Cranford

Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I daresay, been made acquainted with the beverage they call cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever seen such a thing, and rather shrank back when she proffered it us— “just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters and lobsters, you know. Shell-fish are sometimes thought not very wholesome.” We all shook our heads like female mandarins; but, at last, Mrs Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we thought ourselves bound to give evidence that we were not accustomed to such things by coughing terribly— almost as strangely as Miss Barker had done, before we were admitted by Peggy. “It’s very strong,” said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty glass; “I do believe there’s spirit in it.” “Only a little drop— just necessary to make it keep,” said Miss Barker. “You know we put brandy-pepper over our preserves to make them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating damson tart.” I question whether damson tart would have opened Mrs Jamieson’s heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she told us of a coming event, respecting which she had been quite silent till that moment. “My sister-in-law, Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay with me.” There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness to appear in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, of course, a series of small festivals were always held in Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our friends’ houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the present occasion.