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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.
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