My Lady Ludlow

E >> Elizabeth Gaskell >> My Lady Ludlow

MY LADY LUDLOW
by Elizabeth Gaskell


CHAPTER I.


I am an old woman now, and things are very different to what they were in
my youth. Then we, who travelled, travelled in coaches, carrying six
inside, and making a two days' journey out of what people now go over in
a couple of hours with a whizz and a flash, and a screaming whistle,
enough to deafen one. Then letters came in but three times a week:
indeed, in some places in Scotland where I have stayed when I was a girl,
the post came in but once a month;--but letters were letters then; and we
made great prizes of them, and read them and studied them like books. Now
the post comes rattling in twice a day, bringing short jerky notes, some
without beginning or end, but just a little sharp sentence, which well-
bred folks would think too abrupt to be spoken. Well, well! they may all
be improvements,--I dare say they are; but you will never meet with a
Lady Ludlow in these days.

I will try and tell you about her. It is no story: it has, as I said,
neither beginning, middle, nor end.

My father was a poor clergyman with a large family. My mother was always
said to have good blood in her veins; and when she wanted to maintain her
position with the people she was thrown among,--principally rich
democratic manufacturers, all for liberty and the French Revolution,--she
would put on a pair of ruffles, trimmed with real old English point, very
much darned to be sure,--but which could not be bought new for love or
money, as the art of making it was lost years before. These ruffles
showed, as she said, that her ancestors had been Somebodies, when the
grandfathers of the rich folk, who now looked down upon her, had been
Nobodies,--if, indeed, they had any grandfathers at all. I don't know
whether any one out of our own family ever noticed these ruffles,--but we
were all taught as children to feel rather proud when my mother put them
on, and to hold up our heads as became the descendants of the lady who
had first possessed the lace. Not but what my dear father often told us
that pride was a great sin; we were never allowed to be proud of anything
but my mother's ruffles: and she was so innocently happy when she put
them on,--often, poor dear creature, to a very worn and threadbare
gown,--that I still think, even after all my experience of life, they
were a blessing to the family. You will think that I am wandering away
from my Lady Ludlow. Not at all. The Lady who had owned the lace,
Ursula Hanbury, was a common ancestress of both my mother and my Lady
Ludlow. And so it fell out, that when my poor father died, and my mother
was sorely pressed to know what to do with her nine children, and looked
far and wide for signs of willingness to help, Lady Ludlow sent her a
letter, proffering aid and assistance. I see that letter now: a large
sheet of thick yellow paper, with a straight broad margin left on the
left-hand side of the delicate Italian writing,--writing which contained
far more in the same space of paper than all the sloping, or masculine
hand-writings of the present day. It was sealed with a coat of arms,--a
lozenge,--for Lady Ludlow was a widow. My mother made us notice the
motto, "Foy et Loy," and told us where to look for the quarterings of the
Hanbury arms before she opened the letter. Indeed, I think she was
rather afraid of what the contents might be; for, as I have said, in her
anxious love for her fatherless children, she had written to many people
upon whom, to tell truly, she had but little claim; and their cold, hard
answers had many a time made her cry, when she thought none of us were
looking. I do not even know if she had ever seen Lady Ludlow: all I knew
of her was that she was a very grand lady, whose grandmother had been
half-sister to my mother's great-grandmother; but of her character and
circumstances I had heard nothing, and I doubt if my mother was
acquainted with them.

I looked over my mother's shoulder to read the letter; it began, "Dear
Cousin Margaret Dawson," and I think I felt hopeful from the moment I saw
those words. She went on to say,--stay, I think I can remember the very
words:

'DEAR COUSIN MARGARET DAWSON,--I have been much grieved to hear of the
loss you have sustained in the death of so good a husband, and so
excellent a clergyman as I have always heard that my late cousin Richard
was esteemed to be.'

