THE TWO WIDOWS.
The winter was now nearly over, and the travellers had determined
to return to England. Whatever other good purpose the city of Cairo
might or might not serve, it had restored Wilkinson to health.
Bertram was sufficiently weary of living in a country in which the
women go about with their faces hidden by long dirty stripes of
calico, which they call veils, and in which that little which is seen
of the ladies by no means creates a wish to see more. And Wilkinson,
since the conversation which they had had at the Pyramids, was
anxious to assume his own rights in the vicarage-house at Hurst
Staple. So they decided on returning about the middle of March; but
they decided also on visiting Suez before doing so.
In these days men go from Cairo to Suez as they do from London to
Birmingham--by railway; in those days--some ten or twelve years back,
that is--they went in wooden boxes, and were dragged by mules through
the desert.
We cannot stay long at Suez, nor should I carry my reader there, even
for a day, seeing how triste and dull the place is, had not our hero
made an acquaintance there which for some time was likely to have a
considerable effect on his future life.
Suez is indeed a triste, unhappy, wretched place. It is a small
oriental town, now much be-Europeanized, and in the process of being
be-Anglicized. It is not so Beelzebub-ridden a spot as Alexandria,
nor falling to pieces like Cairo. But it has neither water, air, nor
verdure. No trees grow there, no rivers flow there. Men drink brine
and eat goats; and the thermometer stands at eighty in the shade in
winter. The oranges are the only luxury. There is a huge hotel, which
contains long rows of hot cells, and a vast cave in which people eat.
The interest of the place consists in Pharoah's passage over the
Red Sea; but its future prosperity will be caused by a transit of a
different nature:--the passage of the English to and from India will
turn even Suez into an important town.
Here the two travellers encountered a flood of Indians on their
return home. The boat from Calcutta came in while they were there,
and suddenly all the cells were tenanted, and the cave was full of
spoiled children, tawny nurses, pale languid mothers, and dyspeptic
fathers. These were to be fellow-travellers homewards with Bertram
and Wilkinson.
Neither of our friends regarded with favour the crowd which made them
even more uncomfortable than they had been before. As Englishmen in
such positions generally do, they kept themselves aloof and scowled,
frowned at the children who whined in the nearest neighbourhood
to them, and listened in disgust to the continuous chatter about
punkahs, tiffins, and bungalows.
But close to them, at the end of the long table, at the common
dinner, sat two ladies, on whom it was almost impossible for them to
frown. For be it known that at these hotels in Egypt, a man cannot
order his dinner when he pleases. He must breakfast at nine, and dine
at six, as others do--or go without. And whether he dine, or whether
he do not, he must pay. The Medes and Persians were lax and pliable
in their laws in comparison with these publicans.
Both George and Arthur would have frowned if they could have done
so; but on these two ladies it was impossible to frown. They were
both young, and both pretty. George's neighbour was uncommonly
pretty--was, indeed, one of the prettiest women that he had ever
seen;--that any man could see anywhere. She was full of smiles too,
and her smile was heavenly;--was full of words, and her words were
witty. She who sat next Arthur was perhaps less attractive; but she
had large soft eyes, which ever and anon she would raise to his face,
and then let fall again to her plate in a manner which made sparks
fly round the heart even of our somewhat sombre young Hampshire
vicar.
The four were soon in full conversation, apparently much to the
disgust of two military-looking gentlemen who sat on the other side
of the ladies. And it was evident that the military gentlemen and the
ladies were, or ought to be, on terms of intimacy; for proffers of
soup, and mutton, and wine were whispered low, and little attempts at
confidential intercourse were made. But the proffers were rejected,
and the attempts were in vain. The ladies preferred to have their
plates and glasses filled by the strangers, turned their shoulders on
their old friends with but scant courtesy, and were quite indifferent
to the frowns which at last clouded those two military brows.
And the brows of Major Biffin and Captain M'Gramm were clouded. They
had been filling the plates and glasses of these two ladies all the
way from Calcutta; they had walked with them every day on deck, had
fetched their chairs, picked up their handkerchiefs, and looked after
their bottled beer at tiffin-time with an assiduity which is more
than commendable in such warm latitudes. And now to be thrown on one
side for two travelling Englishmen, one in a brown coat and the other
in a black one--for two muffs, who had never drunk sangaree or sat
under a punkah!
