ENTERING ON A NEW HOME.
For once London was bright. A glorious spring day late in March had
gladdened the spirits of the metropolitan world, dreary with the fogs
and rains of the passing winter, and as the street passengers looked
up at the clear blue sky, the shining sun, they said to each other
that the day was a foretaste of summer.
The sun drew to its setting, and its red rays fell on the terminus of
the Great Western Railway at Paddington; on all the bustle and
confusion of a train just in. Amidst the various vehicles driving out
of the station with their freight, was a cab, containing two ladies
dressed in deep mourning, one of whom, the elder, had not recovered
from the pushing about to which she had been subjected in the
confusion of arrival, and was protesting that she should not recover
it, and that there ought to be arrangements made to protect lady
travellers from such. On the box beside the driver was a--was he a
gentleman, or was he a servant? If the latter, he was certainly a most
superior one in looks, but the idle people standing about and casting
their eyes up to the passing cabs were taking him no doubt for the
former. The luggage piled up on the top of the cab and on the front
seat of the inside, seemed to say that these travellers had come from
a distance.
In point of fact they had come from Hallingham, for they were no other
than Miss Davenal and her niece, and the gentleman on the box was
Neal. Miss Davenal kept up her chorus of complaint. It had begun with
the discomforts attendant on the arrival of a large train at the
terminus, and it would be continued, there was little doubt, for ever
and a day; for though Miss Bettina had come to London by her own free
decision, she had come sorely against her will.
"Jostling! pushing! hustling! roaring! It is a _shame_ that ladies
should be subjected to such. Why don't they manage things better?"
"But, Aunt Bettina, you need not have been in the bustle. If you had
but seated yourself in the cab, as Neal suggested, and allowed him to
see after the luggage--"
"Hold your tongue, Sara. What was one pair of eyes to look after all
the luggage we have got? I chose to see to it as well as Neal; and I
say that the way you get pushed about is shameful. My firm belief is,
we have lost at least ten of the smaller packages."
"No, no, aunt, they are all here; I counted them as they were brought
to the cab."
"Yes, that's about all you are good for!--counting the cabs! I'd spend
my moments to a little more purpose. Good heavens! we shall be run
down! If this is London. I wish I had never heard of it."
The cab threaded its way amidst the crowded streets and its inmates'
terrors--for Sara was little less timid than her aunt--until it drew
up before a small house in Pimlico; small as compared with their house
at home. Miss Davenal looked up at it and gave a groan; and Neal
opened the cab door.
"Is _this_ the place, Neal? It is dreadfully small."
"I think you will find it convenient, ma'am. It is better inside than
out."
Better inside than out! It was new and fresh and pleasant-looking; but
to poor Miss Davenal it appeared, as she had said, dreadfully small.
Sara seemed less disagreeably impressed. She had not anticipated great
things; and it was of very little consequence to her where she lived
now. In reality, it was rather a nice house, of moderate size; but
Miss Davenal was estimating it by comparison--as we all estimate
things.
She turned herself about in the small passage in dismay. A door on the
left led into the parlour, the room they would use for dining; about
four such could have been put into the dining-room at Hallingham. The
staircase would scarcely admit of two abreast; and in front of it, at
the top, was the drawing-room, a light, cheerful apartment, with one
large window. The furniture in these rooms was Miss Davenal's, and it
crowded them inconveniently.
Dorcas, she who had lived at the Abbey with Mrs. Cray, stood there
with a smiling face to receive them; and the landlady, a humble sort
of person, in a green stuff gown, who had the pleasure of residing in
the back kitchen and sleeping in some obscure attic, came forward
also. The greater portion of the house had been taken unfurnished for
Miss Davenal.
"About the bedrooms Dorcas?" inquired Miss Davenal, in a
half-frightened tone. "Which is mine?"
"Which you please to choose, ma'am," was Dorcas's answer. "The two
best chambers are the one behind the drawing-room, and the one over
the drawing-room."
The room over the drawing-room was the largest and best, but Miss
Davenal did not like so many stairs, and resigned it to Sara. She,
Miss Davenal, turned herself about in the small back room as she had
done in the passage; her own spacious chamber at home was all too
present to her, and she wondered whether she should ever become
reconciled to this.
