THE COMING OF AUNT CHARLOTTE.
Comethup slept that night on a hastily made-up bed in an empty room
of the captain's cottage. He remembered, long afterward, standing
in the room, holding a candle, and shaking every now and then from
head to foot with the last of his sobs, while the captain and the man
Homer shook out the sheets and punched the pillows, and made the bed
as comfortable as they could under the circumstances. It was made up
on some old boxes and a chair or two, and the captain was touchingly
apologetic about it and its meagreness. Comethup assured him, however,
that it would be quite comfortable, and undressed and got into it
gratefully; for the excitement of the day had worn him out, and he was
very soon asleep. Before consciousness completely left him, however, he
had a dim idea that the captain stole softly into the room more than
once and bent over him to listen to his breathing, and then crept away
again. But so dim was the recollection that he thought afterward it
might only have been a fancy.
Breakfasting with the captain was a new experience. The meal passed
almost in silence, for Comethup was still weighed down by the
strangeness of his situation, and the captain, for his part, felt
that gravity was necessary to the occasion. Even in that house, so
far away from the actual house of death, everything appeared subdued.
The captain gave his orders to Homer in a lower tone than usual, and
addressed his few remarks to Comethup in a voice that was scarcely more
than a whisper. Moreover, the boy found that a new and sad importance
had been thrust upon him by the event of the previous day; the captain
was kinder even than usual, had pressed simple dishes upon his notice,
and was particular about the sweetening of his very coffee. Comethup
found, too, that this importance clung to him after he had passed into
the streets. People turned and looked after him as he walked beside the
captain, and whispered; more than one seemed to possess an inclination
to stop and speak, but the captain held steadily on, and stopped for
nothing.
Comethup had expressed a wish to go back to his father's house; had
put the matter delicately and with tears, in his desire not to wound
his friend's feelings, and in fear lest the captain should think him
ungrateful. But he could not bear the thought that his father was lying
alone there in a house which he seemed to know by instinct would be
more hushed and melancholy than the captain's. So they went together.
Halfway to the house they saw, swinging toward them down the street,
Mr. Robert Carlaw. He carried a beaming face, and took up even more
of the pavement than usual as he walked. At the sight of Comethup he
seemed to recollect himself; the expression of his face changed, and
he sighed. The captain would have passed on, after a word or two, but
Mr. Carlaw stood full in the way on the narrow pavement, and there was
nothing for it but to stop.
"Ah, my poor little friend! I have been thinking of you all night;
have passed a sleepless night. These things touch me more acutely than
you might imagine; my nature is highly strung and these things wound
me--cut me to the heart. But"--he shrugged his shoulders and shook his
head--"'in the midst of life we are in death,' you know, and I suppose
we must all be prepared for these things.--It was very sudden, eh?" he
added, turning to the captain.
"Terribly sudden," replied the captain, in a low voice.
"Ah! these things are not in our hands. I am sorry, very sorry; the
shock of it has even tempered the joy I have in some unexpected news
this morning." His face began to beam again, try as he would to control
it, and the captain looked at him with rising anger, but had no time to
utter a protest; the other swept on with what he had to say, scarcely
taking breath.
"A letter--yes, my dear sir, another letter has arrived from that dear
eccentric soul, my sister. She appears to have repented of her conduct
to me and suggests----"
"But, my dear sir," began the captain, "this does not concern----"
"Wait, wait!" cried the other impulsively. "She suggests that she
will come here--here, to this very town, at once--to-day. With some
compunction, I suppose, for her behaviour to me--although, Heaven
knows, I have forgotten and forgiven it long ago, poor soul--she
suggests that she will not stay with me, but will put up at an inn.
Oh, I know her; I know the dear creature. Protests are useless. I must
go to the best inn this wretched town can boast and secure rooms for
her. Think of it, she may arrive at any moment. And Brian, the blessed
rascal----"
The captain pushed hurriedly past him and went on his way. But Mr.
