The Loves of the Lady Arabella

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Lady Hawkshaw seated herself in a large chair at the end of the hall, where she held a kind of court. She wore a gown of some sort of crimson stuff, with a great tail to it, and on her head was a turban with a bird of paradise in it, and on top of that, her huge diamond tiara. Everybody flocked to pay her court, and the lord lieutenant of the East Riding asked the honor of her hand to open the ball. She promptly agreed, with the added remark that she had not danced for thirty years. Sir Peter attempted to interpose.

“You can not do it, my lady,” he said. “You will trip up and break your leg.”

“Not unless you trip me up, Sir Peter,” responded her ladyship, who was totally unable to keep up the turtle-dove style toward Sir Peter for any appreciable length of time. “My legs are as good as the lord lieutenant’s, thank God! and I shall have the pleasure in dancing with his lordship.”

Obeying a look from her, Daphne accepted a partner, and I secured one in the lord mayor’s daughter. Sir Thomas Vernon, who was then in the hall, had the ineffable impudence to wish to dance in the country dance with us, but he was met everywhere with cold looks and refusals. The ladies of the lords lieutenants were all engaged; so were their daughters. It was a picture to see him going along the line of ladies sitting against the wall, being repulsed by all, and his composure under these embarrassing circumstances was the most extraordinary thing I ever saw. He wore a smile upon his sickly, but handsome face all the time, and, at last, he found a partner in the person of a monstrous ugly woman, whose husband was in the hides and leather trade.

We took our places, Lady Hawkshaw and the lord lieutenant, a fine, handsome man, many years younger than she, at the head of the room. And then the musicians struck up, and Lady Hawkshaw began to dance.

Such dancing! It was of the kind that was fashionable before the American war, and introduced so many cuts, capers, pigeon-wings, slips, slides, and pirouettes, that it was really an art in itself. And her agility was surprising. With her train over her arm, her tiara blazing, and her bird of paradise nodding violently, Lady Hawkshaw’s small high-bred feet twinkled. She was a large woman, too, and she proved that her boast about her legs was well founded. When she came face to face with Sir Thomas Vernon in the dance, instead of turning him, she folded her arms and sailed around him, carefully avoiding touching his hand. And he, the old sinner, being acquainted with that ancient style of dancing, made a caper so exactly like her ladyship’s, with so grave a countenance, that the whole ball-room was in a titter. But although the people might laugh at Sir Thomas’ excellent mimicry, the sentiment was totally against him, and he found difficulty in getting gentlemen to notice him, or ladies to dance with him. With Lady Hawkshaw, on the contrary, it was every man’s desire to dance; she was besieged with partners, young and old; but having shown what she could do, she rested upon her laurels, and sat in state the rest of the evening, fanning herself with vast dignity and composure, and occasionally snapping at Sir Peter, who, it must be admitted, made no great figure at a ball.

At last it was over, and we returned to our lodgings. The next day but one we were on our way to the assize hall for the trial of Giles Vernon.

A tremendous crowd was present, and there was difficulty in gaining an entrance; some one, however, in the multitude set up a shout of “Way for Lady Hawkshaw!” and the people fell back, leaving us a clear path to the door, and into the hall itself.

Within that place of judgment all was dignity and decorum. The lords justices in their robes and wigs sat like statues; and, presently, when we were all seated and the crier had pronounced the court open, Giles Vernon was brought in, and placed in the prisoners’ dock. He looked pale from his late confinement, but I thought I had never seen his plain features so nearly handsome. His fine figure was nobly set off by the identical brown and silver suit which the poor fellow had bought for his wedding with Lady Arabella, and, in a flash, came back to me that strange vision I had had at his London lodgings on the night that this unfortunate elopement was first talked of between us. My heart stood still, and I grew sick and faint at the recollection of the rest of that dream, or revelation, or whatever it was.

Giles, meanwhile, had bowed respectfully to the judges, then to the assembled people, who very generally returned his salutation with every mark of politeness. Turning to where we sat, he bowed and smiled. We all rose, and Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne made him deep curtseys. A jury was soon selected and sworn, and the first witness called was Lady Arabella Stormont.