GREENWICH.
But Captain Vanguard was not the only person whom the inexplicable
disappearance of Miss Ross overwhelmed with consternation and dismay.
Picard, whom, of course, he consulted first, affected to treat the
matter lightly, vowing there must have been some misconception of
directions, some misunderstanding about the time, while in his heart he
cursed the invincible wilfulness, the inflexible obstinacy that, he knew
of old, would dare and endure anything rather than give way. He did his
best, we may be sure, to help his friend, in hunting down the woman who
had outwitted him; but the track of a fugitive is soon lost in London,
and, with all his craft, Picard's best was done in vain. For Vanguard,
he considered this disappointment the luckiest thing that could happen.
For his own part, he never wanted to see Miss Ross again; but it was a
sharp, keen pang, to think that every tie must now be cut off between
himself and his boy. Even Jin would have pitied him, had she known how
he suffered under this privation.
Poor old Mrs. Mole, too, nearly went distracted with alarm, anxiety, and
remorse. After running in and out of her cottage all the evening, till,
to use her own expression, "she hadn't a dry thread anywheres, an' the
damp had fixed itself in her bones," she started off at dark to take
counsel of the parish clerk, the turnpike-man, and a neighbouring
cow-doctor; from none of whom, as may be supposed, did she gather much
counsel or comfort. The clerk was "sure as the lad would be back afore
mornin';" the turnpike-man opined "he'd runned away for aggravation; and
if 'twas his'n, _he'd_ soon let him know not to try _them_ games no
more;" while the cow-doctor, not exactly sober, opined "he'd fell in o'
the water, and drownded hisself, poor thing! and now the little
varmint's gone to heaven, mayhap, and don't want to come back here no
more."
The poor old woman, returning home from this futile expedition, to see
Johnnie's little bed spread out, smooth and untumbled, as if waiting for
the child, burst into a fit of crying, and sat all night through by the
waning fire, with her apron thrown over her head.
On Uncle Joseph's feelings, when, calling at No. 40, he learned that
Miss Ross had left her home without stating where she was going, or when
she would return, I cannot take upon me to expatiate. Displeasure,
perhaps, was the strongest sensation that affected him, but a fit of the
gout arriving at this juncture to divert his attention from mental worry
to bodily pain, he got through the ordeal altogether better than might
have been expected.
Mrs. Lascelles, however, grew seriously alarmed and distressed, when the
lapse of a second day brought no tidings of her inseparable companion
and fast friend. She reproached herself bitterly for taking Jin to task
about her conduct with Captain Vanguard. She contrasted her own
comfortable home, all the luxuries that surrounded her, with a mental
picture she chose to draw of Miss Ross, starving, in proud silence, on
cold mutton, somewhere in a "second floor back," and felt painfully
humiliated in the comparison. Then she wondered if it would be possible
to track her by means of detectives, advertisements, "Pollaky's private
inquiry office," or a heartrending appeal in the agony column of the
"Times." Finally, woman-like, feeling she must have somebody to lean on,
she bethought her of Goldthred, and wrote him a pretty little note,
marked "Immediate," desiring him to come and see her without delay. Why
not Sir Henry? Mrs. Lascelles asked herself that question more than
once; and, while searching her heart for the answer, made a discovery
which by no means increased her respect for her own stability in
sentiment or discrimination of character.
"Sir Henry would laugh," she thought, "and murmur some cynical remarks,
half good-natured, half contemptuous, on women's friendships and women's
fancies. He would help me, I have no doubt, and very likely, if he could
find Miss Ross, might make love to her on his own account, but he would
not take the matter up as if it was life and death to him, like Mr.
Goldthred. I do declare, if I asked that man to get me a China rose,
he'd go to China _for_ it, rather than I should be disappointed. It must
be very nice to believe in anybody as he believes in me. If I was only
as good as he thinks I am! I wish I was! I wonder if I should be,
supposing--supposing----Well, the first thing is to find out poor dear
Jin, and implore her to come back, if I have to go for her on my bare
knees!"
