THE BEAUTIFUL GHOUL.
Wee Winnie called at the Club, while the President was still under the
cloud of depression, and Lillie had to force herself to look cheerful,
lest Miss Nimrod should mistake the melancholy, engendered by so many
revelations of the seamy side of life, for loss of faith in the Club or
its prospects.
Avid of experience as was the introspective little girl, she felt almost
fated for the present.
Miss Nimrod was astonished to hear of the number of rejections, and to
learn that she had whipped up the Writers, and the Junior Widows, and
her private friends to such little purpose. But in the end she agreed
with Lillie that, as no doubt somewhere or other in the wide universe
ideal Old Maids were blooming and breathing, it would be folly to clog
themselves up in advance with inferior specimens.
The millionaire, who was pottering about in blue spectacles, strolled
into the club while Wee Winnie was uttering magnificent rhapsodies about
the pages the Club would occupy in the histories of England, but this
time Lillie was determined the dignity of the by-laws should be
maintained, and had her father shown out by Turple the magnificent. Miss
Nimrod went, too, and so Lord Silverdale had the pleasure of finding
Lillie alone.
"You ought to present me with a pair of white gloves," he said,
gleefully.
"Why?" asked Lillie.
"I haven't had a single candidate to try for days."
"No," said Lillie with a suspicion of weariness in her voice. "They all
broke down in the elementary stage."
Even as she spoke Turple the magnificent ushered in Miss Margaret
Linbridge. Lord Silverdale, doubly vexed at having been a little too
previous in the counting of his chickens, took up his hat to go, but
Lillie murmured: "Please amuse yourself in the library for a quarter of
an hour, as I may want you to do the trying at once."
"How do you expect me to amuse myself in the library?" he grumbled. "You
don't keep one of my books."
Miss Margaret Linbridge's story was simple, almost commonplace.
"I had spent Christmas with a married sister in Plymouth," she said,
"and was returning to London by the express on the first of January. My
prospects for the New Year were bright--or seemed so to my then
unsophisticated eyes. I was engaged to be married to Richard
Westbourne--a good and good-looking young man, not devoid of pecuniary
attractions. My brother, with whom I lived and on whom I was dependent,
was a struggling young firework-manufacturer, and would, I knew, be glad
to see me married, even if it cost him a portion of his stock to express
his joy. The little seaside holiday had made me look my prettiest, and
when my brother-in-law saw me into a first-class carriage and left me
with a fraternally-legal kiss, I rather pitied him for having to go back
to my sister. There was only one other person in the carriage beside
myself--a stern old gentleman, who sat crumpled up in the opposite
corner and read a paper steadily.
"The train flew along the white frosty landscape at express rates, but
the old gentleman never looked up from his paper. The temperature was
chill and I coughed. The old gentleman evinced no symptom of sympathy. I
rolled up my veil the better to see the curmudgeon, and smiled to think
what a fool he was, but he betrayed no sign of sharing my amusement.
"At last, as he was turning his page, I said in my most dulcet tones:
'Oh, pray excuse my appropriating the entire foot-warmer. I don't know
why there is only one, but I will share it with you with pleasure.'
"'Thank you,' he said gruffly, 'I'm not cold.'
"'Oh, aren't you!' I murmured inwardly, adding aloud with a severe
wintry tone, 'Gentlemen of your age usually are.'
"'Yes, but I'm not a gentleman of my age,' he growled, mistaking the
imbecile statement for repartee.
"'I beg your pardon,' said I. 'I was judging by appearances. Is that the
_Saturday Slasher_ you have there?'
"He shook himself impatiently. 'No, it is not.'
"'I beg your pardon,' said I. 'I was again judging by appearances. May I
ask what it is?'
"'_Threepenny Bits!_' he jerked back.
"'What's that?' I asked. 'I know _Broken Bits_.'
"'This is a superior edition of _Broken Bits_ at the price indicated by
the title. It contains the same matter, but is issued at a price adapted
to the means of the moneyed and intellectual classes. No self-respecting
person can be seen reading penny weeklies--it throws doubt not only on
his income, but on his mental calibre. The idea of this first-class
edition (so to speak) should make the fortune of the proprietor, and
deservedly so. Of course, the thousand pound railway assurance scheme is
likewise trebled, though this part of the paper does not attract me
personally, for my next-of-kin is a hypocritical young rogue. But
imagine the horror of being found dead with a penny weekly in one's
pocket! You can't even explain it away.'
