TOUCH AND GO.
A lawn commanded by the windows of a drawing-room, in which people are
settling their plans for the day, can scarcely be considered a fitting
locality for the interchange of courtesies not intended for general
supervision. The stoppage of Sir Henry's mouth, as described in the
preceding chapter, was witnessed by three different persons, all of
whom, in their respective degrees, chose to feel aggrieved, disgusted,
and surprised. The position was picturesque, no doubt, the accessories
in perfect keeping, the strawberry rich and ripe, but such familiarities
are apt to breed contempt in the bystanders, especially if of the
better-behaved and less tolerant sex. Helen did not approve of these
liberties being taken with papa; Mrs. Lascelles, for the first time,
doubted whether she had acted wisely in entering on so close an
alliance with this reckless adventuress, remembering a certain fable, in
which the horse, having called in the assistance of man against his
enemy, was never his own master again; while Uncle Joseph, looking
pompously out of window, with his hands in his pockets, turned yellow
from jealousy, and became speechless with disgust.
There is no pleasanter hour of the day than that which succeeds
breakfast in a country-house, while people are organising the
occupations, or amusements, as they call them, that must last till
dinner; but with the party collected at The Lilies there seemed to be
more than the usual diversity of opinion as to how their time should be
spent.
Helen "didn't much care about going to the races--wondered if it would
rain--feared it would be hot--did feel a little tired this morning,"
but, being pressed, was obliged to confess, "she enjoyed yesterday very
much!" Still, it was evident Helen did not want to go, equally evident
she would not explain why.
Uncle Joseph, who had meditated a long walk with Miss Ross, combining
exercise and sentiment, would have voted persistently against the Heath,
but for the episode of the strawberry, which had so roused his wrath. He
now declared "it would be absurd to stay away, when at so short a
distance," that "they had better go in the same order as yesterday," and
that "he would desire luncheon to be put up at once;" Uncle Joseph
wisely considering that important meal a necessity of any "outing" in
which pleasure was the avowed object.
Mrs. Lascelles did not the least care how she spent her morning, so long
as it was passed in the company of Sir Henry. Goldthred, again, was
willing to go anywhere or do anything if he might be with Mrs.
Lascelles. Altogether everybody's movements seemed dependent on the
baronet, who walked coolly up the lawn to the drawing-room windows,
pinning the gauze veil more carefully round his hat.
"What time are we to start?" said he, taking it for granted, as he
wished to go himself, that everybody else did. "I'm afraid I _must_ be
on the Course early; but that need not hurry the others. Nelly and I can
go in my carriage, and I'll order it at once. Or I can take Mr.
Goldthred, or do anything anybody likes. Who wants to come with me? You
mustn't all speak at once!"
"I don't care about going at all, papa," said Helen, but intercepting a
glance from their hostess, which ordered Goldthred, as plainly as eyes
could speak, to remain and keep her company, added hastily, "unless
there's plenty of room."
"_Plenty_ of room!" echoed Mrs. Lascelles, with her own arrangements in
view. "We shall only want one carriage if we take mine. Four of us
inside, and Mr. Goldthred, for so short a distance, won't mind sitting
on the box. No, that won't do; where are we to put Jin?"
"Jin's not going!" interrupted a voice from the open window of an upper
room. "Jin's got a headache, and some letters to write. You won't get
her to Ascot to-day unless you drag her with wild horses, so you needn't
distress yourselves about Jin!"
Uncle Joseph's face turned from yellow to its normal tint of mottled
brown. What a trump of a girl he thought her after all! And, fully
convinced she was scheming to pass the whole morning with himself,
sorely repented he should have so misjudged her a quarter-of-an-hour
ago.
His difficulty now was to avoid joining the rest of the party; but
bethinking him of a certain substantial pony in the stable, called
"Punch," he declared he thought a thorough shaking would do him good,
and expressed his intention of riding that animal to the Course.
"Once they're off," argued Uncle Joseph, "they'll never trouble their
heads about their host, and then, my pretty Jin, you and I can come to
an understanding at last!"
Even with a party of four, however, it takes time to get pleasure-goers
under weigh. Mrs. Lascelles forgot her smelling-bottle, Helen mislaid
her shawl; Sir Henry, on whose account they had all hurried themselves,
was ten minutes behind everybody else. The carriage stood a good
half-hour at the door before it was fairly started, and Uncle Joseph
spent that time in his own dressing-room, with his heart beating like a
boy's.
At last the welcome sound of wheels announced that the coast was clear.
