Valerie

Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of most others, and a month passed rapidly away. Each day, however, was marked with some peculiar eccentricity on her part, but these diverted me. I was often requested to do strange things in my position as a model, but with all her oddities Lady R— was a gentlewoman in manner and in feeling, and what I should certainly have refused to anyone else, I did for her without reluctance. I now called her Sempronia, as she requested, and, moreover, I became very intimate with Master Lionel, who would be intimate, whether or no, and who, like Lady R—, was a source of great amusement. At times, when I was alone and communed with myself, I could not help surveying my peculiar position. I was engaged at a large salary—for what? to look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to do nothing. This was not flattering to my talents (such as I had), but still I was treated with kindness and confidence; was the companion of her ladyship; was introduced and taken to all the parties to which she was asked, and never made to feel my dependence. I had already imbibed a strong friendship for Lady R—, and I was, therefore, content to remain. One morning she said to me, “My dear Valerie, do me the favour to tighten the laces of my stays.”

She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown.

“Oh, tighter yet; as tight as you can draw them. That will do nicely.”

“Why you can hardly breathe, Sempronia.”

“But I can write, my dear child, and, as I before observed, the mind and the body influence each other. I am about to write a strictly moral dialogue, and I never could do it unless I am strait-laced. Now I feel fit for the wife of Cato and of Rome.”

A few days afterwards she amused me still more. After writing about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen—

“I never can do it; come upstairs, my dear Valerie, and help me off with my stays. I must be á l’abandon.”

I followed her, and having removed these impediments we returned to the boudoir.

“There,” said she, sitting down, “I think I shall manage it now: I feel as if I could.”

“Manage what?” inquired I.

“My dear, I am about to write a love scene, very warm and impassioned, and I could not do it, confined as I was. Now that I am loose, I can give loose to the reins of my imagination, and delineate with the arrow of Cupid’s self. My heroine is reclining, with her hand on her cheek; put yourself in that attitude, my dear dear Valerie, as if you were meditating upon the prolonged absence of one dear to you. Exactly—beautiful—true to nature—but I forgot, a page enters—don’t move, I’ll ring the bell.”

Lionel answered quickly, as usual.

“Here, Lionel, I want you to play the page.”

“I’ve no time for play, my lady; I’m page in earnest. There’s all the knives to clean.”

“Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel, you are supposed to be sent a message to that lovely girl, who is sitting absorbed in a soft reverie. You enter her presence unperceived, and are struck with her beauty; you lean against a tree, in a careless but graceful attitude, with your eyes fixed upon her lovely features. Now lean against the door, as I have described, and then I shall be able to write.”

I could not help smiling at the absurdity of this scene, the more so as Lionel, just passing his fingers through his hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar, took his position, saying, “Now, Miss Valerie, we’ll see who performs best: I think you will be sooner tired of sitting than I shall be of looking at you.”

“Excellent, Lionel!—exactly the position that I wished,” said Lady R—, scribbling as fast as she could; “that stare of yours is true to nature—Cymon and Iphigenia—a perfect tableau!—don’t move, I beg; I only require ten minutes.”

I looked up at Master Lionel, and he made such a grimace, that I could hardly keep my countenance, and I did not exactly feel satisfied at thus performing, as it were, with a servant; but still, that servant was Lionel, who was very unlike other servants. In ten minutes, as promised, we were released, much to my satisfaction. Lionel went off to clean his knives, and I took up my book, and really when I perceived the delight of Lady R—, at what she called her success, I no longer felt anything like annoyance at having complied with her wishes.

One morning, when Lady R— had walked out, and the page Lionel was in the room, I entered into conversation with him, and asked how it was that he had been so much better educated than were lads in his position in general?

