Читать книгу The Rejuvenation of Miss Semaphore - Charlotte O'Conor Eccles - Страница 5

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“I am perfectly proportioned,” said the medical lady confidentially to Mrs. Whitley.

Mrs. Whitley would not have thought so herself, but she made an assenting murmur, out of politeness.

They were seated at breakfast two or three mornings later, and the medical lady’s statement was interrupted by the entrance of Miss Semaphore, who glided quietly to her place, and took up her correspondence with some appearance of anxiety.

“Perfectly proportioned,” went on the medical lady in a lower key; “my dressmaker says she has no difficulty therefore in fitting me, and my gowns always sit well. I don’t say this out of vanity. It is a fact. I fear, however, it would be no use giving her address to other people, for the result might not be as satisfactory.”

Mrs. Whitley looked insulted, but she was a timid woman, and not ready of speech. She thought the medical lady’s dress clumsy, and her figure shapeless, but had indiscreetly asked who made it—the dress, not the figure—with a view to employing the woman on some plain sewing. The medical lady’s answer to her question had offended her very much, but she could not think of anything cutting to say in reply.

Without noticing her expression, or feeling any awkwardness, the medical lady continued,

“You know my velvet mantle? I have been told Miss Fastleigh says she does not like it. Now that is pure jealousy. It is an extremely handsome mantle, far handsomer than anything she could afford. But of course it could only be worn by a fine, tall woman. It is astonishing that so many people are jealous of me.”

Mrs. Whitley wondered vaguely what grounds for jealousy the medical lady gave. She certainly was not popular in the house, but that was scarcely because anyone was jealous of her. Belief in her own beauty, however, and in the envy she imagined it excited, kept her happy; so sharp speeches or covert hints alike failed to alter her. Mrs. Whitley she had chosen as a confidante, under the belief that she was a quiet little person who admired her. She would have been very much astonished to hear Mrs. Whitley’s candid opinion.

“And how are you this morning, Mrs. Whitley?” asked Mrs. Dumaresq blandly. She was the next arrival.

“My cold is still bad, thank you,” said Mrs. Whitley.

“Oh, indeed! No doubt the draught in your room increased it. All the small rooms here are draughty, as the doors and windows are opposite each other. Of course, as I have told you, when we came here we meant to stop but a very short time. I can assure you, my dear Mrs. Whitley, that to anyone who has moved in diplomatic circles, and been honoured by the gracious hospitality of royalty, a boarding-house, however well kept—and this is not without its good points—cannot fail to be objectionable. Though we meant, as I have said, to stay but a short time, I was most particular about having a good room. ‘Angelo,’ said I, ‘let us take the best apartments in the house,’ and so we did. I made a point of it. It is a great pity that you do not move into a larger room. Not that it makes any difference to me. I am quite above such petty matters. I never was influenced by any worldly consideration in my choice of acquaintances; far from it. If I like people, my dear Mrs. Whitley, I like them whether they have a small room or not. I do assure you they may be stowed away at the very top of the house for all I care.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” murmured Mrs. Whitley. The blaze of grandeur surrounding Mr. and Mrs. Dumaresq, caused her to take all that they said in good part. They had a certain suavity, an easy way of saying unpleasant things, that the medical lady lacked. Besides, Mrs. Whitley’s one ambition was to get into Society, and she secretly hoped that if she was very civil to Mrs. Dumaresq, she might possibly be one day introduced to some of the distinguished personages whose names were so frequently introduced into her conversation.

“Yes,” went on the lady in a glow of generous feeling and a somewhat heightened voice, “rank, and wealth, and position have never had any charm for me. As my dear friend, the Marchese Polichinello, a charming woman, a reigning beauty at the Italian Court—You remember the Marchese, Angelo?—often said to me, ‘Bellisima mia’—she always addressed me as ‘bellisima mia’—‘you are led too much by your heart.’”

“I suppose you are going to the Queen’s Garden Party, Mrs. Dumaresq,” said the medical lady, who had been reading the Court Circular.

“Oh, ah, yes,” replied Mrs. Dumaresq, “I expect I shall. It is easy for me to go at any time.”

“But guests must have attended a Drawing-room within the last two years to be eligible for invitations,” said Mr. Lorimer gruffly, “and I thought you said you were out of England.”

