The Swing Of The Pendulum - Part 15

"The Swing of The Pendulum" is a novel from English author Frances Mary Peard, published in 1893. It follows the adventures of a group of English travellers to Norway and explores what life was really like for young women in Victorian Britain. Set against the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution, this book offers a fascinating insight into the massive societal shifts that were at play back then!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of The Swing of the Pendulum,

The charming novel from 1893 by English author Francis Mary Peard.

Perhaps you've heard the preceding parts of this book already.

If you haven't,

You can certainly look for those.

Look for the playlist of The Swing of the Pendulum and you'll find all the parts there in order.

But for now,

Let's just take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale.

Letting go of the day.

Letting go of whichever baggage you might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nowhere else we have to go.

Nothing else that we have to be doing.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the ongoing story of The Swing of the Pendulum.

Chapter 15.

The world is stuffed with sawdust.

The Raven Hills kept house economically in South Kensington.

True it is that the economies of life are among its heaviest expenditures.

But necessity had not forced them into that dismal position.

They lived prettily and cared little for what they could not have.

The house was charming.

Though the furniture might not have fetched much at a sale,

The transforming genius,

Taste not being marketable,

Fresh chintzes and flowers with old white Dresden and Mrs Raven Hills watercolours on the walls kept brightness even in the land of fog.

The very morning after their return,

Millie came into the drawing room and dropped a handful of flowers on a tray where glasses waited.

She flitted about setting a glass here and a glass there until the room began to recover the home-like aspect which had been wanting.

Millie from time to time contemplated it,

Her head on one side.

Darting out of the room,

She returned with certain Norwegian treasures,

For which room had to be found.

A queerly painted old wooden bowl with horse-head handles was whisked from table to table until it rested on a high stool.

A small model of a spinning wheel went to live under a minute palm.

Spoons joined a silver family.

All was arranged when Mrs Raven Hill came in from more prosaic domestic duties and smiled at Millie's haste.

Looking at the bowl,

She admired the arrangement but begrudged the stool.

So few things as there were in the room vacant for emergencies.

It was made for it,

And it looks happier already.

I've always felt for the poor thing,

Waiting for stray uses,

With only once a week a cup or a book bestowed upon it.

Well,

Mrs Raven Hill resigned at the point,

And soon we shall want a reminder or two.

For once again,

Under the shadow of the butcher and baker,

I doubt fjords and mountains being real.

Millie allowed this to pass.

They will be turning homewards by this time,

She remarked.

Who?

Oh,

The Martins.

They have the crossing before them.

There we have the advantage.

I liked the Ceylon,

Said Millie.

Do you mean you would go through it again?

The girl was bending over a flower glass.

She closed her eyes.

A throb of warm blood filled her veins.

Oh yes,

She said fervently.

You must go without me then.

I thought going and coming both horrible.

And I don't consider that we were very lucky in our companions.

A disclaimer sprang to Millie's lips,

Though she forced it back.

Don't you?

Mr Wareham improved,

But he was absent-minded and oblivious.

However,

They will all seem nicer looked at from a distance,

And we are not likely to meet any of them often again.

Mrs Raven Hill's cheerful prophecy pierced her child's heart.

Millie's humble little desire reached no further than to the joy of seeing him now and then.

But its roots ran deep,

And to have them wrenched at so cruelly was sharp pain.

It would have been worse had not her faith in Wareham flown to arms at this attack upon his word.

For he had said he would call and see them,

And nothing would have induced her to doubt him.

Why should she?

Mrs Raven Hill's enmity was due to an unacknowledged fear which now and then invaded her motherly heart.

She imagined that in flinging a small dart at Wareham,

She was taking a wise precaution,

Unconscious that every attack sent Millie running to his side,

Eager for defence.

He had been in her thoughts as she made the room look its prettiest that morning.

She imagined this and that catching his eye,

And provoking a smile of association at the idea she smiled herself.

We managed very well with our holiday,

I think,

Said Mrs Raven Hill cheerfully,

For by coming back early we shall have a beautifully peaceful time.

We will enjoy ourselves,

Millie,

And do a number of nice things for which one has no leisure in summer and no weather in winter,

Millie agreed.

I suppose,

Really,

There is no one left in London.

No one,

Her mother earnestly hoped.

The bell at this moment seemed to tinkle a satire on their hopes,

And Millie's heart gave such a throb that she sent a guilty glance at Mrs Raven Hill,

Feeling as if she had betrayed herself.

Mrs Raven Hill lifted her eyebrows by way of asking who it could be.

They heard a quick step,

Not the step of a servant.

The door was opened impetuously,

And the next moment a girl was kissing Millie and uttering disconnected interjections.

Fanny,

Cried Mrs Raven Hill,

I thought you were in Scotland,

And I thought you were in Norway,

And came just to find out your address.

The luck of it!

When did you come?

Where do you come from?

Do you stay?

Yesterday.

From Norway.

