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Updated: May 22, 2025
Within eight-and- forty hours the story was told by Lady de Brantefield and her friends at every card-table at the polite end of the town, and it was spread by Lady Anne through the park and the ball-rooms; and the ladies'-maids had repeated it, with all manner of exaggerations, through their inferior but not less extensive circles. The consequence was, that the character of Mr.
He persuaded his mother to go to an auction of pictures, where he assured her she would be likely to meet with a Vandyke of one of her ancestors, of whose portrait she had long been in search. Lady de Brantefield engaged my mother to be of the party, without her having any suspicion that she would meet the Monteneros. We arrived in time to secure the best places, before the auction began.
The mob had seen the carriage stop at the chapel, and the lady and her confessor get into it; and this had led to the suspicion that Lady de Brantefield was a catholic, or in their language, a concealed papist.
It was but poetical justice that she who had begun by terrifying me, in order to get me to bed, and out of her way, should end by being forced to suffer some restraint to cure me of my terrors: but Fowler did not understand or relish poetical justice, or any kind of justice: besides, she had heard that Lady de Brantefield was in want of a nursery-maid for the little Lady Anne Mowbray, who was some years younger than Master Harrington, and Fowler humbly represented to my mother that she thought Master Harrington was really growing too stout and too much of a man; and she confessed quite above and beyond her management and comprehension; for she never pretended to any thing but the care of young children that had not arrived at the years of discretion; this she understood to be the case with the little Lady Anne Mowbray; therefore a recommendation to Lady de Brantefield would be very desirable, and, she hoped, but justice to her.
Lady de Brantefield, Lady Anne, and some other company, dined with us; and Mowbray, who seemed to be really sorry that he had vexed his sister, and that he had in the heyday of his spirit unveiled to me her defects of temper, did every thing in his power to make up matters between us.
By the force and plastic power of my imagination, I could have turned and moulded Lady de Brantefield, with all her repulsive haughtiness, into a Clelia, or a Princess de Cleves, or something of the Richardson full-dressed heroine, with hoop and fan, and stand off, man! and then there would be cruelty and difficulty, and incomprehensibility-something to be conquered something to be wooed and won.
In spite of the awkwardness of her situation she stood with such quiet, resigned, yet dignified grace, that ridicule could not touch her. The moment she was seated with her back to us, and out of hearing, Lady de Brantefield turned to her son and asked "Who is she?" "An East Indian, I should guess, by her dark complexion," whispered Lady Anne to me.
"That my son, Lord Mowbray, should be out of town, how extraordinary and how unfortunate!" cried Lady de Brantefield, "when we might have had his protection, his regiment, without applying to strangers." She walked up and down the room with the air of a princess in chains. The orange-woman bolted into the room, and pushed past her ladyship, while Mr. Montenero was sealing his note.
One was in black, with a hood, and a black cloak streaming behind; the other in white, neck and arms bare, head full dressed, with high feathers blown upright. As they came near the window at which I stood, one of the ladies called out, "Mr. Harrington! Mr. Harrington! For Heaven's sake let us in!" "Lady Anne Mowbray's voice! and Lady de Brantefield!" cried I.
But John of Gaunt's chair was nothing to King John's table. There was a little black oak table, too, with broken legs, which was invaluable for, as Lady de Brantefield confidently affirmed, King John of France, and the Black Prince, had sat and supped at it.
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