England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
She was very small of stature, and very upright. She wore a great lace
cap, nearly half her own height, I should think, that went round her
head (caps which tied under the chin, and which we called “mobs,” came
in later, and my lady held them in great contempt, saying people might
as well come down in their nightcaps). In front of my lady’s cap was a
great bow of white satin ribbon; and a broad band of the same ribbon was
tied tight round her head, and served to keep the cap straight. She had
a fine Indian muslin shawl folded over her shoulders and across her
chest, and an apron of the same; a black silk mode gown, made with short
sleeves and ruffles, and with the tail thereof pulled through the
pocket-hole, so as to shorten it to a useful length: beneath it she
wore, as I could plainly see, a quilted lavender satin petticoat. Her
hair was snowy white, but I hardly saw it, it was so covered with her
cap: her skin, even at her age, was waxen in texture and tint; her eyes
were large and dark blue, and must have been her great beauty when she
was young, for there was nothing particular, as far as I can remember,
either in mouth or nose. She had a great gold-headed stick by her chair;
but I think it was more as a mark of state and dignity than for use; for
she had as light and brisk a step when she chose as any girl of fifteen,
and, in her private early walk of meditation in the mornings, would go
as swiftly from garden alley to garden alley as any one of us.
She was standing up when I went in. I dropped my curtsy at the door,
which my mother had always taught me as a part of good manners, and went
up instinctively to my lady. She did not put out her hand, but raised
herself a little on tiptoe, and kissed me on both cheeks.
“You are cold, my child. You shall have a dish of tea with me.” She rang
a little hand-bell on the table by her, and her waiting-maid came in
from a small anteroom; and, as if all had been prepared, and was
awaiting my arrival, brought with her a small china-service with tea
ready made, and a plate of delicately-cut bread-and-butter, every
morsel of which I could have eaten, and been none the better for it, so
hungry was I after my long ride. The waiting-maid took off my cloak, and
I sat down, sorely alarmed at the silence, the hushed foot-falls of the
subdued maiden over the thick carpet, and the soft voice and clear
pronunciation of my Lady Ludlow. My teaspoon fell against my cup with a
sharp noise, that seemed so out of place and season that I blushed
deeply. My lady caught my eye with hers,--both keen and sweet were those
dark-blue eyes of her ladyship’s:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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