CRANFORD
PART 9
CHAPTER IX—SIGNOR BRUNONI
Soon after the events of
which I gave an account in my last paper, I was summoned home by my father’s
illness; and for a time I forgot, in anxiety about him, to wonder how my dear
friends at Cranford were getting on, or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile
herself to the dulness of the long visit which she was still paying to her
sister-in-law, Mrs Jamieson. When my father grew a little stronger I
accompanied him to the seaside, so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford,
and was deprived of the opportunity of hearing any chance intelligence of the
dear little town for the greater part of that year.
Late in
November—when we had returned home again, and my father was once more in good
health—I received a letter from Miss Matty; and a very mysterious letter it
was. She began many sentences without ending them, running them one into
another, in much the same confused sort of way in which written words run
together on blotting-paper. All I could make out was that, if my father was
better (which she hoped he was), and would take warning and wear a great-coat
from Michaelmas to Lady-day, if turbans were in fashion,
could I tell her? Such a piece of gaiety was going to happen as had not
been seen or known of since Wombwell’s lions came, when one of them ate a
little child’s arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to care about dress, but a
new cap she must have; and, having heard that turbans were worn, and some of
the county families likely to come, she would like to look tidy, if I would
bring her a cap from the milliner I employed; and oh, dear! how careless of her
to forget that she wrote to beg I would come and pay her a visit next Tuesday;
when she hoped to have something to offer me in the way of amusement, which she
would not now more particularly describe, only sea-green was her favourite
colour. So she ended her letter; but in a P.S. she added, she thought she
might as well tell me what was the peculiar attraction to Cranford just now;
Signor Brunoni was going to exhibit his wonderful magic in the Cranford
Assembly Rooms on Wednesday and Friday evening in the following week.
I was very
glad to accept the invitation from my dear Miss Matty, independently of the
conjuror, and most particularly anxious to prevent her from disfiguring her
small, gentle, mousey face with a great Saracen’s head turban; and accordingly,
I bought her a pretty, neat, middle-aged cap, which, however, was rather a
disappointment to her when, on my arrival, she followed me into my bedroom,
ostensibly to poke the fire, but in reality, I do believe, to see if the
sea-green turban was not inside the cap-box with which I had travelled.
It was in vain that I twirled the cap round on my hand to exhibit back and side
fronts: her heart had been set upon a turban, and all she could
do was to say, with resignation in her look and voice—
“I am sure
you did your best, my dear. It is just like the caps all the ladies in
Cranford are wearing, and they have had theirs for a year, I dare say. I
should have liked something newer, I confess—something more like the turbans
Miss Betty Barker tells me Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very pretty, my
dear. And I dare say lavender will wear better than sea-green.
Well, after all, what is dress, that we should care anything about it?
You’ll tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. I
suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet?”
So saying,
the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself out of the room, leaving me to dress
for the evening, when, as she informed me, she expected Miss Pole and Mrs
Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel myself too much tired to join the
party. Of course I should not; and I made some haste to unpack and
arrange my dress; but, with all my speed, I heard the arrivals and the buzz of
conversation in the next room before I was ready. Just as I opened the
door, I caught the words, “I was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of
the Drumble shops; poor girl! she did her best, I’ve no doubt.” But, for
all that, I had rather that she blamed Drumble and me than disfigured herself
with a turban.
