The Astonishing History of Troy Town | Page 3

now and then by a "Hush, if you
please, young people," from the elder sister, followed by a whispered,
"What spirits your dear girls enjoy!" for Mrs. Buzza's ear.
But at length the signal would be given by Miss Priscilla.
"Come, a little music perhaps might leave a pleasant taste. What do you
say, Vicar?"
Upon which the Vicar would regularly murmur--
"Say, rather, would gild refined gold, Miss Limpenny."
And the Admiral as invariably broke in with--
"Come, Sophy! remember the proverb about little birds that can sing
and won't sing."
This prelude having been duly recited, the Misses Buzza would
together trip to the piano, on which the two younger girls in duet were
used to accompany Sophia's artless ballads. The performance gained a
character of its own from a habit to which Calypso clung, of counting
the time in an audible aside: as thus--
Sophia (singing): "Oh, breathe but a whispered command." Calypso:
"One, two, three, four." Sophia: "I'll lay down my life for thee!"
Calypso: "One, two, three, four."
--the effect of which upon strangers has been known to be paralysing,
though we who were cumeelfo pretended not to notice it. But Sophy
could also accompany her own songs, such as, "Will you love me then
as now?" and "I'd rather be a daisy," with much feeling. She was clever,
too, with the water-colour brush, and to her we owe that picture of "
H.M.S. Calypso in a Storm," which hangs to this day over the Admiral's

mantelpiece.
I could dwell on this evening for ever; not that the company was so
large as usual, but because it was the last night of our simplicity. With
the next morning we passed out of our golden age, and in the
foolishness of our hearts welcomed the change.
It was announced to us in this manner--
The duets had been beaten out of Miss Limpenny's piano--an early
Collard, with a top like a cupboard, fluted in pink silk and wearing a
rosette in front; the performers, on retiring, had curtseyed in
acknowledgment of the Vicar's customary remark about the "Three
Graces "; the Admiral had wrung from his double-bass the sounds we
had learnt to identify with elfin merriment (though suggestive, rather,
of seasick mutineers under hatches), and our literary collector, Mr.
Moggridge, was standing up to recite a trifle of his own--"flung off"--as
he explained, "not pruned or polished."
The hush in the drawing-room was almost painful--for in those days we
all admired Mr. Moggridge--as the poet tossed back a stray lock from
his forehead, flung an arm suddenly out at right angles to his person,
and began sepulchrally--
"Maiden"--
(Here he looked very hard at Miss Lavinia Limpenny.)
"Maiden, what dost thou in the chill churchyard Beside yon grassy
mound? The night hath fallen, the rain is raining hard, Damp is the
ground."
Mrs. Buzza shivered, and began to weep quietly.
"Maiden, why claspest thou that cold, cold stone Against thy straining
breast? Tell me, what dost thou at this hour alone? (Persuasively) The
lambs have gone to rest. The maiden lifted up her tearful gaze, And
thus she made reply: 'My mother, sir, is--'"

But the secret of her conduct remains with Mr. Moggridge, for at this
moment the door opened, and the excited head of Sam Buzza, the
Admiral's only son, was thrust into the room.
[Illustration: "Maiden, what dost thou in the chill churchyard--"]
"I say, have you heard the news? 'The Bower' is let."
"What!"
All eyes were fixed on the newcomer. The Vicar woke up. Even the
poet, with his arm still at right angles and the verse arrested on his lips,
turned to stare incredulously.
"It's a fact; I heard it down at the Man-o'-War Club meeting, you
know," he explained. "Goodwyn-Sandys is his name, the Honourable
Goodwyn-Sandys, brother to Lord Sinkport--and what's more, he is
coming by the mid-day train to-morrow."
The poet's arm dropped like a railway signal. There was a long pause,
and then the voices broke out all together--
"Only fancy!"
"There now!"
"'The Bower' let at last!"
"An Honourable, too!"
"What is he like?"
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I never did!"
"Miss Limpenny," gasped the Admiral, at length, "where is your
Burke?"

It lay between the "Cathedrals of England" and "Gems of Modern Art";
under the stereoscope. Miss Lavinia produced it.
"Let me see," said the Admiral, turning the pages. "Sinkport--
Sinkport--here we are--George St. Leonards Goodwyn-Sandys, fourth
baron--H'm, h'm, here it is--only brother, Frederic Augustus Hythe
Goodwyn-Sandys, b. 1842--married--"
"Married!"
"1876--Geraldine, eighth daughter of Sheil O'Halloran of Kilmacuddy
Court, County Kerry--blank space for issue--arms: gules, a bar
sinist--Ahem! Well, upon my word!"
"I'm sure," sighed Mrs. Buzza, after the excitement had cooled a
little--"I'm sure I only hope they will settle down to our humble ways."
"Emily,"