"Well, what both Miss Whitmore and I objected to in Miss Mason's conduct
was the way in which she used to--I do not even like to use the word--
but `flirt'--with one of the officers of the ship. In fact, we thought
it our duty to remonstrate with her on the subject; but what we said did
no good."
"Might I ask the name of this officer?"
"Certainly. His name was Mr Donald Ramsay."
"Thank you, Miss Simpson."
Mr Bloxam leant back in his chair, the prey to conflicting thoughts and
tumultuous emotions. He rapidly reviewed the situation. His house was
furnished; he had, on the eve of his departure, addressed a meeting of
his congregation and announced that he was about to take upon his
shoulders the responsibilities of the married state. A welcome was, he
knew, being prepared for his bride. The Sabbath-school children had
arranged to present her with an address, which had already been drafted
by the schoolmaster of the Mission. The very invitations to a
tea-meeting on a large scale had been issued. He could never face the
ordeal of returning without a wife. Stella had been conclusively proved
to be a vessel of abominable things; Matilda, owing to his foolish
precipitancy in surrendering his right of pre-emption, had been annexed
by Mr Winterton. Lavinia only remained. He would endow Lavinia with
his belated affections.
"Miss Simpson," (he found that now he had not the least difficulty in
expressing himself fluently), "it has been made clear to my heart that
Providence has ordained that you should be a helpmeet unto me. Do you
think you could confidently place your life and happiness in my
keeping?"
Lavinia thought she could.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Five_.
Mrs Wiseman hurried Stella up to the house from the arbour, and took her
straight to her bedroom. Stella submitted without the least question.
Mrs Wiseman gently forced her down on the bed, with her face turned to
the wall, spread a light counterpane over her, told her in a whisper to
lie quite still, patted her affectionately on the shoulder, and left the
room. Then she hurried along the passage to Lavinia's room, which she
found empty. She then went to the drawing-room, and peeped in. There
sat Lavinia--so absorbed in the improving book, that she did not even
notice the intrusion of her hostess upon her moral researches. Mrs
Wiseman then hurried to her own bedroom, locked the door on the inside,
and took a seat at a window overlooking the path leading from the house
to the arbour. Here she sat, like a portly spider behind a web of white
lace curtain, which effectually concealed her from view from the
outside.
Before she had waited very long she saw Mr Bloxam hurrying past her to
the house. His lips were white, and were pressed firmly together; his
eyes glinted with baleful light; thunder lurked among the wrinkles of
his brow. She heard his stamping footsteps lead to the study of Mr
Wiseman, who, however, had been carefully got rid of for the whole
forenoon by a stroke of Machiavellian diplomacy. She trembled with
excitement, and felt her heart sink with an anxiety which was not all
painful. The deep-laid plot she had woven had been so far successful,
and now events had only to develop one stage farther upon their natural
course for her efforts to be crowned with complete triumph. Things had
reached a most critical stage, and much depended upon whether Mr Bloxam
left the home in dudgeon to seek for Mr Wiseman or went into the
drawing-room where Lavinia was sitting, engaged in the perfecting of her
superior mind. Mrs Wiseman recognised the danger of Mr Bloxam's first
seeing her husband, whose ridiculous conscientiousness might possibly
lead to complications; but her knowledge of the clerical variety of
human nature told her with no uncertain voice that, once in the
drawing-room, his doom would be sealed. She heard him falter in the
passage, and her heart rose to her throat in a lump. Then she heard the
sound of his footsteps leading in the desired direction, and just
afterwards, the well-known creak caused by the closing of the
drawing-room door smote on her delighted ear. She gave a gasping sigh
of relief, stood up, and, regardless of the continued stability of the
building, executed a ponderous war-dance around the room.
After she had thus relieved her overwrought feelings, Mrs Wiseman opened
the door and stepped quietly down the passage to the dining-room, where
she took her seat within sight of the closed drawing-room door. Here
she sat like a fowler watching a net in which valuable prey is just in
the act of entangling itself. After a short interval the door opened,
and Mr Bloxam emerged with Lavinia leaning on his arm. Lavinia's face
wore an expression of discreet satisfaction, but Mr Bloxam looked by no
means so rapturous.
