Miss Emelina Tippet was a maiden lady of pleasing countenance and
exceedingly uncertain age.
She was a poor member of a poor branch of an aristocratic family, and
feeling an unconquerable desire to breathe, if not the pure
unadulterated atmosphere of Beverly Square, at least as much of it as
was compatible with a very moderate income, she rented a small house in
a very dark and dismal lane leading out of that great centre of
refinement.
It is true that Beverly Square was not exactly the "West End," but there
are many degrees of West-endiness, so to speak, in the western
neighbourhood of London, and this square was, in the opinion of Miss
Tippet, the West-endiest place she knew, because there dwelt in it, not
only a very genteel and uncommonly rich portion of the community, but
several of her own aristocratic, though distant, relations, among whom
was Mr Auberly.
The precise distance of the relationship between them had never been
defined, and all records bearing on it having been lost in the mists of
antiquity, it could not now be ascertained; but Miss Tippet laid claim
to the relationship, and as she was an obliging, good-humoured, chatty,
and musical lady, Mr Auberly admitted the claim.
Miss Tippet's only weakness--for she was indeed a most estimable woman--
was a tendency to allow rank and position to weigh too much in her
esteem. She had also a sensitive abhorrence of everything "low and
vulgar," which would have been, of course, a very proper feeling had she
not fallen into the mistake of considering humble birth lowness, and
want of polish vulgarity--a mistake which is often (sometimes even
wilfully) made by persons who consider themselves much wiser than Miss
Tippet, but who are not wise enough to see a distinct shade of true
vulgarity in their own sentiments.
The dark, dismal lane, named Poorthing Lane, besides forming an asylum
for decayed and would-be aristocrats, and a vestibule, as it were, to
Beverly Square, was a convenient retreat for sundry green-grocers and
public-house keepers and small trades-people, who supplied the
densely-peopled surrounding district, and even some of the inhabitants
of Beverly Square itself, with the necessaries of life. It was also a
thoroughfare for the gay equipages of the square, which passed through
it daily on their way to and from the adjoining stables, thereby
endangering the lives of precocious babies who could crawl, but could
not walk away from home, as well as affording food for criticism and
scandal, not to mention the leaving behind of a species of secondhand
odour of gentility such as coachmen and footmen can give forth.
Miss Tippet's means being small, she rented a proportionately small
residence, consisting of two floors, which were the upper portion of a
house, whose ground floor was a toy-shop. The owner of the toy-shop,
David Boone, was Miss Tippet's landlord; but not the owner of the
tenement. He rented the whole, and sublet the upper portion. Miss
Tippet's parlour windows commanded a near view of the lodging opposite,
into every corner and crevice of which she could have seen, had not the
windows been encrusted with impenetrable dirt. Her own domestic
arrangements were concealed from view by small green venetian blinds,
which rose from below, and met the large venetians which descended from
above. The good lady's bedroom windows in the upper floor commanded a
near view--much too near--of a stack of chimneys, between which and
another stack, farther over, she had a glimpse of part of the gable end
of a house, and the topmost bough of a tree in Beverly Square. It was
this prospect into paradise, terrestrially speaking, that influenced
Miss Tippet in the choice of her abode.
When William Willders reached the small door of Number 6, Poorthing
Lane, and raised his hand to knock, the said door opened as if it had
been trained to admit visitors of its own accord, and Miss Matty Merryon
issued forth, followed by a bright blue-eyed girl of about twelve years
of age.
"Well, boy, was ye comin' here?" inquired Matty, as the lad stepped
aside to let them pass.
"Yes, I was. Does Miss Tippet live here?"
"She does, boy, what d'ye want with her?"
"I want to see her, young 'ooman, so you'd better cut away up an' tell
her a gen'lm'n requests a few words private conversation with her."
The little girl laughed at this speech, and Matty, addressing Willie as
a "dirty spalpeen," said he had better go with her to a shop first, and
she'd then take him back and introduce him to Miss Tippet.
"You see I can't let ye in all be yer lone, cushla; for what would the
neighbours say, you know! I'm only goin' to the toy-shop, an' won't
kape ye a minit, for Miss Emma don't take long to her bargains."
Willie might probably have demurred to this delay; but on hearing that
the blue-eyed girl wanted to make purchases, he at once agreed to the
proposal, and followed them into the toy-shop.
