WHY DID HE DO IT?
Mr. Randolph had engaged a private room at the hotel. We sat down
three to dinner. During the first pause I bent towards him and said in
a semi-whisper--
"Why did you send that grand carriage for us?"
"Did it annoy you?" he asked, slightly raising his brows, and that
quizzical and yet fascinating light coming into his eyes.
"Yes," I replied. "It was unsuitable."
"I do not agree with you, Westenra," said mother.
"It was unsuitable," I continued. "When we stepped into our present
position we meant to stay in it. Mr. Randolph humiliates us when he
sends unsuitable carriages for us."
"It happened to be my friend's carriage," he answered simply. "He lent
it to me--the friend who has also given me tickets for the Lyceum. I
am sorry. I won't transgress again in the same way."
His tone did not show a trace of annoyance, and he continued to speak
in his usual tranquil fashion.
As to mother, she was leaning back in her chair and eating a little,
a very little, of the many good things provided, and looking simply
radiant. She was quite at home. I saw by the expression on her face
that she had absolutely forgotten the boarding-house; the attics were
as if they had never existed; the third floor and the second floor
boarders had vanished completely from her memory. Even Jane Mullins
was not. She and I were as we used to be; our old house in Sumner
Place was still our home. We had our own carriage, we had our own
friends. We belonged to Mayfair. Mother had forgotten Bloomsbury, and
what I feared she considered its many trials. Mr. Randolph talked as
pleasantly and cheerfully as man could talk, keeping clear of shoals,
and conducting us into the smoothest and pleasantest waters.
When dinner was over he led us to the same unsuitable carriage and we
drove to the Lyceum. We had a very nice box on the first tier, and saw
the magnificent play to perfection. Mr. Randolph made me take one of
the front chairs, and I saw many of my old friends. Lady Thesiger
kissed her hand to me two or three times, and at the first curtain
paid us both a brief visit.
"Ah," she said, "this is nice; your trial scheme is over, Westenra,
and you are back again."
"Nothing of the kind," I answered, colouring with vexation.
"Introduce me to your friend, won't you?" she continued, looking at
Mr. Randolph with a queer half amused gaze.
I introduced him. Lady Thesiger entered into conversation. Presently
she beckoned me out of the box.
"Come and sit with me in my box during the next act," she said, "I
have a great deal to say to you."
"But I don't want to leave mother," I replied.
"Nonsense! that cavalier of hers, that delightful young man, how
handsome and distinguished looking he is! will take care of her. What
do you say his name is--Randolph, Randolph--let me think, it is a good
name. Do you know anything about him?"
"Nothing whatever, he happens to be one of our boarders," I replied.
"He has taken a fancy to mother, and gave us tickets and brought us to
this box to-night."
Jasmine looked me all over.
"I must say you have not at all the appearance of a young woman who
has stepped down in the social scale," she remarked. "What a pretty
dress that is, and you have a nicer colour than ever in your cheeks.
Do you know that you are a very handsome girl?"
"You have told me so before, but I detest compliments," was my brusque
rejoinder.
"Oh! I can see that you are as queer and eccentric as ever. Now I tell
you what it is, it is my opinion that you're not poor at all, and
that you are doing all this for a freak."
"And suppose that were the case, what difference would it make?" I
inquired.
"Oh! in that case," answered Lady Thesiger, "your friends would simply
think you eccentric, and love you more than ever. It is the fashion to
be eccentric now, it is poverty that crushes, you must know that."
"Yes," I answered with bitterness, "it is poverty that crushes. Well,
then, from that point of view we are crushed, for we are desperately
poor. But in our present nice comfortable house, even contaminated as
we are by our paying guests, we do not feel our poverty, for we have
all the good things of life around us, and the whole place seems very
flourishing. Why don't you come to see us, Jasmine?"
"I am afraid you will want me to recommend my friends to go to you,
and I really cannot, Westenra, I cannot."
"But why should you not recommend them?"
"They will get to know that you were, that you belonged, that
you"--Jasmine stopped and coloured high. "I cannot do it," she said,
"you must not expect it."
"I won't," I replied with some pride.
