Kate Coventry: An Autobiography

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

I could willingly have sunk into the earth—nay, crept under the table-cloth—anything to hide my dishonoured head. The ladies looked at each other aghast, and then at me. The gentlemen, even the stiffest of them, turned boldly round to survey such a phenomenon as the tobacco-smoking, four-in-hand Miss Coventry. Mrs. Lumley showered her long ringlets all over her face with one toss of her pretty little head that I might not see how heartily she was laughing. Lady Scapegrace good-naturedly made an immense clatter with something that was handed to her, to distract attention from my unfortunate self; but I believe I must have got up and left the room had not Cousin John come adroitly to the rescue. He had not been studying the daily paper for nothing, and his voice rose loud and clear through the awful silence that succeeded Sir Guy's polished remarks.

"Did you see that article in to-day's Times about Ministers?" asked John, of the public in general; "there's another split in the Cabinet—this time it's on the malt-tax. To-day, in the City, they were betting five to two there's a general election within a fortnight, and taking two to one Ambidexter is Premier before the first of next month."

John! John! if you had saved my life I could not have been more obliged to you. Many of the present party were members of Parliament—all were deep in politics. Most of them had seen the Times, but none, like John, had the earliest intelligence from the City. I have since had reason to believe he invented every syllable of it. However, such a topic was too engrossing not to swamp every other, and no more allusions were made to my unfortunate escapade till Lady Scapegrace had drawn on her gloves, bent her haughty head, and "made the move," at which we all sailed away to tea and coffee in the drawing-room.

Here I was more at my ease. Lady Scapegrace and Mrs. Lumley, hating each other, were, of course, inclined to be excessively kind to me—I formed a bond of union between the foes. We three, particularly with such a weapon as the tongue of Mrs. Lumley, were more than a match for any number of our own sex, and most of the other ladies gave in at once. Only Miss Molasses held out, and eyed me once more with an expression of eager malice for which I could not easily account. I remarked, too, that she seemed restless and fidgety, glanced anxiously ever and anon at the door by which the gentlemen would join us, and seemed uncomfortable if any of us approached an empty chair which was next to her seat. I began to have my suspicions of Frank Lovell, notwithstanding all his asseverations. I determined to watch him narrowly; and if I found my misgivings were true—if I discovered he was false and treacherous, why, then, I would—after all, what could I do? It stung me to think how powerless I was.

Now, the establishment of Scamperley, although doubtless the bonds of domestic discipline were by no means over-tightly drawn, was one in which servants, from the stately curly-headed "groom of the chambers," down to the little boy in green that was always too late for the post, had more than enough upon their hands. In the first place, nobody ever seemed to think of going to bed much before daylight. This entailed a breakfast, protracted by one late sleeper after another till luncheon-time; that meal was of unusual magnificence and variety; besides which, a hot repast, dressed by the French cook, and accompanied by iced champagne, etc., required to be served in one of the woods for the refreshment of Sir Guy's shooting guests. Then in the afternoon there were constant fresh arrivals and rooms to be got ready; for when the host and hostess were at home they kept the house full, and the day concluded with a large dinner-party, at which seldom less than sixteen sat down to discuss the inspirations of Monsieur Horsd'oeuvre and the priceless wines of Sir Guy. No wonder the servants looked tired and overworked, though I fancy the luxury and good living downstairs was quite equal to that which elicited encomiums from bon-vivants and connoisseurs above. Nevertheless, it was but just that they too should have their share of relaxation and amusement; therefore did Sir Guy in his generosity give an annual servants' ball, which he attended and opened himself in a state of hilarity not calculated to inspire much respect amongst his retainers. He had, however, sufficient self-command invariably to select as his partner the prettiest maidservant in his establishment. But if the baronet failed in his dignity as head of the house, her ladyship had enough for both. She looked like a queen as she sailed in, amongst her own domestics and all the retainers and hangers-on for miles round. On the evening in question it amused me much to see the admiration, almost the adoration, she elicited from old and young. No wonder: that stately form, that queenly brow, had been bent over many a sick-bed; those deep, thrilling tones had spoken words of comfort to many a humble sufferer; that white hand was ever ready to aid, ever open to relieve; good or bad, none ever applied to Lady Scapegrace in vain.