Carlaw in a moment came running after them again, and strode along
beside them with a forlorn expression of countenance and with a hurried
appeal to Comethup to bear his trouble manfully, and to look to
something higher for consolation. Then he turned, and was off again,
his step growing jauntier as the distance increased between them.
The captain strode along fiercely, muttering to himself; only at the
garden gate did his features relax, and he passed into the house with a
gentler face.
The dead man had been carried in there and laid in that big best room
upstairs. Comethup had a wish to see him, and expressed it to the
captain. But the captain shook his head. He sat down and drew the boy,
in the old fashion, against his knee, and put his arm about him. "There
are foolish, morbid people, boy, who'd be only too glad to let a little
child look on death; but if you'll take your old friend's advice, don't
do it. I told you that he had gone to meet your mother; all the best of
him has gone, and what is left scarcely concerns us any more. If you
saw him now you would carry the remembrance with you to your grave. He
died quite suddenly, and very peacefully; think of him as you saw him
last, when he stood at the church door in the sunshine, with a smile
upon his face. The rest is nothing, boy; the best of him is gone."
Comethup urged no more. The very tones of the captain's voice seemed to
bring peace and consolation to him, and he went about the house--into
every room except that which was closed against him--and wandered in
the garden of the roses, almost believing that the roses drooped their
heads a little, in pity for his sorrow.
While he was wandering aimlessly there he heard a noise in the street
beyond, and saw that a fly had driven up and stopped. The driver
descended from his box and opened the door, and out of the vehicle got,
with considerable difficulty, a strange figure. It was the figure of
an elderly lady, very richly dressed and enormously stout--so stout
that Comethup saw she had a difficulty in getting through the narrow
doorway of the fly. Her difficulty in alighting appeared, too, to be
increased by the fact that she groped for the step with one foot, even
though her arm was resting on the arm of the driver. She had a heavy
black polished stick in her hand, and when she reached the pavement,
still leaning on the man's arm, she moved the stick gently in front of
her, as though to feel her way. As the man pushed open the garden gate,
and allowed her to walk inside, Comethup saw that her eyes were closed,
and that she still moved the stick in front of her, feeling her way
delicately with its point along the edge where the gravel joined the
grass. Comethup knew then that she was blind.
The man walked behind her, as though to render assistance if necessary,
but she came on fearlessly, stopping when within about a foot of where
Comethup stood, drawn up close at the side of the path. "Who's there?"
she asked sharply.
Comethup was about to reply, but she felt her way to him, dropped her
hand on his shoulder, and shook him a little. "I want a man called
Willis--David Willis. Is this his house?"
Comethup, at a loss what to say, was in danger of being shaken again,
when the captain appeared at the door. He came forward courteously,
with a hand extended to guide her. "This is David Willis's house," he
said. "Are you seeking him?"
"I am. What the devil should I be here for if I weren't? Gracious--what
ridiculous questions people can ask on a hot day!"
"Can I assist you, madam?" asked the captain, making a step forward.
But she waved him back fiercely. "Keep off, keep off!" she cried. "I'm
not a baby, and I can find my way alone, even in such a pokey place as
this." Still pushing Comethup before her, she got into the house and,
in some fashion or other, into the little parlour. The captain had
backed nervously away from her, as though he were backing from royalty,
and now stood at a few paces distant, indefinitely waving his hands
toward a chair which he had placed for her. But she stood, and waved
her stick round the room, like some strange enchantress, still keeping
her hand on the boy's shoulder. There was an awkward pause for a moment
or two, and then she spoke again, with growing impatience and in a
higher key.
"Well, where is the man? Everybody seems to have lost their wits
to-day. That infernal driver at the station sighed, as though his
breakfast hadn't agreed with him, when I mentioned where I wanted to
go; and now here's a man and a boy who've lost their tongues, and are
staring at me as though I'd just come from paradise. Will no one speak?
Where's David Willis?"
"David Willis is--is upstairs, madam," said the captain, with the idea
of breaking the matter gently to her.
"Well, fetch him down. Gracious, what fools men are!"
"I regret that it is impossible," said the captain.
"Why? What's the matter with the man?"
"David Willis is dead."