So her letter was written and posted, Mrs. Lascelles never doubting that
the recipient would answer it in person ere three hours had elapsed. But
when the clock struck again and again, when luncheon passed without his
appearance, and the summer afternoon waned, bringing no Mr. Goldthred,
Mrs. Lascelles could not decide whether she felt most hurt, vexed,
angry, disappointed, or distressed.
No doubt, if he had known such a letter was coming, he would have
ignored other business without scruple, and remained at home to receive
it all day; but Goldthred had left his own house for the City directly
after breakfast, having no intention of returning to dress for dinner,
because he had cut out for himself some fifteen hours' work that he must
get through in less than twelve.
Of this task, the hardest part, in his estimation, was the entertainment
of a large and rather _loud_ party he had invited to dine with him at
Greenwich. From these friends he felt there would be no escape till
eleven o'clock at night.
It will be remembered that Goldthred, in an hour of exuberant feeling,
had tried to organise a pic-nic, which unfortunately fell through from
the inability to attend of those he was most anxious to invite. In such
cases, however, some responsibility is almost always incurred by the
adhesion of a few less important guests, who must nevertheless be
provided with food and amusement, though the others are unable to come.
For Goldthred, indeed, there was no difficulty in substituting with
these makeweights a Greenwich dinner-party for a Maidenhead pic-nic.
Stray men were soon recruited to fill up the necessary complement.
Failing ladies of higher calibre, Mrs. Battersea and Kate Cremorne were
persuaded to enliven the gathering with their beauty, their dresses, and
their mirth. Picard, who was glad of any scheme to take him away from
Frank Vanguard, in that officer's present state of perturbation, agreed
to drive them all down on his coach; and thus it fell out that
Goldthred, with his heart rather sore about Mrs. Lascelles, little
dreaming a letter from her was at that moment lying on his table, found
himself sitting, in a glare of sunshine, by an open window, overlooking
the river, between Mrs. Battersea and Kate Cremorne.
Two or three hot waiters were bringing in as many dishes, with imposing
covers, that would have served for a burlesque feast in a pantomime.
Shawls, fans, hats, parasols, and overcoats, lay scattered about the
room; men lounged and straddled in uncomfortabe attitudes, as not
knowing how to dispose of their limbs and persons; a confusion of many
tongues prevailed; and above the babble rose Mrs. Battersea's voice,
clear, shrill, and dominant, like the steam-whistle of a railway
through the puffing diapason of the engine and continuous roar of the
advancing train.
"I vote against waiting," dictated that imperious lady, when the
probability was hazarded of a fresh batch of guests arriving later.
"Never wait dinner for anybody, particularly at Greenwich. Now, Mr.
Goldthred, don't be shy, take the top of the table. I'll sit by you
here. Kate, support him on the other side. Sir Henry, come next me. I
won't have you by Kate. I know what you're going to say--you'd rather be
close to me, and have her to look at. I'm so tired of those old
compliments. I wish men would find out something new! _Rangez vous,
Messieurs! Le jeu est fait. Rien n'va plus!_"
"_Rouge gagne, et couleur_," whispered Sir Henry Hallaton, with a glance
at Mrs. Battersea's brilliant complexion and toilette to match,
accompanied by a jerk of his elbow in his next neighbour's ribs. The
latter, who had never been to Baden or Homburg, and whose French was
that of "Stratford-atte-Bow," did not the least understand, so laughed
heartily, and Sir Henry set him down in his own mind as "a pleasant
young fellow, with a great idea of fun." The baronet had turned up at
this gathering, as he generally did turn up wherever gaiety and absence
of restraint were likely to prevail. Notwithstanding his better reason
and his good resolutions, he was fast drifting down the stream of easy
self-indulgence, which sooner or later carries a man so helplessly out
to sea.
He had now struck up a close alliance with Picard, whereby that scheming
adventurer hoped he might win his way into Helen's good graces, and so
attain a certain standing-point in society, from which to push his
fortunes with a daring energy that ought to command success. Sir Henry
could not, or would not, see the false position in which he placed
himself by affecting such terms of intimacy with such a man.