Mrs Wiseman advanced towards the couple with a smile in which it would
be hard to tell whether amiability or innocence was the more
conspicuous.
"Oh, Mr Bloxam," she sweetly said, "Stella asked me to excuse her to
you; the poor child felt suddenly faint, and had to go to her room and
lie down."
Mr Bloxam regarded her with an intent look of instinctive suspicion,
which, however, glanced off abashed from the guilelessness of her mien.
Then he said, in measured and unenthusiastic tone--
"We await your congratulations; Miss Simpson has consented to be my
wife."
Mrs Wiseman's felicitations were ardent exceedingly. She even went the
length of kissing the coy Lavinia on her chaste lips. Just then she was
so delighted at the complete success of her scheme that she would not
have minded kissing Mr Bloxam himself. She watched the newly-engaged
couple saunter down the garden and disappear into the shrubbery that had
veiled the initial transports of Mr Winterton and Matilda. Then she
hurried to the room where Stella was lying on her bed a prey to the
deepest misery, clasped that dejected damsel to her motherly bosom, and
told the good news in disjointed words. Stella broke into a springtide
shower of happy tears, and clung to her preserver from the matrimonial
toils of Bloxam, the ogre, like a nestling child. Mrs Wiseman, after
kissing the girl affectionately, and telling her to remain quietly where
she was, left the room. She immediately wrote a note to Mr Wardley,
telling him of the blissful turn which events had taken, and
recommending him as well to keep out of the way for the present. This
note she despatched to the wagons by a servant.
Soon Mr Wiseman, accompanied by Mr Winterton and Matilda, whom he had
met on the road home, arrived. They each and all expressed the
liveliest astonishment at the news. Mr Wiseman, in particular, looked
perturbed, and the looks he bent on the smiling face of his wife were
full of pathetic perplexity. Then the couple who formed the subject of
discussion arrived from the garden. Lavinia at once darted to her room
so as to conceal her blushes, and Mr Bloxam immediately requested the
other two gentlemen to accompany him to the study for the purpose of
discussing a matter of most serious importance. Matilda hastened to
congratulate Lavinia, and Mrs Wiseman, with a certain amount of
trepidation noticeable in her mien, went off to prepare for luncheon.
Mrs Wiseman was nervously preparing a salad in the pantry when she
received a message requesting her immediate presence in the study.
After the victorious climax to her insidious machinations a reaction had
set in, and she now felt distinctly uncomfortable. When she entered the
study she found her husband at his desk, with a Rhadamanthine expression
on his usually serene face. Mr Winterton was sitting at his left hand,
looking like the assessor of a Nonconformist Holy Office, and Mr Bloxam
was standing before the two in the attitude and with the expression as
of a stout, middle-aged accusing angel. Before Rhadamanthus was
outspread the incriminating letter. A solemn silence reigned in the
chamber, and the partially drawn curtain caused an appropriate gloom.
Under the stress of the situation Mrs Wiseman completely regained her
self-possession, and her look of guilelessness clothed her like an
armour of proof. Mr Winterton arose and politely handed her a chair.
"Louisa," said Mr Wiseman, in a Rhadamanthine tone, "Mr Bloxam has
brought a very unpleasant matter to our notice--a matter which, I regret
to say, seriously affects the character of one who is our guest, but who
is, I fear, not a fit inmate for any Christian household."
"Dear me," said Mrs Wiseman, "what a dreadful thing; but whoever can it
be?"
"I regret to have to tell you that the person I refer to is Miss Mason."
"What! Stella? Surely not!"
"I regret, Louisa, to have to say that there can be no doubt on the
subject."
"Dear me; I _am_ sorry. I have got so fond of the girl. Is there no
mistake? Whatever has she done?"
