In the afternoon the whole party went to London. “Everybody is going,” said little Molly, in huge excitement. “It is like the pantomime; and Phil is to do the cheering. Shouldn’t you like to be him, Harry? It will almost be as good as being on the stage oneself.”
“Don’t talk of things you don’t understand,” said Phil, who was too grand to be spoken to familiarly, and whose sense of responsibility was almost too heavy for perfect happiness. “I sha’n’t cheer unless they deserve it. But the rehearsal was awful fun,” he added, unbending. “You’ll say you never saw anything better, if they do half as well to-night.”
Tottenham’s was gorgeous to behold when the guests began to arrive. The huge central hall, with galleries all round it, and handsome carpeted stairs leading on every hand up to the galleries, was the scene of the festivity. On ordinary occasions the architectural splendour of this hall was lost, in consequence of the crowd of tables, and goods, and customers which filled it. It had been cleared, however, for the entertainment. Rich shawls in every tint of softened colour were hung about, coloured stuffs draped the galleries, rich carpets covered the floors; no palace could have been more lavish in its decorations, and few palaces could have employed so liberally those rich Oriental fabrics which transcend all others in combinations of colour. Upstairs, in the galleries, were the humbler servants of the establishment, porters, errand boys, and their relatives; down below were “the young ladies” and “the gentlemen” of Tottenham’s occupying the seats behind their patrons in clouds of white muslin and bright ribbons.
“Very nice-looking people, indeed,” the Duchess of Middlemarch said, as she came in on Mr. Tottenham’s arm, putting up her eyeglass. Many of the young ladies curtseyed to Her Grace in sign of personal acquaintance, for she was a constant patroness of Tottenham’s. “I hope you haven’t asked any of my sons,” said the great lady, looking round her with momentary nervousness.
Mr. Tottenham himself was as pleased as if he had been exhibiting “a bold tenantry their country’s pride” to his friends. “They are nice-looking, though I say it as shouldn’t,” he said, “and many of them as good as they look.” He was so excited that he began to give the Duchess an account of their benefit societies, and saving banks, and charities, to which Her Grace replied with many benevolent signs of interest, though I am afraid she did not care any more about them than Miss Annetta Baker did about the lecture. She surveyed the company, as they arrived, through her double eyeglass, and watched “poor little Mary Horton that was, she who married the shopkeeper,” receiving her guests, with her pretty children at her side. It was very odd altogether, but then, the Hortons were always odd, she said to herself—and graciously bowed her head as Mr. Tottenham paused, and said, “How very admirable!” with every appearance of interest.
A great many other members of the aristocracy shared Her Grace’s feelings, and many of them were delighted by the novelty, and all of them gazed at the young ladies and gentlemen of the establishment as if they were animals of some unknown description. I don’t think the gentlemen and the young ladies were at all offended. They gazed too with a kindred feeling, and made notes of the dresses, and watched the manners and habits of “the swells” with equal curiosity and admiration. The young ladies in the linen and in the cloak and mantle department were naturally more excited about the appearance of the fine ladies from a book-of-fashion point of view than were the dressmakers and milliners, who sat, as it were, on the permanent committee of the “Mode,” and knew “what was to be worn.” But even they were excited to find themselves in the same room with so many dresses from Paris, with robes which Wörth had once tried on, and ribbons which Elise had touched. I fear all these influences were rather adverse to the due enjoyment of the trial scene from Pickwick, with Miss Robinson in the part of Serjeant Buzfuz. The fine people shrugged their shoulders, and lifted their eyebrows at each other, and cheered ironically now and then with twitters of laughter; and the small people were too intent upon the study of their betters to do justice to the performance. Phil, indeed, shrieked with laughter, knowing all the points, with the exactitude of a showman, and led his claque vigorously; but I think, on the whole, the employés of Tottenham’s would have enjoyed this part of the entertainment more had their attention been undisturbed. After the first part of the performances was over, there was an interval for “social enjoyment;” and it was now that the gorgeous footmen appeared with the ices, about whom Mr. Tottenham had informed his children. Lady Mary, perhaps, required a little prompting from her husband before she withdrew herself from the knot of friends who had collected round her, and addressed herself instead to the young ladies of the shop.
“Must we go and talk to them, Mr. Tottenham? Will they like it? or shall we only bore them?” asked the fine ladies.
The Duchess of Middlemarch was, as became her rank, the first to set them the example. She went up with her double eyeglass in her hand to a group of the natives who were standing timorously together—two young ladies and a gentleman.
“It has been very nice, has it not,” said Her Grace; “quite clever. Will you get me an ice, please? and tell me who was the young woman—the young lady who acted so well? I wonder if I have seen her when I have been here before.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said one of the young ladies. “She is in the fancy department, Miss Robinson. Her father is at the head of the cloaks and mantles, Your Grace.”