Lady Sweetapple; or Three to One, Chapters I-III [pp. 633-637]

636 LAD Y S TYEETAPPLE; OR, THREE TO ONL [DECEMBER 2,
child, who was taken to see the room. "Have you read them all,
Lady Carlton?" As the jewels of Cornelia were her children, so
books were the ornament of that library. High up, on the top of the
cases, out of the reach of criticism, were a few ambiguous ancestors,
a bust or two of classical worthies, and six or seven Etruscan vases;
but beyond these, as the child said, the library was "all books."
Now we have got as far as the angle of the house at that corner,
and turn into two splendid drawing-rooms, which filled the whole
front of the house facing the park. From a sort of alcove in the
centre of that front, a flight of steps led down to a terrace, and then
another flight to another terrace, and so on to a third, beyond which
was a "haha." Between each terrace, down to the "haha," were an
Italian garden and smooth lawns, on which rare shrubs and conifers
flourished; and beyond all was the park, with its fine old free-stand ing trees, and its herd of deer, which, in that year 1870 of which we
write, were eagerly cropping the grass which was soon to render their
haunches such objects of interest to aldermen in particular, and all
gluttons in generall
But we must not walk out of the house, even though June, with
all its leaves and warmth, is hard upon us. We must go back, and,
like trusty showmen, take our readers the round of the house. Where
were we? In the middle of the drawing-rooms. As we are not up holsterers, suffice it to say that they were filled with costly furniture,
and "replete," as the advertisements say, "with every luxury befit ting a family of distinction." We shall soon have to return to them;
so let us hasten on with our bird's-eye view, and enter, at the angle
opposite to the library, into the boudoir of Lady Carlton-not a very
large room, but evidently the abode of ease and taste. Farther than
that, on this first morning, we cannot go. Beyond it was the dining room, which nearly filled up the space which answered to the break fast-room and library on the opposite side of the hall, and was ap proached by a door from the drawing-rooms, which opened into the
hall under the noble staircase, of which and its slipperiness we have
already spoken.
And now, as the reader may be supposed to know something of
the ground-floor at High Beech, we may take him up-stairs. That
slippery staircase, after it had climbed half-way up the height of the
ground-floor, divided into two flights, right and left. By them we
ascend to a gallery, from which we have a fine view of the hall; and
thence we proceed on either hand down spacious passages, lighted at
each end by wide and iofty windows. At the end of each of these
passages we find flights of stairs to an upper story of rooms; and
above these again we find another story of attics, lighted by the
dormer-windows which form a feature of the house from the out side.
But, now that we have left the ground-floor and got up into the
region of housemaids and bedrooms, we are not about to be so bold
at present as to lead our readers into any of these bedrooms. If you
peep into bedrooms in a strange house, who can tell what may befall
you? We shall have to speak a little of these rooms further on; but
at this period of our story, when we have as yet scarcely set foot
over the threshold of High Beech, and hardly know one of its inmates, how can we push into their bedrooms, either with or without
knocking? Every right-minded reader must see that such a proceeding would be manifestly most improper; and so readers that are more
curious than right-minded must restrain their desires, and wait till
we can ask them to enter a bedroom without the fear of finding one's
self thrust out by a lady's-maid, and the door slammed in our faces.
"Why, then, did you take us up that slippery staircase, if we are
to see nothing, and then walk down delicately, like Agag, as though
we were treading on eggs? "
For several reasons, reader. First, because the staircase was slippery, and we wished to see if you could walk down with the jauntiness of that king of Amalek. Secondly, because we wished to see
whether you were a snob, who is fond of peeping and prying into
things which do not concern you. Thirdly, because there was nothing to see up there, as the rooms were all empty. And, fourthly, because we wished to take you somewhere else. We would say " elsewhither "-only, having said once, in a letter to a lady, that we were
going "elsewhither," she asked another friend whose house " Elsewhither" was, as we had written to say that we were going to it on a
visit. After this lesson, we advise all readers and all writers to be
cautious in writing good and grammatical English, lest it should
happen to them, as it happened to us, to think we were using an
adverb of place, and to find it had beeni mistaken to mean a place
itself.
