“Mais, que diable! vot is zies?” he would exclaim, raising his eyeglass to examine with a face of deep disgust a shin of beef; “vot is zies? Did I not ordaire un gigot, vot you call a leg of ship, and ’ere you ’ave transported to me—ah, que c’est dégoutant!—zie stump of a cow: qu’ils sont bêtes, ces Anglais—takes ’im avay.”
But if there were earthquakes and tornadoes in the culinary and decorative departments, difficulties hydra-headed had arisen in the boudoir of Lady Lombard, where sat a council of three, Rose merely acting as secretary and writing just what she was bidden. The third privy councillor (besides the giver of the feast and Mrs. Arundel) was a certain Mrs. Colonel Brahmin, relict of the late Colonel Brahmin, which gallant officer had been cut off in the prime of life, together with 200 tawny privates of the——th native infantry, by falling into an ambush of armed Sikhs, headed by Meer Ikan Chopimatoo at Choakumcurree. After this afflicting event Mrs. Colonel Brahmin returned to England, in the thirty-third year of her age, with a small pension, a very becoming widow’s cap, and an earnest desire to replace the victim of Ikan Chopimatoo’s scimitar without loss of time.
Now, in bygone hours the lamented Sir Pinchbeck Lombard, in his capacity of East India director, had known and patronised the lamented Brahmin; what, therefore, could be more natural than that their disconsolate widows should desire to mingle their tears? And, indeed, Mrs. Colonel Brahmin was so anxious to ensure the effectual working of this Mutual-misery-mingling Association, that on her return to England she was good enough to stay six months with Lady Lombard; and although, during the whole of that period, she told every one she was anxiously looking out for a house, so few edifices are there in London and its vicinity, that she was unable to find one till the very week before her hostess was about to start on a self-defensive tour to the Lakes. Since then she had been vizier-in-chief to her wealthy sister in affliction, riding in her carriage, eating her dinners, and entertaining her guests, especially such eligible males as appeared likely to succeed to the (nominal) command left vacant by the cut-off colonel; but up to the present time these young eligibles had remained unattached, and the appointment was still to be filled up. Mrs. Brahmin was not really pretty, though, by dint of a pair of fine eyes, glossy hair, a telling smile, and little white hands, she contrived to pass as such. In her manner she affected the youthful and innocent; and very well she did it, considering her natural astuteness, and the amount of experience and savoir vivre she had acquired when following the world-wide fortunes of the cut-off one. Lady Lombard believed in her to a great extent, and liked her better than she deserved. Perquisite saw at a glance, not only through, but considerably beyond her, and hated her with all the rancour of a vulgar mind. But Mrs. Brahmin was too strong for Perquisite, and with her soft voice and imperturbable simplicity put her down more thoroughly than the veriest virago could have done—the housekeeper’s most bitter speeches and cutting innuendos producing much the same effect on the mild Susanna that a blow might have done upon an air-cushion—viz., exhausting the aggressor’s strength without making the slightest impression on her opponent.
Mrs. Brahmin had been prepared to find in Mrs. Arundel a dangerous rival, and was ready to defend her position to the death, and to battle à l’outrance for her portion of the Lombard loaves and fishes. But her courage was not destined to be put to the proof, the present being an occasion on which an appeal to arms was unnecessary—diplomacy would suit her purpose better, and on diplomacy, therefore, she fell back. She had not been ten minutes in Mrs. Arundel’s company ere she discovered her weak point—she was unmistakably vain. Accordingly, with artless simplicity, Mrs. Brahmin indirectly praised everything Mrs. Arundel said or did, and Mrs. Arundel straightway suffered her discrimination to be tickled to sleep, took Mrs. Brahmin at her own price, and doted on her from that time forth, until—but we will leave events to develop themselves in their due course.
Rose and Mrs. Brahmin were mutual enigmas—neither could comprehend the other. Rose had heard the details of the “Chopimatoo” affair, and all her sympathies were ready to be enlisted in behalf of the interesting widow; but the “sweet simplicity,” cleverly as it was done, did not deceive her. With the instinct of a true nature she felt that it was assumed, and that beneath it lay the real character. What that might be remained to be discovered, and she suspended her judgment till opportunity might afford her a glimpse of that which was so studiously concealed. On the other hand, the character of Rose was one which Mrs. Brahmin could by no means comprehend, perhaps because in its entireness it was beyond and above her comprehension; but parts of it she discerned clearly enough, and most particularly did they puzzle her. For instance, she perceived that Rose had a mind, properly so called—that her ideas and opinions were bona fide the product of her own intellect, and not like those of too many girls, a dim reflex of somebody else’s; but the straightforward, earnest truthfulness of her nature she could by no means fathom, such a quality being essentially foreign to her own disposition; accordingly, she deemed it put on for a purpose, which purpose it behoved her to find out. But her investigations did not prosper well, from the simple fact that ex nihilo nil fit: Rose, having nothing to conceal, concealed it effectually.
Many and important were the consultations held in the boudoir by this council of three, as to who should, and who should not, be invited. Lady Lombard’s smooth brow grew furrowed with the unwonted demand upon her powers (?) of mind.
“Sir Benjamin and Lady Boucher regret exceedingly that a previous engagement prevents their accepting Lady Lombard’s kind invitation for Thursday, the—th.”
“Dear me, how dreadfully provoking!” sighed the perplexed “in-vitress.”
“My dear Susanna” (the Brahmin’s Christian name), “the Bouchers are engaged, and there’ll be nobody fit to meet the General Gudgeons. What are we to do?”
“Would you ask the Dackerels? They’re such very nice people, and live in such very good style, dear Lady Lombard,” cooed Mrs. Brahmin (for, be it observed, that bereaved one’s method of speaking, together with the low, gentle, sleepy, caressing tones of her soft voice, involuntarily reminded her hearers of the cooing of a dove or the purring of a cat).