"I regret, Louisa, that no possibility of there being any mistake in the
matter exists. It appears, to take events in their proper sequence,
that both Miss Simpson and Miss Whitmore noticed signs of most
reprehensible frivolity in Miss Mason's conduct on the voyage, and their
sense of duty even compelled them to take the unpleasant step of
remonstrating with her for encouraging the attentions of a certain Mr
Ramsay, one of the officers of the ship. This morning Mr Bloxam found a
letter which had evidently been dropped by Miss Mason, and which, there
can be no reasonable doubt, was written to her by this Ramsay. It is a
document which, under the circumstances, reveals an amount of depravity
absolutely shocking, and we must all, and especially Mr Bloxam, be
humbly thankful to Providence that the true character of this whited
sepulchre, who is so fair externally, has been revealed in time. I have
now to request you to bring the shameless girl here, so that she may be
confronted with the proof of her guilt."
"What a dreadful thing!" said Mrs Wiseman, in a bated tone; "I will
fetch her at once. May I have a look at the letter?"
"Here is the letter, Louisa; it is hardly fit for the perusal of any
lady; but you are a minister's wife, and have reached an age at which
one may have knowledge of this class of evil without suffering moral
damage."
Mrs Wiseman gave a perceptible sniff at the reference to her age.
Her husband lifted the letter by one of its corners between the
reluctant tips of a defilement-fearing finger and thumb, and passed it
across the table to her. She received it in the same manner, and held
it almost at arm's length.
"Oh!" she said with a start of surprise, "how _could_ you suspect the
poor girl of having anything to do with a thing like this? Why, I
picked this letter up in the street this morning when I was returning
from my visit to Mr Wardley. I meant to have shown it to you; I must
have dropped it out of my pocket in the summer-house."
"But," said the careful Mr Winterton, "may not the note after all have
been intended for Miss Mason. The initials correspond with those of Mr
Ramsay, and we are told that their conduct on the voyage was very
suspicious."
"Stuff and nonsense!" replied Mrs Wiseman. "Stella told me all about
young Ramsay, who is engaged to a girl in Scotland. Besides, the letter
is not in his handwriting. I got Stella to write him a note asking him
to come to luncheon to-day, and here is his reply; you can see that the
writing is quite different."
Mr Bloxam gave a gasp of relief when Stella's innocence was established,
but he suddenly remembered Lavinia, and a look of such abject misery
came into his face that Mrs Wiseman felt a twinge of regret at the
success of her plan. Mr Wiseman collapsed into abject helplessness; he
felt he had been a party to some dark plot, and his wife became, for the
moment, terrible to him. She, however, relieved the tension of the
situation by saying--
"You have all been guilty of a cruel injustice to poor Stella, and the
least atonement you can make is to say nothing whatever about this
business to anyone. It would cause Mr Wardley, besides, great annoyance
if he were to hear that she had been suspected in this manner. Let us
try to forget all about it. Luncheon will be ready in a few minutes."
In the course of the afternoon Stella, although still rather pallid and
extremely nervous, discovered that she felt well enough to come to the
drawing-room, and it was at about the same time that Mr Wardley found
himself sufficiently recovered to walk down to the Parsonage. He also
looked pale, and there was an alarming brightness about his eye. Mrs
Wiseman ushered him into the drawing-room in which Stella was sitting
alone, closed the door on him, and mounted guard at the passage.
After a reasonable interval Mrs Wiseman, who had been sadly neglecting
her housekeeping duties whilst following the dark and devious paths of
intrigue, tapped at the door. Mr Wardley arose, drew Stella's arm
within his own, and advanced to meet the good conspirator. The faces of
the lovers shone with such radiant happiness that any twinges of remorse
she felt with reference to the part she had played disappeared for ever.
She wept for very joy of sympathy, and rejoiced as Jael did after her
treacherous undoing of Sisera, at the laying of the foundation-stone of
this edifice of happiness which had been hewn from the quarries of
circumstance by her own reprehensible hands.
