A DIFFICULTY ABOUT TICKETS.
Amidst those who held a strong opinion on the subject of the
concert--and it did not in any great degree differ from the men's--was
Mr. Arkell. Mrs. Arkell knew of this, but never supposed it would extend
to the length of keeping her away from it: or perhaps she wilfully shut
her eyes to any suspicion of the sort.
On the morning preceding the concert, she was seated making up some pink
bows, intended to adorn the white spotted muslin robes of her daughters,
when the explanation came. She said something about the concert--really
inadvertently--and Mr. Arkell took it up.
"You are surely not thinking of going to the concert?" he exclaimed.
"Indeed I am. I shall go and take Lottie and Sophy."
"Then, Charlotte, I desire that you will put away all thoughts of it,"
he said. "I could not allow my wife and daughters to appear at it."
"Why not? why not?" she asked in irritation.
"There is not the least necessity for my going over the reasons; you
have heard me say already what I think of this concert. It is a
gratuitous insult on our poor starving people, and neither I nor mine
shall take part in it."
"All the influential people in the town are supporting it, and will be
there."
"Not so universally as you may imagine. But at any rate what other
people do is no rule for me. I should consider it little less than a sin
to purchase tickets, and I will not do it, or allow it to be done."
Mrs. Arkell gave a flirt at the ribbon in her hand, and sent it flying
over the table.
"What will Charlotte and Sophy say? Pleasant news this will be for them!
These bows were for their white dresses. I might have spared myself the
time and trouble of making them up. Travice goes to it," she added,
resentfully.
"But Travice goes as senior of the college school. It has pleased Mr.
Wilberforce to ask that the four senior boys shall be admitted; it has
been accorded, and they have nothing to do but make use of the
permission in obedience to his wishes. That is a different thing. If I
had to buy a ticket for Travice, I assure you, Charlotte, the concert
would wait long enough before it saw him there."
"Our tickets would cost only fifteen shillings," she retorted.
"I can't afford fifteen shillings," said Mr. Arkell, getting vexed.
"Charlotte, hear me, once for all; if the tickets cost but one shilling
each, I would not have you purchase them. Not a coin of mine, small or
large, shall go to swell the funds of the concert. If you and the girls
feel disappointed, I am sorry," he continued, in a kind tone. "It is not
often that I run counter to your wishes; but in this one instance--and I
must beg you distinctly to understand me--I cannot allow my decision to
be disputed."
To say that Mrs. Arkell was annoyed, would be a very inadequate word to
express what she felt. She had been fond of gaiety all her life; was
fond of it still; she was excessively fond of dress; any project
offering the one or the other was eagerly embraced by Mrs. Arkell.
Though of gentle birth herself--if that was of any service to her--as
the wife of William Arkell, the manufacturer, she did not take her
standing in what was called the society of Westerbury--and you do not
need, I presume, to be reminded what "society" in a cathedral town is;
or are ignorant of its pretentious exclusiveness. There was not a more
respected man in the whole city than Mr. Arkell; the dean himself was
not more highly considered; but he was a manufacturer, the son of a
manufacturer, and therefore beyond the pale of the visiting society. It
never occurred to him to wish to enter it; but it did to his wife. To
have that barrier removed, she would have sacrificed much; and now and
again her reason would break out in private complaint against it. She
could not see the justice of it. It is true her husband was a
manufacturer; but he had been reared a gentleman; he was a brilliant
scholar, one of the most accomplished men of his day. His means were
ample, and their style of living was good. Mrs. Arkell glanced to some
of the people revelling in the _entree_ of that society, with their poor
pitiful income of a hundred pounds, or two, a year; their pinching and
screwing; their paltry expedients to make both ends meet. Why should
they be admitted and she excluded, was the question she often asked
herself. But Mrs. Arkell knew perfectly well, in the midst of her
grumbling, that one might as well try to alter the famed laws of the
Medes and Persians, as the laws that govern society in a cathedral town:
or indeed in any town. This concert she had looked forward to with more
interest than usual, because it would afford her the opportunity of
hearing some of the great ones of the county play and sing.