He sallied forth eagerly, and, considering his years, with no little
alacrity, in pursuit of his ladye-love. Not in her bedroom, certainly,
for the door stood wide open! Not in the drawing-room--the
dining-room--the billiard-room, nor the boudoir! Zounds! not in the
conservatory, nor on the lawn! Beads of perspiration broke out on Uncle
Joseph's bald head, and he couldn't tell whether it was anger or anxiety
that made him feel as if he was going to choke. Panting, protesting,
under a burning sun, he followed the shrubbery walk that brought him to
the hay-field, through which a thoroughfare for foot people led to the
high road. Here he ran into the very arms of Goldthred, coming back by
this short cut for his race-glasses, which he had forgotten, while the
carriage waited at the nearest angle of the fragrant meadow, flecked and
rippled with its new-mown hay.
Uncle Joseph was without his hat. He must have lost his head also, when,
thinking it necessary to account for his disturbed appearance, he
inquired vehemently:
"Have you seen Miss Ross? I--I forgot to order dinner before starting. I
want to find Miss Ross."
"You won't overtake her," answered Goldthred coolly. "She was half way
across the next field when I came into this. She must be at the
turnpike by now."
Uncle Joseph waited to hear no more. Breaking wildly from his informant,
he dashed off towards the stable, while the latter, recovering his
glasses, walked solemnly back to the carriage, and jumped in, as if
nothing had happened.
There is, at least, this good quality belonging to a man in love, that
he is not easily astonished, nor does he occupy himself with the affairs
of others. Goldthred had forgotten his meeting with Uncle Joseph, and
dismissed the whole subject from his mind, before the carriage had got
twenty yards or Mrs. Lascelles had spoken as many words.
Now Punch was a good stout cob, of that class and calibre which is so
prized by gentlemen who have left off reckoning up their age and weight.
After fifty, and over fifteen stone, it is needless to be continually
balancing the account. Punch possessed capital legs and feet, sloping
shoulders, an intelligent head with very small ears, a strong neck, and
an exceedingly round stomach. Such an animal, I confess, I cannot but
admire, and have no objection to ride, unless I am in a hurry. Even when
time presses I bear the creature no malice, but I fear he hates _me_!
Punch could scuttle along at his own pace for a good many miles, safely
and perseveringly enough; but against yours, if you were in the habit of
riding a thorough-bred hack, he would protest in a very few furlongs.
Obviously, to such a quadruped, time was of the utmost importance, and
it seemed hard so much of it had to be wasted daily in preparing him for
a start.
Docile in his general character, perfectly free from nervousness and
vice, he had yet a provoking trick of puffing himself out during the
operation of saddling to a size that rendered the roomiest girths in the
stable too scanty for his swelling carcase. Ten minutes at least Uncle
Joseph and the stable boy butted and tugged and swore, ere, to use the
expression of the latter, they could "make tongue and buckle meet." Ten
minutes more were wasted in water brushing the pony's mane and blacking
his round, well-shaped feet; for the urchin, true to the traditions of
his craft, would forego not the smallest rite of that stable discipline
in which he had been trained. Altogether, by the time Uncle Joseph was
fairly in the saddle for pursuit, Miss Ross had got such a start as,
with her light step and agile figure, precluded the possibility of being
caught against her will.
Four miles an hour, heel and toe, gracefully and without effort, as if
she was dancing, this active young person flitted across the hay-fields,
till she reached a humble little cottage standing between the highway
and the river's brink. Here she disappeared from Uncle Joseph's sight,
who had just viewed her, having bustled Punch along the hot, hard road
at a pace which put them both in a white lather.
The rider's first idea was to secure his steed and follow up the chase;
but few men act on impulse after--what shall we say?--fifty; and Punch,
who had his own opinion about waiting in the sun, might very probably
slip his bridle in order to trot home! Reflecting with dismay on such a
contingency, in such weather for walking, Uncle Joseph "concluded," as
the Americans say, that he would wait where he was, and watch.
Miss Ross, in the mean time, happily unconscious that she was observed,
tapped at the cottage-door, which was opened by a dark-eyed urchin of
five years or so, whom, to his intense astonishment, she smothered in
kisses on the spot. Mrs. Mole, the owner of the cottage, emerging from
the gloom of her back kitchen, was aware of a toss of black curls, and a
pair of sturdy, struggling legs, not over clean, in the embrace of a
radiant being who had dropped, to all appearance, from the clouds.
