The heart of just a girl beat beneath those stiff little bodices. She had the world at her feet, and it was the day of her mating with her hero. I must admit that, to myself, "Albert" has never appeared in a romantic light. Perhaps it's the fault of the "Memorial". Where is the man who could live down the Albert Memorial? The adoring queen did her dead husband an ill turn when she sought to immortalise him in such fashion.
Ah, well! the adored and the adorer are both in their graves now, and here, ironic fact, the bride's faded finery, after being laid away in lavender for years, has emerged from seclusion to enact the new rôle of relic.
"Now, if that'd bin me," remarked Mrs. Darling, as she stared at the ivory satin dress, "I should 'ave took orf that real lace, which must be worth pounds and pounds, and put on a nice himitation."
"Well, I'm glad it wasn't you," I retorted.
The old lady winked at an attendant who was standing near, and I left her to complete the conquest while I paid a visit to the "Georgian dinner party". Those diners linger over their dessert an unconscionable time. I wished I had the chance to help them out with the wine and the biscuits. The red wine in the tall glasses, the cakes and fruit, tantalise a hungry man who stares at them through the glass. The gentlemen of the party apparently don't take tea. Three cups and saucers only stand in front of the hostess, who is about to pour out. One of the guests has risen and placed his glass of wine on the mantelpiece. I imagine him the spokesman of the party. The museum was almost deserted, everybody having gone to lunch. I could hear Mrs. Darling's laugh in the distance. She and the attendant seemed to have a good deal to say to each other; but in the corner where I stood there was no one to disturb the Georgian ladies and gentlemen at their talk. Their voices, speaking through the tunnel of nearly two hundred years, were an atmosphere rather than a sound, and I was making an effort to interpret it when Mrs. D. reappeared. She said she was sorry to have kept me waiting, but the man to whom she had been talking knew the barber who used to shave her husband when he had "bin on the drink," and judging from her air of pleasant pre-occupation the encounter seemed to have had a cheering effect.
I noticed, as she spoke, that her eyes wandered hungrily to the Georgian dinner table, and I suggested that after we had had a look at the top floor we should go and get some lunch. An idea had suddenly occurred to me of steak pudding at the "Cheshire Cheese". Mrs. D., I felt, would appreciate the homeliness of that place of entertainment.
There's a nice little furnished flat on the top floor of the Museum which would suit me "down to the ground," as Mrs. D. expresses it. One is not allowed to go inside and explore, and from where I stood I could only catch tantalising glimpses of the three rooms it contained. In one was an old four-poster standing cosily in a corner that seemed made to hold it. To the right, through an open door, I caught a slant glimpse of a fine apartment in which stood a magnificent old carved sideboard, two ancient wooden chairs, and some pictures in oval gilt frames on the panelled walls.
An opening into the third room, of which I could see just a corner lit by a small-paned window, excited my curiosity still more. The flat had no doubt been so staged with an idea of enhancing its desirableness. A touch of mystery is as provocative in a house as it is in a woman. What old Wemmick did with his drawbridge and his cannon is an instance of what can be done by condescending to make believe.
As I continued to stare, a face appeared at the small-paned window lighting the mysterious room. It was Mrs. Darling's face, grimacing mischievously. How did she get there? I walked to the end of the corridor and turned to the left, turned again, and behold, the secrets of room three were revealed. A prim faded apartment with an open spinet, old wooden chairs standing stiffly against the panelled wall, an alcove in which old china was ranged, and needlework pictures.
Mrs. Darling had again disappeared, and I stood for some time taking stock of the contents of the room three and room two from this new point of vantage. I was rather sorry I had wrested their secrets from them. All Mrs. D.'s fault. It was just like her to find a prosaic solution whilst I was making mysteries out of nothing. There she was again, signalling from the spot where I had stood a few minutes before. She seemed to be inviting me to a game of hide and seek, but a sense of dignity, and fear of the attendants, prevented my accepting the challenge.