"But all the same, I will come some morning," she continued. "You look
so nice, and Mr. Randolph is so--by the way, what Randolph is he? I
must find out all about him. Do question him about the county he comes
from."
I did not answer, and having said good-bye to Jasmine, returned to our
own box.
The play came to an end, and we went home. Mother had gone up to her
room. Mr. Randolph and I found ourselves for a moment alone.
"This evening has done her good," he said, glancing at me in an
interrogative fashion.
"Are you talking of mother?" I replied.
"Yes, you must see how much brighter she appeared. Do you think it did
really help her?"
"I do not understand you," I replied; "help her? She enjoyed it, of
course."
"But can't you see for yourself," he continued, and his voice was
emphatic and his eyes shone with suppressed indignation, "that your
mother is starving. She will not complain; she is one of the best and
sweetest women I have ever met, but all the same, I am anxious about
her, this life does not suit her--not at all."
"I am sure you are mistaken; I do not think mother is as miserable as
you make her out to be," I replied. "I know, of course, she enjoyed
this evening."
"She must have more evenings like this," he continued; "many more, and
you must not be angry if I try to make things pleasant for her."
"Mr. Randolph," I said impulsively, "you puzzle me dreadfully. I
cannot imagine why you live with us; you do not belong to the class of
men who live in boarding-houses."
"Nor do you belong to the class of girls who keep boarding-houses," he
replied.
"No, but circumstances have forced mother and me to do what we do.
Circumstances have not forced you. It was my whim that we should earn
money in this way. You don't think that I was cruel to mother. She
certainly did not want to come here, it was I who insisted."
"You are so young and so ignorant," he replied.
"Ignorant!" I cried.
"Yes, and very young." He spoke sadly. "You cannot see all that this
means to an older person," he continued. "Now, do not be angry, but I
have noticed for some time that your mother wants change. Will you try
to accept any little amusements I may be able to procure for her in a
friendly spirit? I can do much for her if it does not worry you, but
if you will not enjoy her pleasures, she will not be happy either. Can
you not understand?"
I looked at him again, and saw that his face was honest and his eyes
kind.
"May I give your mother these little pleasures?" he continued; "she
interests me profoundly. Some day I will tell you why I have a special
reason for being interested in your mother. I cannot tell you at
present, but I do not want you to misunderstand me. May I make up to
her in a little measure for much that she has lost, may I?"
"You may," I answered; "you are kind, I am greatly obliged to you. I
will own that I was cross for a moment--you hurt my pride; but you may
do what you like in future, my pride shall not rise in a hurry again."
I held out my hand, he took it and wrung it. I ran upstairs, mother
was sitting before her fire. She looked sweet, and her eyes were
bright, and there was a new strength in her voice.
"We have had a delightful evening," she said. "I hope you are not
tired, my darling."
"I am quite fresh," I answered. "I am so pleased you enjoyed it."
"I did, dearest; did you?"
"Yes, and no," I answered; "but if you are happy I am."
"Sit down by me, Westenra. Let us talk a little of what has just
happened."
I humoured her, of course. Mr. Randolph's words had rather alarmed me.
Did he see more ill-health about mother than I had noticed? was he
seriously anxious about her? But now as she sat there she seemed well,
very well, not at all tired, quite cheerful, and like her own self.
She took my hand.
Jane--dear, active, industrious Jane--had gone early to bed, but a
little supper had been left ready for mother. She tasted some of the
jelly, then laid the spoon down by her plate.
"You were rude to Mr. Randolph at dinner, West," she said.
"I am sorry if I vexed you," I answered.
"But what had he done to annoy you?"
"I could not bear him to send that carriage. It was so unsuitable,
servants in livery and those splendid horses; and all the boarders did
stare so. It seemed quite out of keeping with our present lot. But
never mind, Mummy, he may bring any carriage--the Lord Mayor's, if you
like--only don't look so unhappy." I felt the tears had come into my
voice, but I took good care they should not reach my eyes. I bent and
kissed mother on her cheek.
"You want your old life, your dear old life," I said, "and your old
comforts. I am very happy, and I want you to be the same. If I have
made a mistake, and you are injured by this, it will break my heart."
"I am not injured at all, I am happy," she said.
"You like Mr. Randolph?"
