CHAPTER XVII
AT THE TOY-SHOP
THE star of Lady Clancarty’s fortune for that week at Newmarket was an evil star. For it was the very day after that fateful interview with her husband, a day that dawned after a night of repentance and good resolutions, that another straw turned the tide against reconciliation. Lady Sunderland’s party had spent the forenoon at the theatre, and on their way to the race-course they stopped at Master Drake’s toy-shop on the promenade; a shop famous not only for the toys and trinkets of a kind that amused the women of fashion, but for the tea that he served in a little room in the rear, which was divided into stalls like those in coffee-rooms. Here both beaux and belles congregated to sip tea, and gossip, and raffle for some choice toy from India.
The shop, recently replenished by its wily proprietor, was a glittering mass of novelties and almost vied with the famous India houses of London in its collection of Oriental articles. Here were hideous dragons of porcelain, snuff-boxes with jewelled lids, and canes of the latest fashion, jars of snuff and pulvillo, and bottles of rare perfumes, gilded flasks of cut glass, boxes of patches ready cut for the cheeks and brows of the beauties, ivory combs and fans of wonderful and beautiful design, delicate tea-sets and many bits of Dutch china, first accepted because of the example of Queen Mary, gloves and laces and even India shawls. Here, too, were toys, jewelry, cogged dice, masks, dominoes and vizors, and here, as in London, the discreet toy-men handed billets-doux back and forth and made appointments between the beaux and belles; and here many a meeting took place, and many a momentous question was settled for all time, either in the toy-shop itself or in the stalls behind it, where the world of fashion reigned.
My Lady Sunderland and my Lady Dacres were no sooner there than they were plunged in the excitement of a raffle for a hideous china dragon, and almost came to blows for the possession of the treasure. But Lady Betty, quite indifferent, stood apart talking to a group of gay young people near the entrance. My Lord of Devonshire was there, and the Marquis of Hartington, and in their train, young Mackie, upon whom the Countess of Clancarty smiled; and there, too, was Lord Savile, who had been at her elbow all the morning and would have declared his passion for her had he dared. And she was in a reckless mood; her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and she laughed and jested, though her heart ached.
The king was well enough to be present at the race in the afternoon and all the world was agog to see him. The throng at the toy-shop grew greater as the people stopped on their way from the theatre to the track, and the group at the door grew larger with Lady Betty in the centre of it, sparkling and flushing and laughing, the picture of a beautiful coquette.
“All the great men go up to Parliament next Wednesday, Lady Clancarty,” said Mr. Benham, “and we shall see your brother shine as the bright particular star of the Whig firmament.”
“A star—a constellation rather; the Little Bear of the party,” laughed Lady Betty roguishly; “what will you do this season, my Lord of Devonshire?”