To enter Court circles had been the dream of Lydia’s angular and ambitious breast. Her mistress’s gratified vanity was a trifling emotion compared to the bursting satisfaction which this upward step on the social ladder afforded the maid. It is not too much to say that she regarded herself in the light of a Prime Minister who has successfully brought about some great political event, and who is a far more important person than the Sovereign whom he serves.
It came to pass in this wise.
His Most Gracious Majesty, King George III, had been ordered to Cheltenham Spa for the waters by his physicians; his state of health was causing anxiety, the extent of which was as yet quite unknown to the bulk of his loyal subjects. Queen Charlotte, the most devoted of spouses, of course determined to accompany him; and the Royal party duly proceeded to the Spa.
It happened to be Lady Flora Dare-Stamer’s term of attendance on Her Majesty, and that stout estimable Lady-in-Waiting happened to be Lady Kilcroney’s very close and dear friend. There was nothing remarkable, perhaps, in the conjunction of these two happenings; but it was indeed singular that Kitty Kilcroney should happen to discover a delicacy in her son and heir which necessitated an instant visit to the celebrated health resort now so vastly honoured.
These events having succeeded each other, nothing more natural than that my Lady Kilcroney should invite her “poor dear Flo” to a dish of tea and a chat at her lodgings, to rest her of the fatigue consequent upon her eminent but exhausting office.
Though Lady Flora had made no secret to her intimates of her intention to rid herself of her honours as soon as might be, who so surprised as her dearest Kitty to learn that she now believed her emancipation at hand?
“To tell you the truth, my dear,” said Lady Flo, chewing a macaroon, “it’s not a job that suits me in the least. ’Twould fit you vastly better.”
“O, Lady Flo!” cried Kitty in accents of amazement. “What a strange thought! I vow and declare such an idea never crossed my mind. And, in truth, ’tis rank impossible. There are a hundred reasons, a thousand reasons, why I am the last person likely to be selected by Her Majesty. I am too young.”
“Upon my word,” said her companion bluntly. “I doubt if there’s so much between us, my dear, were it not that I have run to fat. These macaroons are excellent. ’Tis like your genius to be so well served in lodgings. You’ve brought the best of your staff with you, I make no doubt.”
“And, O, my love! the difficulty of housing them! There’s scarce a tradesman in the town that hath not a servant of mine.”