The dinner was good enough, and to Goldthred seemed almost interminable,
although exerting himself to do his duty towards his guests; he reaped a
reward by gradually sliding into amusement in their conversation, and
before the devilled whitebait came on, began even to interest himself in
their society. The latter sentiment was due to the good feeling of Miss
Cremorne, who, guessing her host was somewhat overweighted by his
company, and altogether depressed in spirits, exerted herself very
successfully to cheer him up, and bring him, as she expressed it, "out
of the downs."
Kate did not miscalculate her own powers; indeed few men could have long
resisted her low pleasant tones, kindly glances, and soft, sympathising
manner; for notwithstanding high spirits, high courage, high temper, and
sometimes high words, she could be gentle on occasion, and when Kate
_was_ gentle, she became simply irresistible.
Neglecting a dandy on her right, who accepted that calamity with the
utmost philosophy, she devoted herself to Goldthred, till they grew so
confidential, that when dinner was over, he brought his coffee-cup and
cigar to a little corner she had purposely reserved by her side on the
balcony. She was so unused to shyness amongst men, there was something
so different from all her previous experience of his sex in Goldthred's
simple, honest nature, homely though courteous manner, and utter absence
of pretension, that she positively felt interested in him, and Miss
Cremorne was the last young person in the world to be ashamed of the
sentiment, or afraid to exhibit it.
"Why don't you offer me a cigar?" said she, with a killing glance that
would have finished any other man in the room on the spot.
"You shall have a dozen," he answered, pulling out a well-filled case in
some confusion. "I really didn't know you smoked."
"No more I do," she replied, laughing, "except sometimes a very tiny
cigarette. No; I don't want one now; but that's no reason you shouldn't
offer it. Don't you know, Mr. Goldthred, that with ladies you should
always take the initiative?"
"It's so difficult," he answered doubtfully, sliding into the corner by
her side. "One is never sure how far one ought to go, and I have the
greatest horror of being a bore."
"There you're wrong," decided Kate;--"women _like_ bores. For the matter
of that, so does everybody. Who are the people that get on in society?
Bores. Who manage your clubs, your race-meetings, your amusements?
Bores. Who make the best marriages, keep the best houses, and insist on
having all the pleasant people to dance attendance on them?
Bores--bores--bores! They are in the majority, they have the upper hand,
and they mean to keep it. Shall I tell you why? A bore is always in
earnest; the more in earnest the greater bore! Have I made out my case?"
"At least you have given me a claim to bore _you_," said Goldthred
laughing.
"And _without_ being in earnest," she replied; "though I think you could
be very much in earnest with some people. That's why I'm interested in
you. That's why I'm going to give you a piece of advice. There is an
English proverb I need not repeat about 'a faint heart.' There is a
French one more to the purpose, I think in your case, 'il faut se faire
valoir.' Now, you mustn't flirt with me any longer. You'll hear of it
again if you do, and two of my admirers are looking as black as thunder
already. Go and circulate among your guests, but don't forget my advice,
and good luck to you!"
_Il faut se faire valoir._ The words rang in his ears all the
evening--through the bustle of breaking up, the noisy departure, the
chatter, and clatter, and hurry of the drive back to London--the very
wheels seemed to tell it over and over in monotonous refrain, and ere
Goldthred was set down at his own door, this sentence and its meaning
seemed indelibly impressed on his brain.
Passing through the sitting-room, he found a letter in the well-known
handwriting, lying on his table, and although a thrill went through
every nerve in his body, I think even then Kate's advice was beginning
to bear fruit. On reading the epistle, no doubt, there came a reaction,
and his first impulse was to rush at once to No. 40, notwithstanding the
hour, the occasion, and the proprieties; his second, to write an answer
then and there, expressing love, worship, and devotion with an eloquence
none the less burning from the convivialities of a Greenwich
dinner-party; his third, and wisest, to let every thing stand over till
to-morrow. And then, while he assisted her to the best of his abilities,
to teach his scornful lady, quietly but distinctly, that he had learnt
by heart this new maxim--_Il faut se faire valoir!_