"He had hardly finished the sentence before a terrible shock, as of a
ton of dynamite exploding under the foot-warmer, lifted me into the air;
the carriage collapsed like matchwood, and I had the feeling of being
thrown into the next world. For a moment I recovered a gleam of
consciousness, just enough to show me I was lying dying amid the
_débris_, and that my companion lay, already dead, in a fragment of the
compartment, _Threepenny Bits_ clenched in his lifeless hand.
"With a last fond touch I smoothed my hair, which had got rather ruffled
in the catastrophe, and extracting with infinite agony a puff from my
pocket I dabbed it spasmodically over my face. I dared not consult my
hand-mirror, I was afraid it would reveal a distorted countenance and
unnecessarily sadden my last moments. Whatever my appearance, I had done
my best for it, and I wanted to die with the consciousness of duty
fulfilled. Murmuring a prayer that those who found my body would not
imitate me in judging by appearances, if they should prove discreditable
after all, I closed my eyes upon the world in which I had been so young
and happy. My whole life passed in review before me, all my dearly loved
bonnets, my entire wardrobe from infancy upwards. Now I was an innocent
child with a white sash and pink ribbons, straying amid the sunny
meadows and plucking the daisies to adorn my hats; anon a merry maiden
sporting amid the jocund schoolboys and receiving tribute in toffy; then
again a sedate virgin in original gowns and tailor-made jackets.
Suddenly a strange idea jostled through the throng of bitter-sweet
memories. _Threepenny Bits!_
"The old gentleman's next-of-kin would come in for three thousand
pounds! I should die and leave nothing to my relatives but regrets; my
generous brother would be forever inconsolable now, and my funeral might
be mean and unworthy. And yet if the old misogynist had only been
courteous enough to lend me the paper, seeing I had nothing to read, it
might have been found on my body. _De mortuis nil nisi bonum._ Why
reveal his breach of etiquette to the world? Why should I not enable him
to achieve posthumous politeness! Besides, his heir was a hypocritical
rogue, and it were a crime against society to place so large a sum at
his disposal. Overwhelmed as I was by the agonies of death, I steeled
myself to this last duty. I wriggled painfully towards the corpse, and
stretching out my neatly-gloved fingers, with a last mighty effort I
pulled the paper cautiously from the dead hand which lay heavy upon it.
Then I clasped it passionately to my heart and died."
[Illustration: _I pulled the paper from the dead hand._]
"Died?" echoed Lillie excitedly.
"Well--lost consciousness. You are particular to a shade. Myself I see
no difference between a fainting fit and death except that one attack of
the latter is fatal."
"As to that," answered Lillie. "I consider we die every night and dream
we are alive. To fall asleep is to die painlessly. It is, perhaps, a
pity we are resurrected to tea and toast and toilette. However, I am
glad you did not really die. I feared I was in for a tale of
re-incarnation or spooks or hypnotism or telepathy or astral bodies. One
hears so many marvellous stories, now that we have left off believing in
miracles. Really, man's credulity is the perpetual miracle."
"I have not left off believing in miracles," replied Miss Linbridge
seriously. "How could I? Was I not saved by one? A very gallant miracle,
too, for it took no trouble to save my crusty old fellow-traveller,
while it left me without a scratch. I am afraid I should not have been
grateful for salvation without good looks. To face life without a pretty
face were worse than death. You agree with me?"
"Not entirely. There are higher things in life than beautiful faces,"
said Lillie gravely.
"Certainly. Beautiful bonnets," said the candidate with laughing levity.
"And lower things--beautiful boots. But you would not seriously argue
that there is anything else so indispensable to a woman as beauty, or
that to live plain is worth the trouble of living?"
"Why not? Plain living and high thinking!" murmured Lillie.
"All nonsense! We needn't pretend--we aren't with men. You would talk
differently if you were born ugly! Goodness gracious, don't we know that
a girl may have a whole cemetery of virtues and no man will look at her
if she is devoid of charms of face or purse. It's all nonsense what
Ruskin says about a well-bred modest girl being necessarily beautiful.
