LORD DAVENANT'S GREATNESS.
Probably no greater event had ever happened within the memory of Stepney
Green than the arrival of Miss Messenger's carriage to take away the
illustrious pair from the boarding-house. Mrs. Bormalack felt, with a
pang, when she saw the pair of grays, with the coachman and footman on
the box, actually standing before her own door, for all to see, as if
she had not thoroughly appreciated the honor of having a peer and his
consort residing under her roof, and paying every week for board and
lodging the moderate sum of--but she could not bear to put it into
words. Now, however, they were going.
His lordship, in his new frock-coat tightly buttoned, stood, looking
constrained and stiff, with one hand on the table and the other thrust
into his breast, like a certain well-known statue of Washington. His
wife had instructed him to assume this attitude. With him were Daniel
Fagg, the professor, and Harry, the rest of the boarders being engaged
in their several occupations. Mrs. Bormalack was putting the final
touches to Lady Davenant's morning toilet.
"If I was a lord," said Daniel, "I should become a great patron to
discoverers. I would publish their works for them."
"I will, Mr. Fagg, I will," said his lordship; "give me time to look
around and see how the dollars come in. Because, gentlemen, as Clara
Martha--I mean her ladyship--is not ready yet, there is time for me to
explain that I don't quite know what is to happen next, nor where those
dollars are to come from, unless it is from the Davenant estates. But I
don't think, Mr. Fagg, that we shall forget old friends. A man born to a
peerage, that is an accident, or the gift of Providence; but to be a
Hebrew scholar comes from genius. When a man has been a school-teacher
for near upon forty years he knows what genius means--and it's skurse,
even in Amer'ca."
"Then, my lord," said Daniel, producing his note-book, "I may put your
lordship's name down for----how many copies?"
"Wal, Mr. Fagg, I don't care how many copies you put my name down for,
provided you don't ask for payment until the way is clear. I don't
suppose they will play it so low on a man as to give him his peerage
without a mite of income, even if it has to be raised by a tax on
something."
"American beef will have to be taxed," said Harry. "Never fear, my lord,
we will pull you through somehow. As Miss Messenger said, 'moral
certainty' is a fine card to play, even if the committee of the House of
Lords don't recognize the connection."
The professor looked guilty, thinking of that "Roag in Grane," Saturday
Davenant, wheelwright, who went to the American colonies.
Then her ladyship appeared complete and ready, dressed in her black silk
with a fur cloak and a magnificent muff of sable--stately, gracious, and
happy. After her, Mrs. Bormalack, awed.
"I am ready, my lord," she said, standing in the doorway. "My friends,
we shall not forget those who were hospitable to us, and kind in the
days of our adversity. Mr. Fagg, you may depend upon us. You have his
lordship's permission to dedicate your book to his lordship. We shall
sometimes speak of your discovery. The world of fashionable London shall
hear of your circles."
"Triangles, my lady," said Daniel, bowing.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Fagg; I ought to have known, and the triangle
goes with the fife and the drum in all the militia regiments. Professor,
if there is any place in Portman Square where an entertainment can be
held, we will remember you. Mr. Goslett--ah, Mr. Goslett, we shall miss
you very much. Often and often has my husband said that, but for your
own timely aid, he must have broken down. What can we now do for you,
Mr. Goslett?"
Nothing could have been more generous than this dispensing of patronage.
"Nothing," said Harry. "But I thank you all the same."
"Perhaps Miss Messenger wants a cabinet made?"
"No, no," he cried hastily. "I don't want to make cabinets for Miss
Messenger. I mend the office stools for the brewery, and I
work--for--for Miss Kennedy," he added, with a blush.
Lady Davenant nodded her head and laughed. So happy was she that she
could even show an interest in something outside the case.
"A handsome couple," she said simply. "Yes, my dear, go on working for
Miss Kennedy, because she is worth it--and now, my lord. Gentlemen, I
wish you farewell."
She made the most stately, the most dignified obeisance, and turned to
leave them; but Harry sprang to the front and offered his arm.
"Permit me, Lady Davenant."
