SHE MEETS CAPTAIN BUTLER
After this business you might suppose that Mr. Stanford made haste to
remove his plate and his lamp to his old or another house. Not at all.
He found it convenient to stay; and I contrived to endure him for the
sake of the child, that was now between three and four years of age: a
poor, feeble little creature, with but slender promise of life in its
white face and thin frame.
A few weeks after the trouble with Mr. Potter had happened I went to
my uncle’s house near the Tower to sup and spend the evening. As with
Stepney, so with this part; it has sunk pretty low. Yet when I was a
girl some very respectable families lived in the neighbourhood of the
Tower. My uncle’s house, as I have said, included his offices. They had
been the front and back parlours. In the front office sat a couple of
clerks, and the back was my uncle’s private office, where he received
his clients. The family occupied the upper part of the house, according
to the good old fashion of trade, when men were not ashamed of their
business. The rooms above corresponded with the offices below: the
front room was furnished as a drawing-room; the back as a parlour.
I was as much at home in my uncle’s house as if I had been his child,
and, passing the servants who opened the door, I went upstairs to my
aunt’s bedroom to take off my bonnet and brush my hair. On the landing
I heard voices in the drawing-room. I guessed my uncle had company,
and hoped, unless there were others, that it was not old Mr. Simmonds,
a ship-broker, a person to whom my uncle was always very civil and
hospitable, as being useful in business, but who, to my mind, was the
most wearisome, insipid, teasing old man that ever chair groaned under.
I removed my bonnet--you would laugh, were you to see the great,
coal-scuttle-shaped contrivance it was--brushed my hair, viewed myself
a little complacently, for it was an April day, the wind brisk, and my
walk had put some colour into my cheeks, from which my dark eyes took
a clearer fire, and went to the drawing-room. On entering I found my
uncle sitting with a gentleman. The stranger was not Mr. Simmonds. My
aunt stood at the window, looking out.
‘Why, here am I watching for you!’ said she. ‘Marian, my dear, Captain
Butler.’
I dropped the stranger a curtsey of those times, and with a quick
glance gathered him. Small need to call him captain to know he was a
sailor. His weather-darkened face, the fashion of his clothes, the
indescribable ocean-rolling ease of his manner of rising and bowing to
me, were assurance enough of his calling. I took him to be a man of
about thirty. His eyes were a dark blue, and full of good-humour and
intelligence; his hair was auburn, curling and plentiful; no feature of
him but was admirable--nose, mouth, teeth--all combined in a face of
manly beauty. He stood about five feet eleven, and, though there was
nothing of the soldier in his erect posture, his figure was without
any hint of that rounded back and hanging-armed stoop which come to
people who’ve had to pull and haul on a reeling deck for sour pork and
creeping bread in their youth.
These and like points I did not notice all at once in that first
glance; but before half an hour was gone I could have drawn a correct
portrait of him from memory, so often, at every maidenly and modest
opportunity, were my eyes upon him.
He had done business with uncle, and, having lately arrived in the
Thames, had called and been asked to stay to supper and meet me. They
had been talking about my cousin Will when I entered the room, and,
after the introduction, continued the subject, my uncle seeming to be
pretty full of it.
‘Oh!’ said I, catching up something that he had let fall. ‘So, then,
you have settled upon a ship for Will?’
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and a fine ship she is.’
‘There’s no finer ship than the _Childe Harold_ out of the Thames,’
said Captain Butler.
‘And her captain is a very good sort of a man, we are told,’ said my
aunt.
‘I have heard him well spoken of. I don’t know him,’ said Captain
Butler.
‘When does Will sail?’ I asked.
‘A fortnight to-day,’ answered my uncle.
‘You remember our compact?’ I said eagerly.
My uncle smiled slowly and shook his head.
‘But I say yes!’ I cried, starting up in my impetuous way. ‘Aunt, _you_
know it was settled. Will was my playmate as a child. I love him as a
brother, and I claim the right of giving him his outfit.’
‘She is a sailor’s child,’ said my uncle to Captain Butler.
They told me Will was out; he would return before supper. In a short
time I discovered that Captain Butler had been two years absent on a
trading voyage in the Pacific; that he was without a ship at present,
but was looking for the command of a new barque of about six hundred
and thirty tons, called the _Arab Chief_, in which he was thinking of
purchasing a share. I admired him so much that I could not help feeling
a sort of inquisitiveness, and asked him a number of questions about
his voyage and the sea life. Indeed, I went further. I asked him where
he lived and if he had any relatives. There was a boldness in me that
was bred of many years of independence and of fearless indifference to
people’s opinion. I was by nature downright and off-hand, and whenever
I had a question to ask I asked it, without ever troubling my head as
to the sort of taste I was exhibiting. All this might have been partly
owing to my lonely, independent life; to my being unloved and having
nobody to love; to my having been as much an orphan when my father died
as though I had lost my mother at the same time.