"Dead! What on earth are you talking about?" she asked, sharply. She
sat down then, still keeping her grip of Comethup's shoulder and
leaning heavily on her stick with the other hand.
"I'm telling you the simple truth," replied the captain. "David Willis
died quite suddenly yesterday."
She was silent for a moment, and appeared to be ruminating, although
there was no expression save that of baffled anger on her great face.
Comethup, glancing timidly up at her, saw that above the face, and
under her bonnet of many colours, was a great mass of very beautiful
snow-white hair. After a moment she spoke again, although her voice
was scarcely any more gentle than before.
"Well, this is the last time I'll come on such a fool's errand as
this," she exclaimed. "Here I've been wandering about since early
morning, swearing at porters and wondering all the time why I ever
started, and the very man I came to see has died before I could get to
him. Why the devil couldn't he die next week, or a month ago, or any
other time? Who are you, sir?" she asked, quite suddenly and fiercely,
addressing the captain.
The captain presented himself with some formality, and she nodded at
him in acknowledgment. The captain went on to state briefly that he
was a friend of the dead man, and had come there that day chiefly on
account of the child. She became alert and eager in an instant.
"Ah, I'd almost forgotten it. I heard there was a child. Where is
he?--what is he?--how is he?--can't you speak, man?"
"He is beside you now, madam," said the captain, quietly.
She twisted Comethup round, and dropped her stick with a clatter, and
took him by both shoulders. Comethup almost felt that the closed eyes
could see him, so closely did she hold him for a moment and so still
did she sit. Then, in the same abrupt fashion as before, she cried:
"Well, can't you speak? What's your name, boy?"
"Comethup Willis," replied the boy.
She dropped her hands with startling suddenness from his shoulders
and got up, and spread the hands out before her. She was shaking and
trembling violently, and the corners of her mouth were twitching. "Who
spoke?" she asked, and her voice had fallen almost to a whisper. "Whose
voice was that?"
The captain wonderingly replied that it was the boy who had spoken.
She passed her hand across her forehead once or twice, still trembling
a little; it seemed as though she were trying to recall some old
remembrance, to bring back something which had long since slipped away
from her. Presently she sighed, then laughed nervously, and then
frowned. "Give me my stick there," she said.
Comethup picked up the stick and put it into her hand. She closed her
own hand over his and detained him, felt for her chair with her foot,
and sat down again.
"I am sorry, ma'am, if I frightened you," said Comethup politely.
"No, you didn't frighten me; it wasn't that. I--I like to hear you
speak. You never saw your mother, did you?" she asked abruptly.
"No," replied Comethup. "She died when I was born."
"Ah, well, you've got her voice, boy, just as she used to talk to
me. That's what startled me, coming from the grave like that." Still
holding his hand, she sat for a long time with her chin resting on the
top of her stick and without taking the slightest notice of anybody.
The captain broke the silence at last. "May I suggest, madam, that we
have not the pleasure of knowing--of knowing----"
She sat up with a start. "Oh, I'd forgotten all about it. My name's
Carlaw--Charlotte Carlaw. I'm this boy's aunt."
"I met your brother this morning in some excitement," said the captain.
"He informed me that he had had a letter from you, and that he expected
you to arrive. He was on his way to engage rooms for you at an inn."
Comethup, watching her face, saw that it began to work convulsively
in a most appalling manner; then she bent over her stick and began to
shake; and finally her great face broke up altogether and she burst
into hearty laughter, swaying and rocking herself in her chair and
seeming as though she would never stop. When, presently, she recovered
somewhat, she ejaculated breathlessly: "Well, that's good; Brother
Bob flaring about the town, looking for me, and seeing that my bed is
properly aired, and that fires are lighted, and warming pans got ready,
and that people understand my due importance. Oh, it's good, it's very
good!"
"He seemed very anxious, certainly," said the captain.
"Anxious? I should think so. I knew what a tremor he'd be in when
I sent that letter. Well, I only hope he'll engage rooms at every
blessed inn in the place--and pay for 'em. I won't stop anywhere now,
especially a place of his choosing. No inn shall hold me; I'll stop
here."