"Your servant, miss," said the old woman, drying her arms on her apron,
while she performed a defiant curtsy. "You've--a--taken quite a fancy to
my little lad, seemingly. Yet I don't remember to have ever seen you
afore."
I often think the poor resent a liberty with so much more dignity than
their betters.
For answer, Jin, whose French education had afforded her many useful
little hints, slipped a packet of tea into the old woman's hand. It was
what they drank at The Lilies, strong, fragrant, and five shillings a
pound.
"I haven't the pleasure of knowing you, ma'am," said she civilly; "but
I've seen this little angel before, and I can't help admiring him. Have
you no more of them?"
Mrs. Mole was sixty if she was a day; but like your grandmother and
mine, like everybody's grandmother, Eve herself, she was open to
flattery. The supposition that this pretty child might be hers was
pleasing; the inference that he had brothers and sisters, possibly
younger than himself, gratifying indeed.
"He isn't my own, miss," said she, stroking the child's curls, who clung
tight to her gown, with his eyes fixed on Miss Ross. "And more's the
pity!--go to the lady, Johnnie, _do_!--for a sweeter babe, and a
'ealthier, you'll not put your 'and on, not from here to Windsor Castle.
He ain't got no mother, miss, nor he don't want none, do you, Johnnie?
not so long as you've your old Moley to love ye--that's what he calls
me, miss. _My_ name's Mole, miss, askin' your pardon."
The child, who was a bold little fellow enough, having inspected the
visitor thoroughly, as children always do inspect an object of
apprehension, now took courage to seat himself on her knee, with his
finger in his mouth and his eyes fixed on his boots, in undivided
attention.
Miss Ross turned the plain little frock down to where, below the
sun-burned neck, his skin was white and pure as marble, all but one
mottled mark, the size of a five-franc piece. Then she burst out crying,
and Johnny, sprawling in haste to the floor, howled hideously for
company.
"Deary, deary me!" ejaculated Mrs. Mole, completely softened, and, to
use her own expression, "upset," by these signals of distress. "Don't ye
take on so, miss. Whist! Johnnie, this moment, or I'll give you
something to cry for! Take a glass of water, miss. You've been walking
too fast in the sun--or say the word, and I'll make ye a cup o' tea in
five minutes."
"A glass of water, please," gasped Miss Ross; and while the old woman
went to fetch it, followed by Johnnie, the young one summoned all her
self-command not to betray her secret and her relationship to the child.
It was her own Gustave. Of that she could have no doubt since she had
laid bare the mark between his shoulders. Perhaps she was sure of him
yesterday, shouting at the cottage-door while the carriage passed;
perhaps she had been sure all last night, waking every ten minutes from
a dream of her boy; all this morning, resolving that nothing should
prevent her seeing him to-day; no, not the certainty of calumny,
exposure, open shame! Had it been otherwise, she must have broken down
more foolishly, more completely. Now she recovered herself, as she had
often done before in positions of far greater difficulty. When she took
the glass of water from Mrs. Mole's sympathising hand, her voice was
steady, her face perfectly calm and serene.
"You are right," she said, "the sun is hot, and I walked here very fast.
The sight of this pretty child, too, was rather trying. He reminds me
of--of--a nephew I lost long ago. Thank you. I'm better now, but I
_should_ like to sit down and rest for half an hour, if I'm not in your
way. So--so--this little fellow isn't yours, Mrs. Mole, after all."
Mrs. Mole dearly loved a gossip. So would you or I, if we spent our days
in a two-roomed cottage, with no companion but a child, no amusement
whatever, no occupation but cleaning household utensils for the purpose
of dirtying them forthwith, no daily paper, no exchange of ideas, no
exercise of the intellect, beyond a weekly effort to keep awake during
the parson's sermon. Gossip, indeed! If it was not for gossip how many
good, industrious, hard-living women would go melancholy mad?
"He's not mine, miss. I wishes he wur," she answered, with an elbow in
the palm of each hand, an attitude Mrs. Mole considered favourable to
conversation. "But, whatever I should do without Johnnie, or Johnnie
without me, I know no more than the dead. The sense of that there child,
miss, and the ways of 'un, you'd think as he was twelve year old at
least. To see him take off his little boots, and fold up his little
clothes, every article, and come an' say his little prayers on my knee
afore ever he goes to his little bed, it's wonderful, that's what it
is!"
The tears were rising to Jin's eyes once more. "Who taught him to say
his prayers?" she asked, keeping them down with an effort.