It is only a pleasing fiction that morality is invaluable to the
complexion. Of course if Ruskin's girl chose to dress with care, she
could express her goodness less plainly; but as a rule goodness and
dowdiness are synonymous. I think the function of a woman is to look
well, and our severest reprobation should be extended to those
conscienceless creatures who allow themselves to be seen in the company
of gentlemen in frumpish attire. It is a breach of etiquette towards the
other sex. A woman must do credit to the man who stakes his reputation
for good taste by being seen in her society. She must achieve beauty for
his sake, and should no more leave her boudoir without it than if she
were an actress leaving her dressing-room."
"That the man expects the woman to make his friends envy him is true,"
answered Lillie, "and I have myself expressed this in yonder epigram,
_It is man who is vain of woman's dress_. But were we created merely to
gratify man's vanity?"
"Is not that a place in nature to be vain of? We are certainly not proud
of him. Think of the average husband over whom the woman has to shed the
halo of her beauty. It is like poetry and prose bound together. It is
because I intend to be permanently beautiful that I have come to cast in
my lot with the Old Maids' Club. Your rules ordain it so--and rightly."
"The Club must be beautiful, certainly, but merely to escape being
twitted with ugliness by the shallow; for the rest, it should disdain
beauty. However, pray continue your story. It left off at a most
interesting point. You lost consciousness!"
"Yes, but as my chivalrous miracle had saved me from damage, I was found
unconsciously beautiful (which I have always heard is the most graceful
way of wearing your beauty). I soon came to myself with the aid of a
dark-eyed doctor, and I then learnt that the old gentleman had been too
weak to sustain the shock and that his poor old pulse had ceased to
beat. My rescuers had not disturbed _Threepenny Bits_ from its position
'twixt my hand and heart in case I should die and need it; so when the
line was cleared and I was sent on to London after a pleasant lunch with
the dark-eyed doctor, I had the journal to read after all, despite the
discourtesy of the deceased. When I arrived at Paddington I found
Richard Westbourne walking the platform like Hamlet's ghost, white and
trembling. He was scanning the carriages feverishly, as the train glided
in with its habitual nonchalance.
"'My darling!' he cried when he caught sight of my dainty hat with its
sweet trimmings. 'Thank Heaven!' He twisted the door violently open and
kissed me before the crowd. Fortunately I had my lovely spotted veil all
down, so he only pressed the tulle to my lips.
"'What is the matter?' I said ingenuously.
"'The accident!' he gasped. Weren't you in the accident?'
"'Of course I was. But I was not very much crumpled. If I had sat in the
other corner I should have been killed!"
"'My heroine!' he cried. 'How brave of you!' He made as if he would
rumple my hair but I drew back.
"'Were you waiting for me?' I asked.
"'Of course. Hours and hours. O the agony of it! See, here is the
evening paper! It gives you as dead.'
"'Where?' I cried, nervously. His trembling forefinger pointed to the
place. 'A beautiful young lady was also extricated in an unconscious
condition from this carriage.'
"'Isn't it wonderful the news should be in London before me?' I
murmured. 'But I suppose they will have names and fuller particulars in
a later edition.'
"'Of course. But fancy my having to be in London, unable to get to you
for love or money!'
"'Yes, it was very hard for me to be there all alone,' I murmured. 'But
please run and see after my luggage, there are three portmanteaus and a
little black one, and three bonnet boxes, and two parasols, and call a
hansom, oh--and a brown paper parcel, and a long narrow cardboard
box--and get me the latest editions of the evening papers--and please
see that the driver isn't drunk, and don't take a knock-kneed horse or
one that paws the ground, you know those hansom doors fly open and shoot
you out like rubbish--I do so hate them--and oh! Richard, don't forget
those novels from Mudie's,--they're done up with a strap. Three bonnet
boxes, remember, and _all_ the evening papers, mind.'
"When we were bowling homewards he kept expressing his joy by word and
deed, so that I was unable to read my papers. At last, annoyed, I said:
'You wouldn't be so glad if you knew that my resurrection cost three
thousand pounds.'
"'How do you mean?'
"'Why, if I had died, somebody would have had three thousand pounds.