"But, my dear madam----" began the captain.
She turned on him fiercely. "Silence, sir! How dare you? This is my
brother-in-law's house, and I have a right to stop here if I will.
What's it to do with you? I never heard of such a thing. Do you think
I'm afraid of a dead man, or forty dead men? I'll stop just where I
please, I'll have you know." She turned away from him angrily, and
drew Comethup toward her. Bidding him stand quite still, she began to
pass her hands over his face, touching every feature so lightly that
he scarcely felt the touch at all; she dropped her hands finally with
a sigh of satisfaction, bade him speak again, and, on being obeyed,
sighed with still deeper satisfaction, and sat for a long time deep in
thought. The captain was beginning to wonder what he should do, and was
doubtful whether to stay or to go, although he scarcely cared to leave
the boy in that house of death, when Miss Charlotte Carlaw seemed to
plunge at once into his thoughts and to know them unerringly.
"You needn't be afraid to leave the boy here," she said, sharply.
"I can look after myself and him better than any two of you if I am
blind. I suppose there's a servant in the house, so that I can send for
anything if it's wanted?"
The captain reassured her upon that point, and she jerked her head at
him in dismissal. The captain courteously bade her "Good-day," patted
Comethup on the shoulder as he passed, and went out. After a few
moments of silence she asked the boy abruptly: "Your voice startled me
so that I forget what you said your name was. What is it?"
Comethup told her, slurring the word as much as he could to get over
the cumbrousness of it; but she made him repeat it again and again, and
each time more slowly, until she had got it completely; then she turned
it over and over angrily, pronouncing it quickly and slowly, and with
the accent here and the accent there; finally shook her head over it
and exclaimed: "I can't think what they gave you that ridiculous name
for; I don't like it. We'll change it."
Comethup thought of 'Linda, and of how she had expressed her
appreciation of it, and said courageously, "I like it."
"Oh, then we won't change it," said Miss Carlaw, and began to talk of
other things.
Now it happened that the captain, on his way to his house, ran full
tilt against Mr. Robert Carlaw, who was coming round a corner looking
very dejected. He informed the captain that he had been to the station
five times and had met every possible train, that he had engaged rooms,
that he had done everything, and still there was no sign of that dear
eccentric creature, his sister.
"Of course, you see, the difficulty is, one never knows when she may
swoop down, so to speak, upon one, and a man does not like to be
taken at a disadvantage; naturally he does not. This sort of thing is
worrying."
"I think I can relieve your mind," said the captain, with a smile.
"I've just seen your sister."
Mr. Robert Carlaw seized him excitedly by the arm. "Where? When? Take
me to her, I beg!"
The captain shortly related the circumstance of Miss Carlaw's visit
to David Willis's house, and, almost before the words were out of his
mouth, his hearer had turned sharply and set off at a run, with a
beaming face; his dejection was gone, and it was only when he neared
the house that he recollected the necessity for a dignified bearing,
and moderated his pace. As he turned into the garden, he strolled quite
easily and casually up the garden path and tapped at the door.
His sister heard him, and asked Comethup who it was. The boy, who had
glanced out of the window, told her. She began to laugh again, but
straightened her face as her brother entered the room.
That brother, who had been admitted by the little servant, advanced
toward Comethup as though to speak to him; saw the great figure in the
chair, rocking itself over the head of its stick, and started back in
astonishment. "My dear sister," he exclaimed, "I never expected to find
you here. I do assure you I----"
"Don't tell lies," she exclaimed.
"My dear Charlotte, I have been hunting everywhere for you."
"Well, I know that," she returned. "And you've just met Captain
What's-his-name, and he told you where I was. Why the devil can't you
tell the truth for once, Bob?"
"My dear sister, I do assure you----" he began; but she fiercely
interrupted him.
"There, save your breath. What do you want with me?"
