Chapter 59
Although the children had begun to think it would never happen, the night of the Vauxhall excursion came around at last. When they finally set out, the little Gardiners could barely contain themselves.
Even the journey there excited them, for it involved a rare trip across Westminster Bridge to the City’s southern side.
This was a treat in itself, and there was much cheering and hallooing as the carriage made its way over the Thames.
Shortly afterwards, they were dropped off at the tall iron gates which marked the entrance to the Gardens and were quickly absorbed into the large crowd of well-dressed visitors, who milled around, waiting to be joined by tardy friends and family.
It was some time before they caught sight of Mr. Hayward, deftly making his way towards them through the knots of people, looking like a man with every expectation of enjoying himself.
Once they had shaken hands, kissed cheeks, rumpled the children’s hair—in short, had done everything necessary to signal their readiness to embrace all that the gardens had to offer—they headed to the great turnstile, whereupon presenting their tickets they were admitted to the cool green park within.
Once inside, they found themselves walking on gravel paths through avenues of high trees, towards a spacious, elegant square, lined on each side by four stately colonnades.
In the centre, on a little plinth, strung all about with tiny lights, an orchestra played.
At one side of the small stage stood a statue of Handel, above which a single lamp was hung, so that it appeared to illuminate his genius.
Around them strolled other visitors, families, friends, couples, all in their best clothes and determined to appear as smart and as at their ease as possible.
It was clearly not done to look too impressed by the surroundings—only a bumpkin would gape and stare—but Mary had never seen anything like it and was not afraid to express her wonder.
“Oh, it is so beautifully done—the effect of the trees and the vistas they produce is truly lovely—and the sound of the music in the open air is wonderful!”
It was a fine evening, still warm and light enough to explore the woodland walks, where their little company marvelled at the music that accompanied them wherever they went—“there are musicians stationed all around us so that there is always something pleasing to hear,” explained Mr. Gardiner, who, as an old stalwart of the Gardens, considered it his duty to supply such information to those less familiar with their pleasures.
He led them towards the Rotunda, a huge circular building with an elaborately painted interior.
“It can seat two thousand persons,” he declared proudly.
His wife added in an aside to Mary that it was intended to provide patrons with somewhere to shelter from the rain; but Mr. Gardiner seemed to feel this detracted from its dignity, and looked faintly affronted.
“I suppose that may be said of anywhere with a roof that does not leak; but this splendid place has a far greater claim to fame—it has been the scene of many extraordinary performances by the most notable artists. It was here, my dear, that we saw the incomparable Anna Maria Leary sing—do you recall it?”
“Indeed I do,” replied Mrs. Gardiner, lost in remembrance. “‘The Siren of Vauxhall.’ What a talent she was.”
There were, however, no concerts to be heard that night.
Instead they watched a display of horsemanship, extremely well done, and a remarkable acrobatic exhibition on a tightrope, which thrilled all who watched it.
But, in the opinion of the children, neither could compete with what followed.
This was the performance they had dreamt of, featuring a trio of dancing dogs, two of whom stood on their hind legs whilst the third caught oranges in his mouth, which was worth the price of admission on its own.
By the time Mr. Gardiner had walked them round the gushing fountains, it was almost time for dinner, and they began to make their way to the supper boxes where it would be served.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner walked in front, shepherding their children before them, and Mary followed behind with Mr. Hayward.
To entertain them on their walk, Mr. Hayward, who was in high spirits, set himself the task of inventing imaginary characters for the visitors whom they passed on the crowded path.
“There,” he whispered, nodding discreetly towards an overdressed gentleman whose finery looked shabbier with every step that drew him closer to them, “is Lord So-and-So, an unlucky gambler living off his expectations at very much the wrong end of Brook Street with a single blackguardly manservant. He’s here tonight looking for some wealthy widow, who’ll fall gratefully into his arms and provide him with the income he knows he deserves. ”
Mary felt a little guilty as she laughed. “Really, Mr. Hayward, for shame! I’m sure he is a most respectable person.”