“Certainly, certainly,” answered Mrs. Dumaresq, “we have of course been away, but the dear Prince will arrange all that; and then, practically speaking, I have attended a Drawing-room within the last two years.”

No one asked what she meant.

Meantime Miss Semaphore was reading the following letter:—

“194, Handel Street, W.C.

“—th June, 189–.

“Madam,

“In reply to your communication, I beg to say that I shall be pleased to dispose of the Water referred to in my advertisement for the sum of £1000. This minimum price is absolutely fixed, and I cannot take less. Considering that the effect is guaranteed, and that I am the only person in the world who has this marvellous water to sell, I am sure you will admit the price is low. Were it not that I am in pressing and immediate need of money, I could easily get much more. If you are inclined to conclude the business at once, I shall be happy to see you here to-morrow at 4.30 p.m., and give you a proof before purchase. My bankers, Coutts & Co.; my solicitors, Lewis & Lewis, Dr. Llewellyn Smith, of 604, Harley Street; and His Grace the Duke of Fordham have kindly permitted me to name them as references, should you care to make enquiries about me.

“I am, Madam,

“Yours faithfully,

“Sophia Geldheraus.”

Miss Semaphore ate her breakfast pensively and in silence, then made her way to her room. A thousand pounds! It was a large sum of money, a very large sum. The sisters were fairly well off, still that was a great deal to give out of their capital. But if this Mrs. Geldheraus—Miss Semaphore knew the name as that of a famous African traveller of German birth—if Mrs. Geldheraus spoke the truth, the water was well worth it.

Miss Semaphore scarcely allowed her mind to dwell on the ecstatic delight of being once more nineteen—intelligent nineteen this time, nineteen conscious of its powers, knowing the value of youth, enjoying the mere being young as no one could who had not been old. Had she dwelt on it, she would have felt prepared for this one good to give not only one thousand pounds, but her entire fortune and count it well spent. Still, common sense told her a thousand pounds was no trifle for a woman of her means. She could not raise it herself all at once.

On consideration, she decided to tell her sister, to share the bottle with her, and halve the expense. Prudence being younger, would naturally require less of the water. There was no need, however, to allude to that beforehand, else she might feel inclined to pay only in proportion.

The Misses Semaphore had had a life similar to that of many single women—a grey, colourless life, full of petty cares and petty interests. Born in a country town, where their parents were the magnates of a dull and highly-respectable circle, they had had a martinet father and an invalid mother. Church work occupied the days of their youth. Few visitors called on them except elderly married people that they had known all their lives. The very curates in Pillsborough were married.

Colonel Semaphore, like many retired military men, had had strict principles, and had taught his daughters to be suspicious of everything that looked pleasant. Reading, except of devotional works, had not been encouraged in their home. Neither of the girls had been rebellious or particularly bright. They had tried to do their duty, and had found it monotonous. Seeing little of the world, and having no youthful society, they had grown elderly, prim, and formal without knowing it. Dreaming that their lives were all before them, they had waked up suddenly to find that life is youth, and that youth was over.

When their father had died at an advanced age, they had moved to London, feeling themselves most adventurous in making such a change. Years had hardened Miss Augusta and softened Miss Prudence. The former was the terror of the giddy at Beaconsfield Gardens. Behind her back they made fun of her, and imitated her precise manner, but no one liked to come in collision with her. Miss Prudence, soft-hearted, soft-headed, and a little romantic, was the favourite. She was always ready to fall in love, but lacked opportunity. Her little airs, graces, and stratagems were as transparent as the day. She had difficulty in realising that she was grown-up, and would have called anyone who forced the truth on her “a horrid thing.” Her strong-minded sister’s dominion over her and her affairs tended to strengthen the delusion. Miss Semaphore managed the property and investments from which their income was derived, and seldom referred to Prudence in such matters, save when her signature was required.

Under all her severity, however, Miss Semaphore was by no means as rigid as she looked. Since coming to London, she had begun half-unconsciously to contrast the life she had led with the lives that young women about her led. Something stirred vaguely in her. She felt she had been defrauded of many things that were bright and pleasant and harmless in themselves. How matters in the past could have been different she did not quite know, but she wished they had been different. All this was food to her desire to be young, to have her time over again, to enjoy herself just a little; and many of her disagreeable speeches might have been traced, by a student of human nature, to the bitterness towards others that sometimes wells in the heart of a lonely woman, making her feel, “I have had a bad time, why should not they?”