URGENT MEASURES.
MISS PARSLOW, although she pretended to be rough, and to love dogs
better than the human race (for which she could give fifty reasons),
was as truly soft of heart as the gentlest woman that ever shed a tear.
She kept her own history to herself; and it never struck me that she
had any. That is to say, as concerning us men; who are always supposed
to be, but are not always, the side to be blamed, when things go amiss
in the matter of sweethearting. She had passed through some trouble in
her early days, as I found out long afterwards; but had not been soured
thereby, any more than a river has been poisoned by its tumbles in the
hills.
The spell of Kitty’s beauty and true goodness fell upon her. At first
she strove hard to make light of her, and then pretended still to do
so, when the effort was in vain; but in three days’ time it was all
over; and I felt that with all my claims of kindred, and the proud
Parslow extract of tea in my veins, I was chiefly regarded as Kitty’s
sweetheart. It was—“Where is Kitty? What would Kitty like for dinner?
Did Kitty tell you what she thought of this parasol? Tell Kitty that I
am waiting for her down the garden.” And so on, until I began to smile,
and to fear that I should never have my Kitty to myself. And the
beauty of it was that Miss Parslow seemed to think that I was not so
attentive as I should be to Miss Fairthorn.
“What did you mean, by carrying on as you did with that girl, Sally
Chalker?” she inquired one day in a very stern voice, when I had only
asked Miss Chalker if she was fond of roses. “Are you such an oaf as to
think that Sally Chalker is fit to wipe the shoes of Kitty Fairthorn?
And if it is her money that tempts you, remember that her father is a
most determined man. And there used to be such a thing as honour among
young men. What will Mr. Henderson say, when I tell him, as I shall at
the first opportunity, that you take advantage of being on the spot,
to try to cut him out with his precious Sally? And I believe that he
really is attached to her.”
There is no end of the bubbles that ladies blow, when they once begin
to dabble in love-affairs. They never can let well alone, and they have
such a knack of setting one another’s hackles up, that when I hear now
of any match being off, where I knew that the young people loved each
other, I never inquire about stern parents, but ask who the sisters and
female cousins are.
Even Kitty, the best and most sensible girl that ever wore a bonnet,
began to think at last that there must be something in all this
rubbish. I observed that she coloured, and glanced at me, whenever
Miss Chalker’s name came up, as it did pretty often, entirely through
my aunt, who would toss it about, as a dog throws a bone, when he
has exhausted all its grease. And I used to look down, as if I were
thinking very deeply. Perhaps she would love me more, if she grew
jealous.
Then she began to sigh, softly at first, and not enough for me to be
sure of it; but by-and-by more deeply, as she found me too polite to be
aware of this exertion of an undoubted private right. And she used to
say—“Oh, I do admire her, so much! I think she is so lovely. Don’t you
quite agree with me, Kit?” And I used to say—“Most perfect. Can there
be any doubt about it?” And then she would not look at me, perhaps for
half an hour.
I know that this was very wrong of me—as wrong as well could be. And
I used to steal a glance at Kitty, when she was not watching, and ask
myself if any man with two eyes in his head could turn them twice on
Sally Chalker, after such a view as that. However, I did not say so;
for I felt that my darling should know better, and if she chose to be
like that, why she must, until she came to reason; and that was her
place, more than mine. But I could not bear to hear her sigh.
Miss Parslow rather enjoyed this business, which was a great deal worse
of her than anything that I did. For she herself had set it going, with
no consideration for my feelings, and no right whatever. And I think
that she ought to have healed the mischief, which she could have done
at any moment; whereas she pretended not to see it, although she was
much too sharp for that.
However, it could not go on long, and I had made up my mind to clear it
up, when I was saved the trouble. For as I sat in my favourite place,
with the lovely valley before me, and the sun sinking into a bed of
roses far beyond the Surrey hills, I heard the little pit-a-pat that
was dearer than my pulse to me, and down the winding walk came Kitty,
carrying an ugly yellow book. She had no hat on, and her hair was tied
back, as if it had been troubling her; and as soon as she saw me she
turned away her head, and hastily passed her hand over her cheeks, as
if to be sure that they were dry. Then she looked at me bravely, though
her mouth was twitching, and said—“Oh, will you do it for me, if you
please?”
“Do what?” I asked very reasonably, though I began to guess what she
was thinking of; for the ugly book was a Railway Guide.
“Miss Parslow told me to ask you. She cannot make it out any more than
I can. It is very stupid, of course; but she says that she never met a
woman who could make out Bradshaw, and she would strictly avoid her, if
she ever did.”
“But what is it I am to make out? We can’t get to Sunbury, by any line,
my darling.” When I called her that, her dear eyes shone; but she went
on, as if she were correcting them.
“What I want to make out is a good quick train, without any extra fare
to pay, from London to Glasgow; and it must arrive by daylight, though
I suppose it would have to start at night for that. But I am not at all
afraid.”
“What on earth has got into this lovely little head?” I made offer to
take it between my two hands, as I had been allowed to do, once or
twice, when apparently falling back in health. But it seemed to prefer
its own support just now.