But she did not now see how to get to it; and her disappointment was
bitter. It had fallen upon her as a blow. Mrs. Arkell had her faults,
but she was a good wife on the whole; not one to run into direct
disobedience. She generally enjoyed her own way; her husband rarely
interfered to counteract it; certainly he had never denied her anything
so positively as this. She sat, the image of discontent, listlessly
tossing the pink bows about with her fingers, when her eldest daughter,
a tall, elegant girl, came in.
"Oh, mamma! how lovely they are! won't they look well on the white
dresses!"
"Well!" grunted Mrs. Arkell, "I might have spared myself the trouble of
making them. We are not to go to the concert now."
"Not to go to the concert!" echoed Charlotte, opening her eyes in utter
astonishment. "Does papa say so?"
"Yes; he will not allow tickets to be purchased. He does not approve of
the concert. And he says, if the tickets cost but a shilling each, he
should think it a sin to give it."
Charlotte sat down, the picture of dismay.
"Where will be the use of our new dresses now!" she exclaimed.
"Where will be the use of anything," retorted Mrs. Arkell. "Don't whirl
your chain round like that, Charlotte, giving me the fidgets!"
Charlotte dropped her chain. A bright idea had occurred to her.
"If papa's objection lies in the purchase of tickets, let us ask Henry
Arkell for his, mamma. Mrs. Peter is sure to be too ill to go."
One minute's pause of thought, and Mrs. Arkell caught at the suggestion,
as a famished outcast catches at the bread offered to him. If a doubt
obtruded itself, that their appearing at the concert at all would be
almost as unpalatable to her husband as their spending money upon its
tickets, she conveniently put it out of sight.
The gentlemen forming the choir of the cathedral, both lay-clerks and
choristers, had been solicited to give their services to the concert; as
an acknowledgment two tickets were presented to each of them, in common
with the amateur performers. Henry Arkell had, of course, two with the
rest, and these were the tickets thought of by Charlotte.
Not a moment lost Mrs. Arkell. Away went she to pay a visit to Mrs.
Peter--a most unusual condescension; and it impressed Mrs. Peter
accordingly, who was lying on her sofa that day, very poorly indeed.
Mrs. Arkell at once proclaimed the motive of her visit; she did not
beat about the bush, or go to work with crafty diplomacy, but she
plunged into it with open frankness, telling of their terrible
disappointment, through Mr. Arkell's objecting, on principle, to buy
tickets.
"If you do not particularly wish to go yourself, Mrs. Peter--I know how
unequal you are to exertion--and would give Henry's tickets to myself
and Charlotte, I should feel more obliged than I can express."
There was one minute's hesitation on Mrs. Peter Arkell's part. She had
really wished to go to this concert; she was nursing herself up to be
able to go; and she knew how greatly Lucy, who had but few chances of
any sort of pleasure, was looking forward to it. But the hesitation
lasted the minute only; the next, the coveted tickets, with their pretty
little red seal in the corner, were in the hand of Mrs. Arkell.
She went home as elated as though she had taken an enemy's ship at sea,
and were sailing into port with it.
"Sophy must make up her mind to stay at home," she soliloquized. "It is
her papa's fault, and I shall tell her so, if she's rebellious over it,
as she is sure to be. This gives one advantage, however: there will be
more room in the carriage for me and Charlotte. I wondered how we
should all three cram in, with new white dresses on."
About the time that she was hugging this idea complacently to herself,
the college clock struck one; and the college boys came pelting,
pell-mell, down the steps of the schoolroom, their usual mode of egress.
Travice Arkell, the senior boy of the school now--and the senior of that
school possessed great power, and ruled his followers with an iron hand,
more or less so according to his nature--waited, as he was obliged, to
the last; he locked the door, and went flying across the grounds to
leave the keys at the head master's. Travice Arkell was almost a man
now, and would quit the school very shortly.