Had any one told her a few short months before--nay, a few short
weeks--that she should ever take up her abode in London, she had
rejected the very idea as absurd, almost an impossibility. Yet here
she was! come to it of her own decision, of her own accord, but in one
sense terribly against her will.
Marcus Cray had carried out his plans. To the intense astonishment of
Hallingham he had rejected the valuable practice which had become his
by the death of Dr. Davenal, and his mode of relinquishing it had been
a most foolish one. Whether he feared the remonstrances of his
brother, the reproaches of Miss Davenal, or the interference of other
friends of his wife, certain it is that Mark, in disposing of the
practice, had gone unwisely to work. A practice such as Dr. Davenal's,
if placed properly in the market, would have brought forth a host of
men eager to be the purchasers and to offer a fair and just sum for
it. But of this Mark Cray allowed no chance. He privately negotiated
with a friend of his, a Mr. Berry, and sold him the goodwill for
little more than an old song.
In vain Miss Davenal said cutting things to Mark; in vain Oswald Cray,
when the real truth reached him, came hastening down from London, in
doubt whether Mark had not really gone mad. They could not undo the
contract. It was signed and sealed, and Mr. Berry had paid over the
purchase-money.
Then Mark spoke out upon the subject of his London prospects; he
enlarged upon their brilliancy until Miss Davenal herself was for the
moment dazzled. She urged on Mark the justice of his resigning to Dr.
Davenal's daughter part of this purchase-money; Mark evaded it. His
agreement with Dr. Davenal, he said, was to pay to his daughter three
hundred pounds per annum for five years; and provided he did pay it,
it could be of no consequence whether he made it by doctoring or by
other means: he should fulfil his bargain, and that was enough.
Mark had had it all his own way. The money expected by his wife had
been paid over to him, and he kept it. It was a great deal less than
was expected, for Chancery had secured its own slice out of the pie;
but it was rather more than four thousand pounds. Mark was deaf to all
suggestions, all entreaties; he completely ignored the last wishes of
Dr. Davenal; turned round on Oswald, and flatly told him it was no
business of his; and carried the money to London in his pocket, when
he and Caroline quitted Hallingham.
They quitted it in haste and hurry, long before things were ripe and
ready for them in London, Mark remarking to his wife that the sooner
they were out of that hornet's nest the better--by which term he
probably distinguished Miss Davenal and a few others who had
considered themselves privileged to interfere, so far as remonstrance
went. Caroline more than seconded all his wishes, all he did; Mark had
imbued her with his own rose-coloured views of the future, and she was
eager to enter on its brightness.
The next to look out for a home was Miss Bettina Davenal. Affairs of
the sales and else had not been carried out so quickly and readily as
Mr. Wheatley in his inexperience had anticipated, and there had been
no immediate hurry for the house to be vacated. A surgeon in the town
was in treaty for it, and the furniture would have to be sold by
auction. Sara wondered that her aunt did not fix upon a residence, and
she feared all would be scuffle and bustle when they came to leave.
But Miss Davenal had been fixing upon one in her own mind; at least,
upon the locality for one--and that was London. Never, willingly, did
Bettina Davenal forego a duty, however unpalatable it might be, and
she did believe it to be her duty to follow the fortunes of Caroline,
and not abandon her entirely to the mercy of her imprudent,
thoughtless husband. To quit Hallingham, the home of her whole life,
would be a cruel trial; but she thought she ought to do so. And she
bestowed a few bitter words upon the absent Mark for inducing the
necessity.
Miss Bettina set about her plans. If there was one quality she was
distinguishable for, above all others, it was obstinacy. Obstinate she
was at all times, but in the cause of right or duty she could be
unflinchingly so. Watton, their former upper-maid, was established in
her new situation as housekeeper in the house of business in St.
Paul's Churchyard, and Miss Davenal wrote to her and requested her to
look out for a house or for a portion of one, and let her know about
it. Mr. and Mrs. Cray had taken a house in Grosvenor Place, facing the
Green Park, and Miss Davenal wished to be as near to them as her
pocket would allow.
