Chapter 3

Lord Valmond was on his way to the window seat where Jane Roose and I were sitting the first night after dinner, but Mrs. Westaway caught hold of her husband's coat-tails as he passed and said quite loud, "Duckie, you must bring Lord Valmond and introduce him to me, we haven't met yet, and I want to know all your friends." So Billy Westaway, who is as obedient as a spaniel, secured Lord Valmond, and presently we saw them comfortably tucked into a small settee together, and there they stayed all the evening. She kept licking her lips as if he was something good to eat, and the next morning she fixed a rose in his buttonhole at breakfast and called him "Cousin Val," and by lunch time it was plain "Val," and now it is "Harry." I do call it bad taste, don't you, Mamma? and she isn't half so pretty in broad daylight, and I don't like her at all now. Only I can't help laughing at Lady Westaway's face when "Phyllis" (that is Mrs. Westaway's name) says anything especially vulgar; Lady Westaways shudders, and takes a huge sniff at her smelling salts. She keeps them always with her in a long gold-topped bottle, and she has to use them almost every few minutes when Mrs. Westaway is in the room.

The Horse Show was rather nice; it is held in the park fairly close, and most of us strolled there in the morning before lunch to see the judging. Lord Valmond joined us, I was walking with Lord George Lane (you remember he was one of the Eleven at Nazeby). I was in a very good temper, Mamma, and we had been laughing at everything we said. He is quite a nice idiot, but, when Lord Valmond came, of course I talked as stiffly as possibly, and presently Lord George told him that he was singularly backward in copybook maxims, and that there was one he ought to write out and commit to memory, and it began with "Two's Company," upon which Lord Valmond stalked on in a rage.

The seats at the show were very hard boards, and the sun made one awfully drowsy; but about half-an-hour before lunch Lord Valmond came up again, and asked me if I should not like to go for a turn. I thought I had better, so as not to get cramp. He said he had been afraid he would never get the chance of speaking to me, I was always so surrounded. I told him I had only come now because of the cramp. I am quite determined, Mamma, not to unbend to him at all. I was not once agreeable, or anything but stiff and snubbing, and I am sure he has never been treated like that before, but it is awfully hard work keeping it up all the time, and when we got in to lunch I was quite tired.

[Sidenote: _On the Lake_]

There were numbers of people at the show in the afternoon, and all in their best clothes. Lady Grace Fenton was showing two of her hunters, and she kept shouting to the grooms, and I did not think it was very attractive behaviour. She takes such strides you would think her muslin dress would split. I don't know why it is that so many people in the country are ugly and weather-beaten, and all their clothes hanging wrong.

Except the house party here, and a few from other big places, there was not a pretty person to be seen. We had a special reserved tent for tea, and Mrs. Westaway seemed to have every man in the place round her, and I heard one man come up and say, "Well, Phyllis, this is a joke to find you in this respectable hole; how do you like solid matrimony, old girl?" and I do think that sounded familiar and rude, don't you, Mamma? but Mrs. Westaway wasn't a bit angry. She calls Billy "Duckie," and continually pats and caresses him; he does look such a fool, and I should hate to be fingered like that if I were a man, one must feel like a bunch of grapes with the bloom being rubbed off. Mrs. Westaway kept Lord Valmond with her all the rest of the time at the show, and then took him on the lake while we played croquet.

Lady Bobby went straight to her room and sat by the window, and every now and then shouted advice to Lord George who was playing with me. When we had finished, Lady Westaway took me to see the conservatories, and there we were joined by old Colonel Blake and Lord Valmond, I don't know how he had torn himself away from Mrs. Westaway! Jane Roose says Mrs. Smith would be mad if she was here. He asked me why I had walked on ahead so fast on the way back from the Show as he wanted me to go on the lake with him instead of Mrs. Westaway. When he had suggested going on it he had looked at me, but I would take no notice, and so he was obliged to go with Mrs. Westaway when she offered to come, and I was very unkind and disagreeable. I just said if he found me so, he need not speak to me at all, I did not care. We looked at one another like two wild cats for a moment. I am sure he wanted to slap me, and I should like to have scratched him, and then Lady Westaway diverted the conversation by asking me if I thought I should enjoy my French visit (how every one knows one's affairs!). I said I hoped I should, and I was starting next week. Lord Valmond at once pricked up his ears, and said he would be running over to Paris about then, as he was not going to Scotland till September, and he hoped I would let him look after me on the way. I said I did not know which day I was going, probably Wednesday, so as I am starting on Monday, Mamma, there will be no chance of his coming with me, which would annoy you very much I am sure. To-day we have done nothing but loll about and play croquet. Lady Bobby and the men and some other women went to the Show again in the morning, but I was having a match with Jane Roose, and so we did not bother to go.