Bounding along as fast as he could go when he had left the keys--taking
no notice of a knot of juniors who were quarrelling over
marbles--Travice made a detour as he turned out of the grounds, and
entered the house of Mrs. Peter Arkell. He was rather addicted to making
this detour, but he burst in now at an inopportune moment. Lucy was in
tears, and Mrs. Arkell was remonstrating against them in a reasoning,
not to say a reproving tone. Henry, who had got in previously, was
nursing his leg, a very blank look upon his face.
"What's the matter?" asked Travice, as Lucy made her escape.
"I thought Lucy had more sense," was the vexed rejoinder made by Mrs.
Peter. "Don't ask, Travice. It is nothing."
"What is it, Harry, boy?" cried Travice, with scant attention to the
"don't ask." "She can't be crying for nothing."
"It's about the concert," returned Henry, ruefully, his disappointment
being at least equal to Lucy's. "Mamma has given away the tickets, and
Lucy can't go."
"Whatever's that for?" asked Travice, who was as much at home at Mrs.
Peter's as he was at his own house. "Who has got the tickets?"
"Mrs. Arkell."
"Mrs. Arkell!" shouted Travice, staring at the boy as if he questioned
the truth of the words. "Do you mean my mother? What on earth does she
want with your tickets?"
As he put the question he turned to Mrs. Peter, lying there with the
sensitive crimson on her cheeks. She had certainly not intended to
betray this to Travice: it had come out in the suddenness of the moment,
and she strove to make the best of it now.
"I am glad it has happened so, Travice. I feel so weak to-day that I was
beginning to think it would be imprudent, if not impossible, for me to
venture to go to-morrow. To say the least, I am better away. As to Lucy,
she is very foolish to cry over so trifling a disappointment. She'll
forget it directly."
"But what does my mother want with your tickets?" reiterated Travice,
unable to understand that point in the matter. "Why can't she buy
tickets for herself?"
"Mr. Arkell has scruples, I believe. But, Travice, I am happy to----"
"Well, I shall just tell my mother what I think of this!" was the
indignant interruption.
"Don't, Travice," said Mrs. Arkell. "If you only knew how _glad_ I am to
have the opportunity of rendering any little service to your home!" she
whispered, drawing him to her with her gentle hand; "if you knew but
half the kindness my husband and I receive from your father! I am only
sorry I did not think to offer the tickets at first; I ought to have
done so. It is all right; let us say no more about it."
Travice bent his lips to the flushed cheek: he loved her quite as much
as he did his own mother.
"Take care, or you will get feverish; and that would never do, you
know."
"My dear boy, I am feverish already; I have been a little so all day;
and I am sure there could be no concert for me to-morrow, had I a
roomful of tickets. It has all happened for the best, I say. I should
only have been at the trouble of finding somebody to take Lucy."
As he was leaving the room he came upon Lucy in the passage, who was
returning to it--the tears dried, or partially so; and if the long dark
eye-lashes glistened yet, there was a happy smile upon the sweet red
lips. Few could school themselves as did that thoughtful girl of
fifteen, Lucy Arkell.
Travice stopped her as he closed the door.
"You'll trust me, will you not, Lucy?"
"For what?" she asked.
"To put this to rights. It----"
"Oh pray, pray don't!" she cried, fearing she hardly knew what. "Surely
you are not thinking of asking for the tickets back again! I would not
use them for the world. And they would be of no use to us now, for mamma
says she shall not be well enough to go, and I don't think she will. I
shall not mind staying at home."
Travice placed his two hands on her shoulders, and looked into her face
with his sweet smile and his speaking eyes; she coloured strangely
beneath the gaze.
"I'll tell you what it is, Lucy: you are just one of those to get put
upon through life and never stand up for yourself. It's a good thing you
have me at your side."
"You can't be at my side all through life," said Lucy, laughing.
