SETTLING DOWN.
It was not likely that a man of Geoffrey Ludlow's temperament would
for long keep himself from falling into what was to be the ordinary
tenor of his life, even had his newly-espoused wife been the most
exacting of brides, and delighted in showing her power by keeping him
in perpetual attendance upon her. It is almost needless to say that
Margaret was guilty of no weakness of this kind. If the dread truth
must be told, she took far too little interest in the life to which
she had devoted herself to busy herself about it in detail. She had a
general notion that her whole future was to be intensely respectable;
and in the minds of all those persons with whom she had hitherto been
associated, respectability meant duless of the most appalling kind;
meant two-o'clock-shoulder-of-mutton-and-weak-Romford-ale dinner, five
o'clock tea, knitting, prayers and a glass of cold water before going
to bed; meant district-visiting and tract-distributing, poke bonnets
and limp skirts, a class on Sunday afternoons, and a visit to the
Crystal Palace with the school-children on a summer's day. She did not
think it would be quite as bad as this in her case; indeed, she had
several times been amused--so far as it lay in her now to be amused--by
hearing Geoffrey speak of himself, with a kind of elephantine
liveliness, as a roisterer and a Bohemian. But she was perfectly
prepared to accept whatever happened; and when Geoff told her, the day
after his mother's visit, that he must begin work again and go on as
usual, she took it as a matter of course.
So Geoff arranged his new studio, and found out his best light, and got
his easel into position; and Flexor arrived with the lay-figure which
had been passing its vacation in Little Flotsam Street; and the great
model recognised Mrs. Geoffrey Ludlow, who happened to look in, with a
deferential bow, and, with what seemed best under the circumstances, a
look of extreme astonishment, as though he had never seen her before,
and expected to find quite a different person.
Gradually and one by one all the old accessories of Geoff's daily life
seemed closing round him. A feeble ring, heard while he and his wife
were at breakfast, would be followed by the servant's announcement
of "the young person, sir, a-waitin' in the stujo;" and the young
person--a model--would be found objurgating the distance from town, and
yet appreciative of the beauty of the spot when arrived at.
And Mr. Stompff had come; of course he had. No sooner did he get
Geoff's letter announcing his return than he put himself into a hansom
cab, and went up to Elm Lodge. For Mr. Stompff was a man of business.
His weak point was, that he judged other men by his own standard;
and knowing perfectly well that if any other man had had the success
which Geoffrey Ludlow had achieved that year, he (Stompff) would have
worked heaven and earth to get him into his clutches, he fancied that
Caniche, and all the other dealers, would be equally voracious, and
that the best thing he could do would be to strike the iron while it
was hot, and secure Ludlow for himself. He thought too that this was
rather a good opportunity for such a proceeding, as Ludlow's exchequer
was likely to be low, and he could the more easily be won over. So the
hansom made its way to Elm Lodge; and its fare, under the title of "a
strange gentleman, sir!" was ushered into Geoff's studio.
"Well, and how are you, Ludlow! What did she say, 'a strange
gentleman'? Yes, Mary, my love! I am a strange gentleman, as you'll
find out before I've done with you." Mr. Stompff laid his finger to
his nose, and winked with exquisite facetiousness. "Well, and how are
you? safe and sound, and all the rest of it! And how's Mrs. L.? Must
introduce me before I go. And what are you about now, eh? What's this?"
He stopped before the canvas on the easel, and began examining it
attentively.
"That's nothing!" said Geoffrey; "merely an outline of a notion I
had of the Esplanade at Brighton. I don't think it would make a bad
subject. You see, here I get the invalids in Bath-chairs, the regular
London swells promenading it, the boatmen; the Indian-Mutiny man,
with his bandaged foot and his arm in a sling and his big beard; some
excursionists with their baskets and bottles; some Jews, and--"
"Capital! nothing could be better! Hits the taste of the day, my boy;
shoots folly, and no flies, as the man said. That's your ticket! Any
body else seen that!"
"Well, literally not a soul. It's only just begun, and no one has been
here since I returned."
"That's all right! Now what's the figure? You're going to open your
mouth, I know; you fellows always do when you've made a little success."
"Well, you see," began old Geoff, in his usual hesitating diffident
manner, "it's a larger canvas than I've worked on hitherto, and there
are a good many more figures, and--"
"Will five hundred suit you?"
"Ye-es! Five hundred would be a good price, for--"
"All right! shake hands on it! I'll give you five hundred for the
copyright--right and away, mind!--sketch, picture, and right of
engraving. We'll get it to some winter-gallery, and you'll have another
ready for the Academy. Nothing like that, my boy! I know the world,
and you don't. What the public likes, you give them as much of as you
can. Don't you believe in over-stocking the market with Ludlows; that's
all stuff! Let 'em have the Ludlows while they want 'em. In a year or
two they'll fight like devils to get a Jones or a Robinson, and wonder
how the deuce any body could have spent their money on such a dauber
as Ludlow. Don't you be offended, my boy; I'm only speakin' the truth.