And to stay.

But you?

You?

In London?

In August?

For my sins,

I said as I came along.

But with you here,

It has already lost its penitential aspect,

And I don't think half so meanly of myself.

That's the worst of goodness.

A reaction comes.

She dragged Millie down beside her on a settee,

Both hands clasping her arm.

She looked a child.

Not quite what is called pretty,

But sparkling with fun and life,

Her eyes grey-Irish with a fringe of dark lashes.

These eyes eagerly devoured the other girl's face.

It was an old habit,

And Millie used to present herself smilingly for inspection.

Well?

Well.

Oh,

You needn't tell me you've enjoyed yourself,

For of course you have,

She said musingly,

In spite of horrid crossings,

Put in Mrs Raven Hill.

Were they horrid?

Millie observed that her mother found them so.

Yes,

You've enjoyed yourself,

You needn't tell me.

And yet… Yet what?

It was Mrs Raven Hill who put the question.

There's something.

You're not quite the same.

To be always the same,

One must be carved in stone,

Remarked Millie.

I'm sunburnt,

Which proves I am not a statue.

But you.

It is our turn to ask questions.

How came you in London?

Lady Fanny sighed and folded her hands.

Because the world is stuffed with sawdust.

Imagine Milbrough having the baseness to throw me over when he had promised me a cruise in his yacht.

I was so cross that I felt I must do something disagreeable in order to keep up my position of martyr,

So I proposed to come and spend a week with my old governess,

Miss Burton.

If I talk like a lesson book,

Forgive me,

I ask questions because I am sick of answering them.

You will come here at once,

Said Mrs Raven Hill with decision.

Oh,

May I?

Delightful.

I had meant to go into Shropshire tomorrow,

But I will send Ward by herself and joyfully stay.

By the way,

Where do you think that Milbrough is gone?

To Norway.

I intended to telegraph to Bergen and tell you so,

And of course that added to my injury,

For I had counted upon meeting you round some corner in the most unexpected manner.

Her spirits rose.

She flashed fun upon them and told stories to her own discredit with mirthful mimicry.

Then she fluttered round the room,

Noticing what was new and discovering all manner of similes for the stall which at last had found a use.

It has a little.

The air of Milbrough and taking the head dowager in to supper.

But I'll never pity Milbrough again.

He has behaved too ill.

Millie asked why he had failed.

He was snubbed by a certain young lady and revolted against women.

This is an attempt to break away and have only men on board.

And how dull they'll be.

I picture the poor,

Bored creatures stretched about on the deck,

Sleeping and eating,

Their wits in leading strings.

What can they talk about,

With not even a newspaper to suggest topics?

I shall be revenged.

She must hear everything at once.

And everything meant especially whom they had met.

Mr Grey she knew,

But her interest in Anne Dalrymple was shown impetuously by a burst of ejaculations and questions.

She had heard so much,

Admired,

Blamed,

Wondered in a breath.

Anne's last engagement and its abrupt ending had brought a chatter of tongues upon her.

Lady Fanny's admiration for the way she moved forbade her to condemn what certainly required excuses.

She laughed at her own illogical reasons,

But clung to them.

To see her dance is a dream,

She declared.

I could forgive anything for the delight of watching her.

And you looked at her for a fortnight.

When she had Millie upstairs alone,

She returned to the subject.

Tell me more about Miss Dalrymple.

They say men find her irresistible.

I dare say,

Said Millie with a little reserve.

But the next moment a smile stole into her face.

Who do you think we left with her?

Who?

Lady Fanny sat on the edge of the bed,

Her sparkling face eager with animation.

Mr.

Forbes.

No.

True.

I assure you,

He was going further north with them.

Then it will all come on again.

It must.

She could not have allowed him to join them if he was to be dismissed again.

So I fancied.

So you know,

I should think.

The very idea would be preposterous.

They will come home re-engaged.

Such an odd position.

Millie's heart joyfully echoed the conviction.

She did not venture to talk about it to her mother,

Who might guess too much,

But to her friend,

With whom no fencing was necessary.

She might play round the subject at her pleasure.

Wareham's name had not as yet been mentioned.

But Lady Fanny had a curious interest in Miss Dalrymple,

And her persuasion that now she would be captured and led to marriage,

Millie felt to be so reasonable that she was not troubled with misgivings as to the pleasure with which her heart responded.

To most of us,

Persuasion is another word for doubt.

But Fanny was young enough to be convinced of her persuasions.

She wished to hear more.

All that Millie could tell her,

And drew her conclusions with swift security.

If ever she had been disposed to blame,

She forgave her sister-woman amply.

Of course.

She liked him throughout.

She did not know her own heart.

She cried with enthusiasm.

Poor thing.

How I can feel for her.

But if there was a certain incongruity in the epithet as applied to Anne,

Millie did not quarrel with it.

And I like him.

I like him too.

He has shown himself above the common herd.

Men are so petty in their unforgivingness,

So vain of pretending to be marble.