This was unpleasant to Major Biffin and Captain M'Gramm. But then why
had the major and the captain boasted of the favours they had daily
received, to that soft-looking, superannuated judge, and to their
bilious friend, Dr. O'Shaughnessy? The judge and the doctor had of
course their female allies, and had of course repeated to them all
the boasts of the fortunate major and of the fortunate captain. And
was it not equally of course that these ladies should again repeat
the same to Mrs. Cox and Mrs. Price? For she who was so divinely
perfect was Mrs. Cox, and she of the soft, lustrous eyes was Mrs.
Price. Those who think that such a course was not natural know little
of voyages home from Calcutta to Southampton.
But the major, who had been the admirer of Mrs. Cox, had done more
than this--had done worse, we may say. The world of the good ship
"Lahore," which was bringing them all home, had declared ever since
they had left Point de Galle, that the major and Mrs. Cox were
engaged.
Now, had the major, in boasting of his favours, boasted also of
his engagement, no harm perhaps might have come of it. The sweet
good-nature of the widow might have overlooked that offence. But he
had boasted of the favours and pooh-poohed the engagement! "Hinc illæ
lacrymæ." And who shall say that the widow was wrong? And as to the
other widow, Mrs. Price, she was tired of Captain M'Gramm. A little
fact had transpired about Captain M'Gramm, namely, that he was going
home to his wife. And therefore the two ladies, who had conspired
together to be civil to the two warriors, now conspired together
to be uncivil to them. In England such things are done, as it were,
behind the scenes: there these little quarrels are managed in
private. But a passage home from India admits of but little privacy;
there is no behind the scenes. The two widows were used to this,
and quarrelled with their military admirers in public without any
compunction.
"Hinc illæ lacrymæ." But the major was not inclined to shed his tears
without an effort. He had pooh-poohed the idea of marrying Mrs. Cox;
but like many another man in similar circumstances, he was probably
willing enough to enter into such an arrangement now that the
facility of doing so was taken from him. It is possible that Mrs.
Cox, when she turned her pretty shoulder on Major Biffin, may herself
have understood this phasis of human nature.
The major was a handsome man, with well-brushed hair, well-trimmed
whiskers, a forehead rather low, but very symmetrical, a well-shaped
nose, and a small, pursy mouth. The worst of his face was that you
could by no means remember it. But he knew himself to be a handsome
man, and he could not understand how he could be laid aside for so
ugly a lout as this stranger from England. Captain M'Gramm was not a
handsome man, and he was aware that he fought his battle under the
disadvantage of a wife. But he had impudence enough to compensate him
for this double drawback.
During this first dinner, Arthur Wilkinson was not more than coldly
civil to Mrs. Price; but Bertram became after a while warmly civil to
Mrs. Cox. It is so very nice to be smiled on by the prettiest woman
in the room; and it was long since he had seen the smile of any
pretty woman! Indeed, for the last eighteen months he had had but
little to do with such smiles.
Before dinner was over, Mrs. Cox had explained to Bertram that both
she and her friend Mrs. Price were in deep affliction. They had
recently lost their husbands--the one, by cholera; that was poor
dear Cox, who had been collector of the Honourable Company's taxes
at Panjabee. Whereas, Lieutenant Price, of the 71st Native Bengal
Infantry, had succumbed to--here Mrs. Cox shook her head, and
whispered, and pointed to the champagne-glass which Bertram was in
the act of filling for her. Poor Cox had gone just eight months; but
Price had taken his last glass within six. And so Bertram knew all
about it.
And then there was a great fuss in packing the travellers into the
wooden boxes. It seems that they had all made up their own parties
by sixes, that being the number of which one box was supposed to be
capable. But pretty women are capricious, and neither Mrs. Price nor
Mrs. Cox were willing to abide by any such arrangement. When the
time came for handing them in, they both objected to the box pointed
out to them by Major Biffin--refused to be lifted in by the arms
of Captain M'Gramm--got at last into another vacant box with the
assistance of our friends--summoned their dingy nurses and babies
into the same box (for each was so provided)--and then very prettily
made way for Mr. Bertram and Mr. Wilkinson. And so they went across
the desert.