I buy you because the public wants you; and I turn an honest penny in
sellin' you again; not that I'm any peculiar nuts on you myself, either
one way or t'other. Come, let's wet this bargain, Ludlow, my boy; some
of that dry sherry you pulled out when I saw you last at Brompton, eh?"
Geoffrey rang the bell; the sherry was produced, and Mr. Stompff
enjoyed it with great gusto.
"Very neat glass of sherry as ever I drank. Well, Ludlow, success to
our bargain! Give it a good name, mind; that's half the battle; and, I
say, I wouldn't do too much about the Jews, eh? You know what I mean;
none of that d--d nose-trick, you know. There's first-rate customers
among the Jews, though they know more about pictures than most people,
and won't be palmed off like your Manchester coves but when they do
like a thing, they will have it; and tough they always insist upon
discount, yet even then, with the price one asks for a picture, it
pays. Well, you'll be able to finish that and two others--O, how do you
do, mam?"
This last to Margaret, who, not knowing that her husband had any one
with him was entering the studio. She bowed, and was about to withdraw;
but Geoff called her back, and presented Mr. Stompff to her.
"Very glad to make your acquaintance, mam," said that worthy, seizing
her hand; "heard of you often, and recognise the picture of Scyllum
and Something in an instant. Enjoyed yourself in the country, I 'ope.
That's all right. But nothing like London; that's the place to pick up
the dibs. I've been telling our friend here he must stick to it, now
he's a wife to provide for; for we know what's what, don't we, Mrs.
Ludlow? Three pictures a year, my boy, and good-sized 'uns too; no
small canvases: that's what we must have out of you."
Geoffrey laughed as he said, "Well, no; not quite so much as that.
Recollect, I intend to take my wife out occasionally; and besides, I've
promised to give some drawing lessons."
"What!" shrieked Mr. Stompff; "drawing-lessons! a man in your position
give drawing-lessons! I never heard such madness! You musn't do that,
Ludlow."
The words were spoken so decidedly that Margaret bit her lips, and
turned to look at her husband, whose face flushed a deep red, and whose
voice stuttered tremendously as he gasped out, "B-but I shall! D-don't
you say 'must,' please, to me, Mr. Stompff; because I don't like it;
and I don't know what the d-deuce you mean by using such a word!"
Mr. Stompff glanced at Margaret, whose face expressed the deepest
disgust; so clearly perceiving the mistake he had made, he said, "Well,
of course I only spoke as a friend; and when one does that he needn't
be in much doubt as to his reward. When I said 'must,' which seems to
have riled you so, Ludlow, I said it for your own sake. However, you
and I sha'n't fall out about that. Don't you give your pictures to any
one else, and we shall keep square enough. Where are you going to give
drawing-lessons, if one may be bold enough to ask?"
"In St. Barnabas Square, to a young lady, a very old friend of mine,
and a _protégée_ of Lord Caterham's," said Geoffrey, whose momentary
ire had died out.
"O, Lord Caterham's! that queer little deformed chap. Good little
fellow, too, they say he is; sharp, and all that kind of thing. Well,
there's no harm in that. I thought you were going on the philanthropic
dodge--to schools and working-men, and that lay. There's one rule in
life,--you never lose any thing by being civil to a bigwig; and this
little chap, I daresay, has influence in his way. By the way, you might
ask him to give a look in at my gallery, if he's passing by. Never does
any harm, that kind of thing. Well, I can't stay here all day. Men of
business must always be pushing on, Mrs. Ludlow. Good day to you; and,
I say, when--hem! there's any thing to renounce the world, the flesh,
and the--hey, you understand? any body wanted to promise and vow,
you know,--I'm ready; send for me. I've got my eye on a silver thug
already. Goodbye, Ludlow; see you next week. Three before next May,
recollect, and all for me. Ta-ta!" and Mr. Stompff stepped into his
cab, and drove off, kissing his fat pudgy little hands, with a great
belief in Geoffrey Ludlow and a holy horror of his wife.
In the course of the next few days Geoffrey wrote to Lord Caterham,
telling him that he was quite ready to commence Miss Maurice's
instruction; and shortly afterwards received an answer naming a day for
the lessons to commence. On arriving at the house Geoff was shown into
Lord Caterham's room, and there found Annie waiting to receive him.
Geoff advanced, and shook hands warmly; but he thought Miss Maurice's
manner was a little more reserved than on the last occasion of their
meeting.