“That’s a question that I often ask myself, Miss Valerie,” replied he, “as they say in some autobiographies. The first recollection I have of myself was finding myself walking two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-and-salt, along with about twenty other very little boys, at a cheap preparatory school, kept by the Misses Wiggins. There I remained—nobody came to see me: other boys talked of their papas and mammas—I had none to talk about: they went home at the holidays, and brought back toys and plum-cakes; I enjoyed my holidays alone, scraping holes in the gravel, for want of better employment, between my meals, and perhaps not opening my mouth, or hearing the sound of my own voice, more than three or four times in the twenty-four hours. As I had plenty of time for reflection during the vacations, as I grew bigger I began to imagine that somehow or another I must have had a father and mother, like the other boys, and began to make very impertinent (as I was told) inquiries about them. The Misses Wiggins gave me a good wigging, as they call it, for my unwarranted curiosity, pointing out the indelicacy of entering upon such subjects, and thus was my mouth stopped.

“At last I grew up too big for the school, and was not to be managed by two old maids, and I presume it was through their representations that I was at last honoured by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman above fifty, whom I never saw before. I ventured to put the forbidden questions to her, and she replied that I had neither father nor mother, that they were both dead, and that I was educated by the kindness of a great lady, whose dependents they had been, and that the great lady would call and see me perhaps, or if she did not, would send for me and do something for me. Well, about four years ago (I was then twelve years old, I was told, but my idea is that I am older than they say), I was sent for by Lady R—, and at first I was dressed in a turban and red jacket, and sat on the floor. I was told that I was to be her page, and I liked it very much, as I did nothing but run messages and read books, which I was very fond of; and Lady R— took some pains with me; but as I grew bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate, and by degrees descended from the drawing-room to the kitchen.

“My finery was not renewed; at first I had a plain suit and did my work under the footman, and two years ago, when the footman was sent away, rather than be under the orders of another, I volunteered to do the work, which I have done ever since, and now receive high wages, and wear sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss Valerie, that’s all I know of myself; but I suspect that Lady R— knows more; still it may be that what the old woman told me was correct, and that I was the child of one of her favourite dependents, and was educated by her in the manner that I was, for you know how many odd things she does.”

“What is your other name, Lionel?”

“Bedingfield, I am told, is my name,” replied he.

“Have you ever spoken to Lady R—,” inquired I, “relative to your parents?”

“I once did; but she said they were Sir Richard’s people, not hers (that is, her father’s, the late baronet’s), and that she knew nothing about them, except that my father was a steward or bailiff to him in the country, and that he had left directions that she should do something for me. Her ladyship did not appear to be inclined to talk about them much, and sent me away as soon as she had told me what I now repeat to you; however, I have found out something since that—but there’s her ladyship’s knock”—so saying, Lionel vanished.

Soon after her ladyship’s return, Madame Gironac, who had called upon me two or three times, was announced. I went out of the room, and when I met her in the dining-parlour, she told me that she had brought some of her imitations of flowers on wax, to show them to her ladyship. I immediately went up, and asked Lady R— if she would like to see them, to which proposal she assented. When Madame Gironac displayed her performances, which were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship was delighted, and purchased several of them, after which I again went downstairs, and had a long conversation with my warm-hearted little friend.

“I don’t like this situation of yours, mademoiselle,” said she, “nor does my husband. Now I was thinking, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that it would not be a bad plan if you were to learn how to make those flowers. I will teach you for nothing; and I will teach you what I never teach my pupils, which is how to prepare the wax, and a great many other little secrets which are worth knowing.”

“I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame,” replied I, “but I can afford to pay you for your time and trouble, and must insist upon doing so; if not, I will not be your pupil.”

“Well, well, we must not quarrel about that. I know that no one likes to be under an obligation, especially one like you—but learn you must—so let us arrange for the lessons.”

I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R—

I applied myself so assiduously to the art, that, with the unreserved communications of Madame Gironac, I became a proficient, and could equal her own performances—Madame Gironac declared that I excelled her, because I had more taste—but to return.

After I had parted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs, and found Lady R— sitting at the table, looking at the purchases she had made.

“My dear Valerie,” cried she, “you don’t know how you have obliged me by introducing that little woman and her flowers. What a delightful and elegant employment for a heroine to undertake—so lady-like! I have determined that mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax. I am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circumstances, and did not well know how she was to gain her livelihood, but, thanks to you, that is selected, and in a most charming and satisfactory manner. It is so hard to associate poverty with clean hands.”