Then they all stayed a night at Cairo, and then they went on to
Alexandria. And by the time that they were embarked in a boat
together, on their way to that gallant first-class steamer, the
"Cagliari," they were as intimate as though they had travelled round
the world together, and had been as long about it as Captain Cook.
"What will you take with you, Mrs. Cox?" said Bertram, as he stood up
in the boat with the baby on one arm, while with the other he handed
the lady towards the ship's ladder.
"A good ducking," said Mrs. Cox, with a cheery laugh, as at the
moment a dashing wave covered them with its spray. "And I've got it
too, with a vengeance. Ha! ha! Take care of the baby, whatever you
do; and if she falls over, mind you go after her." And with another
little peal of silver ringing laughter, she tripped up the side of
the ship, and Bertram, with the baby, followed after her.
"She is such a giddy thing," said Mrs. Price, turning her soft eyes
on poor Arthur Wilkinson. "Oh, laws! I know I shall be drowned. Do
hold me." And Arthur Wilkinson did hold her, and nearly carried her
up into the ship. As he did so, his mind would fly off to Adela
Gauntlet; but his arms and legs were not the less at the service of
Mrs. Price.
"And now look after the places," said Mrs. Cox; "you haven't a moment
to lose. And look here, Mr. Bertram, mind, I won't sit next to Major
Biffin. And, for heaven's sake, don't let us be near that fellow
M'Gramm." And so Bertram descended into the _salon_ to place their
cards in the places at which they were to sit for dinner. "Two and
two; opposite to each other," sang out Mrs. Cox, as he went. There
was a sweetness in her voice, a low, mellow cheeriness in her tone,
which, combined with her beauty, went far to atone for the nature of
what she said; and Bertram not unwillingly obeyed her behests.
"Oh, my blessed baby!" said Mrs. Price, as the nurse handed her the
child--which, however, she immediately handed back. "How can I thank
you enough, Mr. Wilkinson? What should we have done without you? I
wonder whether it's near tiffin. I am so faint."
"Shall I fetch you anything?" said he.
"If you could get me a glass of porter. But I don't think they'll
give it you. They are so uncivil!"
Arthur went for the beer; but went in vain. The steward said that
lunch would be ready at twelve o'clock.
"They are such brutes!" said Mrs. Price. "Well, I suppose I must
wait." And she again turned her eyes upon Arthur, and he again
thought of Adela Gauntlet.
And then there was the ordinary confusion of a starting ship. Men and
women were hurrying about after their luggage, asking all manner of
unreasonable questions. Ladies were complaining of their berths, and
servants asking where on _h_earth they were to sleep. Gentlemen were
swearing that they had been shamefully doubled up--that is, made
to lie with two or three men in the same cabin; and friends were
contriving to get commodious seats for dinner. The officers of the
ship were all busy, treating with apparent indifference the thousand
questions that were asked them on every side; and all was bustle,
confusion, hurry, and noise.
And then they were off. The pistons of the engine moved slowly up
and down, the huge cranks revolved, and the waters under the bow
rippled and gave way. They were off, and the business of the voyage
commenced. The younger people prepared for their flirtations, the
mothers unpacked their children's clothes, and the elderly gentlemen
lighted their cigars.
"What very queer women they are!" said Arthur, walking the deck with
his cousin.
"But very pretty, and very agreeable. I like them both."
"Don't you think them too free and easy?"
"Ah, you must not judge of them by women who have lived in England,
who have always had the comfort of well-arranged homes. They have
been knocked about, ill used, and forced to bear hardships as men
bear them; but still there is about them so much that is charming.
They are so frank!"
"Yes, very frank," said Arthur.
"It is well to see the world on all sides," said George. "For myself,
I think that we are lucky to have come across them--that is, if Major
Biffin does not cut my throat."
"I hope Captain M'Gramm won't cut mine. He looked as though he
would."
"Did you ever see such an ass as that Biffin? I don't wonder that she
has become sick of him; and then he has behaved so very badly to her.
I really do pity her. She has told me all about it."
"And so has Mrs. Price told me all about Captain M'Gramm."
"Has she? Well! It seems that he, Biffin, has taken advantage of her
frank, easy manner, and talked of her to every man in the ship. I
think she has been quite right to cut him." And so they discussed the
two ladies.