"There!" said my mother, laying her finger on the passage, "read that
aloud to the little ones. Let them hear how their father's good report
travelled far and wide, and how well he is spoken of by one whom he never
saw. COUSIN Richard, how prettily her ladyship writes! Go on,
Margaret!" She wiped her eyes as she spoke: and laid her fingers on her
lips, to still my little sister, Cecily, who, not understanding anything
about the important letter, was beginning to talk and make a noise.

'You say you are left with nine children. I too should have had nine, if
mine had all lived. I have none left but Rudolph, the present Lord
Ludlow. He is married, and lives, for the most part, in London. But I
entertain six young gentlewomen at my house at Connington, who are to me
as daughters--save that, perhaps, I restrict them in certain indulgences
in dress and diet that might be befitting in young ladies of a higher
rank, and of more probable wealth. These young persons--all of
condition, though out of means--are my constant companions, and I strive
to do my duty as a Christian lady towards them. One of these young
gentlewomen died (at her own home, whither she had gone upon a visit)
last May. Will you do me the favour to allow your eldest daughter to
supply her place in my household? She is, as I make out, about sixteen
years of age. She will find companions here who are but a little older
than herself. I dress my young friends myself, and make each of them a
small allowance for pocket-money. They have but few opportunities for
matrimony, as Connington is far removed from any town. The clergyman is
a deaf old widower; my agent is married; and as for the neighbouring
farmers, they are, of course, below the notice of the young gentlewomen
under my protection. Still, if any young woman wishes to marry, and has
conducted herself to my satisfaction, I give her a wedding dinner, her
clothes, and her house-linen. And such as remain with me to my death,
will find a small competency provided for them in my will. I reserve to
myself the option of paying their travelling expenses,--disliking gadding
women, on the one hand; on the other, not wishing by too long absence
from the family home to weaken natural ties.

'If my proposal pleases you and your daughter--or rather, if it pleases
you, for I trust your daughter has been too well brought up to have a
will in opposition to yours--let me know, dear cousin Margaret Dawson,
and I will make arrangements for meeting the young gentlewoman at
Cavistock, which is the nearest point to which the coach will bring her.'

My mother dropped the letter, and sat silent.

"I shall not know what to do without you, Margaret."

A moment before, like a young untried girl as I was, I had been pleased
at the notion of seeing a new place, and leading a new life. But now,--my
mother's look of sorrow, and the children's cry of remonstrance: "Mother;
I won't go," I said.

"Nay! but you had better," replied she, shaking her head. "Lady Ludlow
has much power. She can help your brothers. It will not do to slight
her offer."

So we accepted it, after much consultation. We were rewarded,--or so we
thought,--for, afterwards, when I came to know Lady Ludlow, I saw that
she would have done her duty by us, as helpless relations, however we
might have rejected her kindness,--by a presentation to Christ's Hospital
for one of my brothers.

And this was how I came to know my Lady Ludlow.

I remember well the afternoon of my arrival at Hanbury Court. Her
ladyship had sent to meet me at the nearest post-town at which the mail-
coach stopped. There was an old groom inquiring for me, the ostler said,
if my name was Dawson--from Hanbury Court, he believed. I felt it rather
formidable; and first began to understand what was meant by going among
strangers, when I lost sight of the guard to whom my mother had intrusted
me. I was perched up in a high gig with a hood to it, such as in those
days was called a chair, and my companion was driving deliberately
through the most pastoral country I had ever yet seen. By-and-by we
ascended a long hill, and the man got out and walked at the horse's head.
I should have liked to walk, too, very much indeed; but I did pot know
how far I might do it; and, in fact, I dared not speak to ask to be
helped down the deep steps of the gig. We were at last at the top,--on a
long, breezy, sweeping, unenclosed piece of ground, called, as I
afterwards learnt, a Chase. The groom stopped, breathed, patted his
horse, and then mounted again to my side.

"Are we near Hanbury Court?" I asked.

"Near! Why, Miss! we've a matter of ten mile yet to go."

