Free The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens by Thomas Hauser

introduced me to the others as “the man who is Boz.” Catherine imparted the information that I had recently moved into new rooms in anticipation of our marriage. Cedric praised our host’s business acumen, informing everyone present, “I’ve invested thirty thousand pounds with him. His methods are safe and certain.” August opined, “They say that virtue is its own reward. But as a man of business, I prefer monetary compensation.”
    Amanda was gorgeously attired in a manner that flaunted the superiority of her charms. As before, her clothes were of a tight-fitting fashion. The evening dress she wore was a tantalizing shade of green, pulled in to accentuate the smallness of her waist with beads aligned on the silk in such a way as to draw one’s eye to her generously exposed bosom. As if one needed prompting.
    A gold bracelet, dangling gold earrings, a diamond ring. She was a magnificent work of art to hang jewels upon. Dazzling, striking, tall, and stately. Dignity and grace were in her every movement. In an unguarded moment, I saw Wingate looking at her as a man might look at a resplendent tiger in its cage.
    Then it was time for dinner. The dining room was remarkable for the splendour of its appointments. The table was busy with glittering cutlery, plates, and glasses. A half-length portrait in oil of our host hung on a wallopposite the windows. Artists on commission always make their subjects out to be more handsome than they are, or they would get less work. Such was the case here.
    The feast began. Sumptuously cooked dishes were elegantly served. A roast leg of pork bursting with sage and onion. A stuffed filet of veal with thick rich gravy. Vegetables and breads. Exquisite wine.
    â€œGeoffrey is a wonderful judge of wine,” Amanda told us.
    When not otherwise engaged, the butler stood by the sideboard. From the servants I saw that evening and from conversation at the table, I gathered that Wingate had a staff of eight in his employ. There was the butler, a valet, Amanda’s lady’s maid, a housekeeper, a cook, a young woman who assisted the housekeeper and cook, an errand boy, and a man who performed the tasks of coachman, stable master, and gardener.
    When asked, Catherine offered the information that she was the oldest of nine children. Throughout her life, she was inclined toward corpulency and overeating. On this occasion, she blushed very much when anybody was looking at her and ate very much when no one was looking. The veal on her plate disappeared as if the poor little calf still had the use of its legs.
    She also drank too much wine, and I wished that she would refrain from speaking on any but the most mundane subjects. Then she drank more, and I concluded that her merits would show to the greatest advantage in silence.
    Amanda distributed her attention among all of the guests. Each person had her full attention while they were engaged. She adapted her conversation with gracefulinstinct to the knowledge of others, beginning on a subject that the guest might be expected to know best. She understood just enough of each person’s pursuits as made her agreeable to that person and just as little as made it natural for her to seek information when a theme was broached.
    She was enviably self-possessed, enchanting in the politeness of her manner, the vivacity of her conversation, and the music of her voice.
    The conversation turned to the condition of society, and I found myself discoursing on the monstrous neglect of education in England and the disregard of it by the government as a means of forming good or bad citizens and miserable or happy men. That led to a discussion of differences in class.
    â€œThe classes must be joined with an understanding of the bonds that exist between them,” I said. “The rich and powerful owe an obligation to the poor. In a just society, the fate of all would be intertwined.”
    â€œAnd what do you mean by