"I do. He belongs to the old life."
"Then he is no mystery to you?"
"I take him quite simply, as a good-natured fellow, who has plenty of
money, and is attracted by our rather queer position," she answered,
"that is all. I don't make mysteries where none may exist."
"Then I will do likewise," I said cheerfully.
The next morning when I awoke it seemed like a dream that we had
dined at the Cecil and enjoyed the luxury of a box at the Lyceum, that
we had for a brief time stepped back into our old existence.
The morning was a foggy one, one of the first bad fogs of the season.
The boarders were cross--breakfast was not quite as luxurious as
usual; even Jane was a little late and a little put out. The boarders
were very fond of porridge, and it happened to be slightly burnt that
morning. There were discontented looks, and even discontented words,
from more than one uninteresting individual. Then Mr. Randolph came
in, looking very fresh and neat and pleasant, and sat down boldly in
the vacant seat near me, and began to talk about last night. Mother
never got up until after breakfast. Mrs. Armstrong gazed at me, and
Miss Armstrong tossed her food about, and the other boarders, even the
Furlongs, cast curious glances in our direction; but I had determined
to take him at his word, and to enjoy all the pleasures he could give
us; and as to Mr. Randolph himself, I don't believe any one could
upset his composure. He talked a good deal about our last night's
entertainment, and said that he hoped to be able to take us to the
theatre again soon.
Just at that moment a shrill voice sounded in his ears.
"Did I hear you say, Mr. Randolph," called out Mrs. Armstrong from her
place at the opposite side of the board, "that you have a large
connection with the theatrical managers?"
"No, you did not, Mrs. Armstrong," was his very quiet rejoinder.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure." Mrs Armstrong flushed. Miss Armstrong
touched her on her arm.
"Lor! mother, how queer of you," she said; "I am sure Mr. Randolph
said nothing of the kind. Why, these play managers are quite a low
sort of people; I'm ashamed of you, mother."
"I happen to know Irving very well," said Mr. Randolph, "and also
Beerbohm Tree and Wilson Barrett, and I do not think any of these
distinguished men of genius are a low sort of people."
"It is the exception that proves the rule," said Mrs. Armstrong,
glancing at her daughter and bridling. "You should not take me up so
sharp, Marion. What I was going to say was this, Mr. Randolph--can you
or can you not get us tickets cheap for one of the plays. We have a
great hankering to go, both me and Marion, and seeing that we are all
in this house--one family, so to speak--it don't seem fair, do it,
that _all_ the favour should go to one?"--here she cast a withering
glance at me.
Mr. Randolph turned and looked at me, and that quizzical laughing
light was very bright in his eyes, then he turned towards Mrs.
Armstrong, and, after a brief pause, said gently--
"What day would suit you best to go to the Lyceum?"
"Oh, Mr. Randolph!" said Marion Armstrong in a voice of rapture.
"Because if to-morrow night would be convenient to you two ladies," he
continued, "I think I can promise you stalls. I will let you know at
lunch-time." Here he rose, gave a slight bow in the direction of the
Armstrongs, and left the room.
"Now I have done it, and I am glad," said Mrs. Armstrong.
"I do hope, ma," continued Marion, "that he means to come with us. I
want to go just as Mrs. Wickham and Miss Wickham went, in the brougham
with the coachman and the footman, and to have dinner at the Cecil. It
must be delightful dining at the Cecil, Miss Wickham. They say that
most dinners there cost five pounds, is that true?"
"I cannot tell you," I replied. "Mother and I were Mr. Randolph's
guests."
Mrs. Armstrong looked me up and down. She thought it best at that
moment to put on a very knowing look, and the expression of her face
was most annoying.
"Don't you ask impertinent questions, Marion," she said; "you and me
must be thankful for small mercies, and for those two stalls, even if
we do go as lone females. But I hope to goodness Mr. Randolph won't
forget about it. If he does, I'll take the liberty to remind him. Now
be off with you, Marion, your h'Art awaits you. What you may become if
you take pains, goodness only knows. You may be giving tickets
yourself for the theatre some day--that is, if you develop your
talents to the utmost."
