# Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 39

CHAPTER XXXIX.
Whatever had been the pleasures or pains, wishes or disappointments attending preparation for the fancy fair, when the day actually arrived, all was with Lady Anne couleur de rose. Her rich, becoming dress fitted her perfect shape most admirably, and Fanchette had never arranged her coiffure to more advantage; the rich lappet of blonde, carelessly tied under the chin, hid all the "defeatures time had made," without hiding the long white throat, for which she had always been remarkable, and was a beauty which had descended to all her daughters, even to the stigmatized Isabella. The very, very delicate tint of rouge was admirably applied, and could never be suspected, for it supplied no actual bloom, yet diffused a healthy hue, giving animation to the character of the countenance, and brilliance to the eyes. "Very well, indeed, exceeding well, for un peu passée, the mother of five young women. 'Tis as well they are not here, perhaps," said Lady Anne, as she examined herself from side to side, in the longest cheval the hotel afforded.
The excellent rooms appropriated to the fancy fair had been tastefully ornamented, the stands well ​arranged, and fifteen ladies, accompanied by at least two young friends, each all elegantly dressed, o'er-canopied by pink drapery and green branches, really formed a very beautiful spectacle; and when taken in association with the productions of their ingenuity, and the end for which it was designed, might have warmed the heart of the sternest cynic, and could not have failed to banish the prejudices of Sir Robert Akhurst himself, at least sufficiently for the purpose of opening his purse-strings. Every face was dressed in smiles—every eye shot bright glances around, either in search of a customer or an admirer, an old friend or a new lover. Happily the sunshine, which of late had been very scarce, shone out most invitingly, and the room soon became full; but it was rather with starers and loungers than purchasers; and the duchess shook her head very knowingly to Lady Anne, who was her opposite neighbour. Lady Penrhyn had desired to be placed near the door, as she said she was one of those people who could not live without air; and she might have added, the situation will give beaux, who are equally necessary for my existence. In a short time her turbaned Turk was to he seen pinned to her counter, and apparently busy with the purchase of beads (ever a plaything in the hands of a Moslem) and various toys; not so her tall Poles, who duly paced the room, and looked at the ladies, but had too little money and too much sense to exchange a dinner for a pincushion.
​ Two or three Americans, proud of their country-women's beauty, came in for the express purpose of examining and comparing that which they had at home with that which "these Britishers" were exhibiting, "calculating and guessing," that more might be seen in the Broadway in an hour than in Brighton in a day; they soon, however, found that the stand of the duchess was "a fix;" and, being too well acquainted with the nature of commercial affairs not to know what was required of them, began to buy from the fair hands of Lady Ginevra with all their might. The duchess humoured their peculiarities, praised their country, extolled their taste, and joined in their laughter, so that, in a short time, a kind of infectious mirth and pride in their bargains took possession of the place, and every one bought something, holding out their purchases to view, and praising them in the words and phraseology of the young yankees, who, finding their own importance, were not slow to avail themselves of it, and walked from stand to stand, wherever beauty attracted them, making comments which had more truth than politeness, but never failed to be well received by those whom they distinguished.
Poor Lady Anne did not take a single dollar from them, though she was pronounced "a regular-built senate-house of a woman, fit for the wife of a president," when her stand was pointed out by the duchess as abounding in beautiful things; but Lady Penrbyn got her share—every body admired the stand; and ​several ladies made purchases, to a trifling amount, of the bride who was selling at Lady Anne's stand, not unfrequently being piqued into taking articles herself, said to be dear; but the gentlemen did not come near her. Lady Kilverton, the wife of a city knight, with two pretty nieces to her right, did very well; and Mrs. Calford, with her young daughters, seemed to have people without end (most likely friends of her distinguished husband), but the men did not come—she was not the fashion. It was a perfectly plain case that Lady Anne's daughters were looked for, and were not there; on the contrary, her unfortunate companions frightened men away: and as for herself (much as she was looked at, perhaps admired), the magnetic power was absent.
"To think," said Lady Anne, to herself, "that I, who have so often been troubled with my daughters, should now be so much more troubled with the want of them! Had Helen and Georgiana been here, even tolerably dressed, what an impression they would have made! No one can accuse me of a blind partiality to my daughters; but I do not see in all the circle any more handsome than they are, and scarcely one with equal style. If Louisa were here, Lady Ginevra herself would be second, for at this time she is really splendid."
Lady Anne's cogitations were interrupted by one of her neighbours, the Marchioness of Linlithgow (as there was room behind the stands for a servant to attend, or a neighbour to step onward, which was screened ​off), who said earnestly, "Pray, Lady Anne, tell me who the young gentleman is in the brown frock that is coming this way?"
"There are so many, marchioness, that really———"
"I mean the handsome man—he who is bidding good bye to Lady Penrhyn; look what a forehead, and what hair!—his height, too! and that air of quiet dignity! You see how earnestly the duchess and her daughters are looking at him. No wonder! really it is a consolation to be no longer young, when such men are stirring."