“You must be aware, if you will take the trouble to think for a minute
about it, that I cannot remain here in this sort of way, living upon
a perfect stranger, although she is goodness and kindness itself; and
running into debt in a country place like this, just because I have got
no money. The only thing for me is to find out my father. He may be
delighted to receive me now, and I may even be able to help him there.
Miss Parslow has promised most kindly to lend me quite money enough to
get to Glasgow. I must write to my father by this evening’s post, and
then I shall be able to start to-morrow; only I must let him know what
train I am likely to arrive by, for his time is always occupied.”
“A very nice programme!” I exclaimed, as she smiled, or tried to smile,
at her own powers of arrangement. “But if you please, Miss Fairthorn,
what am I to do?”
“You must not ask me,” she said, turning away; “there are so many
things for you to do. Soon you will be able to be at work again. And if
you don’t like that, you can marry some one with plenty of money, and
keep racehorses. I dare say it is a nice life, for those who like it.”
“I cannot make out a word of this,” I answered; “people with money, and
racehorses! And going to Glasgow by the train all night! Do try to tell
me, dear, what it is all about.”
“It is only natural that I should go to my father, when nobody wants
me. I am not blaming any one. You must not imagine that. I have only
myself to blame, for believing that I was a great deal more than I was.”
“When nobody wants you! Oh, Kitty, Kitty, I must be gone off my head
again; and that is why you want to run away from me. Look at me
honestly, and say that it is so. I would rather give you up, dear, and
go mad by myself; than marry you, if that has once got into your mind.”
She looked at me with terror, and deep amazement; then fell into my
arms, and threw her own around me, and put up her lips as a cure for
every evil.
“How can you say such wicked things?” she whispered, as soon as I
allowed her sweet lips room. “You can have no idea what I am, if you
suppose that I should ask whether you were off your head, or on it,
when once I had given all my heart to you. But you must not have
anybody else in your head.”
“As if I ever could!”
“Oh, but yes, you might.”
“I should like to know who it could be then. As if there were any one
in all the world fit to hold a candle to my own Kitty.”
“There’s a much prettier girl in this very place, if she did not stick
her elbows out so sadly, as she walks, and put her heels on the ground
before her toes. And if she had not got—well, not quite green eyes.”
“Somebody else has green eyes, I should say, if they were not as blue
as heaven. Sally Chalker? Why, I would not touch her with a pair of
tongs. And if I did, Sam Henderson would take the poker to me.”
“Oh, Kit, can you assure me, upon your word of honour, that there is
nothing between you and Miss Chalker?”
“No, I can’t. Because there is the whole world between us, and what is
more than ten times the whole world to me, a certain little Kitty, who
has no fault whatever—except that she is desperately jealous.”
“Jealous indeed! You must never think that. I hope I have a little too
much faith in you,” she said, as she came and coaxed me with her hand,
making me tremble with her love and loveliness.
But I said, “Confess, or I will never let you go;” and she looked up
and laughed, and whispered,—
“Well then, perhaps—but only ever such a wee bit.”
Miss Chalker’s ears must have tingled after that; for I called her a
vulgar and common-place girl—which was not at all true—and a showy
dressy thing, and I know not what, until Kitty came warmly to the
rescue; for she seemed to like her very greatly, all of a sudden, and
found out that she walked quite gracefully. Then I took the hateful
Bradshaw, and tied a flat stone in it, and flung it over the tops
of the trees into the Mole. And when we went in, as the dinner-bell
rang—for Miss Parslow kept fashionable hours now—that good lady looked
very knowing, and asked with a smile which was meant to be facetious,
whether I had seen Miss Chalker lately.
“I saw her sticking her elbows out down the street, and putting her
heels to the ground before her toes,” I answered; and true enough it
was, though I had never observed those little truths before. Miss
Parslow stared, and Kitty gave me such a glance, that I resolved to
have honourable amends, or do worse.
“You won’t have much more chance of running down our local belles,”
said my aunt, as she handed me a letter; “Mr. Henderson passed in
his dog-cart just now, to see the young lady who does such dreadful
things, and he kindly brought this letter from your uncle to me. He
seems in a great hurry; how unreasonable men are! I think he might have
come and paid his respects to Miss Fairthorn, even if he did not think
me worthy of that honour. Read it aloud. He is a diamond, no doubt; but
I think he should be treated as the Koh-i-noor has been.”
Knowing Uncle Corny’s style, I read without surprise:—
“DEAR MADAM,
“Kit has had quite time enough to get well. I am tired
of being here all by myself, and I want him in the
garden, for at least three weeks before he is married,
which I mean him to be then, if Miss Fairthorn will
kindly agree to it. Placed as she is, she will see
the sense of that; for it is the only way to make her
safe. And I wish her to be married here at Sunbury,
in our old church, where I have always had a pew. I
shall send the tax-cart for Kit to-morrow, and he will
arrange with the lady to come before Sunday to Widow
Cutthumb’s, where I will take uncommonly good care
that nobody molests her. On Sunday the banns will be
read for the first time, with Miss Fairthorn’s full
permission, and nobody else’s so far as I care. We
shall hope for the honour of your presence, when the
young people are joined together. Thanking you, Madam,
for your kindness to my nephew, and with my best
respects,
“I am faithfully yours,
“CORNELIUS ORCHARDSON.”