"Well, he didn't know none when he came here first," answered Mrs. Mole
apologetically. "He's very young a-course, and he hadn't been taught
none maybe. But, Lor' bless ye, that there child didn't want no
teaching. Ah! there's children in heaven, I humbly hope, and I'll never
believe but they're like my Johnnie!"
"A little tidier I should suppose," thought Miss Ross, but she could
have hugged this plain old woman nevertheless, for her kindly, honest
heart.
"I can see he's well taken care of," she observed, turning the child's
clothes with a mother's hand. "His skin shows how healthy he is, and
he's as clean as a new pin."
Mrs. Mole glanced sharply in her visitor's face. "I ask yer pardon,
ma'am," she said, "I kep on calling of you '_miss_,' and maybe you've
children of your own."
Hugging the boy's head to her breast Jin took no notice of this remark,
but asked in turn, how long the child had been there.
The question, though simple, produced a narrative of considerable
volume, digressive, complicated, not free from tautology, and ample,
even exuberant in detail. It comprised Mrs. Mole's girlhood, early life,
peculiar character, and extraordinary experiences, together with a
sketch of the late Mr. Mole's biography, his failure in the undertaking
business, and the reasons which prompted her, the narrator, to accept
him for a husband; the birth of two children, with red noses, the image
of Mole, both of whom, to use her own expression, she had "buried;" the
unaccountable disappearance of their father, taking with him whatever
portable property was in their joint possession, including bed and
bedding, an eight-day clock, and a warming-pan; the deceitfulness of the
male sex in general, and their sad tendency to falsehood, coupled with
inebriety; the inscrutable ways of Providence, by which it seemed
ordered that her own sex should be "put upon" in all relations of life;
the difficulty, which no one could contradict, of earning bread, as a
lone woman, with rent and taxes to pay, everything rising in price,
except her own labour, and an inflexible determination to keep herself
respectable; the matrimonial offer she had received not longer back than
five years gone last Easter Monday, from an energetic bargeman, of
imposing appearance, and a bad habit of swearing "awful," which offer
she could not prudently entertain, partly from uncertainty as to Mole's
fate, partly from suspicion of the proposer's solvency, not to say
sobriety; the depression of spirits resulting from this disappointment
of the affections, and the "lonesomeness" of the cottage in the long
winter nights, when she felt as if she "couldn't hardly a-bear it
without a drop o' comfort." Finally, the determination she was driven to
of taking in a child to nurse, "as should make the little place seem
home-like, and help to get a livin' for us both."
"And it's past belief, miss," added Mrs. Mole, "as I put a notice in the
weekly paper, an' never heard no more, till a matter of ten weeks ago,
when a gentleman brought this here little lad to the door, and left him
for me to nurse and look after, quite confident and agreeable. 'Mrs.
Mole,' says he--'your name's Mole, or I'm misinformed.' 'Yes, sir,' says
I, 'you're right enough so fur as you know.' 'Mrs. Mole,' says he, 'I
leave the child with you, an' I've no call to bid you take care of him,
for I see it in your face, and you'll be as good as his own mother to
him, supposin' he ever had one.' With that he slips a sovereign into my
hand. I'm not deceivin' you, miss, and I drops him a curtsy, an', says
I, 'Perhaps you'll favour me,' says I, 'with the babe's name,' says I,
'for I wouldn't call him out of it,' says I. It's my belief, miss, as
the gentleman wasn't used to childer', an' didn't make no account of
such things as nameses, for he thought a bit, an' 'Moses,' says he,
'that's the boy's name,' says he; but he answers much kinder to Johnnie,
miss, as you can see for yourself. He was a hasty gentleman, seemingly,
an' harbitrary, but a pleasant way with him; an' the child took on an'
pined a bit for the first day or two, when he wur gone to London or
what-not, but he loves his old Moley best now, don't ye, deary? an' will
tell ye, plain as he can speak, he don't want to leave his old Moley,
never no more."
Miss Ross was puzzled. But for the mark on the boy's back, and something
in her own heart, she would have believed herself mistaken after all.
Who could this man be, then? and how had he obtained possession of her
boy? her boy, whom she had mourned so bitterly, believing that he slept
beneath the waters of the turbulent Rhone.
"Have you never seen this gentleman again?" she asked, still pressing
the child's head to her breast, a position he accepted with perfect
equanimity.
"Seen him!" repeated Mrs. Mole. "He comes here once a-week regular and
pays, I'll say that for him--pays like the bank. 'Handsome is as
handsome does,' says I, an' he's a real gentleman, I make no doubt."
"Is he young or old?" pursued Miss Ross. "Tall or short? Dark or fair?