[Sidenote: _Paul and Virginia_]

This afternoon when Lady Bobby began her rabbit shooting it seemed so dangerous on the croquet lawn, especially after she hit the gardener, that we all went on the lake in the launch. We landed on the island, and somehow or other Lord Valmond and I got left alone in the Belvedere looking at the view. The others went off without us, which made me furious, as I am sure he did it on purpose. But when I accused him of it, he said such a thing would never have entered his head. He had a nasty smile all the time in the corner of his eye, and did not take the least pains about trying to undo the other little boat which we found at last, although I kept telling him we should be late for dinner. He said he wished we had not to go back at all, that he thought we should be very happy together on this little island like Paul and Virginia. I can't tell you, Mamma, what a temper I was in.

[Sidenote: _The Hardships of a Marquis_]

I wish I had never met him--or that he had not been rude at Nazeby--it _is_ so difficult to behave with dignity when a person has a nice voice and makes you laugh, although you are awfully cross with him inside. Then I have to be thinking all the time about my dimple not to let it come out, as that is what caused his rudeness, and with one thing and another it upsets me so, that my cheeks are always burning when I am with him, and I feel as if I should like to box his ears or cry; and I hope after to-morrow I shall never see him again. He rowed so slowly when we did get into the boat that I offered to do it, but he would not let me. I would not talk to him at all. When we got to the landing I jumped out so that he should not help me, and gave my head a crack against the pole in the boat house. I fancied I heard him saying, "Darling! have you hurt yourself? What a brute I am to tease you!" but I did not wait for any more. I ran to the house as fast as I could, and as he had to tie up the boat, I was just getting into the hall when he caught me up. My head hurt dreadfully, and I was so tired and cross, and everything, that the tears would come into my eyes. I did not want him to see, but I am afraid he did, so before he could speak I rushed on again and got safely to my room. I am sure it is very rude to call people "darling" without their leave, isn't it, Mamma?

I went in to dinner with a sporting curate who lives near, and he kept making his bread into crumbs on the cloth and then sweeping them up with his knife into a heap, between every course. What strange habits people have! After dinner Mrs. Westaway took Lord Valmond and sat in the window seat, and when he did get away, and was coming over to me, I said my head was aching from the knock I gave it, and came up to bed, and as he has to catch an early train in the morning I shan't come down until he has gone. I don't want to see him any more, it is too fatiguing quarrelling all the time, and one could not forgive him and be friends I suppose after such behaviour as his at Nazeby--could one, Mamma?

Now good-night; I am sleepy.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

_P.S._--I should hate to be a marquis always having to take the hostess in to dinner no matter how old and ugly she is, just because a duke isn't present.

CHÂTEAU DE CROIXMARE

Château De Croixmare,

_16th August_.

[Sidenote: _A Formidable Godmother_]

Dearest Mamma,--What a crossing we had, perfectly disgusting! The sky was without a cloud, but such a wind that every one was sick, so one could not enjoy oneself. Agnès became rapidly French too directly we landed at Dieppe, and the carriage was full of stuffy people, who would not have a scrap of window open; however, Jean was waiting for us at Paris. We snatched some food at the restaurant, and then caught the train to Vinant. Jean is quite good-looking, but with an awfully respectable expression. Any one could tell he was married even without looking at his wedding ring. He was polite, and made conversation all the time in the train, and as the engine kept puffing and shrieking I was obliged to continually say "_Pardon?_" so it made it rather heavy. I think he has changed a good deal since their wedding--let me see--that must be eight years ago, as I was nine then; I hardly remembered him.