Watton attended to her commission. She thought that part of a handsome
house would be more suitable to Miss Davenal's former position than
the whole of an inferior one, and she did her best. Miss Davenal found
it, as you have just seen, anything but handsome; but she had little
notion of the prices asked in London, and she had limited Watton as to
the house-rent she was to offer. Neal was sent up to London with the
furniture, which had been warehoused for so many years; and when he
returned to Hallingham Dorcas took his place in London. Discharged by
Mrs. Cray, who had not chosen to take country servants with her, she
had been re-engaged by Miss Davenal, whose modest household was
henceforth to comprise only Dorcas and Neal. Miss Davenal would not
part with Neal if she could help it; but she had been surprised at the
man's ready agreement to stay in so reduced an establishment.
And so, before things were quite in readiness for them, Miss Davenal
and Sara had come up. The furniture in the house at Hallingham was
being prepared for public sale, and they hastened away, not to witness
the desecration. How coldly and chilly this new home struck upon both,
now that they had really entered upon it, they alone could tell.
Neither slept through that first night, and they arose in the morning
alike unrefreshed.
Breakfast over, Sara stood at the window. In their immediate situation
all the houses were private ones, but from a proximate corner she
could see the bustle of the highroad and the omnibuses passing up and
down. The day was bright, as the previous one had been, giving to
London its best aspect, and all the world was astir.
"And now for Mark Cray and Caroline," said Miss Bettina.
It had been Miss Davenal's pleasure that Mark Cray and his wife should
be kept in ignorance of this emigration of hers to London. Neal,
during his brief sojourn there, and Dorcas afterwards, had been
enjoined to keep strictly clear of the vicinity of their house. Having
no motive to disobey, they had complied with the orders; and Mr. and
Mrs. Cray were yet in total ignorance that their relatives were so
near.
She put on her things and went out, Neal, as usual in attendance. Neal
was well acquainted with the geography of the place, and piloted his
mistress to the house in a few minutes' time: a handsome house, with
stone steps and pillars before the door. Miss Davenal gazed at it with
drawn-in lips.
"It cannot be this, Neal."
"Yes, ma'am, it is. Shall I ring?"
Miss Davenal pushed forward and rang herself, an imperative peal. What
right had they, she was mentally asking, to venture on so expensive a
house as this must be? A footman flung open the door.
"Does Mr. Cray live here?"
"Yes," said the footman with a lofty air: as of course it was
incumbent as him to put on to anybody so dead to good manners as to
call at that early hour. "What might your business be?"
None could put down insolence more effectually than Bettina Davenal.
She gave the man a look, and swept past him.
"Show me to your mistress, man."
And somehow the man was subdued to do as he was bid, and to ask quite
humbly, "What name, ma'am?"
"Miss Davenal."
He opened the door of a room on the right, and Miss Davenal, never
more haughty, never more stately, stepped into it. She saw it was of
good proportions, she saw it was elegantly furnished; and Caroline, in
a flutter of black ribbons on her pretty morning toilette, was sitting
toying with a late breakfast.
She started up with a scream. Believing that the lady before her was
safe at Hallingham, perhaps the scream was excusable.
"Aunt! Is it really you? Whatever brings you in London?"
Miss Bettina neglected the question to survey the room again. She had
surveyed the hall as she came in; she caught a glimpse of another room
at the back: all fitted up fit for a duke and duchess.
"Where's Mark Cray?" she cried.
"Mark has been gone out ages ago, aunt. He is deep in business now.
The operations have begun."
"Who took this house?" grimly asked Miss Bettina.
"I and Mark."
"And what did the furniture cost?"
"Oh, I don't know. I don't think Mark has had the bills in yet. Why,
aunt?"
"_Why!_" returned the indignant lady, in a blaze of anger. "You and
your husband are one of two things, Caroline; swindlers or idiots. If
you think that strong language, I cannot help it."
"Aunt Bettina!" echoed the startled girl, "what are you saying?"
"The truth," solemnly replied Miss Bettina.