When Isola had told Mrs. Shelfer everything, and a little more than
everything (for her imagination was lively), the dominant feeling in the
little woman's bosom was not indignation, as we had expected, but
terror. Terror of two evils; the first and chief evil, the possibility
of Charley catching cold; the other, the probability that he would crush
Conrad, and tread him into the earth, at the earliest opportunity. I
assured her warmly that Mr. Conrad could well defend himself, even if
Shelfer should dare to meddle with him.
"Oh, my good friend, you have no idea what a terrible fellow Charley is.
Why he broke the head of the skittleman at the "Load of Hay." So he
told me himself. Ah, he's a terrible fellow, when he's put out."
"But you forget, Mrs. Shelfer, he hasn't been put out this time; he was
put in." That Isola always loved small jokes.
"Put in, Miss Idols?" Mrs. Shelfer never understood any joke but her
own--"oh yes, put into the water you mean. True, true, and serve him
right (so long as he don't take cold) for calling me, his lawful wife
who keeps him together, 'the old gal at home!' But Charley's a terrible
fellow, terrible."
"Terrible coward more likely," I cried, "or he would never have dared
his low insolence to me. I am sorry for it, Mrs. Shelfer, utterly as I
scorn him, because it compels me to leave your house; and you have been
truly good and kind to me." I thought of Mrs. Huxtable; but how
different was the fibre of her kindness!
"Leave my house, Miss Valence! No, no, my good friend, that will never
do, not to be thought of, and us so used to you and all, and Tom, and
the blackbird, and the new squirrel! A likely story, my good friend,
and with your eyelashes coming! And do you know who would come instead
of you?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Shelfer."
"Why a nasty stinking hussy, that would steal the feathers out of my
best bed again, the same as they did before. My very best bed, Miss
Idols, as dear Miss Minto left me by her will, not a better bed in
London, unless it's the Queen's, and so I used to tell her when I helped
to shake it up. My mouth watered over it so, that she said one day, and
the knife-boy heard her on the stairs, 'Patty, you've been a good girl
to me, and you deserves it, and you shall have it, when I am tucked up
for good and all.' And so I did, very honourable, and all above board.
Yes, yes; I had a commercial gent one time, a wonderful heavy man to be
sure, and he stayed with me three year for the sake of that same bed.
And he knew what beds was, and no mistake. It was bootiful to see when
he was a getting up. It began to rise up, up, the same as Tom's back,
when he see your dog, Miss Idols."
"Come, Mrs. Shelfer, I fear we can hardly wait."
"'Twas like dough put afore the fire, Miss. There's no such Dantzic
now. You couldn't put your fist into one side of it, but out it would
come the other. Oh Lor, I could cry; that nasty sly minx, she was
softer than parsnips, you'd say, and one leg more than the other. I
couldn't think why it was she would always make her own bed. 'Thank
you, Mrs. Shelfer'--with her lips sucked in like a button-hole--'thank
you, you are too kind. It doesn't at all fatigue me, and my doctor
pronounces the exercise good for my chest and arms.' Thank God, she got
some exercise good for her legs as well. Six months on the treadmill.
Charley got me an order, and it did my heart good to see her. But my
twenty pounds of best feathers never came back again, and that wasn't
the worst of it neither."
"Oh dear no," says Idols, "the worst of it was the sin, Mrs. Shelfer."
"The worst of it was that she stuffed it with sawdust, and oakum, and
jovanna, I do believe, by the smell of it."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Lor, Miss Valence, don't you know jovanna that the kingfishers lays on
the top of the sea, and the gardeners make water with it?"
"And what did she do with your feathers?"
"Sneaked them out of the house in the crown of her bonnet, and sold them
at eightpence a pound, and they worth three and sixpence, every flue of
them. But the rag and bottleman got two months, thank God for it. Ah,
it will never be a bed again under 5*l.* at least."
"Is it the one I sleep on, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Yes, my good friend, the very same."
"And you have put me to sleep on guano! Well, I thought it smelt very
odd."
"No, no, my good friend, wait a bit. We got most of that out again, and
gave it to our geraniums. She stole it out of a sack as Charley kept in
the washhouse. There was feathers in it. That put it into her head, I
suppose. But as for your going, Miss Valence, that will never do.
Never, never. Will it now, Miss Idols? And to see her dress, to be
sure, that baggage! Why, my best tarlatan, as dear Miss Minto give me
to be married in, wasn't good enough for her to sweep the stairs in.
Sweep the stairs--yes, yes, she did sweep the stairs when I see her
last; and she had afore, I know; she was so clever at it; and that was
why one leg was so much more than the other."
"Mrs. Shelfer, do you expect us to listen to you all night?"
"True, my good friend, quite true. But when I thinks of my feathers,
something comes over me, I must out with my troubles, or burst. But you
musn't go, Miss Valence. That will never do, never; ask Miss Idols
now." And she turned to Isola, who was quite ready to be turned to.
"Of course it won't, Mrs. Shelfer. You are quite right, my good friend.
I won't hear of it for a moment. Why Mr. Shelfer was drunk. I know it
by the way he held his pipe. Quite 'drunk and incapable,' you know.
And he will be so sorry, and he'll never do it again. And he did not
mean to be drunk at all, but the frost was very hard, and the cold got
into his head. I am sure it would into mine, if I had stayed much
longer; and he didn't understand brandy-balls, as we do at College--you
could not expect it, you know."