And yet, though some of my own sex may have turned up their noses at
my plain, bold questioning of Captain Butler, there is no man, I vow,
who would have disliked my manner in me. Captain Butler warmed up, a
fresh life came into his face with his frequent laugh, and he could
not take his eyes off me. My uncle nursed his knee and watched us with
a composed countenance. My aunt, who was a simple soul, followed the
conversation as one who hears and sees nothing beyond what is said.
‘Captain Butler,’ said my uncle, presently, ‘ask Miss Marian why it is
that she goes on living in the East when she has fortune enough to set
up as a fine lady in the West?’
‘I was born in Stepney,’ said I. ‘My house is there. My father and
mother lie buried there. I’ll not leave it.’
‘Who’s the wit,’ exclaimed Captain Butler, ‘who says that the further
he goes West, the more convinced he is that the wise men came from the
East?’
‘Pray, what is a fine lady?’ asked my aunt.
‘Ask the dressmakers,’ said Mr. Johnstone.
‘I hope my dear Marian will never change,’ said my aunt, looking
fondly at me. ‘She is fine enough, I am sure. If she goes West she’ll
be falling into company who’ll make her ashamed of her poor East-end
relatives.’
We rattled on in some such a fashion as this. It was because I was not
blind, and not because I was vain, that I speedily saw that Captain
Butler admired me greatly. If I stepped across the room, his eyes
followed the motions of my figure. If I spoke, his gaze dwelt upon
my lips. Even my poor, dear, slow-eyed aunt noticed the impression I
had made, as I gathered from her occasional looks at her husband. My
uncle asked me to sing, and I went to the piano and sang them a simple,
melodious sea-song which I used to hear my father sing without an
accompaniment. My knowledge of music was slight, but I had a correct
ear and a strong voice, and felt whatever I sang, because I chose to
sing only what I could feel, and my poor attempts always pleased.
Captain Butler stood beside me at the piano while I sang; he could not
have praised me more warmly had I been a leading lady at the Italian
Opera. I got up, laughing, and told him that the little music I had
was by ear.
‘I think I was never properly educated,’ said I. ‘My father hated
schools and believed that young girls thrown together made one another
wicked. I was educated by governesses, and, really, to be able to read
and write and to know the multiplication-table is a great deal to be
thankful for.’
‘My brother was right,’ said my uncle. ‘I hate girls’ schools myself.
Your finished school-miss knows all about Shakespeare and the musical
classes, but she can’t tell how many ounces go to a pound of beef.’
While we chatted, Mr. and Mrs. Lorrimer were announced. Nobody expected
them, but they were welcome. Old Mr. Lorrimer was a ship-chandler in
a rather big way. He was a vestige of the dead century, and, saving
the wig, went clothed almost exactly as his father had. I see him now
with his frill, stockings, snuff-box, and the company smirk that was in
vogue when he was a boy. He engaged my uncle in talk; my aunt and Mrs.
Lorrimer drew chairs together, and Captain Butler and I paired at a
little distance from the others.
I liked this man so much, I admired him so greatly; I had fallen so
much in love with him, indeed, at the first sight of his handsome,
winning face, that I found myself talking as freely as though we had
known each other for years. I told him that I lived with my stepfather
in the house that was my own, that my life was as dull as a sermon,
that I found no pleasure in life outside my lonely rambles, which I
described to him. I thought he looked grave when I told him I would be
away from my home for two or three nights at a time.
‘Every girl wants a mother,’ said he.
‘And a father,’ said I; ‘but she can’t keep them.’
‘Why don’t you go a voyage?’
‘I have never thought of going a voyage.’
‘The world is a fine show,’ said he. ‘It is well worth seeing. You are
rich, and should see the world while you are young enough to enjoy the
sight.’
‘I have five hundred a year,’ said I.
‘You are rich, Miss Johnstone, nevertheless,’ said he; and his eyes
made a very clear allusion to my face and figure--a more intelligible
reference than had he spoken.
‘I have a good mind to go a voyage,’ said I. ‘I am sick of my life, I
assure you. I hate my stepfather, and for all that I am rich, as you
call it, I am as much alone as if I had been left to the parish. Oh,
yes,’ said I, following his glance, ‘uncle and aunt are dear to me
and I love them, but----’ And I lay back in my chair and yawned and
stretched out my arms.
‘Come a voyage with me, Miss Johnstone,’ said he, laughing.
‘Where to?’ said I.
‘I can’t tell you yet, but you shall hear.’
‘Let me hear and you shall have my answer.’
‘Do you know anything about the sea?’
‘Do I know anything about the sea?’ I echoed, with a loud, derisive
laugh that caused everybody to look at me. ‘I wonder if you could ask
me a question about the sea which I couldn’t answer? Shall I put you
a ship about? Explain what reefing topsails means? Shall I wear ship
for you? Shall I snug you down a full-rigged ship, beginning with the
fore-royal-studding-sail?’ And so I went on.