Once launched into conversation, we went on pretty glibly. I fancy he
had been afraid of beginning to speak to me, just as I was to him; but he
got over his shyness with me sooner than I did mine with him. I let him
choose the subjects of conversation, although very often I could not
understand the points of interest in them: for instance, he talked for
more than a quarter of an hour of a famous race which a certain dog-fox
had given him, above thirty years before; and spoke of all the covers and
turns just as if I knew them as well as he did; and all the time I was
wondering what kind of an animal a dog-fox might be.

After we loft the Chase, the road grew worse. No one in these days, who
has not seen the byroads of fifty years ago, can imagine what they were.
We had to quarter, as Randal called it, nearly all the way along the deep-
rutted, miry lanes; and the tremendous jolts I occasionally met with made
my seat in the gig so unsteady that I could not look about me at all, I
was so much occupied in holding on. The road was too muddy for me to
walk without dirtying myself more than I liked to do, just before my
first sight of my Lady Ludlow. But by-and-by, when we came to the fields
in which the lane ended, I begged Randal to help me down, as I saw that I
could pick my steps among the pasture grass without making myself unfit
to be seen; and Randal, out of pity for his steaming horse, wearied with
the hard struggle through the mud, thanked me kindly, and helped me down
with a springing jump.

The pastures fell gradually down to the lower land, shut in on either
side by rows of high elms, as if there had been a wide grand avenue here
in former times. Down the grassy gorge we went, seeing the sunset sky at
the end of the shadowed descent. Suddenly we came to a long flight of
steps.

"If you'll run down there, Miss, I'll go round and meet you, and then
you'd better mount again, for my lady will like to see you drive up to
the house."

"Are we near the house?" said I, suddenly checked by the idea.

"Down there, Miss," replied he, pointing with his whip to certain stacks
of twisted chimneys rising out of a group of trees, in deep shadow
against the crimson light, and which lay just beyond a great square lawn
at the base of the steep slope of a hundred yards, on the edge of which
we stood.

I went down the steps quietly enough. I met Randal and the gig at the
bottom; and, falling into a side road to the left, we drove sedately
round, through the gateway, and into the great court in front of the
house.

The road by which we had come lay right at the back.

Hanbury Court is a vast red-trick house--at least, it is cased in part
with red bricks; and the gate-house and walls about the place are of
brick,--with stone facings at every corner, and door, and window, such as
you see at Hampton Court. At the back are the gables, and arched
doorways, and stone mullions, which show (so Lady Ludlow used to tell us)
that it was once a priory. There was a prior's parlour, I know--only we
called it Mrs. Medlicott's room; and there was a tithe-barn as big as a
church, and rows of fish-ponds, all got ready for the monks' fasting-days
in old time. But all this I did not see till afterwards. I hardly
noticed, this first night, the great Virginian Creeper (said to have been
the first planted in England by one of my lady's ancestors) that half
covered the front of the house. As I had been unwilling to leave the
guard of the coach, so did I now feel unwilling to leave Randal, a known
friend of three hours. But there was no help for it; in I must go; past
the grand-looking old gentleman holding the door open for me, on into the
great hall on the right hand, into which the sun's last rays were sending
in glorious red light,--the gentleman was now walking before me,--up a
step on to the dais, as I afterwards learned that it was called,--then
again to the left, through a series of sitting-rooms, opening one out of
another, and all of them looking into a stately garden, glowing, even in
the twilight, with the bloom of flowers. We went up four steps out of
the last of these rooms, and then my guide lifted up a heavy silk curtain
and I was in the presence of my Lady Ludlow.

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 curtsey 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:--

"Your hands are very cold, my dear; take off those gloves" (I wore thick
serviceable doeskin, and had been too shy to take them off unbidden),
"and let me try and warm them--the evenings are very chilly." And she
held my great red hands in hers,--soft, warm, white, ring-laden. Looking
at last a little wistfully into my face, she said--"Poor child! And
you're the eldest of nine! I had a daughter who would have been just
your age; but I cannot fancy her the eldest of nine." Then came a pause
of silence; and then she rang her bell, and desired her waiting-maid,
Adams, to show me to my room.