This number of _Threepenny Bits_ would have been found on my body, and
would have entitled my heir to that amount of assurance money. I need
not tell you who my heir is, nor to whom I had left my little all.'
"I looked into his face and from the tenderness that overflowed it I saw
he fancied himself the favored mortal. There is no end to the conceit of
young men. A sensible fellow would have known at once that my brother
was the only person reasonably entitled to my scanty belongings.
However, there is no good done by disturbing a lover's complacency.
"'I do not want your money,' he answered, again passionately pressing my
tulle veil to my lips. 'I infinitely prefer your life.'
"'What a bloodthirsty highwayman!'
"'I shall steal another kiss. I would rather have you than all the gold
in the world.'
"'Still, gold is the next best thing,' I said, smiling at his
affectionateness which my absence had evidently fostered. 'So being on
the point of death, as I thought, I resolved to make death worth dying,
and leave a heap of gold to the man I loved. This number of _Threepenny
Bits_ was not mine originally. When the crash occurred it was being read
by the old gentleman in the opposite corner but his next of kin is a
hypocritical young scapegrace (so he told me) and I thought it would be
far nicer for _my_ heir to come in for the money. So I took it from his
body the very instant before I fainted dead away!'
"'My heroine!' he cried again. 'So you thought of your Richard even at
the point of death. What a sweet assurance of your love!'
"'Yes, an assurance of three thousand pounds,' I answered, laughing
merrily. 'And now, perhaps, you will let me read the details of the
catastrophe. The reporters seem to know ever so much more about it than
I do. It's getting dusk and I can hardly see--I wonder what was the name
of old grizzly-growler--ah! here it is--"The pocket-book contained
letters addressed to Josiah Twaddon, Esquire, and----"'
"'Twaddon, did you say?' gasped Richard, clutching the paper
frantically.
"'Yes--don't! You've torn it. Twaddon, I can see it plainly.'
"'Does it give his address?' Richard panted.
"'Yes,' I said, surprised. I was just going on to read that, '4,
Bucklesbury Buildings----'
"'Great heavens!' he cried.
"'What is it? Why are you so pale and agitated? Was he anything to you.
Ah, I guess it--by my prophetic soul, your uncle!'
"'Yes,' he answered bitterly. 'My uncle! My mother's brother! Wretched
woman, what have you done?'
"My heart was beating painfully and I felt hot all over, but outwardly I
froze.
"'You know what I have done,' I replied icily.
"'Yes, robbed me of three thousand pounds!' he cried.
"'How dare you say that?' I answered indignantly. 'Why, it was for you I
meant them.'
"The statement was not, perhaps, strictly accurate, but my indignation
was sufficiently righteous to cover a whole pack of lies.
"'Your intentions may have been strictly honorable,' he retorted, 'but
your behavior was abominable. Great heavens! Do you know that you could
be prosecuted?'
"'Nonsense!' I said stoutly, though my heart misgave me. 'What for?'
"'What for? You, a plunderer of the dead, a harpy, a ghoul, ask what
for?'
"'But the thing was of no value!' I urged.
"'Of no intrinsic value, perhaps, but of immense value under the
peculiar circumstances. Why, if anyone chose to initiate a prosecution,
you would be sent to jail as a common thief."
"'Pardon me,' I said haughtily. 'You forget you are speaking to a lady.
As such, I can never be more than a kleptomaniac. You might make me
suffer from hysteria yesterday, but the worst that could befall me now
would be a most interesting advertisement. Prosecute me and you will
create for me an army of friends all over the world. If it is thus that
lovers behave, it is better to have friends. I shall be glad of the
exchange.'
[Illustration: _I can never be more than a kleptomaniac._]
"'You know I could not prosecute you,' he answered more gently.
"'After your language to me you are capable of anything. Your uncle
called you a rogue with his dying breath, and statements made with that
are generally veracious. Prosecute me if you will--I have done you out
of three thousand pounds and I am glad of it. Only one favor I will ask
of you--for the sake of our old relations, give me fair warning!'
"'That you may flee the country?'
"'No, that I may get a new collection of photographs.'
"'You will submit to being taken by the police?'
"'Yes--after I have been taken by the photographer.'