Godmamma was waiting for us in the hall when we arrived. Château de Croixmare is a nice place, but I _am_ glad I am not French. It was the hottest night of the year almost, and not a breath of air in the house, every shutter closed and the curtains drawn. Héloise had gone to bed with a _migraine_, Godmamma explained, but Victorine was there. She has grown up plain, and looks much more than five years older than me. They weren't in evening dress, or even tea-gowns like in England--it did seem strange.

Mme. de Croixmare looks a dragon! I can't think how poor papa insisted upon my having such a godmother. Her face is quite white, and her hair so black and drawn off her forehead, and she has a bristly moustache. She is also very up right and thin, and walks with an ebony stick, and her voice is like a peacock's. She looked me through and through, and I felt all my French getting jumbled, and it came out with such an English accent; and after we had bowed a good deal, and said heaps of Ollendorfish kind of sentences, I was given some "sirop" and water, and conducted to bed by Victorine. She is a big dump with a shiny complexion, and such a very small mouth, and I am sure I shall hate her, she isn't a bit good-natured-looking like Jean. The house is really fine Louis XV., and my bedroom and cabinet de toilette are delicious, so is my bed; but the attitude of Agnès--such a conscious pride in the superiority of France--nearly drove me mad.

There isn't a decent dressing-table mirror, only one in an old silver frame about eight inches square, and that is sitting on the writing-table--or what would be the writing-table, if there happened to be any pens and things, which there aren't. All the hanging places open out of the panels of the wall, there are no wardrobes, only beautiful marble-topped _bureaux_; but I was so tired.

[Sidenote: _A French Family at Home_]

I left Agnès to settle everything and jumped into bed. This morning I woke early, and had the loveliest cup of chocolate, but such a silly bath, and almost cold water. There are no housemaids, and nothing is done with precise regularity like at home, although they are so rich. Agnès had to fish for everything of that sort herself, and such a lot of talking went on in the passage between her and the _valet de chambre_, before I even got this teeny tiny tray to splash in. However, I did get dressed at last, and went for a walk in the garden--not a soul about but a few gardeners. The begonias are magnificent, but there is no look of park beyond the garden, or nice deer and things that we would have for such a house in England. It is more like a sort of big villa.

I saw Jean at last in the distance, going round and round a large pond on his bicycle. He did look odd! in a thick striped jersey, and the tightest knickerbockers; almost as low as a "scorcher." He jumped off and made a most polite bow, and explained he was doing it for exercise. But I do think that an idiotic reason--don't you, Mamma? It would be just as much exercise on a road. However, he assured me that, like that, he knew exactly how many miles he went on the flat before breakfast, so I suppose it was all right.

I saw he wanted to continue his ride, so I walked on, and presently came to a summer-house, where Victorine and the _dame de compagnie_ were doing their morning reading. There were also the two little girls building castles out of a heap of sand, and with them the most hideous German maid you ever saw. They are queer-looking little monkeys, Yolande is like Jean, but Marie--there are three years between them--is as black as ink--but where was I? Oh, yes!--well, by this time I was so hungry I could have eaten them, German _bonne_ and all! Fortunately Godmamma turned up, and we strolled back to _déjeûner_. Héloise was in the salon, and she is charming, such a contrast to the rest of the party. She was beautifully dressed and so _chic_. We took to each other at once, she has not picked up that solid married look like Jean, so perhaps it is only the husbands who get it in France.

There was a good deal of ceremony going in to breakfast. Jean gave his mother his arm, and we trotted behind. The dining-room is a perfect room, except there is no carpet, and the food was lovely, only I do hate to see a great hand covered with a white cotton glove, plopping a dish down on the lighted thing in the middle, so that one has to look at the next course all the time one is finishing the last one. The way in which the two little monkeys and the German maid devoured their breakfast quite took one's appetite away. There seemed to be numbers of men-servants, who wore white cotton gloves, and their liveries buttoned up to the throat, which takes away that nice clean-shirt-look of our servants at home.

