THE FLITTING
Before the spacious crimson façade of Wilbraham Hall upon an autumn day
stood Mr. Crump's pantechnicon. That is to say, it was a pantechnicon
only by courtesy--Mr. Crump's courtesy. In strict adherence to truth it
was just a common furniture-removing van, dragged over the earth's
surface by two horses. On the outer walls of it were an announcement
that Mr. Crump removed goods by road, rail or steamer, and vast coloured
pictures of Mr. Crump removing goods by road, rail and steamer. One saw
the van in situations of grave danger--travelling on an express train
over a lofty viaduct at sixty miles an hour, or rolling on the deck of a
steamer in a stormy sea. One saw it also in situations of impressive
natural beauty--as, for instance, passing by road through terrific
mountain defiles, where cataracts rushed and foamed. The historic fact
was that the van had never been beyond the Five Towns. Nevertheless, Mr.
Crump bound himself in painted letters six inches high to furnish
estimates for any removal whatsoever; and, what is more, as a special
boon to the Five Towns, to furnish estimates free of charge. In
this detail Mr. Crump had determined not to lag behind his
fellow-furniture-removers, who, one and all, persist in refusing to
accept even a small fee for telling you how much they demand for their
services.
In the van were the entire worldly possessions of James Ollerenshaw
(except his houses, his investments, a set of bowls up at the bowling
club, and the clothes he wore), and the entire worldly possessions of
Helen Rathbone (except the clothes she wore). If it be asked where was
the twenty-six pounds so generously given to her by a loving uncle, the
reply is that the whole sum, together with much else, was in the coffers
of Ezra Brunt, the draper and costumier at Hanbridge; and the reply
further is that Helen was in debt. I have hitherto concealed Helen's
tendency to debts, but it was bound sooner or later to come out. And
here it is.
After an adventurous journey by bridge over the North Staffordshire
Railway, and by bridge over the Shropshire Union Canal, and by bridge
over the foaming cataract of the Shaws Brook, and down the fearful
slants of Oldcastle-street, and through the arduous terrific denies of
Oldcastle-road, the van had arrived at the portals of Wilbraham Hall. It
would have been easy, by opening wide the portals, to have introduced
the van and the horses too into the hall of Wilbraham Hall. But this
course was not adopted.
Helen and Georgiana had preceded the van, and they both stood at the
door to receive the goods. Georgiana was in one of Georgiana's aprons,
and Helen also was in one of Georgiana's aprons. Uncle James had
followed the van. He had not let it out of his sight. The old man's
attachment to even the least of his goods was touching, and his
attachment to the greatest of his goods carried pathos into farce. The
greatest of his goods was, apparently, the full-rigged ship and
tempestuous ocean in a glass box which had stood on the table in the
front room of the other house for many years. No one had suspected his
esteem for that glass box and its contents. He had not suspected it
himself until the moment for packing it had come. But he seemed to love
it more than his bits of Spode china or his concertina; and, taking it
with him, he had quitted with a softened regret the quantity of
over-blown blue roses which, in their eternal bloom, had enlivened his
existence during a longer period even than the ship and ocean.
The ship and ocean was the last thing put into the van and the first
thing taken out, and James Ollerenshaw introduced the affair, hugged
against his own breast, into the house of his descendants. The remainder
of the work of transference was relatively unimportant. Two men
accomplished it easily while the horses ate a late dinner. And then the
horses and the van and the men went off, and there was nothing left but
a few wisps of straw and so forth, on the magnificent sweep of gravel,
to indicate that they had ever been there. And Uncle James, and Helen,
and Georgiana felt rather forlorn and abandoned. They stood in the hall
and looked at each other a little blankly, like gipsies camping out in
an abandoned cathedral. An immense fire was burning in the immense
fireplace of the hall, and similar fires were burning in the state
bedroom, in a little drawing-room beyond the main drawing-room, in
another bedroom, in the giant's kitchen, and in one of the attics. These
fires and a certain amount of cleaning were the only preparations which
Helen had permitted herself to make. Even the expense of the coal had
startled James, and she proposed to get him safely in the cage before
commencing the serious business which would shatter all his nerves. By a
miracle of charm and audacity she had obtained from him the control of a
sum of seven hundred and fifty pounds. This sum, now lying nominally to
her credit at one of James's various banks, represented the difference
between eight thousand pounds (at which James had said Wilbraham Hall
would be cheap) and seven thousand two hundred and fifty pounds (at
which James had succeeded in buying Wilbraham Hall).