Miss Pole
was always the person, in the trio of Cranford ladies now assembled, to have
had adventures. She was in the habit of spending the morning in rambling
from shop to shop, not to purchase anything (except an occasional reel of
cotton or a piece of tape), but to see the new articles and
report upon them, and to collect all the stray pieces of intelligence in the
town. She had a way, too, of demurely popping hither and thither into all
sorts of places to gratify her curiosity on any point—a way which, if she had
not looked so very genteel and prim, might have been considered
impertinent. And now, by the expressive way in which she cleared her
throat, and waited for all minor subjects (such as caps and turbans) to be
cleared off the course, we knew she had something very particular to relate,
when the due pause came—and I defy any people possessed of common modesty to
keep up a conversation long, where one among them sits up aloft in silence,
looking down upon all the things they chance to say as trivial and contemptible
compared to what they could disclose, if properly entreated. Miss Pole
began—
“As I was
stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I chanced to go into the ‘George’ (my
Betty has a second-cousin who is chambermaid there, and I thought Betty would
like to hear how she was), and, not seeing anyone about, I strolled up the
staircase, and found myself in the passage leading to the Assembly Room (you
and I remember the Assembly Room, I am sure, Miss Matty! and the minuets de la
cour!); so I went on, not thinking of what I was about, when, all at once, I
perceived that I was in the middle of the preparations for to-morrow night—the
room being divided with great clothes-maids, over which Crosby’s men were
tacking red flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered me, and I
was going on behind the screens, in my absence of mind, when a gentleman (quite
the gentleman, I can assure you) stepped forwards and asked
if I had any business he could arrange for me. He spoke such pretty
broken English, I could not help thinking of Thaddeus of Warsaw, and the
Hungarian Brothers, and Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing his
past life to myself, he had bowed me out of the room. But wait a
minute! You have not heard half my story yet! I was going
downstairs, when who should I meet but Betty’s second-cousin. So, of
course, I stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told me that I had
really seen the conjuror—the gentleman who spoke broken English was Signor
Brunoni himself. Just at this moment he passed us on the stairs, making
such a graceful bow! in reply to which I dropped a curtsey—all foreigners have
such polite manners, one catches something of it. But when he had gone
downstairs, I bethought me that I had dropped my glove in the Assembly Room (it
was safe in my muff all the time, but I never found it till afterwards); so I
went back, and, just as I was creeping up the passage left on one side of the
great screen that goes nearly across the room, who should I see but the very
same gentleman that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, coming now
forwards from the inner part of the room, to which there is no entrance—you
remember, Miss Matty—and just repeating, in his pretty broken English, the
inquiry if I had any business there—I don’t mean that he put it quite so
bluntly, but he seemed very determined that I should not pass the screen—so, of
course, I explained about my glove, which, curiously enough, I found at that
very moment.”
Miss Pole, then, had seen the conjuror—the real, live
conjuror! and numerous were the questions we all asked her. “Had he a
beard?” “Was he young, or old?” “Fair, or dark?” “Did he
look”—(unable to shape my question prudently, I put it in another form)—“How
did he look?” In short, Miss Pole was the heroine of the evening, owing
to her morning’s encounter. If she was not the rose (that is to say the
conjuror) she had been near it.
Conjuration,
sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were the subjects of the evening.
Miss Pole was slightly sceptical, and inclined to think there might be a
scientific solution found for even the proceedings of the Witch of Endor.
Mrs Forrester believed everything, from ghosts to death-watches. Miss
Matty ranged between the two—always convinced by the last speaker. I
think she was naturally more inclined to Mrs Forrester’s side, but a desire of
proving herself a worthy sister to Miss Jenkyns kept her equally balanced—Miss
Jenkyns, who would never allow a servant to call the little rolls of tallow
that formed themselves round candles “winding-sheets,” but insisted on their
being spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister of hers to be
superstitious! It would never do.
After tea,
I was despatched downstairs into the dining-parlour for that volume of the old
Encyclopædia which contained the nouns beginning with C, in order that Miss
Pole might prime herself with scientific explanations for the tricks of the
following evening. It spoilt the pool at Preference which Miss Matty and
Mrs Forrester had been looking forward to, for Miss Pole became so much
absorbed in her subject, and the plates by which it was
illustrated, that we felt it would be cruel to disturb her otherwise than by
one or two well-timed yawns, which I threw in now and then, for I was really
touched by the meek way in which the two ladies were bearing their
disappointment. But Miss Pole only read the more zealously, imparting to
us no more information than this—
“Ah! I
see; I comprehend perfectly. A represents the ball. Put A between B
and D—no! between C and F, and turn the second joint of the third finger of
your left hand over the wrist of your right H. Very clear indeed!
My dear Mrs Forrester, conjuring and witchcraft is a mere affair of the
alphabet. Do let me read you this one passage?”