David Boone, who stepped out of the back-shop to serve them, was, if we
may say so, very unlike his trade. A grave, tall, long-legged,
long-nosed, raw-boned, melancholy-looking creature such as he, might
have been an undertaker, or a mute, or a sexton, or a policeman, or a
horse-guardsman, or even a lawyer; but it was the height of impropriety
to have made him a toy-shopman, and whoever did it had no notion
whatever of the fitness of things. One could not resist the idea that
his clumsy legs would certainly upset the slender wooden toys with which
the floor and counters were covered, and his fingers seemed made to
break things. The figure of Punch which hung from the ceiling appeared
inclined to hit him as he passed to and fro, and the pretty little dolls
with the sweet pink faces, and very flaxen hair and cerulean eyes were
evidently laughing at him.
Nevertheless, David Boone was a kind-hearted man, very fond of children,
and extremely unlike, in some respects, what people imagined him at
first sight to be.
"Well, Miss Ward, what can I supply you with to-day?" said he blandly.
"Please, Mr Boone, I want a slate and a piece of slate-pencil." Emma
looked up with a sweet smile at the tall shopman, who looked down upon
her with grave benignity, as he produced the articles required.
"D'you kape turpentine?" said Matty, as they were about to quit the
shop.
Boone started, and said almost testily, "No, I _don't_. Why do you
ask?"
"Sure, there's no sin in askin'," replied Matty in surprise at the man's
changed manner.
"Of course--of course not," rejoined Boone with a slight look of
confusion, as he made a sudden assault with his pocket-handkerchief on
the cat, which was sleeping innocently in the window; "git out o' that,
you brute; you're always agoin' in the winder, capsizin' things. There!
you've been an' sat on the face o' that 'ere wax doll till you've a'most
melted it. Out o' that with you! No, Miss Merryon," he added, turning
to the girl with his wonted urbanity, "I don't keep turpentine, and I
was only surprised you should ask for it in a toy-shop; but you'll get
it of Mr White next door. I don't believe there's anythink in the
world as he can't supply to his customers."
David Boone bowed them out, and then re-entered the back-shop, shaking
his head slowly from side to side.
"I don't like it--I don't even like to think of it, Gorman," he said to
a big low-browed man who sat smoking his pipe beside the little
fireplace, the fire in which was so small that its smoke scarcely
equalled in volume that of the pipe he smoked: "No, I _don't_ like it,
and I _won't do it_."
"Well, well, you can please yourself," said Gorman, knocking the ashes
out of his pipe, and placing it in his vest pocket as he rose and
buttoned his thick pea-jacket up to the chin; "but I'll tell you what it
is, if you _are_ a descendant of the hunter of the far west that you
boast so much about, it's precious little of his pluck that you've got;
an' so I tell 'ee to your face, David Boone. All I've got to say is,
that you'd better be wise and take my advice, and think better of it."
So saying, Gorman went out, and slammed the door after him.
Meanwhile, Miss Matty Merryon, having purchased a small phial of
turpentine, returned to Number 6, and ushered Willie Willders into the
presence of her mistress.
Miss Emelina Tippet was neither tall nor stiff, nor angular nor bony; on
the contrary, she was little and plump, and not bad-looking. And people
often wondered why Miss Tippet _was_ Miss Tippet and was not Mrs
Somebody-else. Whatever the reason was, Miss Tippet never divulged it,
so we won't speculate about it here.
"A note, boy, from Mr Auberly?" exclaimed Miss Tippet, with a beaming
smile; "give it me--thank you."
She opened it and read attentively, while Master Willie glanced round
the parlour and took mental notes. Miss Emma Ward sat down on a stool
in the window, ostensibly to "do sums," but really to draw faces, all of
which bore a strong caricatured resemblance to Willie, at whom she
glanced slyly over the top of her slate.
Matty remained standing at the door to hear what the note was about.
She did not pretend to busy herself about anything. There was no
subterfuge in Matty. She had been Miss Tippet's confidential servant
before entering the service of Mr Auberly, and her extremely short stay
in Beverly Square had not altered that condition. She had come to feel
that she had a right to know all Miss Tippet's affairs, and so waited
for information.
"Ah!" exclaimed Miss Tippet, still reading, "yes; `get him a situation
in your brother's office,' (oh, certainly, I'll be sure to get that);
`he seems smart, I might almost say impu--' Ahem! Yes, well--."
"Boy," said Miss Tippet, turning suddenly to Willie, "your name is
William Willders, I believe?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, William, Mr Auberly, my relative, asks me to get you into my
brother's--my brother's, what's 'is name--office. Of course, I shall be
happy to try. I am always extremely happy to do anything for--yes, I
suppose of course you can write, and, what d'ye call it--count--you can
do arithmetic?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Willie.