It was so small that I think it must have been a cell. The walls were
whitewashed stone; the bed was of white dimity. There was a small piece
of red staircarpet on each side of the bed, and two chairs. In a closet
adjoining were my washstand and toilet-table. There was a text of
Scripture painted on the wall right opposite to my bed; and below hung a
print, common enough in those days, of King George and Queen Charlotte,
with all their numerous children, down to the little Princess Amelia in a
go-cart. On each side hung a small portrait, also engraved: on the left,
it was Louis the Sixteenth; on the other, Marie-Antoinette. On the
chimney-piece there was a tinder-box and a Prayer-book. I do not
remember anything else in the room. Indeed, in those days people did not
dream of writing-tables, and inkstands, and portfolios, and easy chairs,
and what not. We were taught to go into our bedrooms for the purposes of
dressing, and sleeping, and praying.

Presently I was summoned to supper. I followed the young lady who had
been sent to call me, down the wide shallow stairs, into the great hall,
through which I had first passed on my way to my Lady Ludlow's room.
There were four other young gentlewomen, all standing, and all silent,
who curtsied to me when I first came in. They were dressed in a kind of
uniform: muslin caps bound round their heads with blue ribbons, plain
muslin handkerchiefs, lawn aprons, and drab-coloured stuff gowns. They
were all gathered together at a little distance from the table, on which
were placed a couple of cold chickens, a salad, and a fruit tart. On the
dais there was a smaller round table, on which stood a silver jug filled
with milk, and a small roll. Near that was set a carved chair, with a
countess's coronet surmounting the back of it. I thought that some one
might have spoken to me; but they were shy, and I was shy; or else there
was some other reason; but, indeed, almost the minute after I had come
into the hall by the door at the lower hand, her ladyship entered by the
door opening upon the dais; whereupon we all curtsied very low; I because
I saw the others do it. She stood, and looked at us for a moment.

"Young gentlewomen," said she, "make Margaret Dawson welcome among you;"
and they treated me with the kind politeness due to a stranger, but still
without any talking beyond what was required for the purposes of the
meal. After it was over, and grace was said by one of our party, my lady
rang her hand-bell, and the servants came in and cleared away the supper
things: then they brought in a portable reading-desk, which was placed on
the dais, and, the whole household trooping in, my lady called to one of
my companions to come up and read the Psalms and Lessons for the day. I
remember thinking how afraid I should have been had I been in her place.
There were no prayers. My lady thought it schismatic to have any prayers
excepting those in the Prayer-book; and would as soon have preached a
sermon herself in the parish church, as have allowed any one not a deacon
at the least to read prayers in a private dwelling-house. I am not sure
that even then she would have approved of his reading them in an
unconsecrated place.

She had been maid of honour to Queen Charlotte: a Hanbury of that old
stock that flourished in the days of the Plantagenets, and heiress of all
the land that remained to the family, of the great estates which had once
stretched into four separate counties. Hanbury Court was hers by right.
She had married Lord Ludlow, and had lived for many years at his various
seats, and away from her ancestral home. She had lost all her children
but one, and most of them had died at these houses of Lord Ludlow's; and,
I dare say, that gave my lady a distaste to the places, and a longing to
come back to Hanbury Court, where she had been so happy as a girl. I
imagine her girlhood had been the happiest time of her life; for, now I
think of it, most of her opinions, when I knew her in later life, were
singular enough then, but had been universally prevalent fifty years
before. For instance, while I lived at Hanbury Court, the cry for
education was beginning to come up: Mr. Raikes had set up his Sunday
Schools; and some clergymen were all for teaching writing and arithmetic,
as well as reading. My lady would have none of this; it was levelling
and revolutionary, she said. When a young woman came to be hired, my
lady would have her in, and see if she liked her looks and her dress, and
question her about her family. Her ladyship laid great stress upon this
latter point, saying that a girl who did not warm up when any interest or
curiosity was expressed about her mother, or the "baby" (if there was
one), was not likely to make a good servant. Then she would make her put
out her feet, to see if they were well and neatly shod. Then she would
bid her say the Lord's Prayer and the Creed. Then she inquired if she
could write. If she could, and she had liked all that had gone before,
her face sank--it was a great disappointment, for it was an all but
inviolable rule with her never to engage a servant who could write. But
I have known her ladyship break through it, although in both cases in
which she did so she put the girl's principles to a further and unusual
test in asking her to repeat the Ten Commandments. One pert young
woman--and yet I was sorry for her too, only she afterwards married a
rich draper in Shrewsbury--who had got through her trials pretty
tolerably, considering she could write, spoilt all, by saying glibly, at
the end of the last Commandment, "An't please your ladyship, I can cast
accounts."