“Well, my dear Kitty,” said my aunt, when I had finished; “he disposes
of you as calmly as if you were a bushel of apples, or a sack of
potatoes. I thought it was the lady’s place to fix the auspicious day.”
“You cannot expect a bachelor to be at home among such questions;”
I came to my love’s rescue, for she knew not what to say, and was
blushing, and looking down, and wondering what to make of it. “But
I must go to-morrow, if he sends for me. If old _Spanker_ came for
nothing, I should never hear the last of it. My uncle has heard
something, which we do not know of. He is prompt, and to the purpose;
but I never knew him rash.”
“I see, I see;” Miss Parslow’s voice was much subdued, for she loved
a bit of mystery, and saw tokens of it here. “Don’t let us talk about
it now, until we’ve had our dinner. Kit’s last bachelor dinner here!
We’ll have a bottle of champagne, to make us laugh a little at this
peremptory wedlock. Your uncle is a curious man; but if it comes to
that, all men are very curious beings.”
“And ladies are so, in the other sense, and the active one of the
word; but we are never known to complain of that.”
“Of course you never have any secrets. Take your everlasting in to
dinner, and I will follow you. All the world will have to do that
by-and-by, if you only keep up to this high mark of constancy and
devotion.”
Kitty smiled at me, and I smiled at Kitty; for we knew that any lower
mark might do for other people.
Lofty and good as she was, my aunt could scarcely be expected to see
things thus. A lady who has never been up a ladder, is afraid of
her skirts, even more than of her head. Aunt Parslow was not at all
strait-laced—for she had given up caring about her figure now—but she
did think that Kitty and I were almost too much wrapped up in one
another; and perhaps that was why, in her feminine style, she had
brought Miss Chalker, or vainly tried to bring her, in between us.
On the following day, the spring-cart arrived, with Selsey Bill’s
biggest boy sitting up to drive; and away I went, with nothing truly
settled, but everything left elastic; as happens nearly always, when
the women have their way. I promised to bring Uncle Corny to reason (as
the ladies viewed that substance), and to come back the next day but
one, if wet bandages enabled the old horse to do it again. He was wiry
enough, but his wire was stiff, and some of the connections rickety.
“Kit, you are a fool,” Mr. Orchardson said, as soon as he had done the
outside talk; “do you mean to have that girl, or not?”
I assured him that I hoped quite as warmly and wholly to marry my
beautiful darling, as I did to be alive for the purpose of doing it,
now that the Lord had restored my health.
“Then look alive,” he answered, “or you will never do it. She is not
safe even where she is. I am not going to tell you what I know, because
you would think me fanciful! only I say that if it was my case, I would
not lose a day that is not demanded by manners and decency. You have
her father’s consent, and hers. You are surrounded by wily foes. I
have explained everything to Mr. Golightly! he is a sensible man, and
he does not care twopence for Miss Coldpepper, for she never gives
a sixpence she can help towards the church. Widow Cutthumb will take
fourteen shillings a week including coals and candles. Two weeks done
properly will make three Sundays, and you will be both in the parish.
I have got an old door, which I mean to put up, to keep people from
landing in her garden, and I defy them to get into the house from the
street. I believe they don’t know where your Kitty is at present; but
they will find out; and what can that old maid, with all her lap-dogs,
do to protect her? If you mean your Kitty to be ever Mrs. Kit, you must
look sharp, and no mistake.”
I was much surprised at his urgency, but could get no more reasons out
of him. Being equally urged by love, and strong distrust of coming
dangers, I did not lose a single day, but wrote to Miss Parslow by the
very next post, because she required, and indeed deserved, to have
a voice in all we did. Then I took the young horse on the following
day, for old Spanker found himself a little stiff, and brought back
my darling to her beloved Sunbury, where she had made up her mind to
dwell. Widow Cutthumb received her with curtseys and smiles, and a very
strong sense of her own importance. For the whole village now was on
tiptoe about us, and everybody seemed to take our side.
But if I stopped to tell a thousandth part of what was said, I should
never get married, which is the main point.
It must not be supposed that my Kitty all this time had neglected her
dear father. She had written to him several times from Leatherhead,
enclosing a note or two from Miss Parslow, as well as a few little
bills for soft goods. And he had replied in the most affectionate
manner, and enclosed some cash. This encouraged her now to write for
more; and he behaved most handsomely, considering how the other party
had been making boot upon the products of his brain. But he was a true
philosopher, and money to him was not the motive power of life, nor
even the shaft, but only the lubricator. He promised to be with us, if
he could; and his wife being still away in North Wales, there seemed
to be no sound reason why he should fear to come to London. Indeed it
seemed natural that he should come, before leaving England upon his
long cruise, for the _Archytas_—as the ship was called—had now been
completed in every detail, and was trying her engines at Greenock. And
so we hoped to see him upon the blissful day.