"And you can spell--eh? I hope you can _spell_, Edward, a--I mean
Thomas--is it, or William?"
Miss Tippet looked at Willie so earnestly and put this question in tones
so solemn that he was much impressed, and felt as if all his earthly
hopes hung on his reply, so he admitted that he could spell.
"Good," continued Miss Tippet. "You are, I suppose, in rather poor
circumstances. Is your father poor?"
"He's dead, ma'am; was drowned."
"Oh! shocking, that's very sad. Was your mother drowned, too?"
"No, ma'am, she's alive and well--at least she's well for _her_, but she
an't over strong. That's why I want to get work, that I may help her;
and she wants me to be a clerk in a office, but I'd rather be a fireman.
You couldn't make me a fireman, could you, ma'am?"
At this point Willie caught Miss Ward gazing intently at him over the
top of her slate, so he threw her into violent confusion by winking at
her.
"No, boy, I can't make you a fireman. Strange wish--why d'you want to
be one?"
"'Cause it's such jolly fun," replied Willie; with real enthusiasm,
"reg'lar bangin' crashin' sort o' work--as good as fightin' any day!
An' my brother Frank's a fireman. Such a one, too, you've no notion;
six fut four he is, an' as strong as--oh, why, ma'am, he could take you
up in one hand, ma'am, an' twirl you round his head like an old hat! He
was at the fire in Beverly Square last night."
This speech was delivered with such vehemence, contained so many
objectionable sentiments, and involved such a dreadful supposition in
regard to the treatment of Miss Tippet's person, that the worthy lady
was shocked beyond all expression. The concluding sentence, however,
diverted her thoughts.
"Ah! was he indeed at that sad fire, and did he help to put it out?"
"Sure, an' he did more than that," exclaimed Matty, regarding the boy
with sudden interest. "If that was yer brother that saved Miss Loo he's
a ra'al man--"
"Saved Loo!" cried Miss Tippet; "was it _your_ brother that saved Loo?"
"Yes, ma'am, it was."
"Bless him; he is a noble fellow, and I have great pleasure in taking
you by the hand for his sake."
Miss Tippet suited the action to the word, and seized Willie's hand,
which she squeezed warmly. Matty Merryon, with tears in her eyes,
embraced him, and said that she only wished she had the chance of
embracing his brother, too. Then they all said he must stay to lunch,
as it was about lunchtime, and Miss Tippet added that he deserved to
have been born in a higher position in life--at least his brother did,
which was the same thing, for he was a true what's-'is-name, who ought
to be crowned with thingumyjigs.
Emma, who had latterly been looking at Willie with deepening respect,
immediately crowned him with laurels on the slate, and then Matty rushed
away for the lunch-tray--rejoicing in the fire, that had sent her back
so soon to the old mistress whom she never wanted to leave; that had
afforded scope for the display of such heroism, and had brought about
altogether such an agreeable state of unwonted excitation.
Just as the party were on the point of sitting down to luncheon, the
street-door knocker was applied to the door with an extremely firm
touch.
"Miss Deemas!" exclaimed Miss Tippet. "Oh! I'm _so_ glad. Rush,
Matty."
Matty rushed, and immediately there was a sound on the wooden passage as
of a gentleman with heavy boots. A moment later, and Matty ushered in a
very tall, broad-shouldered, strapping lady; if we may venture to use
that expression in reference to one of the fair sex.
Miss Deemas was a sort of human eagle. She had an eagle eye, an
aquiline nose, an eagle flounce, and an eagle heart. Going up to Miss
Tippet, she put a hand on each of her shoulders, and stooping down,
pecked her, so to speak, on each cheek.
"How are you, my dear?" said Miss Deemas, not by any means tenderly; but
much in the tone in which one would expect to have one's money or one's
life demanded.
"Quite well, dear Julia, and _so_ glad to see you. It is _so_ good of
you to take me by surprise this way; just at lunch-time, too. Another
plate and knife, Matty. This is a little boy--a friend--not exactly a
friend, but a--a thingumy, you know."
"No, I _don't_ know, Emelina, what is the precise `thingumy' you refer
to this time," said the uncompromising and matter-of-fact Miss Deemas.
"You're _so_ particular, dear Julia," replied Miss Tippet with a little
sigh; "a what's-'is-n-, a _protege_, you know."
