after grace had been said, and the family had disposed themselves about the long table, Arabella began, not very expeditiously, to carve one of the side-dishes, and the Vicar, looking up from his own labours in time to see her place a slightly mangled wing of chicken on a plate, remarked, with a twinkle: “I think Arabella must take lessons in carving before she goes into society, or she will disgrace us all by her unhandiness. It will not do, you know, my dear, to precipitate a dish into your neighbour’s lap, as you seem to be in danger of doing at this moment!”

Arabella blushed, and protested. Sophia, the first to recover from the shock of hearing Papa speak with such good-humour of the London scheme, said: “Oh, but, Papa, I am sure it will not signify, for ten to one all the dishes are served by the footmen in grand houses!”

“I stand corrected, Sophia,” said the Vicar, with dry meekness.

“Will Lady Bridlington have many footmen?” asked Betsy, dazzled by this vision of opulence.

“One to stand behind every chair,” promptly replied Bertram. “And one to walk behind Arabella every time she desires to take the air; and two to stand up behind my lady’s carriage; and a round dozen, I daresay, to form an avenue in the front hall anytime her ladyship increases her covers for guests. When Arabella returns to us she will have forgotten how to pick up her own handkerchief, mark my words!”

“Well, I don’t know how she will go on in such a house!” said Betsy, half-believing him.

“Nor I, indeed!” murmured Arabella.

“I trust she will go on, as you not very elegantly phrase it, my child, exactly as she would in her own home,” said the Vicar.

Silence followed this rebuke. Bertram made a grimace at Arabella across the table, and Harry dug her surreptitiously in the ribs with his elbow. Margaret, who had been wrinkling her brow over her father’s words, ventured at last to say: “Yes, Papa, but I do not precisely see how she can do so! It must be so very different to what we are accustomed to! I should not be surprised, for instance, if she found herself obliged to wear her party-gowns every evening, and I am sure she will not help with the baking,—or starch shirts, or feed the chickens, or—or anything of that nature!”

“That was not quite what I meant, my dear,” responded the Vicar repressively.

“Will she not be made to do any work at all?” exclaimed Betsy. “Oh, how much I wish
I
had a rich godmother!”

This ill-timed remark brought an expression of grave displeasure to the Vicar’s face. It was evident to his family that the picture thus conjured up, of a daughter given over wholly to pleasure, was not one he could contemplate with anything but misgiving. Several darkling looks were cast at Betsy, which boded ill for one tactless enough to call down upon her sisters a lecture on the evils of idleness; but before the Vicar could speak, Mrs. Tallant had intervened, calling Betsy to order for chattering, and saying cheerfully: “Well, and I think Papa will agree that Arabella is a good girl, and deserves this indulgence more than any of you. I am sure I do not know how I shall manage without her, for whenever I want a task performed I know I may rely upon her to do it. And, what is a great deal to the point, let me tell you all!—she never shows me a pouting face, or complains that she is bored, or falls into a fit of the sullens because she is obliged to mend her old gown instead of purchasing a new one.”