How is he dressed? In one word--what is he like?"
Mrs. Mole, whose memory and perceptive powers in general were failing a
little, thereby affording wider scope to her imagination, plunged at
once into a comprehensive description, much ornamented and idealised, of
the person who had lately become so important an object in her quiet
every-day life--a description from which Miss Ross felt she could not
have identified any individual simply human; but which was happily cut
short by a step on the high road, and a click at the little green gate
giving access to the front door of the cottage.
"It's not his day, miss," said Mrs. Mole, pulling her guest to the
window. "But here he is, for sure, and you can judge for yourself!"
One glance was enough. Miss Ross, dropping Johnnie (in the safest
possible attitude) on the floor, fled to the back kitchen panting for
breath.
It was Achille! There could be no doubt about it! The same jaunty air,
the same gaudy dress, the same manner, gestures, ways, even to the cigar
between his teeth--a little stouter, perhaps, and more prosperous
looking than when she saw him last; but still unmistakably the husband
who deceived, outraged, deserted her, to whom, if she were really
married, she felt she had better have tied a mill-stone round her neck,
and plunged herself into the sea!
Escape was her first impulse--escape at any price! He must never find
her! He must on no account see her here! With a hasty farewell to Mrs.
Mole, who thought all the better of her visitor for the modesty that
forbade her to confront a strange gentleman, she vanished through the
back-door of the cottage, as Picard, for it was no other, entered at the
front, and running down a stony path direct to the river-side found
herself wishing only that she could swim, so as to make her plunge, and
strike out at once for the opposite shore. Glancing wistfully around,
there was yet something in the whole situation that struck her as
ludicrous in the extreme. Hemmed in by cottage gardens, escape was out
of the question on either side, while to retrace her steps along the
stony pathway was to return into the jaws of the enemy. At her feet, the
river looked cool, shallow, and inviting. Jin wondered if it would be
possible to wade. In her perplexity she clasped her hands and began to
laugh. Then she thought of her boy and began to cry. This young person
was by no means a subject for hysterics; but her feelings had been
cruelly wrought on during the last half-hour, and there is no saying
what might have happened if assistance had not arrived at the opportune
moment from an unlooked-for quarter.
It has been already stated that Helen Hallaton showed less inclination
to go to the races than is usual with a young lady, who has a new bonnet
in a box up-stairs, and an excuse for taking it out. Frank Vanguard too,
contrary to all precedent, declined driving his team to the Course, and
remained tranquilly in barracks with the orderly-officer and the
mess-waiters, whilst everybody else was off for the day. I do not
suppose these young people _understood_ each other; but I fancy they
_thought_ they did, and perhaps this was the reason one only started
with her companions under pressure, while the other preferred a skiff
and a pair of sculls (not an outrigger observe, in which there is only
room for the oarsman) to the box of his drag, and a sustained contest
for many miles with the iron mouth of his near wheeler.
This young officer then, stripped to the very verge of decency, came
flashing up the stream with steady strokes and strong that brought him
alongside of Mrs. Mole's cottage, within a few seconds of Jin's flight
from that sanctuary. It is not to be supposed that any amount of
pre-occupation would prevent our floating dragoon from resting on his
oars to admire the rare and radiant vision: a handsome girl clad in
bright transparencies, exhaled as it would seem by an ardent sunshine
from the teeming margin of Father Thames.
He thought of Rhodes and Helios, and the picture in last year's
exhibition. So thinking, he backed water, of course, with the utmost
energy.
"Captain Vanguard," pleaded a voice, he had thought yesterday not
without its charm, "will you be a good Samaritan and give me a passage
to The Lilies?"
"He would be delighted." Of course he would! To take such a sitter ought
to be pleasure enough; but better still to have so good an excuse for
calling at The Lilies and finding Miss Hallaton at home.
"I've been visiting a poor woman in that cottage," said Miss Ross,
giving him her hand as she stepped lightly into the fragile bark he
brought so skilfully to her feet. "But it really is _too_ hot for
walking back along the road. I'm in luck. If I hadn't seen you, I do
believe I should have jumped in to swim!"
"I'm the lucky one, Miss Ross," answered Frank, looking very manly and
handsome, as with lengthened strokes he shot into the stream. "I'm very
glad now I didn't go to the races. It's as well too that I brought this
skiff instead of the outrigger!"
And Uncle Joseph, quarrelling fiercely with Punch, beheld it all,
boiling, chafing, growling, wondering at the perfidy of woman, cursing
the imbecility of man.