A DASH OF ONIONS
It was about a fortnight later that one afternoon, soon after lunch,
Mrs. Fanning came into the drawing-room. She was somewhat
short-sighted, and she stood in the middle of the room, looking round
her. After a time, to my great horror, she caught sight of me. If I
had a moment to spare, I should have got behind the curtain, in order
to avoid her, but I had not that moment; she discovered her prey, and
made for me as fast as an arrow from a bow.
"Ah," she said, "here you are; I am going out driving in Albert's
brougham this afternoon. You didn't know, perhaps, that Albert had a
brougham of his own?"
"I did not," I answered.
"It is a recent acquisition of his; he is becoming a wealthy man is
Albert, and he started the brougham a short time ago. He had the body
painted red and the wheels dark brown--I was for having the wheels
yellow, because I like something distinct, but Albert said, 'No, _she_
would rather have dark brown.' Who do you think he meant by _she_,
now? That's the puzzle I am putting to you. Who do you think _she_
is?"
"You, of course," I answered boldly.
Mrs. Fanning favoured me with a broad wink.
"Ah now, that's very nice of you," she said, "but the old mother
doesn't come in anywhere when the young girl appears on the horizon.
It is about time for Albert to be meeting the young girl, and meet her
he will. Indeed, it is my opinion that he has met her, and that the
brougham which she likes is standing at the door. It is for the sake
of that young girl he has had those wheels painted brown, it is not
the wish of his old mother. But come for a drive with me, will you,
dear?"
"I am sorry," I began.
"Oh no, I am not going to take any refusal. Ah, there is your precious
dear mother coming into the room."
Before I could interrupt her, Mrs. Fanning had gone to meet my mother.
She never walked in the ordinary sense of the word, she waddled. She
waddled now in her stiff brown satin across the drawing-room, and
stood before mother.
"And how are you feeling this morning, Mrs. Wickham?" she said; "ah!
but poorly, I can tell by the look of your face, you are dreadfully
blue round the lips, it's the effect of indigestion, isn't it, now?"
"I have suffered a good deal lately from indigestion," replied mother
in her gentle tones.
"And a bad thing it is, a very bad thing," said Mrs. Fanning. "I cured
myself with Williams' Pink Pills for Pale People. Did you ever try
'em, Mrs. Wickham?"
"No," replied mother gravely.
"Well, well, they pulled me round. Albert was terribly concerned about
me a year ago. I couldn't fancy the greatest dainties you could give
me, I turned against my food, and as to going upstairs, why, if you'll
believe me, I could have no more taken possession of that attic next
to your young daughter than I could have fled. Now there ain't a stair
in Britain would daunt me; I'd be good for climbing the Monument any
fine morning, and it's all owing to Williams' Pink Pills. They're a
grand medicine. But what I wanted to say to you now was this: May Miss
Wickham come for a drive with me in my son's own brougham? I am
anxious to have an outing with her, and I see by her face she is
desirous to come; may she? Say yes, madam; if you are wise, you will."
I saw that mother was becoming a little excited and a little agitated,
and I knew that that would never do, so I said hastily--
"Don't worry mother, please, Mrs. Fanning; I will certainly come with
you for an hour or so."
"We won't be back in an hour, dear," said Mrs. Fanning, "nor for two
hours; we are going to enjoy ourselves with a tea out. You'll spare
your daughter until she comes back, won't you, madam? I mean you won't
fret about her."
I was just about absolutely to refuse, when Miss Mullins came into the
room. To my astonishment and disgust she came straight over to where
we were talking, and immediately took Mrs. Fanning's part.
"Oh yes," she said, "you must not disappoint dear Mrs. Fanning,
Westenra; she was so looking forward to having a time out with you. Go
with her. As to your mother, I will look after her. I have nothing at
all to do this afternoon, and mean to go and sit with her in the
drawing-room, or rather to bring her into my private room, where we
will have a cosy tea to ourselves."
There was no help for it. After Jane's treachery in siding with Mrs.