Mrs
Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, saying, from a child upwards, she
never could understand being read aloud to; and I dropped the pack of cards,
which I had been shuffling very audibly, and by this discreet movement I
obliged Miss Pole to perceive that Preference was to have been the order of the
evening, and to propose, rather unwillingly, that the pool should
commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over the other two ladies’ faces
on this! Miss Matty had one or two twinges of self-reproach for having
interrupted Miss Pole in her studies: and did not remember her cards well, or
give her full attention to the game, until she had soothed her conscience by
offering to lend the volume of the Encyclopædia to Miss Pole, who accepted it
thankfully, and said Betty should take it home when she came with the lantern.
The next evening we were all in a little gentle
flutter at the idea of the gaiety before us. Miss Matty went up to dress
betimes, and hurried me until I was ready, when we found we had an
hour-and-a-half to wait before the “doors opened at seven precisely.” And
we had only twenty yards to go! However, as Miss Matty said, it would not
do to get too much absorbed in anything, and forget the time; so she thought we
had better sit quietly, without lighting the candles, till five minutes to
seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted.
At length
we set off; and at the door under the carriage-way at the “George,” we met Mrs
Forrester and Miss Pole: the latter was discussing the subject of the evening
with more vehemence than ever, and throwing X’s and B’s at our heads like
hailstones. She had even copied one or two of the “receipts”—as she
called them—for the different tricks, on backs of letters, ready to explain and
to detect Signor Brunoni’s arts.
We went
into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly Room; Miss Matty gave a sigh or two
to her departed youth, and the remembrance of the last time she had been there,
as she adjusted her pretty new cap before the strange, quaint old mirror in the
cloak-room. The Assembly Room had been added to the inn, about a hundred
years before, by the different county families, who met together there once a
month during the winter to dance and play at cards. Many a county beauty
had first swung through the minuet that she afterwards danced before Queen
Charlotte in this very room. It was said that one of the Gunnings had
graced the apartment with her beauty; it was certain that a
rich and beautiful widow, Lady Williams, had here been smitten with the noble
figure of a young artist, who was staying with some family in the neighbourhood
for professional purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the Cranford
Assembly. And a pretty bargain poor Lady Williams had of her handsome
husband, if all tales were true. Now, no beauty blushed and dimpled along
the sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome artist won hearts by his
bow, chapeau bras in hand; the old room was dingy; the salmon-coloured
paint had faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster had chipped off from the
fine wreaths and festoons on its walls; but still a mouldy odour of aristocracy
lingered about the place, and a dusty recollection of the days that were gone
made Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester bridle up as they entered, and walk mincingly
up the room, as if there were a number of genteel observers, instead of two
little boys with a stick of toffee between them with which to beguile the time.
We stopped
short at the second front row; I could hardly understand why, until I heard
Miss Pole ask a stray waiter if any of the county families were expected; and
when he shook his head, and believed not, Mrs Forrester and Miss Matty moved
forwards, and our party represented a conversational square. The front
row was soon augmented and enriched by Lady Glenmire and Mrs Jamieson. We
six occupied the two front rows, and our aristocratic seclusion was respected
by the groups of shop-keepers who strayed in from time to time and huddled
together on the back benches. At least I conjectured so,
from the noise they made, and the sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; but
when, in weariness of the obstinate green curtain that would not draw up, but
would stare at me with two odd eyes, seen through holes, as in the old tapestry
story, I would fain have looked round at the merry chattering people behind me,
Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged me not to turn, for “it was not the
thing.” What “the thing” was, I never could find out, but it must have
been something eminently dull and tiresome. However, we all sat eyes
right, square front, gazing at the tantalising curtain, and hardly speaking
intelligibly, we were so afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of making any
noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs Jamieson was the most
fortunate, for she fell asleep.
At length
the eyes disappeared—the curtain quivered—one side went up before the other,
which stuck fast; it was dropped again, and, with a fresh effort, and a
vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, revealing to our sight a
magnificent gentleman in the Turkish costume, seated before a little table,
gazing at us (I should have said with the same eyes that I had last seen
through the hole in the curtain) with calm and condescending dignity, “like a
being of another sphere,” as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate behind me.