"The virtuous it is pleasant to relieve and make friends of," she has often said to me in her moments of confidence; "the wicked it is a duty to assist and to pity. Who should feel for them, Kate, if I didn't? God knows I have been wicked enough myself."

The men-servants never took their eyes off her, and I fear made but sorry partners to the buxom lasses of the household till "my lady" had left the room. I saw two stable-boys, evidently fresh arrivals, who seemed perfectly transfixed with admiration, as at an apparition such as they had never pictured to themselves in their dreams; and one rough fellow, a sort of under-keeper in velveteen, with the frame of a Hercules and a fist that could have stunned an ox, having gazed at her open-mouthed for about ten minutes without winking an eyelash, struck his hand against his thigh, and exclaimed aloud to his own inexpressible relief, though utterly unconscious of anything but the presence which so overpowered him,—

"Noa, dashed if ever I did!"

This was soon after "my lady" had sailed into the servants' hall at the head of her guests. It was the custom of the place for all the "fashionables" and smart people who were actually in the house to attend the servants' ball, most of us only staying long enough to set the thing going with spirit, though I believe some of the young dandies who found partners to their liking remained to the end, and "kept it up" till daylight. Down we all went, as soon as the gentlemen had finished their wine and discussed their coffee in the drawing-room, down we went, through stone passages and long underground galleries into a splendidly-lighted apartment, somewhat devoid of furniture, but decorated with evergreens, and further adorned by a sort of muslin transparency hanging from the roof. This was the servants' hall, and although on a stone floor, a capital room for dancing it was. We were all soon provided with partners. Sir Guy, much to her triumph, selected my maid, Gertrude. Lady Scapegrace paired off with the steward, a fat, rosy man, who quite shone with delight at the honour. The French cook carried off Miss Molasses, with whose native stupidity I thought the vivacious foreigner seemed a little disappointed. Frank Lovell was taken possession of by the fat housekeeper, to whom he "did the amiable," as Frank had the knack of doing to anything with a petticoat. Cousin John handed off a stately damsel, whom I afterwards recognized as the upper housemaid, and I was claimed by a dapper little second-horse rider, of whom I flatter myself I made a complete conquest by the interest I took in his profession and the thorough knowledge I displayed of its details. I had to make most of the conversation myself, certainly, for his replies, though couched in terms of the deepest respect, and accompanied by a chivalrous deference for my sex to which I was totally unaccustomed from the partners of a London ball-room, consisted for the most part of little more than "Yes, Miss," and "No, Miss," with an additional smooth of the smoothest, shiniest head I ever beheld. When I had exhausted the meets of the hounds for the ensuing week, with a few general observations on the pursuit of hunting, and the merits of that noble animal, the horse, I began to get high and dry for further topics, and was not sorry when three fiddles and a flute struck up their inspiriting tones, and away we all went, "cross hands," "down the middle and up again," to the lively and by this time tolerably familiar air of "Sir Roger de Coverley."

I am bound to confess that, as far as the servants were concerned, everything went on with the utmost propriety and respect. Sir Guy, indeed, pulled his partner about with an unnecessary degree of vigour, which at times almost degenerated into a romp, and squeezed my hands in "the Poussette" with an energy of affection which I could well have dispensed with; but every one else was a very pattern of politeness and decorum. In fact, the thing was almost getting stupid, when my little second-horse rider and myself, returning breathless from our rapid excursion down some two-and-thirty couple, were "brought up," startled and dismayed, by a piercing scream from at least that number of female voices, all raised at the same instant.