Fanning, I could only have refused by making a fuss, which would have
been extremely bad for mother, so I went upstairs and spent a little
time considering in which of my hats I looked worst, and which of my
jackets presented the most dowdy appearance. Alack and alas! I had no
dowdy jackets and no unbecoming hats. I put on, however, the quietest
I could find, and ran downstairs. Mrs. Fanning was waiting for me in
the hall. One of the servants of the establishment was standing near
with a heavy fur rug over her arm. Mrs. Fanning was attired in a huge
sealskin cape, which went down below her knees, and a bonnet with a
large bird of paradise perched on one side of the brim. She had a
veil, with huge spots on it, covering her broad face, and she was
drawing on a pair of gloves a great deal too small for her fat hands.
"Here you are, Miss Wickham," she said; "now, then, we'll go. Open the
door, please, Emma."
Emma did so, and we entered the carriage.
"Spread the rug, Emma," said Mrs. Fanning in a lordly tone. This was
also accomplished, and the next moment we were whirling away. Mrs.
Fanning laid her fat hand on my lap.
"Now, this is pleasant," she said; "I have been looking forward to
this. Do you know where I am going to take you?"
"I am sure I cannot tell," I answered; "but as we are out, I hope you
will let me look at the shops; I want to tell mother something about
the latest fashions; it often entertains her."
"Well, I am glad to hear you speak in that strain, it sounds so human
and womanly. Your tastes and mine coincide to a nicety. There's no one
loves shop-gazing better than I do; I have flattened my nose against
shop windows times and again, as long as I can remember. Before my
dear Albert became so wealthy, I used to get into my bus, and do my
hour of shop-gazing a-most every afternoon, but now it fidgets the
coachman if I ask him to pull up the horses too often. You like the
swing of the carriage, don't you, my dear? It's very comfortable,
isn't it? nearly as nice as if it had the yellow wheels that Albert
would not gratify his old mother by allowing. Ah, SHE has a deal to
answer for--a deal to answer for--however nice she may be in herself."
Here Mrs. Fanning favoured me with one of her broadest winks.
"The carriage is very nice," I replied.
"I fancied somehow that it would suit you, and I was most anxious to
see how you looked in it. Some people don't look as if they were born
to a carriage, others take to it like a duck takes to the water. Now,
you look very nice in it; you and your mother in this carriage would
look as genteel as two ladies could look. You don't know what a great
admiration I have for your mother. She is one of the most beautiful
women on God's earth."
"And one of the best," I said impulsively, and as I thought of all
that was going to happen to that most precious mother, and how soon
that presence would be withdrawn from our mortal gaze, and how soon
that spirit would go to the God who gave it, tears sprang to my eyes,
and even Mrs. Fanning became more tolerable.
"Ah, you are feeling cut to bits about her great delicacy," said that
good lady. "Any one can see that; but cheer up, cheer up, the young
ought to rejoice, and you of all women under the sun have the most
cause for rejoicement, Miss Wickham."
I did not ask her why, I did not dare, we drove on. It seemed to me
that we were not going anywhere near the shops, we were steadily
pursuing our way into the suburbs. After a drive of over an hour, we
suddenly found ourselves in a part of Highgate quite unknown to me. We
had been going uphill for some time, and we stopped now before some
iron gates; a woman ran out of a lodge and opened the gates, and then
we drove down a short avenue shaded by some fine trees. We drew up in
front of a large, substantial red-brick house, the door of which was
open, and on the steps stood Mr. Fanning. He ran down to meet us, with
both his hands extended.
"Ah! and you have brought the little thing," he said to his mother.
"What little thing?" I said to myself. This was really the final
straw. I had never, never even by my most intimate friends, been
spoken of as the "little thing," for I was a tall girl and somewhat
large in my ideas, and if anything rather masculine in my mind, and to
be spoken of as a little thing, and by Albert Fanning, was about the
final straw which broke the camel's back. My first intention was to
refuse to budge from the carriage, to fiercely demand that the
coachman should turn round and drive me straight back again to mother,
but on second thoughts, I reflected that I should lose a good deal of
dignity by this proceeding, and the best possible plan was to appear
as if nothing at all extraordinary had occurred, and to follow Mrs.
Fanning into the house.