[Sidenote: _French Servants_]

This afternoon we are going to pay a visit of ceremony to the Comte and Comtesse de Tournelle; we are going with them on their yacht down the Seine to-morrow. It is Jean and Héloise who have arranged to take me--it is kind of them, and it will be fun; and I am glad it is not considered proper for young French girls to go without their mothers, because we shall get rid of Victorine, and the voyage will be more agreeable. Agnès and the other maids and valets are going by train, and will meet us with the luggage at the different places we stop at each night, as the _Sauterelle_ is too small to carry everything. I must go and get ready now, so good-bye, dear Mamma.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

YACHT "SAUTERELLE"

Yacht _Sauterelle_,

_17th August_.

[Sidenote: _Yacht "Sauterelle"_]

Dearest Mamma,--I am writing as we float down the Seine, it is too enchanting. We are a party of ten. The Comte and Comtesse de Tournelle; her mother, the Baronne de Larnac, and her uncle, the Baron de Frémond, Jean, Héloise, and me; the Marquise de Vermondoise, and two young men, officers in the Cavalry, stationed at Versailles. One is the Vicomte Gaston de la Trémors, and the other's name is so long that I can't get it, so you must know him by "Antoine"--he is some sort of a relation of Héloise's. The Baronne is a delightful person, the remains of extreme good looks and distinction. She was a beauty under the Empire, and her feet are so small, she is just as _soignée_ as if she was young, and so vain and human. She lives with her daughter while they are in the country--it seems the custom here, these huge family parties living together all the summer.

[Sidenote: _A Visit of Ceremony_]

The young people have their _appartement_ in the Champs Elysées in Paris, and the old ones go to the family hotel in the _Faubourg St. Germain._ We _did_ say a lot of polite things when we went to pay our visit yesterday, and although they know one another so well--as it was a "visit of ceremony" to introduce me--we all had our best clothes on, and sat in the large salon--(there are four Louis XVI. arm chairs, sticking out each side of the fireplaces, in all the salons here). Héloise and the Comtesse de Tournelle are great friends. The Comte de Tournelle is charming, he is like the people in the last century Memoirs, he ought to have powdered hair, and his manners have a distinction and a wit quite unlike anything in England. One can see he is descended from people who had their heads cut off for being aristocrats. Jean says he does not belong to _le Sporting_, and is fearfully effeminate. He can't even put on his own socks without his valet, and he never rides or bicycles or anything, but just does a little motor-carring, and fights a few duels.

The Comtesse de Tournelle is small and young and rather dull; she reads a great deal. The old boy, the Baron de Frémond (he owns the _Sauterelle_) is a jolly old soul, and chaffs his sister and niece, and every one, all the time, and thinks it so funny to talk fearful English. The two young men haven't looked at me much. They are in uniform! and they put their heels together and bowed deeply when they were introduced, but we haven't spoken yet. The Marquise de Vermondoise is perfectly lovely, so fascinating, with such a queer deep voice, and one tooth at the side of the front missing; and her tongue keeps getting in there when she speaks, which gives her a kind of lisp, and it is awfully attractive. I think de Tournelle would like to kiss her, by the way he looked at her when she thanked him for handing her on board.

[Sidenote: _The Invaluable Hippolyte_]

It is a steam yacht with a wee cabin, and a deck above that, with seats looking out each side, like old omnibuses, and in the stern (if that means the back part) are the sailors and the engines, and the oddest arrangement of cooking apparatus. You should just taste the exquisite breakfasts that Hippolyte (the Baronne de Larnac's _maître d'hôtel_) cooked for us this morning after we started. He is the queerest creature, with a face like a baboon, and side whiskers, and the rest a deep blue from shaving. The Baronne says she could not live without him; he is a splendid cook, and a perfect _femme de chambre_, and ready for anything. He is much more familiar than we should ever let a servant be in England. It was rough all the morning, quite waves. The Seine is only half a mile from the Château de Croixmare, and runs past the Tournelles' garden, so they have a private landing stage, and we all embarked from there. Jean and the Comte are dressed in beautiful English blue serges, and look neat enough to be under a glass case. The old Baron does not care what he wears, and this morning while he was working with the sailors had on a black Sunday coat!