About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversation, Lady R— said, “My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you. The season is nearly over, and, what is more important, my third volume will be complete in a fortnight. Last night as I was wooing Somnus in vain, an idea came into my head. I proposed going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know, but last night I made up my mind that we would go over the water; but whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris, or anywhere else I cannot say, but certainly La Belle France. How do you like the idea? I think of making a sort of sentimental journey. We will seek adventures. Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia? I with ‘gallant curtal axe,’ dressed as a youth. Shall we be mad, Valerie? What say you?”

I hardly knew what to say. Lady R— appeared to have a most unusual freak in her head, and to be a little more odd than usual. Now I had no wish to go to France, as I might fall in with people whom I did not wish to see; and moreover, from what I had heard of her ladyship’s adventures in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of many, I may say, who fancy that they may do as they please out of their own country, and I certainly did not wish to figure in her train; I therefore replied, “I know my own country well, Lady R—, and there cannot be a less eligible one for a masquerade. We should meet with too many désagrémens, if unprotected by male society, and our journey would be anything but sentimental. But if you do go to France, does Lionel accompany you?”

“Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn the language. I think I shall take him. He is a clever boy.”

“Very,” replied I; “where did you pick him up?”

“He is a son of my late father’s”—(‘a son of—’ exclaimed I)—“tenant, or something I was going to say,” continued Lady R—, colouring; “but I could not recollect exactly what the man was. Bailiff, I think. I know nothing about his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard before he died.”

“Recommended as a servant?” replied I; “he appears to me to be too good for so menial a position.”

“I have made him above his position, Valerie; not that he was recommended as a servant, but recommended to my care. Perhaps some day I may be able to do more for him. You know that we are to go to Lady G—’s ball to-night. It will be a very brilliant affair. She gives but one during the season, and she always does the thing in good style. Bless me, how late it is! The carriage will be round in two minutes; I’ve a round of visits to pay.”

“Will you excuse me? I have promised to take a lesson of Madame Gironac.”

“Very true; then I must enter upon my melancholy task alone. What can be so absurd as a rational and immortal soul going about distributing pasteboard!”

We went to Lady G—’s ball, which was very splendid. I had been dancing, for although I was not considered probably good enough among the young aristocrats to be made a partner for life, as a partner in a waltz or quadrille I was rather in request, for the odium of governess had not yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that capacity in the metropolis, where I was unknown. I had but a short time taken my seat by Lady R—, when the latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what I could not tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a lady, who I immediately recognised as a Lady M—, who had, with her daughters, composed a portion of the company at Madame Bathurst’s country seat.

“Have you forgotten me, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?” said Lady M—, extending her hand.

“No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well. I hope your daughters are also quite well?”

“Thank you; they look very well in the evening, but rather pale in the morning. It is a terrible thing a London season, very trying to the constitution, but what can we do? We must be out and be seen everywhere, or we lose caste—so many balls and parties every night. The fact is, that if girls are not married during the three first seasons after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising to the other sex, are almost gone. No constitution can withstand the fatigue. I’ve often compared our young ladies to the carriage horses—they are both worked to death during the season, and then turned out to grass in the country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the next winter. It really is a horrible life, but girls must be got off. I wish mine were, for what with fatigue and anxiety I’m worn to a shadow. Come, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, let us go into the next room. It is cooler, and we shall be more quiet; take my arm: perhaps we shall meet the girls.”

I accepted her ladyship’s invitation, and we went into the next room, and took a seat upon a sofa in a recess.

“Here we can talk without being overheard,” said Lady M—; “and now, my dear young lady, I know that you have left Madame Bathurst, but why I do not know. Is it a secret?”

“No, my lady; when Caroline went away I was of no further use, and therefore I did not wish to remain. You may perhaps know that I went to Madame Bathurst’s on a visit, and that an unforeseen change of circumstances induced me to remain for some time as instructress to her niece.”