"Yes, I have brought her," said that good woman; "here she is. She
looks slim beside your old mother, eh! Albert? but she's young; as
time goes on she'll spread like all the rest of us. Well, and here we
are, and she likes the brougham extremely; don't you, my dear? I could
see that if you had yielded to me with regard to the yellow wheels she
would not have approved. We must all humour her while she is young; it
is always the way, always the way, ain't it, Albert? And I never saw a
girl look nicer in a brougham than she does. She did enjoy her drive;
it was lovely to see her. Well, now, she'll enjoy still more what's
before her--the house and the grounds. It's a bit of a surprise we
have for you, my dear," continued the old lady, turning to me. "It is
not every girl would have the luck to be brought here by _his_ mother;
but everything that can be made easy and pleasant for you, Miss
Wickham, shall be made easy and pleasant. It was Albert's wish that
you should come here with me, and he said you would much rather it was
not bragged about at the boarding-house beforehand. This is my son
Albert's new house, furnished according to his own taste, which is
excellent, nothing showy nor gimcrack, all firm and good, bought at
Maple's, dear, in Tottenham Court Road, and the very best the
establishment could furnish. Everything new, shining, and _paid_ for,
dear, paid for. You can see the bills, not a debt to hang over your
head by-and-by, love. But come in, come in."
I really felt that I could not stand much longer on the steps of the
mansion, listening to this most extraordinary address made to me by
Mrs. Fanning. What did it matter to me whether Albert Fanning paid for
his household goods or not? and how could it concern me what shop he
chose to buy them at? But I felt myself more or less in a trap, and
knew the best way to prevent any crisis taking place was to put on an
assumed air of absolute indifference, and to take the first possible
opportunity of returning home.
"Jane must get the Fannings to leave to-morrow, whatever happens," I
said to myself, "and I must cling now to Mrs. Fanning for dear life. I
don't suppose Albert Fanning will propose for me while she is by." But
alas! I little knew the couple with whom I had to deal. Albert Fanning
had willed that I was not to cling close to his mother. Turning to the
old lady, he said--
"You're fagged and flustered. You have done things uncommonly well,
and now you'll just have the goodness to sit with your feet on the
fender in the drawing-room, and give yourself a right good toasting
while Miss Wickham and I are examining the house."
"Oh no," I began.
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Fanning; "don't be shy, love." She gave me another
wink so broad that I did not dare to expostulate further. Had I done
so, Albert would probably have gone on his knees on the spot and
implored of me there and then to make him the happiest of men.
Accordingly we all entered the drawing-room which was furnished _à la_
Maple. It was a large room, and there were a great many tables about,
and I wondered how stout Mrs. Fanning could cross the room without
knocking over one or two. She looked round her with admiration.
"It's amazing the taste you have," she said, gazing at her son as if
he were a sort of demigod. He put her into a comfortable chair by the
fire, and then he and I began to do the house. Was there ever such a
dreadful business? We began at the attics, and we thoroughly explored
room after room. I did not mind that. As long as I could keep Albert
Fanning off dangerous ground I was quite ready to talk to him. I was
ready to poke at the mattresses on the new beds, and to admire the
chain springs, and to examine the ventilators in the walls of every
single room. I said "Yes" to all his remarks, and he evidently thought
he was making a most favourable impression. We took a long time going
over the house, but I did not mind that, for Mr. Fanning was in his
element, and was so pleased with his own consummate common sense and
his own skill in getting the right things into the right corners, and
in showing me what a mind he had for contriving and for making money
go as far as possible, that I allowed him to talk to his heart's
content. The brougham must soon be ordered again, and we must get back
to town, and the awful time would be at an end. But when at last even
the kitchens had been inspected, and the action of the new range
explained to me, Albert said that he must now show me the grounds.
There was no escaping this infliction, and accordingly into the
grounds we went.
These were fairly spacious. There was a large fruit garden, and a
kitchen garden behind it, and Albert Fanning told me exactly what he
was going to plant in the kitchen garden in the spring--a certain bed
in particular was to be devoted to spring onions. He told me that he
hated salad without a good dash of onion in it, and as he spoke he
looked at me as much as to say, "Don't you ever give me salad without
onion," and I began to feel the queerest sensation, as if I was being
mastered, creeping over me. I wondered if the man really intended to
take me from the garden to the church, where the priest would be
waiting to perform the ceremony which would tie us together for life.
The whole proceeding was most extraordinary, but just at the crucial
moment, just when I was feeling that I could bear things no longer, I
heard Mrs. Fanning's cheery voice. How I loved the old lady at that
moment!