And at last Mrs. Price got her porter, and Mrs. Cox got her pale ale.
"I do like pale ale," said she; "I suppose it's vulgar, but I can't
help that. What amuses me is, that so many ladies drink it who are
quite ashamed to say they like it."
"They take it for their health's sake," said Bertram.
"Oh, yes; of course they do. Mrs. Bangster takes her half-pint of
brandy every night for her health's sake, no doubt. Would you believe
it, Mr. Bertram, the doctor absolutely had to take her out of the
saloon one night in the 'Lahore'? Didn't he, Mrs. Price?"
"Indeed he did. I never was so shocked.--Just a little drop more to
freshen it." And Mr. Wilkinson gave her another glass of porter.
Before they reached Malta, all the passengers from India had agreed
that Mrs. Cox and Bertram would certainly make a match of it, and
that Wilkinson was also in danger.
"Did you ever see such flirts?" said Mrs. Bangster to Dr.
O'Shaughnessey. "What an escape Biffin has had!"
"She is a deuced pretty woman, Mrs. Bangster; and I'll tell you what:
Biffin would give one of his eyes to get her back again if he could."
"Laws, doctor! You don't mean to tell me that he ever meant to marry
that thing?"
"I don't know what he meant before; but he would mean it now, if he
got the opportunity."
Here Captain M'Gramm joined them. "Well, Mac," said the doctor, "what
news with the widow?"
"Widow! they'd all be widows if they could, I believe."
"Indeed, I wouldn't, for one," said Mrs. Bangster. "B. is a deal too
well off where he is. Ha! ha! ha!"
"But what about Mrs. Price--eh, Mac?" continued the doctor.
"There she is. You'd better go and ask her yourself. You don't
suppose I ever cared about such a woman as that? Only I do say this:
if she goes on behaving herself in that way, some one ought to speak
to the captain."
But Mrs. Cox and Mrs. Price went on their own way, heeding such
menaces not at all; and by the time they had reached Malta, they
had told the whole history of their lives to the two gentlemen--and
perhaps something more.
At Malta they remained about six hours, and the four dined on shore
together. Bertram bought for them Maltese veils and bad cameos; and
Wilkinson, misled by such an example, was forced to do the same.
These treasures were not hidden under a bushel when they returned to
the ship; and Dr. O'Shaughnessey, Mrs. Bangster, the fat judge, and
a host of others, were more sure than ever that both the widows were
re-engaged.
And Arthur Wilkinson was becoming frightened in his mind. "Upon my
word," said he, as he and George were walking the deck at sunrise the
next morning, "upon my word, I am getting very tired of this woman,
and I really think we are making a show of ourselves."
"Making a show of ourselves! What do you mean?"
"Why, walking with them every day, and always sitting next to them."
"As to sitting next to them, we can't help that. Everybody always
sits in the same place, and one must sit next some one; and it
wouldn't be kind to leave them to walk alone."
"I think we may overdo it, you know."
"Ah, well," said George, "you have some one else to think about. I
have no one, unless it be this widow. She is kind to me, and as to
what the world says, I care nothing about it."
On that day Wilkinson was busy with his books, and did not walk with
Mrs. Price--a piece of neglect which sat uneasily on that lady's
mind. But at ten o'clock, as usual, Bertram was pacing the deck with
Mrs. Cox.
"What is the matter with your friend?" said she.
"Oh, nothing. He is home-sick, I suppose."
"I hope he has not quarrelled with Minnie." For the two ladies had
come to call each other by their Christian names when they were in
company with the gentlemen; and Bertram had once or twice used that
of Mrs. Cox, not exactly in speaking to her, but in speaking of her
in her presence.
"Oh dear, no," said Bertram.
"Because it is so odd he should not give her his arm as usual. I
suppose you will be treating me so as we draw nearer to Southampton?"
And she looked up at him with a bewitching smile, and pressed gently
on his arm, and then let her eyes fall upon the deck.
My brother, when you see these tricks played upon other men, the gall
rises black within your breast, and you loudly condemn wiles which
are so womanly, but which are so unworthy of women. But how do you
feel when they are played upon yourself? The gall is not so black,
the condemnation less loud; your own merit seems to excuse the
preference which is shown you; your heart first forgives and then
applauds. Is it not so, my brother, with you? So it was, at least,
with George Bertram.