It was extraordinary enough for the coachman to be ordered to Stepney
Green to take up a lord--it was more extraordinary to see that lord's
noble lady falling on the neck of an ordinary female in a black stuff
gown and an apron--namely, Mrs. Bormalack; and still more wonderful to
see that noble lady led to the carriage by a young gentleman who seemed
to belong to the place.
"I know him," said James, the footman, presently.
"Who is he?"
"He's Mr. Le Breton, nephew or something of Lord Jocelyn. I've seen him
about; and what he's doing on Stepney Green the Lord only knows."
"James," said the coachman.
"John," said the footman.
"When you don't understand what a young gentleman is a-doin', what does
a man of your experience conclude?"
"John," said the footman, "you are right as usual; but I didn't see
her."
There was a little crowd outside, and it was a proud moment for Lady
Davenant when she walked through the lane (which she could have wished a
mile long) formed by the spectators, and took her place in the open
carriage, beneath the great fur rug. His lordship followed with a look
of sadness, or apprehension, rather than triumph. The door was slammed,
the footman mounted the box, and the carriage drove off--one boy called
"Hooray!" and jumped on the curbstone. To him Lord Davenant took off his
hat. Another turned catherine-wheels along the road, and Lord Davenant
took off his hat to him, too, with aristocratic impartiality; till the
coachman flicked at him with his whip, and then he ran behind the
carriage and used language for a quarter of a mile.
"Timothy," said her ladyship--"would that Aurelia Tucker were here to
see!"
He only groaned: how could he tell what sufferings in the shape of
physical activity might be before him? When would he be able to put up
his feet again? One little disappointment marred the complete joy of the
departure: it was strange that Miss Kennedy, who had taken so much
interest in the business--who had herself tried on the dresses--should
not have been there to see. It was not kind of her, who was usually so
very kind, to be absent on this important occasion. They arrived at
Portman Square a little before one. Miss Messenger sent them her
compliments by her own maid, and hoped they would be perfectly
comfortable in her house, which was placed entirely at their disposal;
she was only sorry that absence from town would prevent her from
personally receiving Lady Davenant.
The spaciousness of the rooms, the splendor of the furniture, the
presence of many servants, awed the simple little American woman. She
followed her guide, who offered to show them the house and led them into
all the rooms, the great and splendidly furnished drawing-room, the
dining-room, the morning-room, and the library, without saying a word.
Her husband walked after her in the deepest dejection, hanging his head
and dangling his hands, in forgetfulness of the statuesque attitude. He
saw no chance whatever for a place of quiet meditation.
Presently they came back to the morning-room--it was a pleasant, sunny
room; not so large as the great dining-room, nor so gaunt in its
furniture, nor was it hung with immense pictures of game and fruit, but
with light and bright water-colors.
"I should like," said her ladyship, hesitating, because she was a little
afraid that her dignity demanded that they should use the biggest room
of all--"I should like, if we could, to sit in this room when we are
alone."
"Certainly, my lady."
"We are simple people," she went on, trying to make it clear why they
liked simplicity; "and accustomed to a plain way of life--so that his
lordship does not look for the splendor that belongs to his position."
"No, my lady."
"Therefore, if we may use this room mostly, and--and--keep the
drawing-room for when we have company----" She looked timidly at the
grave young woman who was to be her maid.
"Certainly, my lady."
"As for his lordship," she went on, "I beg he may be undisturbed in the
morning when he sits in the library--he is much occupied in the
morning."
"Yes, my lady."
"I think I noticed," said Lord Davenant, a little more cheerfully, "as
we walked through the library, a most beautiful chair." He cleared his
throat, but said no more.
Then they were shown to their own rooms, and told that luncheon would be
served immediately.
"And I hope, Clara Martha," said his lordship, when they were alone,
"that luncheon in this house means something solid and
substantial--fried oysters now, with a beefsteak and tomatoes, and a
little green corn in the ear, I should like."
"It will be something, my dear, worthy of our rank. I almost regret now
that you are a teetotaler--wine, somehow, seems to belong to a title. Do
you think that you could break your vow and take one glass, or even two,
of wine--just to show that you are equal to the position."
"No, Clara Martha," her husband replied with decision. "No--I will not
break the pledge--not even for a glass of old Bourbon."