"Albert! Albert!" she called out, "the tea is cooling. I don't approve
of tea being drawn too long, and it has been in the teapot for ten
minutes. Come in this minute, you naughty young folks, come in and
enjoy your tea."
"I am coming," I answered, "I am very hungry and thirsty."
"Are you?" said Mr. Fanning, looking at me. "Coming, mother, coming."
I turned to run after the old lady, but he suddenly put out his hand
and caught one of mine, I pulled it away from him.
"Don't," I said.
"Don't!" he replied; "but I certainly shall. I mean often to touch you
in the future, so what does it matter my taking your hand now. I hope
to have you near me all day long and every day in the future. You must
have guessed why I brought you out here."
"I have guessed nothing, except that I am thirsty and want my tea," I
replied. "I cannot talk to you any longer."
"Oh yes, you can," he replied, "and you don't stir from here until I
have had my say. You thought to escape me that time in the
drawing-room a few weeks back, but you won't now. Don't be angry;
don't look so frightened. I mean well, I mean--I cannot tell you what
I _quite_ mean when I look at you, but there, you like the house?"
"Yes," I said, "very well."
"Very well indeed; let me tell you, Miss Wickham, there isn't a more
comfortable house nor a better furnished house, nor a better paid-for
house in the length and breadth of the county. And you like these
gardens, eh?"
"Certainly," I said.
"I thought so. Well, now, the fruit garden, and the kitchen garden,
and the pleasure garden, and the house, and the furniture, and the
master of the house are all at your disposal. There! I have spoken.
You are the one I am wishing to wed; you are the one I intend to wed.
I am wanting you, and I mean to have you for better, for worse. I have
not the slightest doubt that you have faults, but I am willing to run
the risk of finding them out; and I have no doubt that I have faults
too, but I do not think that they are too prominent, and, at any rate,
I am a real, downright son of Britain, an honest, good-hearted,
well-meaning man. I believe in the roast beef of Old England and the
beer of Old England, and the ways of Old England, and I want an
English girl like yourself to be my wife, and I will treat you well,
my dear, and love you well--yes, I will love you right well."
Here his voice broke, and a pathetic look came into his eyes, and I
turned away more embarrassed, and more distressed than ever I was in
my life.
"You will have all that heart can desire, little girl, and your poor,
delicate mother, shall come and live with you in this house; and she
and my mother can have a sitting-room between them. We shall be a
happy quartette, and you shall come to me as soon as ever you like,
the sooner the better. Now you need not give me your answer yet. We
know, of course, what it will be; it is a great chance for you, and I
am not denying it, but come and enjoy your tea."
"But I must and will give you my answer now," I replied. "How can you
for a single moment imagine that I can seriously consider your offer?
It is kind of you; yes, it is kind of any man to give his whole heart
to a girl; and, I believe, you are sincere, but I can only give you
one answer, Mr. Fanning."
"And that?" he said.
"It is quite--quite absolutely impossible! I could never love you; I
could never, never marry you. I am sorry, of course, but I have
nothing--nothing more to say."
"You mean," said Albert Fanning, turning pale, and a queer, half
angry, half wild look coming and going on his face, "that you _refuse_
me--me, and my house, and my brougham, and my gardens, and my paid-for
furniture! Is it true?"
"I refuse you, and all that you want to confer upon me," I answered.
"I know you mean well, and I am--oh, yes, I _am_ obliged to you. Any
girl ought to be obliged to a man who offers her the best he has; but
I could never under any circumstances marry you. Now, you know."
"You will rue it, and I do not think you mean it," he said. His face
turned red, then purple, he turned on his heel, and allowed me to walk
back to the house alone.
My head was swimming. My eyes were full of smarting tears which I
dared not shed. I entered the drawing-room where Mrs. Fanning was
waiting for me.
"Ah! here you are," she cried, rubbing her hands, and speaking in a
very cheerful tone; "and where is Albert? Has he--has he?--why, what
is the matter, my love?"
"I must tell you the truth," I answered, "for I know you will guess
it. Your son has been kind enough to ask me to marry him. You knew he
meant to ask me, did you not? but I--I have refused him. No, I don't
want any tea; I don't want even to go back in the brougham. I can
never, never marry your son, Mrs. Fanning; and you must have known
it--and it was very unkind of you to bring me here without saying
anything about it." And then I sank on the nearest chair, and sobbed
as if my heart would break.