"What! treating you with neglect, because we are soon to part?"
"Yes, exactly so; just that; because we are soon to part. That is
what makes it so bitter. We have been such good friends, haven't we?"
"And why should we not remain so? Why should we talk of parting? We
are both going to England."
"England! Yes, but England is a large place. Come, let us lean on
the taffrail, and look at the dolphins. There is that horrid fellow
eyeing me, as he always does; Major Biffin, I mean. Is he not exactly
like a barber's block? I do so hate him!"
"But he doesn't hate you, Mrs. Cox."
"Doesn't he? Well then, he may if he likes. But don't let's talk of
him. Talk to me about England, Mr. Bertram. Sometimes I do so long to
be there--and then sometimes I don't."
"You don't--why not?"
"Do you?"
"No, I do not; I tell you frankly. I'd sooner be here with you to
talk to, with you to look at."
"Psha, Mr. Bertram! what nonsense! I can't conceive that any woman
can ever be worth looking at on board a ship--much less such a one as
I! I know you're dying to get home."
"I might be if I had a home."
"Is your home with that uncle of yours?" She had heard so much of his
family; but he had as yet spoken to her no word about Caroline. "I
wonder what he would say if he could see you now leaning here and
talking to me."
"If he has any knowledge of human nature, he would say that I was a
very happy fellow."
"And are you?" As she asked him, she looked up into his face with
such an arch smile that he could not find it in his heart to condemn
her.
"What will you think of my gallantry if I say no?"
"I hate gallantry; it is all bosh. I wish I were a man, and that I
could call you Bertram, and that you would call me Cox."
"I would sooner call you Annie."
"Would you? But that wouldn't be right, would it?" And her hand,
which was still within his arm, was pressed upon it with ever so
light a pressure.
"I don't know why it should be wrong to call people by their
Christian names. Should you be angry if I called you Annie?"
"That might depend-- Tell me this, Mr. Bertram: How many other ladies
do you call by their Christian names?"
"A dozen or two."
"I'll be bound you do."
"And may I add you to the number?"
"No, Mr. Bertram; certainly not."
"May I not? So intimate as we have become, I thought--"
"I will not be one of a dozen or two." And as she answered him, she
dropped her tone of raillery, and spoke in a low, soft, sweet voice.
It sounded so sweet on Bertram's ear.
"But if there be not one--not one other; not one other now--what
then, Annie?"
"Not one other now?--Did you say now? Then there has been one."
"Yes; there has been one."
"And she--what of her?"
"It is a tale I cannot tell."
"Not to me? I should not like you the less for telling me. Do tell
me." And she pressed her hand again upon his arm. "I have known there
was something that made you unhappy."
"Have you?"
"Oh, yes. I have long known that. And I have so wished to be a
comfort to you--if I could. I, too, have had great suffering."
"I am sure you have."
"Ah! yes. I did not suffer less because he had been unkind to me."
And she put her handkerchief to her eyes, and then brought her hand
again upon his arm. "But tell me of her--your one. She is not your
one now--is she, Mr. Bertram?"
"No, Annie; not now."
"Is she--?" And she hesitated to ask whether the lady were dead, or
married to some one else. It might, after all, only be a lovers'
quarrel.
"I drove her from me--and now she is a wife."
"Drove her from you! Alas! alas!" said Mrs. Cox, with the sweetest
emphasis of sympathy. But the result of her inquiries was not
unsatisfactory to her.
"I don't know why I should have told you this," said he.
"I am so glad you have," she replied.
"But now that I have told you--"
"Well--"
"Now may I call you Annie?"
"You have done so two or three times."
"But may I?"
"If it please you, you may." And the words, though whispered very
low, fell clearly upon his ear.
"Dearest Annie!"
"But I did not say you might call me that."
"But you are."
"Am I?"
"Dearest--all but she. Will that make you angry with me?"
"No, not angry; but--"
"But what?"
She looked up at him, pouting with her lip. There was a half-smile
on her mouth, and half a tear in her eyes; and her shoulder leant
against him, and her heart palpitated. She had never been so
beautiful, never so attractive.
"But what--? What would you say, Annie?"
"I would say this.--But I know you will think me very bold."
"I shall not think you too bold if you will say the truth."