There were no fried oysters at that day's luncheon, nor any green corn
in the ear; but it was the best square meal that his lordship had ever
sat down to in his life. Yet it was marred by the presence of an
imposing footman, who seemed to be watching to see how much an American
could eat. This caused his lordship to drop knives and upset glasses,
and went very near to mar the enjoyment of the meal.
After the luncheon he bethought him of the chair in the library, and
retired there. It was indeed a most beautiful chair--low in the seat,
broad and deep, not too soft--and there was a footstool.
His lordship sat down in this chair, beside a large and cheerful fire,
put up his feet, and surveyed the room. Books were ranged round all the
walls--books from floor to ceiling. There was a large table with many
drawers, covered with papers, magazines, and reviews, and provided with
ink and pens. The door was shut, and there was no sound save of a
passing carriage in the square.
"This," said his lordship "seems better than Stepney Green; I wish
Nathaniel were here to see me."
With these words upon his lips, he fell into a deep slumber.
At half-past three his wife came to wake him up. She had ordered the
carriage and was ready and eager for another drive along those wonderful
streets which she had seen for the first time. She roused him with great
difficulty, and persuaded him, not without words of refusal, to come
with her. Of course she was perfectly wide awake.
"This," she cried, once more in the carriage, "this is London, indeed.
Oh! to think we have wasted months at Stepney, thinking that was town.
Timothy, we must wake up; we have a great deal to see and to learn. Look
at the shops, look at the carriages. Do tell! It's better than Boston
city. Now that we have got the carriage we will go out every day and see
something; I've told them to drive past the Queen's Palace, and to show
us where the Prince of Wales lives. Before long we shall go there
ourselves, of course, with the rest of the nobility. There's only one
thing that troubles me."
"What is that, Clara Martha? You air thinkin', perhaps, that it isn't
in nature for them to keep the dinners every day up to the same pitch of
elevation?"
She repressed her indignation at this unworthy suggestion.
"No, Timothy; and I hope your lordship will remember that in our
position we can afford to despise mere considerations of meat and drink,
and wherewithal we shall be clothed." She spoke as if pure Christianity
was impossible beneath their rank, and, indeed, she had never felt so
truly virtuous before. "No, Timothy, my trouble is that we want to see
everything there is to be seen."
"That is so, Clara Martha. Let us sit in this luxurious chaise and see
it all. I never get tired o' sittin', and I like to see things."
"But we can only see the things that cost nothing or the outside things,
because we've got no money."
"No money at all?"
"None; only seven shillings and three-pence in coppers."
This was the dreadful truth. Mrs. Bormalack had been paid, and the seven
shillings was all that remained.
"And, oh, there is so much to see! We'd always intended to run round
some day, only we were too busy with the case to find the time, and see
all the shows we'd heard tell of--the Tower of London and Westminster
Abbey, and the monument and Mr. Spurgeon's Tabernacle--but we never
thought things were so grand as this. When we get home we will ask for a
guidebook of London, and pick out all the things that are open free."
That day they drove up and down the streets, gazing at the crowds and
the shops. When they got home tea was brought them in the morning-room,
and his lordship, who took it for another square meal, requested the
loaf to be brought, and did great things with the bread and butter--and
having no footman to fear.
At half-past seven a bell rang, and presently Miss Messenger's maid came
and whispered that it was the first bell, and would her ladyship go to
her own room, and could she be of any help?
Lady Davenant rose at once, looking, however, much surprised. She went
to her own room, followed by her husband, too much astonished to ask
what the thing meant.
There was a beautiful fire in the room, which was very large and
luxuriously furnished, and lit with gas burning in soft-colored glass.
"Nothing could be more delightful," said her ladyship, "and this room is
a picture. But I don't understand it."
"Perhaps it's the custom," said her husband, "for the aristocracy to
meditate in their bedrooms."
"I don't understand it," she repeated. "The girl said the _first_ bell.
What's the second? They can't _mean_ us to go to bed."
"They must," said his lordship. "Yes, we must go to bed. And there will
be no supper to-night. To-morrow, Clara Martha, you must speak about it,
and say we're accustomed to later hours. At nine o'clock or ten we can
go with a cheerful heart--after supper. But--well--it looks a soft bed,
and I dare say I can sleep in it. You've nothing to say, Clara Martha,
before I shut my eyes. Because if you have, get it off your mind, so's
not to disturb me afterward."