He laughed continuously while I talked. The others were now listening
and laughing too.
Just then my cousin, Will Johnstone, came in, and I broke off my chat
with Captain Butler to greet the lad. Will was at this time between
fifteen and sixteen years of age. He was a manly-looking boy, easy
and gentlemanly, fitter for the midshipman’s quarters of a man-of-war
than an apprentice’s berth on board a merchantman. He had a look of my
father, and I loved him for that. He was dressed in sea-going clothes,
and though he had never been farther than Ramsgate in all his life, he
carried his new calling so prettily, there was such a pleasantly-acted
swing in his gait, you would have believed him fresh from a voyage
round the world. He came to me eagerly when he had shaken hands with
the others, took Captain Butler’s chair, and told me with a glowing
face about his ship, the _Childe Harold_--what a fine ship she was, how
like a frigate she sat upon the water, how that a fellow had told him
she could easily reel out twelve upon a bowline.
‘She lies in the East India Docks. You must come and see her, Marian.
When will you come? To-morrow--say to-morrow.’ Here he saw Captain
Butler looking our way. ‘Will you come, too, sir? Will you come with my
cousin?’
‘Come where?’ said Captain Butler.
‘Come to the East India Docks to-morrow to visit my ship, the _Childe
Harold_?’
‘“_My_ ship!”’ echoed my uncle.
‘At what hour?’ said Captain Butler.
Some talk went to this scheme; it was presently settled that Will and
Captain Butler should dine at my house next day, and afterward we
should visit the _Childe Harold_.
This was the merriest evening I had ever spent in my life. I sat at
supper between Captain Butler and Will, and had never felt happier. My
spirits were in a dance. I laughed even at poor old Mr. Lorrimer’s
jokes. After supper Captain Butler sang a song, and I liked it so well
that I begged him to sing another. Then I sang. The old people sat
down to whist in a corner. Captain Butler, Will, and I chatted, and so
slipped that evening away; till I was startled on lifting my eyes to
the clock to see that it was almost eleven.
How should I get home? Should I walk or drive? I stepped to the window
and parted the curtains and saw the stars shining.
‘It is a fine night,’ said I. ‘Will, give me your company, and I’ll
walk. I hate your coaches.’
‘Your way is my way, I believe,’ said Captain Butler. ‘May I accompany
you?’
I went upstairs to put on my bonnet. My aunt accompanied me. She
lighted candles beside a looking-glass, and I saw that my cheeks were
red and that my eyes shone like diamonds.
‘I believe that you have made a conquest to-night, my dear,’ said my
aunt.
‘A conquest has been made,’ I answered. ‘He is a very handsome fellow.
And now you shall tell me that he is married.’
‘No more than you are.’
‘Engaged to be married, then?’
‘I’ll not answer that. Sailors are sailors.’
‘I have thoroughly enjoyed myself,’ said I, kissing her.
‘Do you think, my dear, that it is quite in order you should ask
Captain Butler to dine with you to-morrow?’
‘Quite in order, aunt. If I am not to do what I like I will drown
myself.’
But I kissed her again after I had said this as an apology for the
strength with which I had spoken, and went downstairs.
Will and Captain Butler saw me to my house. The streets were pretty
full and flaring. The night fine. I took Will’s arm, and the three of
us went along leisurely past the Mint into Leman Street, and so into
the Commercial Road. No very romantic walk, truly, though in this great
world the woods and groves of the poets are not the only haunts of
emotion. There is sentiment in the East as well as in the West; and in
what do the passions of Whitechapel differ from those of Tyburnia?
My maid was sitting up for me. Twelve o’clock struck soon after I
reached home, so you will guess we had not hurried. For the first time
for many a long night I could not sleep. I lay thinking all the time
of Captain Butler. I had fallen in love with him, and I wondered at
myself. No man that I had ever before met had made the least impression
upon me. I knew my own heart well down to this moment--I had never
given men nor their love a thought. In what, then, lay the magic of
this man? I was so much in love with him that, had he stayed at my door
after Will Johnstone had gone away and asked me to be his sweetheart
and marry him, I should have consented. I was distracted with vexation
and delight. All night long I lay thinking of him, and if I slept in
snatches it was but to dream of him, so that, whether I was awake or
slept, he was present to me. I felt that I must find out, and quickly
find out, if he had a sweetheart. If so, why then I had not yet let go
of the reins; but I must make haste, or the bit would be hard in the
teeth and I should be run away with.
I thought of his suggestion to go a voyage with him, and pried close
into it for an inner meaning; but the memory of his manner would not
suffer me to find more than had met my ear. To fall in love in an hour,
thought I! Well, it must run in the blood. Father fell in love with
mother at first sight; that had been her fond memory--she had boasted
of it in his life and after his death--till, to my grief and to the
souring of the best sweetness that her heart held, she swallowed the
mumping prescription whose plate was upon my door, and whose lamp
glowed like a danger signal over the plate.