"It is Viscount Meersbrook, the son of the ambassador to Persia," replied Lady Anne, actually colouring at the recollection of certain passages in her connexion with him and his family.
"I remember now, the young man who saved his brother from drowning."
"No, no, the brother saved him! being, indeed, the handsomer and taller of the two."
At this moment Lord Meersbrook stopped at Lady Anne's stand, and took out his pocket-book, on which, though much fluttered, she smiled most graciously, saying, "Thank you, my lord, I am most happy to see you, you are going to bring me good fortune. Here are purses, my lord, card-cases, pincushions———"
"I will look at them all presently; my first care is to give this money into your hands—thirty-five pounds—due for the remainder of the rent of your house, to which you may return when it suits you."
​ "Oh, from Mr. Palmer!—thank you, my lord; it is quite right—I had forty pounds before. Pray, how are my dear neighbours?"
"Very well, and will, I hope, be here to-morrow," replied the young nobleman, divided betwixt remembered anger on his brother's account, and a really anxious desire to examine the stock before him, behind which he expected Helen was shrouded.
In consequence of a look from her mother, Lady Jemima poked a pair of hand-screens before his eyes, saying, "Ye'll jist luik at these, my laird, it'll be long ere ye see twa bonnier, I'm thinking."
Lord Meersbrook smiled; they were old acquaintances, and bought immediately. A card-case, on which were delicate pencil-drawings, was also selected—the dumpy bride choosing to claim attention from "the observed of all observers."
"It is hard upon me," said Lady Anne, observing a something in the eye of the purchaser denoting dissatisfaction, "to be without a daughter on this gay but really fatiguing occasion, the fact being, that Helen has worked herself ill for the charity, and Georgiana is at Rotheles Castle, where I don't suppose she durst name such a thing as coming here, for my brother dislikes bazaars. Poor man! it is but too natural he should, as his first countess eloped from one, and the very name leaves a painful impression, unhappily revived by Lady Allerton, his niece by marriage."
The latter words were spoken in a low and ​confidential tone, and with that peculiar suavity of manner which conveys to the person so addressed an assurance of high esteem and regard, a certainty of generous sympathy in your troubles, and a cordial acceptance of it. The ice melted away which had encrusted the viscount's manners; he thought Lady Anne had seen her error, and was anxious to make l'amende honorable. The bride was charmed by being told that, after going the round, he should most probably come back; therefore he requested her to take care of his property, which was readily undertaken; and every other pair of hand-screens, painted by the industrious and affectionate Helen, were instantly disposed of, the tide running most evidently in Lady Anne's favour. So remarkably, indeed, did it now set in, that poor Lady Penrhyn lost all her lions, and, after watching in vain for someone with whom to flirt, consigned her charge to her friends, and tripped to the stand of Lady Anne, in order to assist her in disposing of those articles which had been discovered by this time to be really the best in the room.
Of course she was a useful auxiliary, and the market became more and more crowded. The Duke of C———, the Marquis of V———, his son, a party of officers from the tenth, several strangers of distinction, diplomatists, great lawyers, including judges and bishops, naval officers of distinction, ladies of high rank, deputed by majesty, and at least two royal dukes, were amongst the crowd, which became so great that ​the real business of the day was impeded by it; nevertheless, it was recruited as fast (for the heat compelled certain to retire) by new comers, many of whom were said to have arrived from Dieppe since the commencement of the fair, and, after making a hasty toilet, determined to see what was stirring before they proceeded homewards.
It was with considerable difficulty that Lord Meersbrook, who had now seen the bazaar with all its phases (and made up his mind as to its Janus properties of containing both good and evil), really could reach Lady Anne's stand, and secure, which he determined to do, the remainder of articles touched by Helen's pencil. Lady Penrhyn attended to him with officious zeal; but Lady Anne interposed so as to gain his ear for a moment, when, with a truly maternal air, she whispered the question—
"You are of your father's political opinions, I apprehend? He was not a man whose sentiments could be forgotten or forsaken."
"I am," said the young nobleman, his heart beating with remembered conversations, and emotions of love and reverence.
"Then be careful how you accept invitations. To a large dinner, or an evening party, you may go with pleasure and safety indiscriminately, be the party of what side it may; but a breakfast or dinner, en famille, with those whom hereafter you will know as political opponents, may embarrass you exceedingly. There ​is no compromise that will not affect your honour or your happiness; a false step at the outset in your private life may ruin your public life, so be careful of your freedom."
Lord Meersbrook was elbowed away from his mentor, but he treasured her words, well aware that she had lived long in the world into which he was only entering, and even as he left the place did he find their value, by being led to an act of self-denial in declining to join a few gentlemen, whose society could not have failed to be delightful, to whom he had been introduced an hour before. "Lady Anne is a worldly woman," said he, "as I know to my sorrow; but then she does know the world she lives in well, and can have no motive but kindness in her advice. I feel quite certain she is ashamed of her past conduct to Arthur: we shall see."