"'But look at the position you will be in?'
"'I shall be in six different positions--one for each of the chief
illustrated papers.'
"'Your flippancy is ill-timed, Margaret,' said Richard sternly.
"'Flippant, good heavens! Do you know me so little as to consider me
capable of flippancy? Richard, this is the last straw. You have called
me a thief, you have threatened to place me in the felon's dock, and I
have answered you with soft words, but no man shall call me flippant and
continue to be engaged to me!'
"'But, Maggie, darling!' His tone was changing. He saw he had
gone too far. 'Consider! It is not only I that am the loser by
your--indiscretion, your generous indiscretion----'
"'My indiscreet generosity,' I corrected.
"He accepted my 'indiscreet generosity' and went on. 'Cannot you see
that, as my future wife, you will also suffer?'
"'But surely you will come in for something under your uncle's will all
the same,' I reminded him.
"'Not a stiver. He never made a will, he never saved any money. He was
the most selfish brute that ever breathed. All the money he couldn't
spend on himself he gave away in charity so as to get the kudos during
his lifetime, pretending that there was no merit in post-mortem
philanthropy. And now all the good he might have done by his death you
have cancelled.'
"I sat mute, my complexion altered for the worse by pangs of
compunction.
"'But I can make amends,' I murmured at last.
"'How?' he asked eagerly.
"'I can tell the truth--at least partially. I can make an affidavit that
_Threepenny Bits_ belonged to my fellow-passenger, that he lent it me
just before the accident, or that, seeing he was dead, I took it to hand
over to his relatives.'
"For a moment his face brightened up, then it grew dark as suddenly as
if it had been lit by electricity. 'They will not believe you,' he said.
'Even if you were a stranger, the paper would contest my claim. But
considering your relation to me, considering that the money would fall
to you as much as to me, no common-sense jury would credit your
evidence.'
"'Well, then, we must break off our engagement.'
"'What would be the good of that? They would ferret out our past
relations, would suspect their resumption immediately after the
verdict.'
"'Well, then, we must break off our engagement,' I repeated decisively.
'I could never marry a prosecutor in posse--a man in whose heart was
smouldering a petty sense of pecuniary injury.'
"'If you married me, I should cease to be a prosecutor in posse,' he
said soothingly. 'As the law stands, a husband cannot give evidence
against his wife in criminal cases.'
"'Oh, well, then you'd become a persecutor in esse,' I retorted. 'You'd
always have something to throw in my teeth, and for my part I could
never forgive you the wrong I have done you. We could not possibly live
together.'
"My demeanor was so chilling, my tone so resolute that Richard was
panic-stricken. He vowed, protested, stormed, entreated, but nothing
could move me.
"'A kindly accident has shown me your soul,' I answered, 'and the sight
is not encouraging. Fortunately I have seen it in time. You remember
when you took me to see _The Doll's House_, you said that Norah was
quite right in all she did. I daresay it was because the actress was so
charming--but let that pass. And yet what are you but another Helmer?
Just see how exact is the parallel between our story and Ibsen's. Norah
in all innocence forged her husband's name in order to get the money to
restore him to health. I, in all innocence, steal a threepenny paper, in
order to leave you three thousand pounds by my death. When things turn
out wrong, you turn round on me just as Helmer turned round on
Norah--forgetting for whose sake the deed was done. If Norah was
justified in leaving her husband, how much more justified must I be in
leaving my betrothed!'"
"The cases are not quite on all fours," interrupted the President who
had pricked up her ears at the mention of the "Woman's Poet." "You must
not forget that you did not really sin for his sake but for your
brother's."
"That is an irrelevant detail," replied the beautiful ghoul. "He thought
I did--which comes to the same thing. Besides, my telling him I did only
increases the resemblance between me and Norah. She was an awful fibber,
if you remember. Richard, of course, disclaimed the likeness to Helmer,
though in doing so he was more like him than ever. But I would give him
no word of hope. 'We could never be happy together,' I said. 'Our union
would never be real. There would always be the three thousand pounds
between us.'
"'Well, that would be fifteen hundred each,' he answered with ghastly
jocularity.
"'This ill-timed flippancy ends all,' I said solemnly. 'Henceforth, Mr.