"Lord Caterham bade me make his excuses to you, Mr. Ludlow," said she.
"He hopes to see you before you go; but he is not very well just now,
and does not leave his room till later in the day."
Geoff was a little hurt at the "Mr. Ludlow." Like all shy men, he
was absurdly sensitive; and at once thought that he saw in this mode
of address a desire on Annie's part to show him his position as
drawing-master. So he merely said he was "sorry for the cause of Lord
Caterham's absence;" and they proceeded at once to Work.
But the ice on either side very soon melted away. Geoff had brought
with him an old sketch-book, filled with scraps of landscape and
figures, quaint _bizarre_ caricatures, and little bits of every-day
life, all drawn at Willesden Priory or in its neighbourhood, all having
some little history of their own appealing to Annie's love of those
old days and that happy home. And as she looked over them, she began
to talk about the old times; and very speedily it was, "O, Geoff,
don't you remember?" and "O, Geoff, will you ever forget?" and so on;
and they went on sketching and talking until, to Annie at least, the
present and the intervening time faded away, and she was again the
petted little romp, and he was dear old Geoff, her best playmate, her
earliest friend, whom she used to drive round the gravel-paths in her
skipping-rope harness, and whose great shock head of hair used to cause
her such infinite wonder and amusement.
As she sat watching him bending over the drawing, she remembered with
what anxiety she used to await his coming at the Priory, and with
what perfect good-humour he bore all her childish whims and vagaries.
She remembered how he had always been her champion when her papa had
been _brusque_ or angry with her, saying, "Fairy was too small to be
scolded;" how when just before that horrible bankruptcy took place and
all the household were busy with their own cares she, suffering under
some little childish illness, was nursed by Geoff, then staying in
the house with a vague idea of being able to help Mr. Maurice in his
trouble; how he carried her in his arms to and fro, to and fro, during
the whole of one long night, and hushed her to sleep with the soft
tenderness of a woman. She had thought of him often and often during
her life at Ricksborough Vicarage, always with the same feelings of
clinging regard and perfect trust; and now she had found him. Well, no,
not him exactly; she doubted very much whether Mr. Ludlow the rising
artist was the same as the "dear old Geoff" of the Willesden-Priory
days. There was--and then, as she was thinking all this, Geoff raised
his eyes from the drawing, and smiled his dear old happy smile, and
put his pencil between his teeth, and slowly rubbed his hands while
he looked over his sketch, so exactly as he used to do fifteen years
before that she felt more than ever annoyed at that news which Arthur
had told tier a few days ago about Mr. Ludlow being married.
Yes, it was annoyance she felt! there was no other word for it. In the
old days he had belonged entirely to her, and why should he not now?
Her papa had always said that it was impossible Geoff could ever be any
thing but an old bachelor, and an old bachelor he should have remained.
What a ridiculous thing for a man at his time of life to import a new
element into it by marriage! It would have been so pleasant to have
had him then, just in the old way; to have talked to him and teased
him, and looked up to him just as she used to do, and now--O, no! it
could not be the same! no married man is ever the same with the friends
of his bachelorhood, especially female friends, as he was before. And
Mrs. Ludlow, what was she like? what could have induced Geoff to marry
her? While Geoff's head was bent over the drawing, Annie revolved all
this rapidly in her mind, and came to the conclusion that it must have
been for money that Geoff plunged into matrimony, and that Mrs. Ludlow
was either a widow with a comfortable jointure, in which case Annie
pictured her to herself as short, stout, and red-faced, with black
hair in bands and a perpetual black-silk dress; or a small heiress of
uncertain age, thin, with hollow cheeks and a pointed nose, ringlets of
dust-coloured hair, a pinched waist, and a soured temper. And to think
of Geoff's going and throwing away the rest of his life on a person of
this sort, when he might have been so happy in his old bachelor way!
The more she thought of this the more she hated it. Why had he not
announced to them that he was going to be married, when she first met
him after that long lapse of years? To be sure, the rooms at the Royal
Academy were scarcely the place in which to enter on such a matter; but
then--who could she be? what was she like? It was so long since Geoff
had been intimate with any one; she knew that of course his range of
acquaintance might have been changed a hundred times and she not know
one of them. How very strange that he did not say any thing about it
now! He had been here an hour sketching and pottering about, and yet
had not breathed a word about it. O, she would soon settle that!
So the next time Geoff looked up from his sketch, she said to him:
"Are you longing to be gone, Geoffrey? Getting fearfully bored? Is a
horrible _heimweh_ settling down upon your soul? I suppose under the
circumstances it ought to be, if it isn't."
"Under what circumstances, Annie? I'm not bored a bit, nor longing to
be gone. What makes you think so?"