"My dear girl----"
"Don't talk like a fool; I'm not a girl, nor a child--as you've found
before to-day. When the Lord sent me into the world without eyes, the
devil gave me some of his wits, to redress his Master's unfairness;
you've found that out before to-day, Bob. Let us understand each
other. I simply wrote and told you I was coming down here, because if
you'd met me unexpectedly in the street it might have been too much
for your nerves. But I don't think we have anything to say to each
other; I don't like you, and you don't like me; we fought like Kilkenny
cats when we were youngsters, and you generally got the worst of it,
although I couldn't see where I was hitting. Now we have to behave
like decent members of society, and we can't pummel each other, but I
generally manage to get the best of it still. What do you want?"
Mr. Robert Carlaw cleared his throat and settled his neckcloth, and
hesitated for a moment before speaking. At last he began: "My dear
sister, I had hoped that some--some of the unpleasantness which
embittered--yes, I repeat, embittered--my visit to London might have
been swept away at this later interview. Of course, I admit that the
fault was mine--it must have been--but----"
"Don't worry yourself; it _was_ your fault. But we don't come any
nearer to what you want."
Mr. Carlaw sighed, and stretched out his hand toward his sister;
showed his teeth in a fierce grin, and shook a fist at her. "I have
endeavoured to explain. My object in desiring to meet you is a pure and
a simple one--I may say a brotherly one."
She began to rock herself over the head of her stick again in that
dreadful fashion which had alarmed Comethup before. The boy would have
been glad to escape from an interview in which he appeared to have no
part, but that Miss Carlaw had laid her hand again on his shoulder, and
was detaining him beside her.
"O Bob, Bob, what a humbug you are! You're one of those fellows who
can't take a straight line. If fifty different roads branched out
before you, and you were blindfolded, and forty-nine of those roads
made for good and the other didn't, by the Lord, you'd choose the
other! I believe you've always been rather popular with women--I can
see you twirling your mustache; I'm sure you are, you dog--but you
haven't been popular with me. The others had ordinary eyes to see your
perfections; I had other eyes which served me better." She sat up
fiercely, and brought her stick down sharply on the floor. "Why the
devil can't you be honest? Why can't you say that you want my money?
There, don't protest; I swear I'd like you the better if you'd only say
straight out what you want. You've got all our late respected father's
cant and none of his firmness. Now, listen to me. Are you listening?"
"I am all attention, my dear Charlotte," replied Mr. Robert Carlaw,
humbly.
"Very well, then; let me tell you at once that I'm sick of all this
hunting and bowing and scraping after a poor old blind woman's money.
Hear me, you rascal! I've had not an ounce of real love or real pity
on this benighted earth since my mother died, years and years ago.
People have professed to pity me for what they deemed an affliction,
and have whispered in the next breath that my money was surely a
compensation. There have been men low enough and mean enough to be
ready to marry me--professing all sorts of things--for my money; my
own flesh and blood, in the shape of my dear brother Bob, is prepared
to grovel and bend humbly before me, in the hope that I may remember
him, and that he may fatten on what I leave when he has ceased to
remember me. Listen to me again. There is no more accursed being on
God's grossly mismanaged earth than the forlorn creature with money,
and without that which money can not buy. Now, brother Bob, I'm getting
old, and there'll be a chance for some of you before long to fly at
each other's throats on my account. But I'm going to try an experiment;
do you understand me--an experiment?"
Mr. Robert Carlaw at once expressed the keenest interest. "Delightful!
What vigour you still possess, my dear Charlotte! What is the
experiment to be?"
"I'll tell you. I'm going to make myself useful for once, in a way, if
I can. I haven't quite lost sight of the hope that there's some good,
some sweetness, in the world. You don't possess any, but that probably
isn't your fault. I don't possess much, although I'm a devilish
sight better than you are; but I may be able to find some. I've been
haunted a little lately by the memory of that girl--our sister--who
didn't care, or seem to care, a bit for any of the things I clutch so
strongly, and you would clutch if you could. She was fool enough, in
the world's eyes, to wait twenty years for a man who wasn't fit to
touch her hand--at least that's my view--and then to die before she
quite knew what the experiment was worth. God forgive me!--I might have
eased the way for both of them; but I chose to laugh, as others did,
and then was too ashamed afterward to do anything. Look here"--she
pushed Comethup forward a little--"this is her boy; and I've learned,
in a pretty long experience, to judge people by their voices and by
their faces, for I can know a face better than you could if you had a
dozen eyes. Bob, my dear, I'm going to make up for past neglect. This
child is left alone in the world; I'm going to look after it."
