The Loves of the Lady Arabella

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“But for him I should have been first on the Indomptable’s deck.” To all this I made but a feeble protest; and finally it was arranged that the meeting should take place at a spot very near Richmond, at eight o’clock, on the morning of June the twenty-ninth.

When the date was set, and the arrangements made, I began to feel very much frightened. Not so Giles. There was to be a great ball at Almack’s on the night of the twenty-eighth and Giles announced that he was going. It was a very special occasion for him, because the Trenchard, whom he still called the divine Sylvia, and professed to admire as much as ever, was to go that night. She was then the rage, and had a carriage, diamonds, and a fine establishment, yet I believe her conduct to have been irreproachable. She had long been consumed with a desire to go to Almack’s, but up to that time no actress had ever yet enjoyed the privilege. It seemed grotesque enough that a young midshipman, of no more consequence than Giles Vernon, should succeed in carrying this through. But such was actually the case; and Giles accomplished it by that singular power he possessed, by which no woman could say him nay. He worked with much art upon those great ladies, her Grace of Auchester and Lady Conyngham, and got them pledged to it. Of course, the most violent opposition was developed; but Giles, who had a perfect knowledge of the feminine heart, managed to inspire these two ladies with the wish to exercise their sovereignty over Almack’s, by doing what was never done before. Having led them into the fight, they had no thought of running away; and the result was innumerable heartburnings and jealousies, and meanwhile a card for Mrs. Trenchard.

The noise of the controversy was heard all over town, and it was discussed in Berkeley Square as elsewhere. Lady Hawkshaw was no longer a subscriber to Almack’s. Not being able to rule it, she had retired, the assembly rooms not being large enough to hold herself and a certain other lady.

Giles had told me that on the evening of the ball he and other gentlemen interested in the victory for Mrs. Trenchard would escort her to the ball. So at eight o’clock I proceeded to the lady’s house in Jermyn Street, and saw her set forth in state in her chair. She was blazing with diamonds, and looked like a stage duchess. A long company of gentlemen with their swords attended her, and Giles and my Lord Winstanley led the procession. Mrs. Trenchard was the best imitation of a lady I ever saw, as she sat in her chair, smiling and fanning herself, with the linkboys gaping and grinning at her; and the gentlemen especially, such as had had a little more wine than usual, shouting, “Way for Mrs. Trenchard! Make way there!”

Yet it seemed to me as if she were only an imitation, after all, and that Lady Hawkshaw, with her turban and her outlandish French, had much more the genuine air of a great lady. Mrs. Trenchard would go to Almack’s on any terms, but Lady Hawkshaw would not go, except she ruled the roost, and fought gallantly with the duchesses and countesses, only retiring from the field because she was one against many.

I followed the merry procession until we got to King Street, St. James’s, where the coaches were four deep, and footmen, in regiments, blockaded the street. Giles and Lord Winstanley were to take Mrs. Trenchard in, and very grand the party looked as they entered. By that time, though, I was very miserable. I remembered that at the same time the next night, I might not have my friend. I hung around among the footmen and idlers, watching the lights and listening to the crash of the music, quite unconscious of the flight of time, and was astonished when the ball was over and the people began pouring out. Then, afraid to be caught by Giles, I ran home as fast as my legs could carry me.

When I reached Berkeley Square, it was altogether dark, and I realized that I was locked out.

I looked all over the front of the house, and my heart sank. There was a blind alley at one side, and I remembered that in it opened the window of Sir Peter’s study, as he called it, although, as I have said, it was more like the cubby-hole of the Ajax than any other place I can call to mind. The window was at least twenty feet from the ground, but a waterspout ran up the wall beside it, and to a midshipman, used to going out on the topsail-yard, it was a trifle to get up to the window. I climbed up, softly tried the window, and to my joy found it open. In another minute I was standing inside the room. I had my flint and steel in my pocket, and I groped about until I found a candle, which I lighted.

I had often been in the room before, but its grotesque appearance struck me afresh, and I could not forbear laughing, although I was in no laughing mood. There was a regular ship’s transom running around the wall. The whole room was full of the useless odds and ends that accumulate on board a ship, all arranged with the greatest neatness and economy of space, and there was not one single object in the room which could possibly be of the slightest use on shore.

I looked around to see how I could make myself comfortable for the night, and, opening a locker in the wall, I found a collection of old boat-cloaks of Sir Peter’s, in every stage of dilapidation, but all laid away with the greatest care. Taking one for my pillow and two more for my coverlet, I lay down on the transom and, blowing out the candle, was soon in a sound sleep.