Westbourne, we must be strangers.'
"He sat like one turned to stone. Not till the cab arrived at my
brother's house did he speak again.
[Illustration: _The Old Maid arrives._]
"Then he said in low tones: 'Maggie, can I never become anything to you
but a stranger?'
"'The greatest miracle of all would have to happen then, Richard,' I
quoted coldly. Then, rejecting his proffered assistance, I alighted from
the vehicle, passed majestically across the threshold and mounted the
stairs with stately step, not a sign, not the slightest tremor of a
muscle betraying what I felt. Only when I was safe in my own little
room, with its lavender-scented sheets and its thousand childish
associations did my pent-up emotions overpower me. I threw myself upon
my little white bed in a paroxysm of laughter. I had come out of a
disagreeable situation agreeably, leaving Dick in the wrong, and I felt
sure I could whistle him back as easily as the hansom."
"And what became of Richard?" asked Lillie.
"I left him to settle with the cabman. I have never seen him since."
Lillie gave a little shudder. "You speak as if the cabman had settled
with him. But are you sure you are willing to renounce all mankind
because you find one man unsatisfactory?"
"All. I was very young when I got engaged. I did not want to be a burden
on my brother. But now his firework factory is a brilliant success. He
lives in a golden rain. Having only myself to please now, I don't see
why I should have to please a husband. The more I think of marriage the
less I think of it. I have not kept my eyes open for nothing. I am sure
it wouldn't suit me. Husbands are anything but the creatures a young
girl's romantic fancy pictures. They have a way of disarranging the most
careful toilettes. They ruffle your hair and your temper. They disorder
the furniture--and put their feet on the mantelpiece. They scratch the
fenders, read books and stretch themselves on the most valuable sofas.
If they help in the household they only make more work. The trail of
tobacco is over all you prize. All day long the smoke gets into your
eyes. Filthy pipes clog your cabinets, your window-curtains reek of
stale cigars. You have bartered your liberty for a mess of cigar-ash.
There is an odor of bar saloons about the house and boon companions come
to welter in whiskey and water. Their talk is of science and art and
politics and it makes them guffaw noisily and dig one another in the
ribs. There is not a man in the world to whom I would trust my sensitive
fragility--they are all coarse, clumsy creatures with a code of morals
that they don't profess and a creed of chivalry that they never
practise. Falsehood abides permanently in their mouth like artificial
teeth and corruption lurks beneath the whited sepulchres of their
shirt-fronts. They adore us in secret and deride us when they are
together. They feign a contempt for us which we feel for them." These
sentiments re-instated Miss Linbridge in the good opinion of the
President, conscious heretofore of a jarring chord. She ordered in some
refreshments to get an opportunity of whispering to Turple the
magnificent that the Honorary Trier might return.
"Oh, by the way," said Miss Linbridge, "I hunted out that copy of
_Threepenny Bits_ before coming out. I've kept it in a drawer as a
curiosity. Here it is!"
Lillie took the paper and examined it anxiously.
"What's that? _You_ reading _Threepenny Bits_?" said Silverdale coming
in.
"It is only an old number," said Lillie, "whereby hangs a tale. Miss
Linbridge was in a railway accident with it."
"Miss Linbridge, Lord Silverdale."
The Honorary Trier bowed.
"Oh what a pity it was an old number," he said. "Miss Linbridge might
have had a claim for damages."
"How very ungallant," said Lillie. "Miss Linbridge could have had no
claim unless she had been killed."
"Besides," added Miss Linbridge laughing at Lillie's bull, "it wasn't an
old number then. The accident happened on New Year's Day."
"Even then it would have been too old," answered Silverdale, "for it is
dated December 2d and the assurance policy is only valid during the week
of issue."
"What is that?" gasped Miss Linbridge. Her face was passing through a
variety of shades.
"Yes," said Lillie. "Here is the condition in print. You don't seem to
have noticed it was a back number. But of course I don't wonder at
that--there's no topical interest whatever, one week's very much like
another. And see! Here is even 'Specimen Copy' marked on the outside
sheet. Richard's uncle must have had it given to him in the street."
"The miracle!" exclaimed Miss Linbridge in exultant tones, and
repossessing herself of the paper she darted from the Club.