"Then I would say this--that if I loved a man, I could love him quite
as fondly as she loved you."
"Could you, Annie?"
"I could. But he should not drive me from him, as you say you did
her; never--never--never. He might kill me if he would; but if I once
had told him that I loved him, I would never leave him afterwards."
"Tell me so, Annie."
"No, Mr. Bertram. We have not known each other long enough." And now
she took her hand from his arm, and let it drop by her side.
"Tell me so, dear Annie," he repeated; and he tried to regain her
hand.
"There is the luncheon-bell; and since Mr. Wilkinson won't go to Mrs.
Price, I must do so."
"Shall I go?" said he.
"Do; I will go down by myself."
"But you love me, Annie?--say that you love me."
"Nonsense. Here is that fellow, Biffin. Do you go for Mrs.
Price--leave me to myself."
"Don't go down stairs with him."
"You may be sure I won't--nor with you either this morning. I am half
inclined to be angry with you." And so saying, she moved away.
"Ah, me! what have I done!" said Bertram to himself, as he went upon
his mission. "But she is a sweet creature; as beautiful as Hebe; and
why should I be wretched for ever?"
She had moved towards the companion-ladder, and as she did so, Major
Biffin followed her.
"Will you not allow me to give you an arm down stairs?" said he.
"Thank you, Major Biffin. It is rather crowded, and I can go better
alone."
"You did not find the stairs in the 'Lahore' too crowded."
"Oh, yes, I did; very often. And the 'Lahore' and the 'Cagliari' are
different things."
"Very different it seems. But the sea itself is not so fickle as a
woman." And Major Biffin became a picture of injured innocence.
"And the land is not so dry as a man, Major Biffin; that is, some
men. Ha! ha! ha! Good-morning, Major Biffin." And so saying, she went
down by herself.
On the next day, Arthur still preferred his book to walking with Mrs.
Price; and that lady was once again seen with her arm in that of
Captain M'Gramm's. This made a considerable consternation in the
ship; and in the afternoon there was a slight quarrel between the two
ladies.
"And so, Minnie, you are going to take up with that fellow again?"
"No; I am not. But I don't choose to be left altogether to myself."
"I never would have anything to say to a married man that drops his
wife as he does."
"I don't care two straws for him, or his wife. But I don't want to
make myself conspicuous by a quarrel."
"I'm sure Wilkinson will be annoyed," said Mrs. Cox.
"He's a muff," said Mrs. Price. "And, if I am not mistaken, I know
some one else who is another."
"Who do you mean, Mrs. Price?"
"I mean Mr. Bertram, Mrs. Cox."
"Oh, I dare say he is a muff; that's because he's attentive to me
instead of leaving me to myself, as somebody does to somebody else. I
understand all about that, my dear."
"You understand a great deal, I have no doubt," said Mrs. Price. "I
always heard as much."
"It seems to me you understand nothing, or you wouldn't be walking
about with Captain M'Gramm," said Mrs. Cox. And then they parted,
before blood was absolutely drawn between them.
At dinner that day they were not very comfortable together. Mrs.
Price accepted Mr. Wilkinson's ordinary courtesies in a stately way,
thanking him for filling her glass and looking after her plate, in
a tone and with a look which made it plain to all that things were
not progressing well between them. George and his Annie did get on
somewhat better; but even they were not quite at their ease. Mrs. Cox
had said, before luncheon, that she had not known Mr. Bertram long
enough to declare her love for him. But the hours between luncheon
and dinner might have been a sufficient prolongation of the period of
their acquaintance. George, however, had not repeated the question;
and had, indeed, not been alone with her for five minutes during the
afternoon.
That evening, Wilkinson again warned his friend that he might be
going too far with Mrs. Cox; that he might say that which he could
neither fulfil nor retract. For Wilkinson clearly conceived it to be
impossible that Bertram should really intend to marry this widow.
"And why should I not marry her?" said George.
"She would not suit you, nor make you happy."
"What right have I to think that any woman will suit me? or what
chance is there that any woman will make me happy? Is it not all
leather and prunella? She is pretty and clever, soft and feminine.
Where shall I find a nicer toy to play with? You forget, Arthur, that
I have had my day-dreams, and been roused from them somewhat roughly.
With you, the pleasure is still to come."
After this they turned in and went to bed.