It is not necessary to refer to subsequent events otherwise than in the
most general terms, with the exception of a conversation which took
place on the night of the day upon which all these important occurrences
took place. By the time Mrs Wiseman felt justified in resting from her
labours incidental to preparing for the triple wedding which was to be
solemnised on the following day, the night was somewhat far spent. Then
she had to go and enjoy a final gush over Stella, and take a hurried
survey of that enraptured damsel's wardrobe, which, so great had been
the general preoccupation during the past week, she had not even given a
passing thought to. What with one thing and another, it was midnight
before she retired to her bedroom. One circumstance may possibly have
weighed with her in indulging herself in such a long dawdle in Stella's
room--namely, that she was just a little bit afraid of a _tete-a-tete_
with her husband, and she wanted to give him ample opportunity of going
to sleep before she joined him. However, when she entered the room, she
found him wide awake and looking like Rhadamanthus in an extremely bad
temper.
"My goodness, Joe, are you still awake?"
"Yes, Louisa; and so will you be until I hear a full explanation of the
events of to-day."
"Very well, Joe; where shall I begin? Pray do not forget that you
assisted me in bringing about what happened after I told you what I was
working for."
Mr Wiseman groaned heavily in spirit. This fact, which his wife so
flippantly reminded him of, had been rankling all day in his hitherto
blameless conscience like a torturing thorn. The other thing that
caused him acute misery was the suspicion that his wife had told him a
falsehood.
"Louisa, you said you picked up that letter in the street. Was that
statement true?"
"Of course it was." She answered him with indignant asperity. "May I
inquire if you suspect me of telling a lie?"
"Louisa, do you know how the letter came to be in the street before you
picked it up?"
"Of course I do. I dropped it there myself." Mr Wiseman groaned
heavily in body and turned his face to the wall. He now realised for
the first time that there is a feminine code of ethics which is
radically different in some important respects from the masculine, and
he recognised the hopelessness of further discussion...
Next day the triple wedding was duly solemnised by the Reverend Josiah,
and the three couples departed in their several wagons for their
respective homes. There is good ground for believing that as marriages
go, these unions resulted in a highly satisfactory average of happiness.
The Prince and Princess, of course, sailed down the flowing stream of
their days in a shallop with a fortunate keel, drawn by a sail which was
ever arched to the balmy breath of happy gales. Mr Winterton and
Matilda lived for a satisfactory number of years, and were continually
discovering new and admirable qualities in each other. Their many good
works are still bearing fruit in the little village in which they dwelt;
and the gorgeous hues of the smoking-caps and slippers with which the
industrious and devoted Matilda used to clothe the upper and nether
extremities of her spouse are still vivid in the memories of the older
inhabitants.
It is only doing Mr Bloxam justice to say that he came out of his
painful ordeal like a gentleman. From the ruins of the fabric of
anticipated bliss, in which he had fondly dreamt of dwelling by the side
of the beauteous Stella, he built what proved to be a durable tenement
of unpretentious design, in which he and Lavinia lived for many days in
sober comfort. His sufferings at first were extremely bitter, and it is
high praise of his manliness to say that he concealed their existence
from his wife. Had he but known it, his life with Lavinia was far more
satisfactory than it could possibly have been with Stella. It has been
said that Mrs Bloxam found her husband's temper very trying during the
first few years of their married life, but that things mended in this
respect as time went on, and that the esteem which these two learned to
feel for each other made the autumn of their united life like unto a
calm, rich-skied Indian summer.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
A CASE FOR PSYCHICAL RESEARCH.
_One_.
"We are such stuff as dreams are made of."
Once upon a time it was my hap to dwell in a certain town in the Eastern
Province of Cape Colony, which will not be recognised under the name of
Hilston. With a population of about a thousand Europeans, it bore a
strong resemblance to several other communities in the same province.
It contained the usual disproportionate number of churches and
liquor-shops, the usual utter absence of anything like Christianity as a
rule of life--or, in fact, as anything but a mere form--the usual number
of persons whose only occupation appeared to be that of killing time,
and the usual intellectual dry-rot and deadly dulness. The morning
market was the great rendezvous for the gossips. Here, around the
butter and vegetable-laden tables would the neighbouring farmers and
their town cronies foregather every week-day morning; here they would
swop mild and superannuated jokes, rank tobacco, scandalous tales, and
insinuations more or less damaging to their neighbours' characters.