He is the more of a hero for not setting up to be other than flesh and blood.

He will win her.

You will see.

Unless.

Unless what?

I was going to say,

Unless there should be anyone she likes better.

But there can't be.

Or she would not have allowed him to remain with them.

No.

No.

It is going to be the romance of the year.

Lucky Millie to have been let into it.

She looked at her enviously.

Millie laughed and feared she had not sufficiently recognised the romance when face to face with it.

Fanny's questions were not at an end.

The first meeting.

That would have told one.

That would have been delightful to see.

Where was it?

Millie hesitated.

But not even to her friend would she relate what had actually happened.

I believe he met her as she landed.

She missed the steamer and had to follow in a boat.

Alone?

No.

Mr Wareham was luckily with her.

The Mr Wareham.

Oh.

And Hugh Forbes's friend.

That explains.

Of course he had something to do with bringing them together again.

I could not think how it had been managed.

And my dear,

Your stories always wanted detail.

When it was your turn to tell one,

Do you recollect how invariably I had to come to the rescue?

She kissed her.

But it's a blessing to see your dear little face again.

If I'd stayed on at Miss Burton's,

She'd soon have had me in the corner.

And now that I'm here… I'll forgive Milbrough.

At least,

I'll forgive him if he falls in with all your people and brings home a report of how things are going with Miss Dalrymple and Hugh Forbes.

He's such a dear boy.

Lord Milbrough?

Hugh Forbes?

It's unselfish of me to wish him to marry her.

But I do.

So,

Millie joined in the aspiration.

Liking to remember what her mother said of Fanny's quick penetration.

And forgetting that here,

Only a part had been offered for her inspection.

Such as it was,

It gave an interest to Norway,

Which their visitor might not otherwise have felt.

And Millie was ready not only to harp on the theme,

But to play as many variations as she pleased.

The weather changed to wet.

In London,

This is scarcely a drawback.

But it may be turned into an excuse.

Millie made it an excuse.

Her mother grew uneasy at such want of energy.

Where was the use of imbibing draughts of Norwegian air if the after-results came to no more?

Lady Fanny pleaded for indulgence in laziness.

The most fascinating pursuit in the world when you gave yourself up to it.

Give yourself up to it when you are as old as I am,

Cried Mrs Ravenhill,

Provoked.

Only to be told that nothing could be thoroughly mastered which was not learnt young.

Lady Fanny,

Indeed,

Had by this time gathered more than Millie suspected.

She had been sharp enough to note a change.

And once that had struck her,

Would not rest until she had got to the bottom of it.

When she expressed a wish to see Mr Wareham,

Whose novels she liked,

Millie remarked indifferently that he had talked of calling while he was in London.

And the hint was responded to by a fervent hope that they might not have such ill luck as to miss him.

I dare not tell your mother.

She would despise my weakness.

Support me,

Dear,

When I protest against being trotted out.

London is unwholesomely stuffy.

The only fresh air to be met with in August is in one's own house.

And I can't live without fresh air.

She was more open in her confidences than her friend,

And enlivened the time by description of more than one admirer.

According to her,

She had met with instances when their affections had shot up with a growth as amazing as that of Jack's beanstalk.

One meeting sufficed,

Then the proposal followed like a flash,

With not even a decent interval for appearance's sake.

Milborough thinks they are afraid of losing a dividend.

And you have learned all this at twenty,

Groaned Mrs Ravenhill.

But she had to own that Lady Fanny's warm-heartedness had not suffered.

What was most to be feared was that experience would have wrecked her faith in genuine liking,

And that the jests she caught up for defence would be turned against her own heart.

Millie believed that her penetration would extract the real from the counterfeit.

For another,

Mrs Ravenhill agreed.

But she feared horror of shams would make her suspicious where her affections were concerned.

An old playmate would have the best chance,

Or possibly a man like Mr Wareham,

Who she was ready to allow,

Had sterling qualities.

Perhaps they will meet,

Said Millie demurely.

He spoke of coming here?

Oh,

He will have other things to think about.

No,

I'm only using him as a type of the man Fanny might respect and trust.

Poor child.

It's a terribly trying position,

With her fortune,

And no father or mother,

And Lord Milborough not so steady as he should be.

As the first days passed,

Millie felt,

Each evening,

That the chances for his coming were by so much doubled.

And her spirits rose.

But when five had slipped by,

They sank in waters of dejection.

She fought heroically to prevent their loss being discovered,

And succeeded fairly,

Helped by Lady Fanny,

Who loved fighting of any sort,

Especially on the side of women,

And was firing her soul with blame of Wareham.

She flung herself into the breach with chatter of brilliant nonsense,

For which a laugh was sufficient answer.

And Millie,

Who was so ashamed of the unreasonableness of her suffering,

That the idea of its being observed was agony,

Comforted herself with the assurance that she had joined gaily in the conversation,

And betrayed nothing.