As he descended the stairs, two persons passed him, so remarkably dissimilar in their persons, dress, and carriage, that he could not forbear to look earnestly at them, as forming a criterion of the mixed character of company admissible in such places, and which was to him (with his preconceived notions of the inviolability of the female sanctum) an insuperable objection to such scenes of general resort. The first who passed him was a man about thirty, with a gait at once jaunty and clumsy, and who was so outrageously bedizened with eye-glass, watch-chain, and stock buckle, gay satin waistcoat, and new white continuations ​meant to apologize for a seedy coat, as to give the idea of a servant out of place. The other was evidently a foreigner, perhaps nearer fifty than forty, but with such singularly finely-chiselled features, clear olive complexion, perfect teeth and curling raven locks, elegant form and dignified gait, that he appeared gifted by Nature herself with the patent of nobility. He was dressed in a complete suit of black Genoa velvet, and from a ribbon round his neck hung an eye-glass, surrounded with brilliants, evidently of the most costly description, his only ornament. For a moment Lord Meersbrook thought he might be from the east, but in the next concluded more justly he was either a Spaniard or Italian.
When the first man entered, he inquired of the doorkeeper "whereabouts Lady Anne Granard's stand was!" and was answered in the centre. "Ah! she is in the centre—the middle of the room," ejaculated the tall stranger. It was evident that both these very different persons were some way interested in the lady he had just quitted. "Who could they be, and for what purpose did they seek Lady Anne? The foreigner was probably some friend of her daughter's now abroad, but the sinister look of the other rendered it impossible he could be the friend of any body."
Our readers will perceive that the stranger was Count Riccardini, who, having landed from Dieppe like many others, but with an interest far beyond ​theirs, after taking a slight refreshment, hastily dressed in what his portmanteau happened to contain, neither affecting singularity, nor shrinking from it, being in fact much too happy to give attention to dress, although perfectly aware that his person could do without its aids, or with them.
England! dear England! the land of his dreams and wishes, was attained—the object which his situation rendered necessary, which his beloved daughter had urged him to secure, and which his religious principles rendered as requisite to his happiness as his safety. But what a crowd of memories and feelings were awakened by the first view of her shores, the first sounds of her language, the first specimens of her bustling, active spirit, in contrast to the inertness by which poverty in warm countries is usually characterized, and the air of perfect repair and cleanliness by which the mere homeliness of decent architecture is raised to a level with splendid and stately buildings, decorated with crumbling ornaments, dilapidated in some parts, and unfinished in others! The cheerfulness and bustle of Brighton at the present moment stood him in stead of all the beauty and grandeur, even the deathless and unparalleled associations, he had left behind; he felt that, in the attainment of freedom and comfort, all other things were included.
When, in early life, he was driven by impelling circumstances to a country he considered barbarous, ​and a clime he dreaded, an unknown exile, a positive beggar, shrinking from the scorn of the ignorant and the cold-heartedness of those above them, he had yet found some who had held out "the right hand of fellowship" with a generosity beyond his hopes and almost his wants. If services forgotten by himself were so remembered by the generous Granard as, in a great measure, to reinstate him in rank and consideration, and eventually to add the blessings of love and the gifts of fortune to the exiled wanderer, returning him to his country, with power to claim his rights, improve his property, and maintain his ancestorial dignity, surely at the present time England and its glorious immunities would be more valuable than they had ever been. He came now not a beggar, but a lord, if not of comparative wealth with her rich nobility, yet with enough and to spare; for his means far exceeded his wants, and both hand and heart were "open as day to melting charity," profoundly grateful, and inflexibly just.
But, alas! he was a widower and childless. England would protect him from evil—she would endow him with liberty—she would receive him as a son to her maternal bosom, and bless him with the Christian privileges which the bigotry of his still lamented wife had taught him to estimate so highly, but she could not restore the past. His fair Margarita was wedded to the cold grave, and her beloved Glentworth (the man of his own heart's exceeding ​preference) was given to another; the hopes of life were blotted out of life; nevertheless, health and competence remained, claiming gratitude to the great giver of good, and impressing their own value on him who had seen the first fade away in the persons of the only beings on earth united to himself, and who had felt the want of the last when he was a stranger in the land to which he fled, with all the false refinements, the natural prejudices and the habitual indulgences, which are inseparable from the class to which he belonged, whatever be the country from whence they are driven.
Never may the "good old English gentleman, all of the olden time," be thus sent wandering in search of a place wherein to lay his head, or a corner in which to eat the crust moistened with his tears; for, although we firmly believe he would be as honourable and as virtuous as any similarly situated man, which by turns France and Italy, Poland and Spain, have thus sent out to sue for the protection and charity of Great Britain, we greatly fear that he would be found wanting in that happy suppleness of character which can conform to circumstance, and render the gifts of nature and education of avail in the day of sorrow and misfortune. Louis Phillippe is now a great king, and being truly a good one, merits our praises and good wishes; but unquestionably he was as great a man when he condescended to teach a few boys, in a far distant ​country, where republican habits and prejudices denied him the sympathy due to his misfortunes, and left him an isolated, exiled prince, "alone in his glory."