But when Conrad should have learned who it was that nursed his dog,
would he feel the tender gratitude and delight which he now displayed so
freely? Would he say, as in his fervour he now said every day, "Miss
Valence, I do believe there is no one like you in the world!" Would he
not rather say, "Miss Vaughan, how basely you have deceived me!
Giudice, come away!" A whistle and the last sound of the foot, for
which I listened now by the hour.
This thought was continually with me. It poisoned half the flavour and
ruined all the digestion of my happy moments. But what could I do? How
unmaidenly, how presumptuous of me to imagine that he was likely to
break his heart for me! And if he did--why then he should break my own
as well. I am not one of the drawing-room young ladies, who receive a
modified proposal every Sunday afternoon, and think much more about the
sermon afterwards. I cannot play with the daffodils upon the brink of
love, sleepily thrusting my admirers in, and lounging with half-open
breast, which neither love-knots may secure, nor fluttering sighs
unzone. No, here I am, such as I am, such as God has made me. No
usury, no auction for my heart: once for all I give it, and my life goes
with it.
So it must always be with a girl of any feeling, who has trained her own
existence. But for my wild ignorance, I would dare to say--so it must
be always with a girl of feeling, twist and warp her as you will. Yet I
am told, by those who know the world, that it is not so with nine girls
out of ten among the lady caste. If, beneath the roc of fashion, they
prefer the diamond to the meat, let them have it, and starve thereon.
The choice is of their own young crops. No parent bird can force the
bauble down. But what have I to do with this? All I know is that
neither I, nor any child of mine, will or shall be gulleted thus for
life.
After every little burst of thought, every feeble sally of imagination,
came (as always is the case with me) came the slow pusillanimous
reaction. All that I had any right to do was to paint, earn money, and
be off for Italy.
Little as I knew about the expense of travelling, I felt sure that it
would be vain to start with less than a hundred pounds. Enormous sum!
How could I ever hope to win it, though I painted day and night, and
lived on bread and water. To this diet, or what in London is quite
synonymous, bread and milk, I had already reduced myself, in my stern
resolve to lay by two pounds every week. Farewell to meat, so soon as
my Devonshire "pegmate" was gone, and farewell to what I cared much more
about, a glass of good London stout. I suppose there is something
horribly "vulgar" in my tastes, for I will confess that the liquid
called "black draught" by Mr. Dawe had much charm for me. However, I
abjured it with all other luxuries, and throve no whit the worse. The
kindly little woman, whose summum bonum (next to her "sticks") was
plenty of good fare, took it much to heart that I should live so
plainly.
"Why, Miss Valence, you are the queerest young lady as ever I set eyes
on. All as ever I see, and I've see'd a many, they picks a little bit
so dainty, like a canary cracking a hemp seed when the gentlemen is by:
then off they goes when there's nobody looking, and munches like so many
pigs in a potato bury. Miss Violante you know. But as for you, why
bless me and keep me, you feeds that great horse of a dog with all the
fat of the land, and you lives on a crust yourself. Now do come down,
that's a good soul; there's a clod of beef a-biling with suet dumplings,
and such lovely parsnips, you can smell it all up the stairs, galloping,
galloping, my good friend, and that rogue of a Charley won't come home I
know, he's got along with that thief Bob Ridley; and I expects the boy
every minute with a little drop of stout, and the best pewter pot for
you. Now if you won't come down, Miss Valence, my dinner will all stick
in my throat, and I am so hungry."
"So am I, Mrs. Shelfer, you have made me so."
In her excitement, she slipped from the edge of the chair, whereon she
always balanced herself when I made her sit down. She thought it
disrespectful to occupy too much room, and cuddled herself in the
smallest compass possible.
Let no ill be thought of Giudice. Who thinks ill of me I care not, for
I can defend myself, if it be worth while. So can Giudice with his
teeth--the finest set in London--but he has no tongue, no merop tongue,
I mean. It was true that Giudice had good fare, and thoroughly he
enjoyed it. That dog knew a juicy bit of meat, short of staple, crisp,
yet melting, quite as well as I did. True, he had a love of bones,
transparent gristle, and white fibres, which I, from inferior structure,
cannot quite appreciate. Yet all this was no part of his mind, much
less did it affect the greatness of his soul. He kept, as all of us do
who are good for anything, a certain alter ego, a higher voice, a purer
sense, a vein which fashion cannot leech, or false shame tourniquet. So
the good dog used to come to me, before he touched his breakfast, lunch,
or dinner, and entreat me to devour all I could, there would be lots
still left for him.
In my hurry to get start of time, to spin a little faster the revolving
moons, I did a thing which I could ill-approve to myself, even at the
moment. I wrote to Sally Huxtable to obtain Mr. Dawe's permission for
me to sell my gordit. Professor Ross had offered me no less than ten
guineas for it. As a gentleman he should not have made the offer, after
what I had told him. But the love of science--falsely so called by
collectors--drives men to discern propriety "by the wire-drawn line of
their longings."[#] However, I was not quite so blind upon right and
wrong, as to mean to keep all the money. I offered Mr. Dawe half, if
the plaything should be sold.
[#] "Exiguo fine libidinum."
I knew not why, but I could not bear the idea of a bargain and sale with
Conrad's father, wide apart as the two always were in my mind. I rather
hoped that Beany Dawe, though sorely tempted, would refuse.