"Only my knowledge of a fact which I've learned, though not from
you--your marriage, Geoffrey."
"Not from me! Pardon me, Annie; I begged Lord Caterham, to whom I
announced it, specially to name it to you. And, if you must know,
little child, I wondered you had said nothing to me about it."
He looked at her earnestly as he said this; and there was a dash of
disappointment in his honest eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Geoff--so sorry! But I didn't understand it so; really I
didn't," said Annie, already half-penitent. "Lord Caterham told me of
the fact, but as from himself; not from you; and--and I thought it odd
that, considering all our old intimacy, you hadn't--"
"Odd! why, God bless my soul! Annie, you don't think that I shouldn't;
but, you see, it was all so--At all events, I'm certain I told Lord
Caterham to tell you."
Geoff was in a fix here. His best chance of repudiating the idea that
he had willfully neglected informing Annie of his intended marriage
was the true reason, that the marriage itself was, up to within the
shortest time of its fulfilment, so unlooked for; but this would throw
a kind of slur on his wife; at all events, would prompt inquiries; so
he got through it as best he could with the stuttering excuses above
recorded.
They seemed to avail with Annie Maurice; for she only said, "O, yes;
I daresay it was some bungle of yours. You always used to make the
most horrible mistakes, Geoff, I've heard poor papa say a thousand
times, and get out of it in the lamest manner." Then, after a moment,
she said, "You must introduce me to your wife, Geoffrey;" and, almost
against her inclination, added, "What is she like?"
"Introduce you, little child? Why, of course I will, and tell her
how long I have known you, and how you used to sit on my knee, and
be my little pet," said old Geoff, in a transport of delight. "O, I
think you'll like her, Annie. She is--yes, I may say so--she is very
beautiful, and--and very quiet and good."
Geoff's ignorance of the world is painfully manifested in this speech.
No Woman could possibly be pleased to hear of her husband having been
in the habit Of having any little pet on his knee; and in advancing her
being "very beautiful" as a reason for liking his wife, Geoff showed
innocence which was absolutely refreshing.
Very beautiful! Was that mere conjugal blindness or real fact? Taken in
conjunction with "very quiet and good," it looked like the former; but
then where beauty was concerned Geoff had always been a stern judge;
and it was scarcely likely that he would suffer his judgment, founded
on the strictest abstract principles to be warped by any whim or fancy.
Very beautiful!--the quietude and goodness came into account,--very
beautiful!
"O, yes; I must come and see Mrs. Ludlow, please. You will name a day
before you go?"
"Name a day! What for, Annie?"
Lord Caterham was the speaker, sitting in his chair, and being wheeled
in from his bedroom by Stephens. Ins tone was a little harsh; his
temper a little sharp. He had all along determined that Annie and Geoff
should not be left alone together on the occasion of her first lesson.
But _l'homme propose et Dieu dispose_; and Caterham had been unable to
raise his head from his pillow, with one of those fearful neuralgic
headaches which occasionally affected him.
"What for! Why, to be introduced to Mrs. Ludlow! By the way, you seem
to have left your eyes in the other room, Arthur. You have not seen Mr.
Ludlow before, have you?"
"I beg Mr. Ludlow a thousand pardons!" said Caterham, who had
forgotten the announcement of Geoffrey's marriage, and who hailed the
recalling of the past with intense gratification. "I'm delighted to
see you, Mr. Ludlow; and very grateful to you for coming to fill up so
agreeably some of our young lady's blank time. If I thought you were
a conventional man, I should make you a pretty Conventional speech of
gratulation on your marriage; but as I'm sure you're something much
better, I leave that to be inferred."
"You are very good," said Geoff. "Annie was just saying that I should
introduce My wife to her, and--"
"Of course, of course!" said Caterham, a little dashed by the
familiarity of the "Annie." "I hope, to see Mrs. Ludlow here; not
merely as a visitor to a wretched bachelor like myself; but I'm sure my
mother would be very pleased to welcome her, and will, if you please,
do herself the honour of calling on Mrs. Ludlow.
"Thank you, Arthur; you are very kind, and I appreciate it," said
Annie, in a low voice, crossing to his chair; "but my going will be a
different thing; I mean, as an old friend of Geoff's, _I_ may go and
see his wife."
An old friend of Geoff's! Still the same bond between them, in which he
had no part--an intimacy with which he had nothing to do.
"Of course," said he; "nothing could be more natural."
"Little Annie coming to be introduced to Margaret!" thought Geoff, as
he walked homeward, the lesson over. This, then, was to be Margaret's
first introduction to his old friend. Not much fear of their not
getting on together. And yet, on reflection, Geoff was not so sure of
that, after all.