“That’s
not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole decidedly; and so audibly that I am sure he
heard, for he glanced down over his flowing beard at our party with an air of
mute reproach. “Signor Brunoni had no beard—but perhaps he’ll come
soon.” So she lulled herself into patience. Meanwhile, Miss Matty had reconnoitred through her eye-glass, wiped it, and
looked again. Then she turned round, and said to me, in a kind, mild,
sorrowful tone—
“You see,
my dear, turbans are worn.”
But we had
no time for more conversation. The Grand Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call
him, arose and announced himself as Signor Brunoni.
“I don’t
believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a defiant manner. He looked at her
again, with the same dignified upbraiding in his countenance. “I don’t!”
she repeated more positively than ever. “Signor Brunoni had not got that
muffy sort of thing about his chin, but looked like a close-shaved Christian
gentleman.”
Miss Pole’s
energetic speeches had the good effect of wakening up Mrs Jamieson, who opened
her eyes wide, in sign of the deepest attention—a proceeding which silenced
Miss Pole and encouraged the Grand Turk to proceed, which he did in very broken
English—so broken that there was no cohesion between the parts of his
sentences; a fact which he himself perceived at last, and so left off speaking
and proceeded to action.
Now we were
astonished. How he did his tricks I could not imagine; no, not even when
Miss Pole pulled out her pieces of paper and began reading aloud—or at least in
a very audible whisper—the separate “receipts” for the most common of his
tricks. If ever I saw a man frown and look enraged, I saw the Grand Turk
frown at Miss Pole; but, as she said, what could be expected but unchristian
looks from a Mussulman? If Miss Pole were sceptical, and more engrossed
with her receipts and diagrams than with his tricks, Miss
Matty and Mrs Forrester were mystified and perplexed to the highest
degree. Mrs Jamieson kept taking her spectacles off and wiping them, as
if she thought it was something defective in them which made the legerdemain;
and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many curious sights in Edinburgh, was very much
struck with the tricks, and would not at all agree with Miss Pole, who declared
that anybody could do them with a little practice, and that she would, herself,
undertake to do all he did, with two hours given to study the Encyclopædia and
make her third finger flexible.
At last
Miss Matty and Mrs Forrester became perfectly awestricken. They whispered
together. I sat just behind them, so I could not help hearing what they
were saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs Forrester “if she thought it was quite
right to have come to see such things? She could not help fearing they
were lending encouragement to something that was not quite”— A little
shake of the head filled up the blank. Mrs Forrester replied, that the
same thought had crossed her mind; she too was feeling very uncomfortable, it
was so very strange. She was quite certain that it was her
pocket-handkerchief which was in that loaf just now; and it had been in her own
hand not five minutes before. She wondered who had furnished the
bread? She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he was the churchwarden.
Suddenly Miss Matty half-turned towards me—
“Will you
look, my dear—you are a stranger in the town, and it won’t give rise to
unpleasant reports—will you just look round and see if the
rector is here? If he is, I think we may conclude that this wonderful man
is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a great relief to my mind.”
I looked,
and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, sitting surrounded by National
School boys, guarded by troops of his own sex from any approach of the many
Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape with broad smiles, and
the boys around him were in chinks of laughing. I told Miss Matty that
the Church was smiling approval, which set her mind at ease.
I have
never named Mr Hayter, the rector, because I, as a well-to-do and happy young
woman, never came in contact with him. He was an old bachelor, but as
afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad about him as any girl of eighteen:
and he would rush into a shop or dive down an entry, sooner than encounter any
of the Cranford ladies in the street; and, as for the Preference parties, I did
not wonder at his not accepting invitations to them. To tell the truth, I
always suspected Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase to Mr Hayter
when he first came to Cranford; and not the less, because now she appeared to
share so vividly in his dread lest her name should ever be coupled with
his. He found all his interests among the poor and helpless; he had
treated the National School boys this very night to the performance; and virtue
was for once its own reward, for they guarded him right and left, and clung
round him as if he had been the queen-bee and they the swarm. He felt so
safe in their environment that he could even afford to give
our party a bow as we filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, and
pretended to be absorbed in convincing us that we had been cheated, and had not
seen Signor Brunoni after all.
To be continued
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