These young ladies in their turn knew and practised the various arts by which at a musical party the unfortunate mistress of the house may be tormented. Some, who were sensible that the company were anxious for their performance, chose to be “quite out of voice,” till they had been pressed and flattered into acquiescence; one sweet bashful creature must absolutely be forced to the instrument, as a new speaker of the House of Commons was formerly dragged to the chair. Then the instrument was not what one young lady was used to; the lights were so placed that another who was near-sighted could not see a note—another could not endure such a glare. One could not sing unless the windows were all open—another could not play unless they were all shut. With perfect complaisance Mrs. Falconer ordered the windows to be opened and shut, and again shut and opened; with admirable patience she was, or seemed to be, the martyr to the caprices of the fair musicians. While all the time she so manoeuvred as to divide, and govern, and finally to have every thing arranged as she pleased. None but a perfectly cool stander-by, and one previously acquainted with Mrs. Falconer’s character, could have seen all that Alfred saw. Perhaps the interest he began to take about Count Altenberg, who was the grand object of all her operations, increased his penetration. While the count was engaged in earnest political conversation in one of the inner rooms with the commissioner, Mrs. Falconer besought the Miss La Grandes to favour the company. It was impossible for them to resist her polite entreaties. Next she called upon Miss Crotch, and the Miss Barhams; and she contrived that they should sing and play, and play and sing, till they had exhausted the admiration and complaisance of the auditors. Then she relieved attention with some slight things from Miss Arabella Falconer, such as could excite no sensation or envy. Presently, after walking about the room, carelessly joining different conversation parties, and saying something obliging to each, she approached the count and the commissioner. Finding that the commissioner had finished all he had to say, she began to reproach him for keeping the count so long from the ladies, and leading him, as she spoke, to the piano-forte, she declared that he had missed such charming things. She could not ask Miss Crotch to play any more till she had rested—“Georgiana! for want of something better, do try what you can give us—She will appear to great disadvantage, of course—My dear, I think we have not had O Giove omnipotente.”
“I am not equal to that, ma’am,” said Georgiana, drawing back: “you should call upon Miss La Grande.”
“True, my love; but Miss La Grande has been so very obliging, I could not ask—Try it, my love—I am not surprised you should be diffident after what we have heard; but the count, I am sure, will make allowances.”
With amiable and becoming diffidence Miss Georgiana was compelled to comply—the count was surprised and charmed by her voice: then she was prevailed upon to try “Quanta O quanto è amor possente”—the count, who was enthusiastically fond of music, seemed quite enchanted; and Mrs. Falconer took care that he should have this impression left full and strong upon his mind—supper was announced. The count was placed at the table between Mrs. Falconer and Lady Trant—but just as they were sitting down, Mrs. Falconer called to Georgiana, who was going, much against her will, to another table, “Take my place, my dear Georgiana, for you know I never eat supper.”
Georgiana’s countenance, which had been black as night, became all radiant instantly. She took her mamma’s place beside the count. Mrs. Falconer walked about all supper-time smiling, and saying obliging things with self-satisfied grace. She had reason indeed to be satisfied with the success of this night’s operations. Never once did she appear to look towards the count, or her daughter; but assuredly she saw that things were going on as she wished.
In the mean time Alfred Percy was as heartily tired by the exhibitions of this evening as were many fashionable young men who had been loud in their praises of the performers. Perhaps Alfred was not however a perfectly fair judge, as he was disappointed in his own manoeuvres, not having been able to obtain two minutes’ conversation with the count during the whole evening. In a letter to Rosamond, the next day, he said that Mrs. Falconer’s concert had been very dull, and he observed that “People can see more of one another in a single day in the country than they can in a year in town.” He was further very eloquent “on the folly of meeting in crowds to say commonplace nothings to people you do not care for, and to see only the outsides of those with whom you desire to converse.”
“Just as I was writing this sentence,” continues Alfred, “Count Altenberg called—how fortunate!—how obliging of him to come so early, before I went to the courts. He has put me into good humour again with the whole world—even with the Miss Falconers. He came to take leave of me—he is going down to the country—with whom do you think?—With Lord Oldborough, during the recess. Did I not tell you that Lord Oldborough would like him—that is, would find that he has information, and can be useful? I hope you will all see the count; indeed I am sure you will. He politely spoke of paying his respects to my father, by whom the shipwrecked foreigners had been so hospitably succoured in their distress. I told him that our family no longer lived in the same place; that we had been obliged to retire to a small estate, in a distant part of the county. I did not trouble him with the history of our family misfortunes; nor did I even mention how the shipwreck, and the carelessness of the Dutch sailors, had occasioned the fire at Percy Hall—though I was tempted to tell him this when I was speaking of M. de Tourville.
“I forgot to tell my father, that the morning when I went with the count to Lord Oldborough’s, among a heap of books of heraldry, with which his table was covered, I spied an old book of my father’s on the arte of deciphering, which he had lent Commissioner Falconer years ago. Lord Oldborough, whose eye is quick as a hawk’s, saw my eye turn towards it, and he asked me if I knew any thing of that book, or of the art of deciphering? Nothing of the art, but something of the book, which I recollected to be my father’s. His lordship put it into my hands, and I showed some pencil notes of my father’s writing. Lord Oldborough seemed surprised, and said he did not know this had been among the number of your studies. I told him that you had once been much intent upon Wilkins and Leibnitz’s scheme of a universal language, and that I believed this had led you to the art of deciphering. He repeated the words ‘Universal language—Ha!—then I suppose it was from Mr. Percy that Commissioner Falconer learnt all he knew on this subject?’
“‘I believe so, my lord.’
“‘Ha!’ He seemed lost for a moment in thought, and then added, ‘I wish I had known this sooner—Ha!’