Mr. Robert Carlaw's jaw dropped; he hesitated a moment, and then came
forward protestingly. "But, my dear Charlotte, may I remind you that
you have already held out hopes to----"
"Nothing of the kind," she ejaculated. "I gave _your_ boy the chance
I might have given to any one else; I can't say I liked him, any more
than I like his father; but he's got a father to look after him, and
this lad hasn't. Besides"--she laughed a little--"your boy will make
his way in the world; he's got the voice and the manner for it; he'll
sail smoothly through things that would upset any one else. Therein he
favours his father. No, this is my experiment, and if I can squeeze a
little love and tenderness out of this baby for my own sake, and not
for the sake of my bank account--well, I sha'n't quite have failed."
She got up, still with her hand on the boy's shoulder, and began to
pace up and down that side of the room, firing a shot or two at Mr.
Robert Carlaw as she moved.
"You've been monstrous kind, Bob, and you've pretty well run yourself
off those fine legs of yours on my account this morning. I'm much
obliged to you, and, just to show you that I'm in a good humour, I'll
pay whatever bills you've been incurring on my account. And that
reminds me: I suppose, with funeral about to take place, and other
matters of that sort, I should be rather in the way here; besides, I
want to go to an inn, where I can swear at the waiters if necessary; it
relieves the mind wonderfully. So I won't stop here, after all; I'll go
to the inn."
"My dear Charlotte, my house, poor though it is, is quite at your
disposal."
"Thanks, I think not. No, my mind is made up, and I shall go to the
inn. This boy, with the name I haven't digested yet, can show me the
way. What is the place?"
"I ventured to take rooms for you at The Bell, in the High Street."
"Good; we shall find it. Good-day to you, brother Bob. Don't carry any
bitter thoughts in your mind about me, because it might destroy your
sleep, and I wouldn't have that happen for the world. Good-day to you!"
There was such a finality about those last words, and she began to pace
so resolutely up and down the room, pushing Comethup before her, that
Mr. Carlaw, after opening his mouth once or twice, as if to speak,
apparently gave up the matter as hopeless, and shrugged his shoulders
and went out without a word. After he had passed through the garden and
into the street Miss Carlaw, who had stopped in her walk, gave a short
laugh and addressed the boy.
"Nice man, that! Ran through one big fortune--married money--ran
through pretty well all that, with the exception of a fixed sum which
the wife was cute enough to secure for the boy and which is tied up, so
that the father can only use so much a quarter. Oh, a nice man! And he
hadn't even the _nous_ to go to the devil decently, whimpered over it,
and did it by halves, till the devil must have been pretty well ashamed
of his follower. There, we'll forget all about it. Take me to this inn
he mentioned. Is it far?"
"A very little way, ma'am," replied Comethup.
"Then we'll walk; I don't want to squeeze into that wretched fly again
if I can help it. And I suppose it's been waiting there all this time."
She got out her purse and deftly opened it, seeming to know every coin
it held by the mere touch of her quick fingers, selected two coins,
and handed them to Comethup. "There, run out and give him these and
come back to me. And, boy," she recalled him as he was hastening to the
door, "just remember that I'm your aunt, and call me so."
"Yes, aunt," he replied.
"That's better."
Comethup ran out and paid the driver, and ran back again. When his cap
was in his hand and she had got him again by the shoulder she stopped,
as they were nearing the door, hesitated a moment, and then spoke.
"You're not afraid of me?"
Comethup laughed, and assured her that he was not.
"That's well; you've no reason to be, as you shall find. Now go on, and
be careful how you go; remember you are my eyes for the future."
And the strange pair set out together.