The pure good faith of this last was too much for me. I laughed
outright, having no husband concerned in it. As for the dry little
woman, she actually cried. I had never seen a tear in her quick, shy
eyes before, though the feather-bed nearly brought them, and so did the
death of the elder Sandy, the squirrel. She turned away. She was
always ashamed of emotion.
"Bless your innocent heart, Miss Idols, if you don't marry a king! Not
one of us is good enough to tie your shoes as you talked of, you are
that simple and good of heart."
Is there any goodness more touching to a veteran than a soft young
nature's disbelief in evil? But for bitter experience, I might have
been sweet as Isola. Thank God, that in spite of all vinegar, the
ailment is still infectious. Isola could not make it all out.
"To-morrow morning, Miss Valence," began Mrs. Shelfer again, "to-morrow
morning, after I have wigged him well all night, and then given him a
good breakfast, he'll come and beg your pardon like a child, and be
ashamed to look any higher than your flounces; and I know you'll forgive
him."
"Mrs. Shelfer, I have forgiven him long ago. I cannot bear enmity
against such people"--these last three words had better been away--"for
such little wrongs. And I owe you a great deal for all your kindness to
me. The only question is, whether self-respect and prudence allow me to
stay here. I will leave the decision to Miss Isola. Young as she is,
and innocent and confiding, she cannot be wrong on a question of
delicacy. As for prudence, she knows more of London than I do."
Hereon I sat down with a womanly air. But I could hardly help laughing
when the senior sophist jumped up, proud to deliver judgment. To look
taller, she shook her flounces down, threw back her plump white
shoulders--her bonnet and cloak were off--drew her rich flowing hair
down the pearly curve of her ears and, scarcely satisfied yet, thought
of mounting a stool, then took her foot off the too convictive bema.
After all these anabolisms, she began with much solemnity. She was
thinking of the College, and her father in the rostrum.
"Miss Valence and Mrs. Shelfer, since you have honoured my weak judgment
by appointing me umpire, and as I am led to believe without any right of
appeal, I will do my utmost to be discreet and impartial. In the first
place I award that Miss Valence remain in this house, forget and forgive
her wrongs. In the second place I recommend (in such a matter I will
not presume to command) that till Mr. Shelfer has made a humble apology
and promised faithfully never to be intoxicated again, however cold the
weather is, Mrs. Shelfer shall not permit him to have a single kiss, nor
a single bit of hot dinner. Now I have delivered my decree."
"Lor, Miss Idols, you are too soft for the Old Bailey. He never kiss me,
unless it is when he knows I have got some money. But he do like a good
hot dinner. Right enough there, my good friend."
So this knotty point was settled; and Giudice, who was very loth to
leave me, escorted Miss Idols home, Before going, he made another solemn
deposit of his great jowl in my hand, and looked at me with an air so
tutelary and encouraging, that I could not help laughing; at which he
felt hurt, but condoned it. Isola told me that when he was put in
charge of her, he felt the responsibility so strongly that he would not
stir from her side, not even to speak to the most colloquially gifted
dog; though at other times he would stay gossiping near a lamp-post for
five minutes together. One evening when he was thus commissioned, a
rude fellow pushed between them, and said something to Isola. Giudice
had him down in an instant, and stood over him, like a tawny
thundercloud, with growlings so fearful and such flashing eyes, that two
policemen felt it wiser not to act as conductors. Idols herself was
obliged, at the entreaty of her prostrate foe, to coax the great dog
off; but when the ungrateful man got up, he insisted on giving Giudice
into charge, and having him dragged to the Station. "Very good, Sir,"
said the policeman, "we'll enter the charge when you bring him there;
let him go, Miss, for the Gent to collar him." The "Gent" was away in
no time, and Giudice and his mistress walked off amid loud hurrahs from
all the boys of the neighbourhood.
Conrad called with his sister the day after Mr. Shelfer's ducking, to
reassure himself as to my nerves, which were never better. He looked
over some of my drawings, and without seeming to give, but rather to
seek information, afforded me many a hint, which I afterwards found most
useful. I now learned what his profession was; and it gave me pleasure
to find that he was not, as I had feared, a mere lounger upon town.
Instead of that, he was working very hard, being (as he told me) nothing
more or less than a journeyman sculptor. Though, as himself admitted,
by no means a novice, he was going through the regular course of study
and hand-labour under an eminent artist. But Isola told me, and no
doubt it was true, that he could beat his master out and out, and that
for any choice design, where original power and taste were needed, they
always came to him. Of late the frosts had lightened his tasks; for
warm the room as they would, the weather always affected the material;
and they feared to attempt the more delicate parts of the work during
the rigours of winter. So when the thaw came, he must lose the pleasure
of seeing me for a while, unless dear Isola wished to be escorted home
on a Sunday; if, indeed, I allowed her to come on that day. Why, that
was the very day when I could best indulge in a walk with my gentle
friend, after going to church; and I was sure her society did me more
good than the sermons. On her part, Isola found that the services
always made her so nervous (her nerves were as good as mine), and that
she did not much like walking about with a big dog on Sundays, and Cora
was always cross all the day after mass, so Conrad must promise upon his
honour always to come for her, rain, hail, or shine, on a Sunday. This
he promised so readily, that, for a moment, I fancied it had all been
preconcerted. Then I despised myself for the suspicion. The trick
would have been not out of the compass of Isola, but very unworthy of
Conrad.