Amongst other matters which Jane Mullins took upon her own broad
shoulders was the interviewing of all strangers who came to inquire
about the house. She said frankly that it would never do for me to
undertake this office, and that mother was not to be worried. She was
the person to do it, and she accordingly conducted this part of the
business as well as--I began dimly to perceive--almost every other,
for mother had next to nothing to do, and I had still less. I almost
resented my position--it was not what I had dreamed about. I ought to
help Jane, I ought to throw myself into the work, I ought to make
things go smoothly. Dear Jane's fagged face began to appeal less to me
than it had at first. Was I getting hardened? Was I getting injured? I
put these questions to myself now and then, but I think without any
great seriousness--I was sure that my plan was, on the whole,
sensible, and I would not reproach myself for what I had done.
On the evening of the day which followed our visit to the Lyceum a new
inmate appeared in the drawing-room. He was a tall man, considerably
over six feet in height, very lanky and thin, with a somewhat German
cast of face, pale-blue eyes, a bald forehead, hair slightly inclined
to be sandy, an ugly mouth with broken teeth, and a long moustache
which, with all his efforts, did not conceal this defect.
The new boarder was introduced to my mother and me by Jane Mullins as
Mr. Albert Fanning. He bowed profoundly when the introduction was
made, and gave me a bold glance. At dinner I found, rather to my
annoyance, that he was placed next to me. Jane usually put strangers
next to me at the table, as she said that it gave general
satisfaction, and helped to keep the house full.
"What sort of man is Mr. Fanning?" I asked as we were going down to
dinner.
"I don't know anything about him, dear," was her reply. "He pays well,
generously, in fact--no less than five guineas a week. He has a room
on the first floor, but not one of our largest. It is a very good
thing to have him, for we don't often let the first floor rooms. It's
the attics and third floors that go off so quickly. I don't know
anything about him, but he seems to be somewhat of a character."
I made no reply to this, but the moment we seated ourselves at table
Mr. Fanning bent towards me, and said in a low voice--
"I think myself extremely honoured to have made your acquaintance,
Miss Wickham."
"Indeed," I answered in some surprise. "And why, may I ask?"
"I have often seen you in the Park. I saw you there last season and
the season before. When I heard that you and Mrs. Wickham had taken
this boarding-house, I made a point of securing rooms here as quickly
as possible."
As he said this I felt myself shrinking away from him. I glanced in
the direction of the upper part of the table, where Mr. Randolph was
talking to mother. Mr. Fanning bent again towards me.
"I do not wish to say anything specially personal," he remarked, "but
just for once I should like to say, if I never repeat it again, that I
think you are a most enterprising, and, let me repeat, most charming
young lady."
The servant was helping me just then to some bread. I turned my face
away from Mr. Fanning, but when I looked round again he must have seen
my flushed cheeks.
"I am a publisher," he said, lowering his voice, which was one of his
most trying characteristics whenever he addressed me. "Most girls like
to hear about publishers and about books. Has the writing mania seized
you yet, Miss Wickham?"
"No," I replied, "I have not the slightest taste for writing. I am not
the least bit imaginative."
"Now, what a pity that is; but there is a great deal of writing
besides the imaginative type. What I was going to say was this, that
if at any time a small manuscript of yours were put in my way, it
would receive the most prompt and business-like attention. I am a very
business-like person. I have an enormous connection. My place of
business is in Paternoster Row. The Row is devoted to books, as you
know. All my books are of a go-ahead stamp; they sell by thousands.
Did you ever see a publisher's office, Miss Wickham?"
"No," I said.
"I should be most pleased to conduct you over mine, if you liked to
call some day at the Row. I could take you there immediately after
luncheon, and show you the premises any day you liked. Eh! Did you
speak?"
"I am very much occupied with my mother, and seldom or never go
anywhere without her," was my reply to this audacious proposal. I then
turned my shoulder upon my aggressive neighbour, and began to talk
frantically to a lady at my other side. She was a dull little woman,
and I could scarcely get a word out of her. Her name was Mrs. Sampson;
she was slightly deaf, and said "Eh, eh!" to each remark of mine. But
she was a refuge from the intolerable Mr. Fanning, and I roused myself
to be most polite to her during the remainder of the meal.