THE NELL OF CHELSEA.
(A Legend of the Opening of the Royal Military Exhibition.)
The Lady got out of her picture in the Morning Room, and glanced at herself in the Club glass. She had been painted by Sir Peter Lely, and consequently was scarcely in a costume suitable to a May Day at the close of the Nineteenth Century.
"I' faith," said the Lady, "but I must get me a cloak to cover me, otherwise I shall have a crowd a following me."
It will be seen from this observation that, although the Lady had flourished (very considerably) in the time of Charles the Second, she had not kept up her Carolian English. It is possible that the chit-chat under her frame by the fire-place had corrupted the purity of her—to an antiquary—interesting lingo. Be this as it may, she glided down the large and handsome staircase, and selecting the furred and hooded coat of a member who had just returned from abroad, annexed it.
"This will do nicely," she murmured; "quite the mode," a remark which proved that she had seen no fashion-plates lying on the Club table, and, therefore, was entirely ignorant of the modern mysteries of ladies' dress. However, she passed in the crowd—partly because no one appeared to notice her. A Lady from a portrait by Sir Peter Lely without her frame and background, after all, is rather a shadowy creation.
When she had turned from Garrick Street into St. Martin's Lane, she looked about her in surprise. What had been fields when she was in the flesh were now sites of houses. She glided along, perplexed to a degree, until she got to Charing Cross; then she recognised the statue of Charles the First, and what was standing of White Hall.
"By my troth, this is not an improvement! Houses, houses, nothing but houses! I will e'en take the water to Chelsea, and see the hospital I persuaded Rowley to give to his poor soldiers. There should be some stairs hereabouts."
But if the Lady did not find stairs, she came across a landing-stage. She got on to the Westminster Pier, and was soon aboard one of the best vessels of the Victoria Steamboat Association, Limited. Within half an hour or so she was landed opposite the building it had been her privilege to secure for the benefit of the British Army. The place was brave with bunting. There were enormous sheds full of battle pictures and portraits, and in the grounds was an arena suitable for the holding of military sports. Then there was a huge band-stand, and the electric light was laid on with great liberality in the gardens.
"Gad'sooks!" exclaimed the Lady of the Picture; "and what are they doing in the precincts of Chelsea Hospital?"
She was immediately supplied with information. A Military Exhibition was being held in aid of the Church of England Institutes—establishments (so she was told) of a strictly unsectarian character. The entertainments would be of a most popular character,—weather permitting, al fresco. The commissariat would be excellent. In one place only temperance beverages would be served, but elsewhere there would be—well—there would be drinks. At that very moment the Exhibition was being opened by the Most Illustrious Gentleman in the Land accompanied by H.R.H.'s most charming and most beautiful partner. Would the Lady like to see the place?
"Another time," she replied. "Stay, I would like to see myself. Have you a picture of me? I am Mistress Nellie Gwynne."
Her courteous informant bowed, and shook his head. He had heard it suggested at the inaugural lunch that she should be represented, but there were so many things to do—the Military Sports, the eating and drinking, the Royal Patronage, and the Church of England Institutes,—that, in point of fact, the matter had been overlooked.
"Well, never mind," said good-natured Nellie, "I daresay you will get on very well without me. But look to this, my master. Here we are very near the site of old Cremorne, and a part of the grounds over yonder is called Ranelagh. You have lights and bands, and subtle beverages, some of which will cheer but not inebriate,—and others that may possibly reverse the operation. Well, well, my portrait is not in your collection,—the best I can wish you is that you may keep your night fêtes as select as your picture-gallery."
And with this the Lady returned to her frame beside the fire-place in the Club Morning Room.