"Go away, wench," said my lady in a hurry, "you're only fit for trade;
you will not suit me for a servant." The girl went away crestfallen: in
a minute, however, my lady sent me after her to see that she had
something to eat before leaving the house; and, indeed, she sent for her
once again, but it was only to give her a Bible, and to bid her beware of
French principles, which had led the French to cut off their king's and
queen's heads.

The poor, blubbering girl said, "Indeed, my lady, I wouldn't hurt a fly,
much less a king, and I cannot abide the French, nor frogs neither, for
that matter."

But my lady was inexorable, and took a girl who could neither read nor
write, to make up for her alarm about the progress of education towards
addition and subtraction; and afterwards, when the clergyman who was at
Hanbury parish when I came there, had died, and the bishop had appointed
another, and a younger man, in his stead, this was one of the points on
which he and my lady did not agree. While good old deaf Mr. Mountford
lived, it was my lady's custom, when indisposed for a sermon, to stand up
at the door of her large square pew,--just opposite to the
reading-desk,--and to say (at that part of the morning service where it
is decreed that, in quires and places where they sing, here followeth the
anthem): "Mr. Mountford, I will not trouble you for a discourse this
morning." And we all knelt down to the Litany with great satisfaction;
for Mr. Mountford, though he could not hear, had always his eyes open
about this part of the service, for any of my lady's movements. But the
new clergyman, Mr. Gray, was of a different stamp. He was very zealous
in all his parish work; and my lady, who was just as good as she could be
to the poor, was often crying him up as a godsend to the parish, and he
never could send amiss to the Court when he wanted broth, or wine, or
jelly, or sago for a sick person. But he needs must take up the new
hobby of education; and I could see that this put my lady sadly about one
Sunday, when she suspected, I know not how, that there was something to
be said in his sermon about a Sunday-school which he was planning. She
stood up, as she had not done since Mr. Mountford's death, two years and
better before this time, and said--

"Mr. Gray, I will not trouble you for a discourse this morning."

But her voice was not well-assured and steady; and we knelt down with
more of curiosity than satisfaction in our minds. Mr. Gray preached a
very rousing sermon, on the necessity of establishing a Sabbath-school in
the village. My lady shut her eyes, and seemed to go to sleep; but I
don't believe she lost a word of it, though she said nothing about it
that I heard until the next Saturday, when two of us, as was the custom,
were riding out with her in her carriage, and we went to see a poor
bedridden woman, who lived some miles away at the other end of the estate
and of the parish: and as we came out of the cottage we met Mr. Gray
walking up to it, in a great heat, and looking very tired. My lady
beckoned him to her, and told him she should wait and take him home with
her, adding that she wondered to see him there, so far from his home, for
that it was beyond a Sabbath-day's journey, and, from what she had
gathered from his sermon the last Sunday, he was all for Judaism against
Christianity. He looked as if he did not understand what she meant; but
the truth was that, besides the way in which he had spoken up for schools
and schooling, he had kept calling Sunday the Sabbath: and, as her
ladyship said, "The Sabbath is the Sabbath, and that's one thing--it is
Saturday; and if I keep it, I'm a Jew, which I'm not. And Sunday is
Sunday; and that's another thing; and if I keep it, I'm a Christian,
which I humbly trust I am."