COMMONPLACE,
AND
OTHER SHORT STORIES.
BY CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI,
AUTHOR OF ‘GOBLIN MARKET,’ AND ‘THE PRINCE’S PROGRESS.’
‘From sea to sea.’
LONDON:
F. S. ELLIS, 33 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1870.
PREFATORY NOTE.
The earliest of these tales dates back to 1852, the latest was
finished in 1870: a lapse of years sufficient to account for
modifications of tone and style.
‘Pros and Cons,’ and ‘The Waves of this Troublesome World,’ were
written each with a special object; which special object will, I
hope, be accepted as my apology if the latter tale is judged too
childish.
Not one of the stories is founded on fact. This might not seem worth
stating, had I not reason to fear that one or two of my kindest
friends have viewed ‘The Lost Titian’ somewhat in the light of an
imposture. I therefore take this opportunity of putting on record
that I am not conversant with any tradition which points to the
existence of a lost picture by that great master with whose name I
have made free.
C. G. R.
April 1870.
COMMONPLACE.
CHAPTER I.
Brompton-on-Sea—any name not in ‘Bradshaw’ will do—Brompton-on-Sea
in April.
The air keen and sunny; the sea blue and rippling, not rolling;
everything green, in sight and out of sight, coming on merrily. Birds
active over straws and fluff; a hardy butterfly abroad for a change;
a second hardy butterfly dancing through mid-air, in and out, and
round about the first. A row of houses all alike stands facing the
sea—all alike so far as stucco fronts and symmetrical doors and
windows could make them so: but one house in the monotonous row was
worth looking at, for the sake of more numerous hyacinths and early
roses in its slip of front garden, and on several of its
window-sills. Judging by appearances, and for once judging rightly,
this must be a private residence on an esplanade full of
lodging-houses.
A pretty house inside too, snug in winter, fresh in summer; now in
mid-spring sunny enough for an open window, and cool enough for a
bright fire in the breakfast-room.
Three ladies sat at the breakfast-table, three maiden ladies,
obviously sisters by strong family likeness, yet with individual
differences strong also. The eldest, Catherine, Miss Charlmont,
having entered her thirty-third year, had taken on all occasions to
appearing in some sort of cap. She began the custom at thirty, when
also she gave up dancing, and adopted lace over her neck and arms in
evening dress. Her manner was formal and kindly, savouring of the
provinces rather than of the capital; but of the provinces in their
towns, not in their old country seats. Yet she was a well-bred
gentlewoman in all essentials, tall and fair, a handsome member of a
handsome family. She presided over the tea and coffee, and, despite
modern usage, retained a tea-tray.
Opposite her sat Lucy, less striking in features and complexion, but
with an expression of quicker sensibility. Rather pretty and very
sweet-looking, not turned thirty as yet, and on some points treated
by Catherine as still a young thing. She had charge of the loaf and
ham, and, like her elder sister, never indulged in opening letters
till every one at table had been served.
The third, Jane, free of meat-and-drink responsibilities, opened
letters or turned over the newspaper as she pleased. She was youngest
by many years, and came near to being very beautiful. Her profile was
almost Grecian, her eyes were large, and her fair hair grew in wavy
abundance. At first sight she threw Catherine and Lucy completely
into the shade; afterwards, in spite of their additional years, they
sometimes were preferred, for her face only of the three could be
thought insipid. Pleasure and displeasure readily showed themselves
in it, but the pleasure would be frivolous and the displeasure often
unreasonable. A man might fall in love with Jane, but no one could
make a friend of her; Catherine and Lucy were sure to have friends,
however they might lack lovers.
On the morning when our story commences the elders were busied with
their respective charges, whilst Jane already sipped her tea and
glanced up and down the Births, Marriages, and Deaths, in the ‘Times’
Supplement. There she sat, with one elbow on the table and her long
lashes showing to advantage over downcast eyes. Dress was with her a
matter for deep study, and her pink-and-white breakfast suit looked
as fresh and blooming as April’s self. Her hair fell long and loose
over her shoulders, in becoming freedom; and Catherine gazing at her
felt a motherly pride in the pretty creature to whom, for years, she
had performed a mother’s duty; and Lucy felt how young and fresh Jane
was, and remembered that she herself was turned twenty-nine: but if
the thought implied regret it was untinctured by envy.
Jane read aloud: ‘“Halbert to Jane;” I wish I were Jane. And here,
positively, are two more Janes, and not me. “Catherine”—that’s a
death. Lucy, I don’t see you anywhere. Catherine was eighty-nine, and
much respected. “Mrs. Anstruther of a son and heir.” I wonder if
those are the Anstruthers I met in Scotland: she was very ugly, and
short, “Everilda Stella,”—how can anybody be Everilda?’ Then, with a
sudden accession of interest, ‘Why, Lucy, Everilda Stella has
actually married your Mr. Hartley!’
Lucy started, but no one noticed her. Catherine said, ‘Don’t say
“your” Mr. Hartley, Jane: that is not a proper way of speaking about
a married gentleman to an unmarried lady. Say “the Mr. Hartley you
know,” or, “the Mr. Hartley you have met in London.” Besides, I am
acquainted with him also; and very likely it is a different person.
Hartley is not an uncommon name.’
‘Oh, but it is that Mr. Hartley, sister,’ retorted Jane, and she read:
‘“On Monday the 13th, at the parish-church, Fenton, by the Rev. James
Durham, uncle of the bride, Alan Hartley, Esq. of the Woodlands,
Gloucestershire, to Everilda Stella, only child and presumptive
heiress of George Durham, Esq. of Orpingham Place, in the same
county.”’