And now the time was almost come for news from Tossil's Barton. Dear
Sally must have filled the twelve copybooks, at the rate of one a week.
Ere I quite expected it, the letter came; but before its tidings are
imparted, I must in few words describe the visit of Inspector Cutting's
son. George Cutting came one evening to see his good Aunt Patty, for so
he called Mrs. Shelfer, who was in truth his cousin. Though I had been
so assured that my enemy could not escape, I was not equally convinced,
and at times a deep anxiety and despair possessed me.
Therefore I went to the kitchen to see the Inspector's son, and
requested Mrs. Shelfer to allow me five minutes of conversation with
him. He stood all the while, and seemed rather shy and confused. He
had not heard from his father, since the ship sailed; but he had seen in
the papers that she had been spoken somewhere. "The party as I knew of"
was still safe in London--my blood ran like lava at the thought--or I
should have heard of it. He, George Cutting, had his eye upon him, and
so had two of the detective force; but what were they in comparison with
his father? This he asked, despite his shyness, with so large a
contempt, that I began to think the Cutting family admired the Cuttings
only.
Upon me, who am no Cutting, he left the simple impression that the
qualities, so lauded by his father, lay as yet beneath a bushel.
However, his Aunt Patty declared that he could eat three times as much
as Charley. Not unlikely, if he only drank one-third of Charley's
allowance.
Mrs. Shelfer, who knew that I was laying by a fixed sum every week,
began to look upon me as a fine young miser. Of course she quite fell
in with what she supposed to be my ideas, for she never contradicted any
one, unless it was a cabman.
"Oh, I do love money, my good friend; gold, gold, it is so bootiful.
Did you ever hear tell of the marrow bone I had? Oh dear!"
"What marrow bone, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Why a big beef marrow bone, that long, full of sovereigns and guineas
after dear Miss Minto. I stopped it with a bung and a piece of bladder,
and for better than a twelvemonth, while they was executing her will, I
slept with that beneath my pillow for fear the priest should get it.
Lord, how they did fight over the poor old lady's rags and bones, that
leathery priest and three yellow kites of cousins, they said they was,
as come from Portugal. At last they got a ministration[#] with the
testament and text, and they robbed me shameful, shameful, my good
friend. Never catch me going to mass again, or you may tell me of it."
[#] ? Letters of Administration cum testamento annexo.
"And what became of the marrow bone, Mrs. Shelfer?"
At this inquiry, she winked both eyes rapidly, and screwed up her little
mouth.
"Oh what a thief that Father Banger was, to be sure! You see, Miss, I
had strict orders to shut him out, when Miss Minto was near her end,
because he had kicked her dear cat Filippina from the top of the stairs
to the bottom, after he had gived her unction. What a pretty sight it
was to see them seven dear cats, all sitting round the fire, each one on
his proper stool with his name done on it in different coloured worsted.
I had so much a year left me on the Bank of England, honourable to the
day, for each one of those cats, and change of diet every week, and now
there's only one of them left, and that is my dear old Tom."
"But, Mrs. Shelfer, about the marrow bone--"
"Well, my good friend, I was going to tell you. The way that Father
Banger got into the house again to steal the poor old lady's money, for
building a school or some such villany. He knowed how fond the poor
soul was of cats, so he borrowed a cat somewhere, and he got two boys to
let it down the area with a whipcord round its stomach, and to jerk,
jerk, jerk away at it, and the poor thing did squeal sure enough.
'Pain, Patty,' says my poor mistress, and she could hardly speak--'Oh,
Patty, there's some cruel Englishman torturing a cat again.' So out I
runs into the area, and in pops Father Banger, who had his back to the
wall, with a great sheet of paper; and he begins to make a list of all
the things in the house. I took the cat to dear Miss Minto, and how
pleased she was! 'Please God,' says she, 'to let me live a few days
more till I make a Catholic of this poor heretic'--she always converted
her cats the first thing--'and then it shall have a stool and a good
annuity.' But next day the poor thing went."
Little Mrs. Shelfer had so great a fear of death, that like some ancient
nations she shunned all mention of his name, by euphemistic periphrase.
She had never known real illness, and even a stitch or a spasm would
frighten her for days. When I spoke calmly, as I sometimes did, of our
great inevitable friend, whom we so labour to estrange, up would jump
Mrs. Shelfer with a shudder and a little scream.
"Oh don't, my good soul, oh don't! How can you? Let us live, Miss
Valence, let us live while we can, and not think of such dreadful
things. You make my blood run cold."
"But, Mrs. Shelfer, surely you know that we all must die."
"Of course, my good friend, of course. But then you needn't remind one
of it. I met Doctor Franks to-day, and he said, 'Why, Mrs. Shelfer, I
do declare, you look younger than ever,' and a very clever man he is,
yes, yes; and not a gray hair in my head, and my father lived to
eighty-eight."
"And how old are you, Mrs. Shelfer, now?"
"Oh I am sure I don't know, Miss Valence, I don't keep no account. Let
us talk of something else. Did you hear what Tom did to your Judy
to-day?"
Ah, poor little thing! But I am not going to moralise. Shall I ever
know the history of that marrow bone?[#]
[#] I have now ascertained that a roving dog popped in and away with the
marrow bone, sovereigns, guineas, and all.--C.V. 1864.