Boys and Girls From Thackeray | Page 5

was indeed amazed by her appearance.
My Lady Viscountess's face was daubed with white and red up to the eyes, to which the paint gave an unearthly glare. She had a tower of lace on her head, under which was a bush of black curls--borrowed curls--so that no wonder little Harry Esmond was scared when he was first presented to her, the kind priest acting as master of the ceremonies at that solemn introduction, and he stared at her with eyes almost as great as her own, as he had stared at the player woman who acted the wicked tragedy-queen, when the players came down to Ealing Fair. She sat in a great chair by the fire-corner; in her lap was a spaniel-dog that barked furiously; on a little table by her was her ladyship's snuff-box and her sugar-plum box. She wore a dress of black velvet, and a petticoat of flame-coloured brocade. She had as many rings on her fingers as the old woman of Banbury Cross; and pretty, small feet which she was fond of showing, with great gold clocks to her stockings, and white slippers with red heels; and an odour of musk was shaken out of her garments whenever she moved or quitted the room, leaning on her tortoise-shell stick, little Fury, the dog, barking at her heels, and Mrs. Tusher, the parson's wife, by her side.
"I present to your ladyship your kinsman and little page of honour, Master Henry Esmond," Mr. Holt said, bowing lowly, with a sort of comical humility. "Make a pretty bow to my lady, Monsieur; and then another little bow, not so low, to Madame Tusher."
Upon my lady the boy's whole attention was for a time directed. He could not keep his great eyes from her. Since the Empress of Ealing, he had seen nothing so awful.
"Does my appearance please you, little page?" asked the lady.
"He would be very hard to please if it didn't," cried Madame Tusher.
"Have done, you silly Maria," said Lady Castlewood, adding, "Come and kiss my hand, child"; and little Harry Esmond took and dutifully kissed the lean old hand, upon the gnarled knuckles of which there glittered a hundred rings.
"To kiss that hand would make many a pretty fellow happy!" cried Mrs. Tusher; on which my lady cried out, "Go, you foolish Tusher!" and tapping her with her great fan, Tusher ran forward to seize her hand and kiss it. Fury arose and barked furiously at Tusher; and Father Holt looked on at this queer scene, with arch, grave glances.
The awe exhibited by the little boy perhaps pleased the lady on whom this artless flattery was bestowed, for, having gone down on his knee (as Father Holt had directed him, and the fashion then was) and performed his obeisance, she asked, "Page Esmond, my groom of the chamber will inform you what your duties are, when you wait upon my lord and me; and good Father Holt will instruct you as becomes a gentleman of our name. You will pay him obedience in everything, and I pray you may grow to be as learned and as good as your tutor."
Harry then put his small hand into the Father's as he walked away from his first presentation to his mistress, and asked many questions in his artless, childish way. "Who is that other woman?" he asked. "She is fat and round; she is more pretty than my Lady Castlewood."
"She is Madame Tusher, the parson's wife of Castlewood. She has a son of your age, but bigger than you."
"Why does she like so to kiss my lady's hand? It is not good to kiss."
"Tastes are different, little man. Madame Tusher is attached to my lady, having been her waiting-woman before she was married, in the old lord's time. She married Dr. Tusher, the chaplain. The English household divines often marry the waiting-women."
"You will not marry the French woman, will you? I saw her laughing with Blaise in the buttery."
"I belong to a church that is older and better than the English church," Mr. Holt said (making a sign, whereof Esmond did not then understand the meaning, across his breast and forehead); "in our church the clergy do not marry. You will understand these things better soon."
"Was not Saint Peter the head of your church?--Dr. Rabbits of Ealing told us so."
The Father said, "Yes, he was."
"But Saint Peter was married, for we heard only last Sunday that his wife's mother lay sick of a fever." On which the Father again laughed, and said he would understand this too better soon, and talked of other things, and took away Harry Esmond, and showed him the great old house which he had come to inhabit.
It stood on a rising green hill, with woods behind it, in which were rooks' nests, where the