Being engaged upon special duty, and living in daily expectation of
having to move on to new official pastures, I had taken up my abode at a
small hotel near the outskirts, my choice of a sojourning place being
determined by the comparative nocturnal quiet of the vicinity. Here I
dwelt in moderate comfort tempered by accidents which it is needless to
specify.
By far the most interesting feature of Hilston, to me at least, was old
Isaac, the septuagenarian billiard-marker at the hotel where I lodged
and boarded. Isaac (it may be premised that he had, once upon a time,
possessed a surname, although all trace of it was lost) had a
phenomenally bad temper and an exceedingly bitter tongue. Being badly
hump-backed, he was only about three feet nine in height. Twenty-eight
years previously he had drifted as a tramp to Hilston, whence no one
knew, and had been employed as a stable-hand by the then proprietor of
the hotel. Eight years after this the establishment changed hands, and
Isaac was taken over with the other fixtures. The new proprietor, a
young man with a little capital at his command, built a billiard-room
and imported a brand new and first-class table. Isaac, to his great
satisfaction, was appointed marker, and he at once experienced what was
probably the one great passion of his life, for he fell violently in
love with his charge. It was said that he had been more than once
watched through the window, when alone in the room, rubbing his cheek
softly over the new, silky, green cloth, and that he was wont to stand
for an hour at a time, when no players were about, gently passing his
hand over the sides and fondling the cushions.
When I made the acquaintance of the table and its custodian, they looked
equally the worse for wear. The original cloth was still doing duty,
but was patched and darned in nearly a dozen places. In spite of the
shabby attire, however, Isaac still loved his mistress with ardour and
constancy. The proprietor informed me confidentially that he would long
since have invested in a new cloth and cushions but for the strenuous
way in which the old man opposed any suggestion towards a change. He
still slept, as he had done for twenty years, rolled up in an old rug on
one of the lumpy benches provided for the use of spectators, and no
matter how late the habitual loafers, who practically lived in the room,
or the gilded youth of the town, who now and then gambled mildly over
the clicking ivories, kept up their threepenny black pool, he carefully
dusted down his darling, and covered her with a drab holland cloth
before retiring to rest on his narrow and uneven couch.
In South African towns of the Hilston class there are neither clubs,
theatres nor music-halls. The billiard-room is, therefore, the only
place of general resort for relaxation, and in it you will meet the
local male inhabitant, or the greater part of him, in his most
interesting--that is to say in his most natural--mood. Here he is
relaxed and unconstrained; here he joins with his fellows in a
brotherhood which, although temporary, is often renewed; here the
tobacco-smoke cloud unites those who create it in a common humanity, and
even seems to inspire those who breathe it with a common human soul.
Many of the associations of the billiard-room are, no doubt, unedifying;
but so long as man remains a gregarious animal, so long will he seek out
some spot in which to meet his fellows without restraint. In my
individual case the billiard-room was the only place in the hotel
suitable for smoking in; consequently I spent a great deal of time in
it, especially in the evenings.
In the very early stage of our acquaintanceship I won old Isaac's heart
by remonstrating with a semi-intoxicated player for allowing burning
tobacco to fall from his pipe upon the cloth. Soon after I got an
inkling of the old man's affection for his charge I began, for the sake
of amusement, to play up to it; then the evident genuineness of the
feeling gained my involuntary respect, and I could not avoid being
struck by the pathos of the situation.
As our acquaintance grew, Isaac became more and more confidential, and I
was astonished at the critical faculty displayed in his caustic comments
upon the different frequenters of the billiard-room. He had the faculty
of ticking people off in a terse phrase of epigrammatic force and
inevitable application. Being more or less of a butt for cheap
witticisms on the part of those among whom his daily life was thrown,
Isaac cordially disliked nine people out of every ten whom he knew. One
of the favourite diversions of the gilded youth was to abuse the table
in the old marker's hearing, and to compare its capabilities
unfavourably with those of the rival hotel up the street. This Isaac
would stand for a time, but when the limit of endurance had been
reached, he would break into a withering storm of profane invective such
as I have never heard equalled. His power of venting ingenious and
fantastic scurrility on these occasions might have rivalled that of
Thersites, the "deformed and scurrilous Grecian."