To the left of the hall, near the entrance, was quite a small room
(originally, perhaps, a butler's lair), and James was obstinate in
selecting this room as his office. He had his desk carried there, and
everything that personally affected him except his safe and the simple
necessaries of his bedroom. These were taken, not to the state bedroom,
which he had declined, after insincere pressure from Helen to accept it,
but to a much smaller sleeping-chamber. The numerous family of Windsor
chairs, together with other ancient honesties, were sent up to
attics--too old at forty! Georgiana was established in a glorious attic;
the state bedroom was strewn with Helen's gear; and scarcely anything
remained unniched in the Hall save the ship and ocean. They all rested
from their labours, and Helen was moved by one of her happiest
inspirations.
"Georgiana," she said, "go and make some tea. Bring a cup for yourself."
"Yes, miss. Thank you, miss."
On removal days miserable distinctions of class are invariably lost in
the large-heartedness of mutual endeavour.
It was while the trio were thus drinking tea together, standing, and, as
it were, with loins still girt after the pilgrimage, that the first
visitor to the new owners of Wilbraham Hall rang its great bell and
involved Georgiana in her first ceremonial duty. Georgiana was quite
nervous as she went to the door.
The caller was Emanuel Prockter.
"Mother thought I might perhaps be able to help you," said he, in the
slightly simpering tone which he adopted in delicate situations, and
which he thought suited him. What made the situation delicate, to him,
was Helen's apron--quite agreeable though the apron was. He felt, with
his unerring perceptiveness, that young ladies do not care to receive
young gentlemen in the apron of a Georgiana. His own attire was, as
usual, fabulously correct; the salient features of it being a pair of
light yellow chamois gloves, loose-fitting and unbuttoned, with the
gauntlets negligently turned back. These gloves were his method of
expressing the fact that the visit was a visit of usefulness and not a
kid-glove visit. But Helen seemed quite composed behind Georgiana's
apron.
"Yes," he repeated, with smiling inanity, after he had shaken hands.
"Mother thought I might help you."
("What a fool that woman is!" reflected James. "And what a fool _he_ is
to put it on to his mother instead of keeping it to himself!")
"And what did _you_ think, Mr. Prockter?" Helen demanded. "Another cup
and saucer, Georgiana."
Helen's question was one of her insolent questions.
("Perhaps his mother ain't such a fool!" reflected James. And he
perceived, or imagined he perceived, that their fears of Helen marrying
Emanuel were absurd.)
Emanuel sniffed humour in the air. He never understood humour; but he
was, at any rate, sufficiently gifted with the wisdom of the simple to
smile vaguely and amiably when he sniffed humour.
And then Helen said, with cordial kindliness: "It's awfully good of
you--awfully good of you. Here we are, you see!"
And the degree of cordiality was such that the fear of her marrying
Emanuel suddenly seemed less absurd to James. The truth was that James
never had a moment's peace of mind with Helen. She was continually
proving that as a student in the University of Human Nature he had not
even matriculated.
Georgiana appeared with an odd cup and saucer, and a giggling statement
that she had not been able to discover any more teaspoons.
"Never mind," said Helen. "Mr. Prockter shall have mine."
("Well, I'm hanged!" reflected James.)
Whereupon Georgiana departed, bearing her own tea, into the giant's
kitchen. The miserable distinctions of class had been mysteriously
established.