He proceeded to undress in his most leisurely manner, and in ten minutes
or so was getting into bed. Just as his head fell upon the pillows there
was a knock at the door.
It was the maid who, came to say that she had forgotten to tell her
ladyship that dinner was at eight.
"What?" cried the poor lady, startled out of her dignity. "Do you mean
to say that we've got to have dinner?"
"Certainly, my lady;" this young person was extremely well behaved, and
in presence of her masters and mistresses and superiors knew not the
nature of a smile.
"My!"
Her ladyship standing at the door, looked first at the maid without and
then at her husband, whose eyes were closed, and who was experiencing
the first and balmy influences of sweet sleep. She felt so helpless that
she threw away her dignity and cast herself upon the lady's maid. "See
now!" she said, "what is your name, my dear?"
"Campion, my lady."
"I suppose you've got a Christian name?"
"I mean that Miss Messenger always calls me Campion."
"Well, then, I suppose I must, too. We are simple people, Miss Campion,
and not long from America, where they do things different, and have
dinner at half-past twelve and supper at six. And my husband has gone to
bed. What is to be done?"
That a gentleman should suppose bed possible at eight o'clock in the
evening, was a thing so utterly inconceivable that Campion could for the
moment suggest nothing. She only stared. Presently she ventured to
suggest that his lordship might get up again.
"Get up, Timothy; get up this minute!" Her ladyship shook and pushed him
till he opened his eyes and lifted his head. "Don't stop to ask
questions, but get up right away." Then she ran back to the door. "Miss
Campion!"
"Yes, my lady."
"I don't mind much about myself, but it might not look well for his
lordship not to seem to know things just exactly how they're done in
England. So please don't tell the servants, Miss Campion."
She laid her hand on the maid's arm, and looked so earnest, that the
girl felt sorry for her.
"No, my lady," she replied. And she kept her word, so that though the
servants all knew how the noble lord and his lady had been brought from
Stepney Green, and how his lordship floundered among the plates at
lunch, and ate up half a loaf with afternoon tea, they did not know that
he went to bed instead of dressing for dinner.
"And, Miss Campion," she was now outside the door, holding it ajar, and
the movements of a heavy body hastily putting on clothes could be
distinctly heard, "you will please tell me, presently, what time they do
have things."
"Yes, my lady."
"Family prayers now? His lordship will lead, of course--a thing he is
quite used to, and can do better than most, having always----" Here she
stopped, remembering that there was no absolute necessity to explain the
duties of a village schoolmaster.
"There are no family prayers, my lady, and your ladyship can have dinner
or any other meal at any time you please."
"His lordship's time for meals will be those of his brother peers."
"Yes, my lady. Breakfast at ten?"
"Ten will do perfectly." It was two hours later than their usual time
and her husband's sufferings would be very great. Still, everything must
give way to the responsibilities of the rank.
"Will your ladyship take luncheon at half-past one, and tea at half-past
five, and dinner at eight?"
"Yes, now that we know them, these hours will suit me perfectly. We do
not in our own country take tea before dinner, but after it. That is
nothing, however. And supper?"
"Your ladyship can have supper whenever you want it," replied the maid.
She hesitated for a moment and then went on. "It is not usual for supper
to be served at all."
"Oh! then we must go without."
By this time her husband was dressed, and, obedient to instruction, he
had put on his new dress-coat, without, however, making any alteration
in the rest of his morning garments. The effect, therefore, when they
descended to the drawing-room would have been very startling, but for
the fact that there was nobody to see it.
If luncheon was a great meal, dinner was far more magnificent and
stately; only there were two footmen instead of one, and his lordship
felt that he could not do that justice to the dinner which the dinner
deserved, because those two great hulking fellows in livery watched him
all the time. After dinner they sat in the great drawing-room, feeling
very magnificent, and yet uncomfortable.
"The second dinner," said his lordship, in a half-whisper, "made me
feel, Clara Martha, that we did right to leave Canaan City. I never
before knew what they really meant by enjoying a title, and I don't
think I ever thoroughly enjoyed it before. The red mullet was
beautiful, and the little larks in paper baskets made me feel a lord all
over."