The Chevalier's daughter

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

So at last, it was settled that we were to sail for England with the first good opportunity, spend a few days in London, to dispose of my mother's jewels to advantage, and then go by sea to Plymouth, from whence the land journey would be but short.

An opportunity was not long delayed, for a good merchant-ship, with whose captain Andrew was well acquainted, touched at the island, and as the accommodations were better than any we could have hoped for, we got ready and embarked without delay.

I gave my white cat Blanchon to Eleanor. I grieved to part with him, for he seemed a link to my lost home, but I should not have known how to dispose of him in London, and Eleanor had grown very fond of him; so I was glad to do something for her in return for all her goodness to me. So Blanchon was left behind.

I parted from my cousins with many tears. They are all living still, and the two elder ones in homes of their own; but Eleanor has never married, and now governs her elder brother's house, as my cousin Marianne did her father's.

Our voyage, though somewhat rough, was prosperous, and the morning of the third day found us in lodgings which Andrew had procured for us in a good situation. It was in one of the new streets which had been built upon the ground covered by the great fire, and was therefore clean in comparison with other parts of the town. But oh, how dingy and dirty and forlorn it all seemed to me!

It is true, many of the buildings were very magnificent, and the equipages quite wonderful to my country eyes; but what did that matter, when half the time one could not see them for the fog and the smoke of the sea-coal, a kind of fuel of which I knew nothing? I well remember my dismay when, on putting my hand on the banister in going down-stairs, I found it as begrimed as a blacksmith's.

We remained in London about two weeks. My Uncle Charles, my mother's brother, was out of town with his family when we first arrived, but he soon returned, and came at once to see us, with his wife. They were a very fine lady and gentleman indeed, and dressed in the extreme of the fashion. My aunt especially was quite wonderful to behold, with her great bush of false hair, almost white, which formed an odd contrast to her dark eyes and eyebrows. Her forehead and cheeks were spotted with patches in the form of crescents, stars, and what not, and she wore the richest of brocades with heaps of silver lace. She was a very pretty woman, and very good-natured as well, though rather affected. I admired her hugely, as the first specimen of a fine lady I had ever seen. They were very kind and attentive to us, and my aunt was earnest with my mother to remain with her, instead of going down into that barbarous Cornwall, as she called it.

"Meg does not think it a barbarous desert, you see," said my uncle, with some pique in his voice, I thought. "And as you have never seen it and she has, she is perhaps the better judge."

"But such a lonely place," said my lady, with a very little pout; "no society, no gentry! I should die of megrims in a week."

"Margaret will not die of megrims, I'll engage," said my uncle; "nor my niece here. Come here, child, and let us look at you. I protest, Margaret, she is a beauty. Leave her with us, if you will not remain yourself, and we will find her a good husband."