“Not with that hat and waistcoat. Both suggest a man capable of the most desperate acts. Very unlike the large family making so much noise to our left, who, I suggest, are exactly what they seem to be. Up from the country, Somerset by their accents, on their yearly jaunt to town, where they are fleeced mercilessly at every turn, but greet every new outrage with the greatest good humour. I believe they’re relations of Squire Allworthy. Don’t they remind you of him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know the Allworthys, sir. Are they acquaintances of yours?”
“Only through Mr. Fielding’s great book. Have you not read Tom Jones, Miss Bennet?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mary said, a little ashamed to be so exposed. “I’m not well acquainted with fiction, as I believe I have told you.”
“Yes, but not to know Fielding when you know so much else! Your reading is like a two-edged stool, well supplied in some respects and completely deficient in others. I see we must add some novels to our reading scheme.”
Her discomfort at having the gaps in her knowledge shown up was instantly expunged by pleasure at his suggestion he would be keen to rectify it.
Soon she felt bold enough to join in his little game, drawing his attention to a group of elegantly dressed females, sauntering along the opposite path, arm in arm, laughing and joking as they went.
“And what story do you imagine for those ladies, Mr. Hayward?”
Mr. Hayward looked towards the smart little group, only to have his gaze coolly returned by one of their number, unblinking and direct.
“I’m not sure they are ladies, or at least not of the kind you would be expected to know.” He lowered his voice to explain. “They are women of the town, I’m afraid. The more discreet of the sisterhood are allowed to walk in the Gardens, providing they behave respectably.”
Mary glanced quickly back at the women, who strolled onwards, unhurried and unashamed.
“Lord, sir, I can certainly say I have seen something of the world tonight! I should never have known them if you had not explained. They look like women of the highest fashion.”
“Yes, they are very much at the upper end of their trade. Evelina meets a similar group of ladies in Miss Burney’s book, do you remember?”
“I must disappoint you once again. I’ve tried to read Miss Burney’s books, but I’m afraid I could never finish them.”
“I’m surprised you should not like her, for in many respects, she is exactly the author for you—a sharp mind, a keen idea of right and wrong, a great curiosity about how people behave. Now I come to think of it, she rather reminds me of you.”
“You make her seem so severe that I’m not sure that is much to my credit.”
“Not at all. She has a delightful wit, which is the most pleasing aspect of her work.”
“Now I know you’re making game of me. I can’t imagine why you think I merit such a description.”
“No, you would not see it,” replied Mr. Hayward, “but I do. And as you aren’t accustomed to acknowledging your most attractive qualities, I consider it my duty to remind you of them from time to time.”
With that, he smiled, and they walked on together.
Mary said nothing—but inwardly, she exulted.
He had paid her a compliment—how could that not make her happy?
She arrived at the supper box reserved by Mr. Gardiner with the greatest readiness to be pleased—and it did not disappoint.
It was a spacious booth, for their use alone, set into an arcade which faced onto the central square of the Gardens.
As such, it offered an unrivalled opportunity to indulge in one of the favourite activities of the place—watching the other visitors, as they promenaded about, arm in arm, desiring nothing so much as to see and be seen.
When this spectacle paled, there was the box itself to admire, decorated with several handsome painted murals.
“They are painted to designs made by Mr. Hogarth,” Mr. Gardiner observed, leaning to look more closely at the design behind them.
“This one is The Milkmaid’s Garland, I believe.
It must be older than me, and has suffered from the ravages of time and stupidity—people will touch them, often with greasy fingers—but you must admit they are still very fine. ”
Mr. Gardiner had prudently tipped the head waiter handsomely enough to ensure their supper should not fall victim to the Gardens’ famously meagre way with portions; and, as a result, the plates of ham served to them were thick and juicy, their chickens large and golden, and the blackcurrant tart that followed handsomely topped with cream.
In short, thanks to Mr. Gardiner’s carefully bestowed largesse, their supper was everything they could have wished it to be; and everyone was full and happy as the plates were cleared away.
Darkness had fallen properly now, and Mr. Gardiner took out his watch and turned to his wife.
“If I’m not mistaken, we are about to witness a very remarkable event.”