"Indeed," said Miss Deemas, regarding Willie with a severe frown, as if
in her estimation all _proteges_ were necessarily villains.
"Yes, dear Julia, and, would you believe it, that this boy's
brother-in-law--"
"Brother, ma'am," interrupted Willie.
"Yes, brother, actually saved my darling's life last night, at the--the
thing in Beverly Square."
"What `darling's life,' and what `thing' in Beverly Square?" demanded
Miss Deemas.
"What! have you not heard of the fire last night in Beverly Square--my
relative, James Auberly--living there with his family--all burnt to
ashes--and my sweet Loo, too? A what's-'is-name was brought, and a
brave fireman went up it, through fire and water and smoke. Young
Auberly went up before him and fell--heat and suffocation--and saved her
in his arms, and his name is Frank, and he's this boy's brother-in-law!"
To this brief summary, given with much excitement, Miss Deemas listened
with quiet composure, and then said with grim sarcasm, and very slowly:
"Let me see; there was a fire in Beverly Square last night, and James
Auberly, living there with his family, were all burned to ashes."
Miss Tippet here interrupted with, "No, no;" but her stern friend
imposing silence, with an eagle look, continued:
"All burned to ashes, and also your sweet Loo. A `what's-his-name'
having been brought, a brave fireman goes up it, and apparently never
comes down again (burned to ashes also, I fancy); but young Auberly, who
went up before him, and fell--heat and suffocation being the result--
saved some one named `her' in his arms; his name being Frank (owing no
doubt to his having been re-baptised, for ever since I knew him he has
been named Frederick), and he is this boy's brother-in-law!"
By way of putting an extremely fine point on her sarcasm, Miss Deemas
turned to Willie, with a very condescending air, and said:
"Pray, when did your sister marry Mr Frederick Auberly?"
Willie, with a face of meekness, that can only be likened to that of a
young turtle-dove, replied:
"Please, ma'am, it isn't my sister as has married Mr Auberly; but it's
my brother, Frank Willders, as hopes to marry Miss Loo Auberly, on
account o' havin' saved her life, w'en she comes of age, ma'am."
Miss Deemas stood aghast, or rather sat aghast, on receiving this reply,
and scanned Willie's face with one of her most eagle glances; but that
small piece of impudence wore an expression of weak good-nature, and
winked its eyes with the humility of a subdued pup, while Miss Tippet
looked half-horrified and half-amused; Matty grinned, and Emma squeaked
through her nose.
"Boy," said Miss Deemas severely, "your looks belie you."
"Yes, ma'am," answered Willie, "my mother always said I wasn't half so
bad as I looked; and she's aware that I'm absent from home."
At this point Willie allowed a gleam of intelligence to shoot across his
face, and he winked to Emma, who thereupon went into private convulsions
in her handkerchief.
"Emelina," said Miss Deemas solemnly, "let me warn you against that boy.
He is a bad specimen of a bad sex. He is a precocious type of that
base, domineering, proud and perfidious creature that calls itself `lord
of creation,' and which, in virtue of its superior physical power, takes
up every position in life worth having," ("except that of wife and
mother," meekly suggested Miss Tippet), "_worth having_" (repeated the
eagle sternly, as if the position of wife and mother were _not_ worth
having), "worth having, and leaves nothing for poor weak-bodied, though
not weak-minded woman to do, except sew and teach brats. Bah! I hate
men, and they hate _me_, I know it, and I would not have it otherwise.
I wish they had never been made. I wish there had been none in the
world but women. What a blessed world it would have been _then_!"
Miss Deemas hit the table with her hand, in a masculine manner, so
forcibly, that the plates and glasses rattled, then she resumed, for she
was now on a favourite theme, and was delivering a lecture to a select
audience.
"But, mark you, _I'm_ not going to be put down by men. I mean to fight
'em with their own weapons. I mean to--"
She paused suddenly at this point, and, descending from her platform,
advised Miss Tippet to dismiss the boy at once.
Poor Miss Tippet prepared to do so. She was completely under the power
of Miss Deemas, whom, strange to say, she loved dearly. She really
believed that they agreed with each other on most points, although it
was quite evident that they were utterly opposed to each other in
everything. Wherein the bond lay no philosopher could discover.
Possibly it lay in the fact that they were absolute extremes, and, in
verification of the proverb, had met.
Be this as it may, a note was quickly written to her brother, Thomas
Tippet, Esquire, which was delivered to Willie, with orders to take it
the following evening to London Bridge, in the neighbourhood of which
Mr Tippet dwelt and carried on his business.