* * * * * *
Mrs. Smallridge was churched in the New Year; the infant daughters were christened Amelia Mary and Sophia Anne, and Mrs. Butters announced her intention, now that matters were in so smooth a train, to return to her own establishment in London. Fanny was very sorrowful upon hearing the news, as she privately considered the older lady to be her best friend and guide in her new life.
However, an unexpected pleasure awaited her, for the Smallridges declared their intention of visiting with their friends the Sucklings for a few days, leaving Mrs. Butters in command of the household, and authorizing her to invite and entertain any of her Bristol friends as she pleased, not excepting her abolitionist set. Mrs. Butters invited Fanny to make a fourth at the table with Mr. Thompson and Mr. Gibson—Miss More having returned to her own quiet country village—and the young governess was in a happy flutter all week, anticipating the dinner party and the evening to follow. She wore her new periwinkle blue muslin, which made her light blue eyes appear rather darker. Madame Orly offered to dress her hair, and allowed that it was a pleasure to wind the ribbons and arrange the braids just so, for the dear old Madame always wore her widow’s cap and entre nous, a wig under that, and what could be done with that, hélas?
Fanny looked at herself in the mirror and saw a stranger. At first she worried that her hairstyle was too outré, but after examining herself in the glass for a longer period, decided that the elaborate topknot Madame Orly had bestowed on her gave her some added height, and some judicious pinching of the cheeks and lips completed her toilette. Mr. Gibson, of course, was the sort of man who was oblivious to fashion, and she had never set herself up as a beauty and much preferred, in fact, the compliment of being thought a worthwhile companion, than a creature to be admired. But—but, she was glad to know that she was in good looks that evening. Feeling very happy but conscious, she joined Mrs. Butters in the drawing-room to welcome their guests.
Mr. Gibson handed her in to dinner, resplendent in a red velvet jacket, such as was worn by a previous generation of English gentlemen, much faded and worn, but the fact that he was not wearing his customary patched dull brown jacket was clearly intended as a compliment to his hostess and to the evening. Mrs. Butters had ordered enough dishes for twice as many as sat down at table, because she knew Mr. Gibson—poor man! —lived on bread and stale cheese, and could acquit himself very well at such a banquet as the Smallridge’s cook was proud to provide.
Fanny perceived that Mr. Thompson, a lawyer of about five-and-fifty, was one of those philanthropists who love mankind in general, but are not overly fond of its individual specimens, being easily irritated by the faults of others. His Quaker garb and his white whiskers, together with his zealous expression, put Fanny in mind of an energetic Scots terrier. Mr. Gibson, with his mild yet witty manners and friendly countenance, formed an agreeable contrast to his sterner companion. However, the erudition of both of the gentlemen, and the respect and affection with which they treated their hostess, made the dinner that followed more than answer Fanny’s longing for stimulating discourse. The talk between the three friends provided a striking contrast to the usual insipidities at her employer’s dinner table, or worse, the studied coldness of the wife and the cutting sallies of the husband. Fanny ventured few remarks herself, but listened eagerly. She had expected the slave trade to comprise the whole of the conversation from the first course to the fruit and cheese, but in fact Mrs. Butters and her guests touched on many topics—the health of the King, the incompetence of Parliament, the state of the roads, the doings of their mutual friends, the latest publications, the education of the poor, and the army’s reverses in Spain, and whether the new commander, Wellesley, could turn the tide against the Corsican. Here Fanny was able to speak of the activities of the Navy, adding information supplied to her by her brother, and his cheerful prognostications of complete victory in the New Year.
The talk reminded Fanny of the act of skipping stones over a broad lake, as the speakers moved swiftly from one topic or allusion to another, but leaving the listener in no doubt of the foundations of learning supporting the discourse, or, as she fancied, the depths of the water beneath the sparkling surface. And as plentiful as were the courses laid before them, the richness of the talk amazed Fanny even more—she felt herself to be at a banquet where she could sample only the smallest portion of the knowledge on offer. And through it all, the delicious, the novel, consciousness that Mr. Gibson was at no small pains to please and entertain her, that he was as aware of her presence at the table as she was of his.
The last dish being tasted, the ladies then withdrew but were swiftly re-joined by the gentlemen who, being neither smokers nor heavy imbibers, had no other business at hand but to continue to pay their respects to their hostess and patroness of their cause.
“And now, my dear lady,” Mr. Thompson bowed to Mrs. Butters, “allow me to present to thee the first volume of the newly-published history by Mr. Clarkson.” Fanny caught the reverent tone with which Mr. Thompson pronounced the name of Clarkson, and Mr. Gibson explained, “This is a history of the successful abolition of the slave trade, written by a chief instigator of our movement.”
“Do not say successful, Mr. Gibson,” cried Mr. Thompson, “for thee knows that the trade continues, with the Portuguese, the Spanish, the French, aye, and with our own people as