The Baronne kept screaming when the boat rocked a little. "Nous ferons naufrage! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!" and the Vicomte tried to comfort her, but she did not stop till Hippolyte popped his head out of the cabin and said, "Pas de danger! et il ne faut pas que Mme. la Baronne fasse la Bebête!"

At _déjeûner_ we had only one plate each, and one knife and fork. It was so windy we could not have it under the awning in the bows, and the cabin is so narrow that the seats are against the wall, and the table in the middle. No one can pass to wait, so between the courses we washed our plates in the Seine, out of the window. It _was_ gay! They are all so witty, but it is not considered correct to talk just to one's neighbour, a conversation _à deux_. Everything must be general, so it is a continual sharpening of wits, and one has to shout a good deal, as otherwise, with every one talking at once, one would not be heard. I know French pretty well as you know, but they say a lot of strange things I can't understand, and whenever I answer or ask why, they go into fits of laughter and say, "Est elle gentille l'enfant! hein!"

We are going to stop at the next small village to post the letters, so good-bye, dear Mamma.--Your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.

_P.S._--I hope you won't get muddled, Mamma, with all their names, it takes so long writing the whole thing, so please remember Mme. de Larnac is the "Baronne," Monsieur de Frémond is the "Baron," Monsieur de Tournelle is the "Comte," Mme. de Tournelle is the "Comtesse," Mme. de Vermondoise is the "Marquise," Monsieur de la Trémors is the "Vicomte," and "Antoine" is the other officer. So if I haven't always time to put their names you will know now which they are.

Vernon, Yacht _Sauterelle_,

_Thursday morning_.

[Sidenote: _Vernon_]

Dearest Mamma,--The scenery we came through yesterday is quite beautiful, but I did not pay so much attention to it as I might have done, because Jean and the Comte would talk to me. You would be amused at Vernon, where we stayed the night in _such_ an inn! I believe it is the only one in the place, and as old as the hills. You get at the bedrooms from an open gallery that runs round the courtyard, and that smells of garlic and stables. We got here about six, and started _en masse_ to inspect the rooms. Hippolyte had engaged them beforehand, and seemed rather apologetic about them, and finally, when there did not appear half enough to go round, he shrugged his shoulders almost up to his ears and said, "Que voulez vous!" and that "Ces Messieurs" would have to be "très bourgeois en voyage," and that there was nothing for it but that Mme. la Comtesse de Tournelle should "partager l'appartement de Monsieur le Comte de Tournelle," and that Monsieur le Comte de Croixmare would have to extend like hospitality to Mme. la Comtesse de Croixmare. This caused shrieks of derision. Héloise said she would prefer to sleep on the dining-room table, and "Antoine" said he thought people ought to be a little more careful of their reputations even _en voyage_. Finally they unearthed a baby's cot in the room that Hippolyte had designed for the Croixmare menage, and de Tournelle said it was the very thing for me, but Jean replied, "Mon cher ami c'est une Bébé beaucoup trop emoustillante," which I thought very rude, just as if I snored, or something dreadful like that. Then, after a further prowl, a fearful little hole was discovered beyond, with no curtains to the windows, or blinds, or shutters, just a scrap of net. The face of Agnès when she saw it!

[Sidenote: _A Necessary Precaution_]

Dinner was not until seven, so Jean and I went out for a walk; as Hippolyte advised us to try and find a chemist and buy some flea powder. "Je trouverai ça plus prudent," he said. Jean is getting quite natural with me now, and isn't so awfully polite. The chemist took us for a honeymoon couple (as, of course, if I had been French I could not have gone for a walk with Jean alone). He--the chemist--was so sympathetic, he had only one packet of powder left, he said, as so much was required by the _voyageurs_ and inhabitants that he was out of it (that did not sound a pleasant prospect for our night)--"Mais, madame" (that's me), "n'est pas assez grasse pour les attirer," he added by way of consolation.