"Elsewhere, then-where is that, if we are not to see the bed rooms?"
Well, there are two elsewheres, as you may all find some day to
your cost. You may either go to the offices and the kitchen, if you
think that gluttony is the best policy, though for ourselves we have a
wholesome fear of the cook's dish-clout, and much prefer to judge of
kitchens, as of men, by their works. We advise you, therefore, to
leave the kitchen to itself, and come with us to the stables, in the
opposite wing, and see the horses. You don't like horses? Why,
what a man you must be! Oh! but you are not a man-all readers
are not men-some of them are women, and you are a woman. Here,
again, we observe that you must be a very bad woman if you do not
like horses, and looking at them. You had better come with us and
see the stables, or we shall set you down at once as one of those
wicked women who work horses to death, who pay cabmen sixpence
a mile, and, when they job horses, drive them about all day, and make
them stand out for hours in the cold at night, and then wonder how
it is that their unhappy coachman looks so wan and pinched next
morning, and how the horses lose their flesh, and their coats stare as
though they had been ridden by a nightmare. Do you still say that
you will not go to the stables? Then, as you can't be forced, stay
away; but, had you gone, you would have seen a most original old
coachman, and many fine horses, including two belonging to Alice
and Florence Carlton, who were very fond of them, as well as of
riding.
CHAPTER III.-THE YOUNG LADIES AT LUNCHEON.
As we turn from the stables and look at the back of the house,
where the entrance really is, we see the two daughters of the house
tripping up the stone steps, warned by the luncheon-gong to make
haste home. High Beech was in all respects a punctual, regular
house. Breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, were served to the minute,
and if the commercial career of the house of Carlton conveyed any
moral, it was that of the absolute value of time. In this respect,
you see this Carlton House was the very reverse of another Carlton
House of which we have all read or heard, and which stood where
Carlton Terrace, and Carlton Gardens, and the Athenaeum, and the
Travellers', and the Reform Clubs now stand; and so, while the house
of the Carltons at High Beech flourished and prospered like a bay tree, the other has been long since pulled down, its site built over,
and its very name half-forgotten.
But there are the two young ladies tripping up the steps, while
our story halts to moralize. There they were; and you could even
tell from their backs that they were young and happy. Let them
run off, merry young things, in the warm sunshine; we can never
catch them now, and see their faces. We must wait till they come
down to luncheon.
They were not long in making their appearance; and found their
mother waiting for them. And now a most uncharitable thing
must be said. In no other point of view was High Beech more
fortunate than in this: in it the age of governesses was past. Their
dreary reign was over. There are of course exceptions to every rule,
and some families have been very happy with their governesses; but
in general they are little better than policemen in women's clothes,
or rather female detectives, with whom you have to be on intimate
terms. But this is very wicked and shocking, you say? So it is;
but is it not the very truth? Look at it in another way. Was any
man ever known to be on familiar terms with a policeman? Cooks,
indeed, appeal to them when butlers and footmen are unsympathetic; but we doubt whether policemen have any real friends out
of the force. In fact you can't be good friends with a man who is
able to take you up at any moment. In this respect policemen are
like the National Guards in Paris in 1871. They have no friends.
You might as well pull the Chief Justice of England by the beard
as take any liberty with a policeman; and yet what is the governess
in the family but a worse policeman? There the wretched being
is, between the servants on the one side and the family on the other.
Sometimes the servants won't wait on her; and once there was a
governess who was found starved to death because none of the domestics, male or female, would" demean" themselves, as they termed
it, by taking up her meals to the school-room. On the other hand,
if she is treated as one of' the family, as the lady who is to b)ring up
IA-DY SWE-ETAPPLEY; ORt, 2I.EREE TO ONE.*
[DECEMBER 2,
636