"Don't make too sure of that, Mademoiselle." And the colour in her face
deepened to a glowing crimson, and her heart beat wildly, as the
significance of the tone made itself heard, in conjunction with his
retreating footsteps.
He dashed home, spending about two minutes in the process, and dashed
into the room where his mother was, her bonnet on yet, talking to
Charlotte, and impressing upon her the fact that their going to the
concert must be kept an entire secret from all, until the moment of
starting arrived, but especially from papa and Sophy. Charlotte, in a
glow of delight, acquiesced in everything.
"I say, mamma, what's this about your taking Mrs. Peter's tickets?"
He threw his trencher on the table, as he burst in upon them with the
question, and his usually refined face was in a very unrefined glow of
heat. The interruption was most unwelcome. Mrs. Arkell would have put
him down at once, but that she knew, from past experience, Travice had
an inconvenient knack of not allowing himself to be put down. So she
made a merit of necessity, and told how Mr. Arkell had interdicted their
buying tickets.
"Well, of all the cool things ever done, that was about the coolest--for
you to go and get those tickets from Mrs. Peter!" he said, when he had
heard her to an end. "They don't have so many opportunities of going
out, that you should deprive them of this one. I'd have stopped away
from concerts for ever before I had done it."
"You be quiet, Travice," struck in Charlotte; "it is no business of
yours."
"_You_ be quiet," retorted Travice. "And it is my business, because I
choose to make it mine. Mother, just one question: Will you let Lucy go
with you to the concert? Mrs. Peter fears she shall be too ill to go.
I'm sure I don't wonder if she is," he continued, with a spice of
impertinence; "I should be, if I had had such a shabby trick played upon
me."
"It is like your impudence to ask it, Travice. When do I take out Lucy
Arkell? She is not going to the concert."
"She is going to the concert," returned Travice, that decision in his
tone, that incipient rebellion, that his mother so much disliked. "You
have deprived them of their tickets, and I shall, therefore, buy them
two in place of them. And when my father asks me why I spent money on
the concert against his wish, I shall just lay the whole case before
him, and he will see that there was no help for it. I shall go and tell
him now, before I----"
"You will do no such thing, Travice," interrupted Mrs. Arkell, her face
in a flame. "I forbid you to carry the tale to your father. Do you hear
me? _I forbid you_;--and I am your mother. How dare you talk of spending
your money on this concert? Buy two tickets, indeed!"
The first was a mandate that Travice would not break; the latter he
conveniently ignored. Flinging his trencher on his head, he went
straight off to buy the tickets, and carried them to Mrs. Peter
Arkell's. There was not much questioning as to how he obtained them, for
Mrs. St. John was sitting there. That they were fresh tickets might be
seen by the numbers.
"My dear Travice," cried Mrs. Peter, "it is kind of you to bring these
tickets; but we cannot use them. I shall be unable to go; and there is
no one to take Lucy."
"Nonsense, there are plenty to take her," returned Travice. "Mrs.
Prattleton would be delighted to take her; and I dare say," he added, in
his rather free manner, as he threw his beaming glance into the
visitor's face, "that Mrs. St. John would not mind taking charge of
her."
"I _will_ take charge of her," said Mrs. St. John--and the tone of the
voice showed how genuinely ready was the acquiescence--"that is, if I go
myself. But Frederick is ill to-day, and I am not sure that I can leave
him to-morrow. But Lucy shall go with some of us. My niece, Anne, will
be here, I expect, to-night. She is coming to pay a long visit."
"What is the matter with Frederick?" asked Travice, quickly.
"It appears like incipient fever. I suppose he has caught a violent
cold."
"I'll go and see him," said Travice, catching up his trencher, and
vaulting off before anyone could stop him.
Mrs. St. John rose, saying something final about the taking Lucy, and
the arrangements for the morrow. She was the only one of the
acquaintances of Miss Lucy Cheveley who had not abandoned Mrs. Peter
Arkell. It is true the St. Johns were not very often at the Palmery, but
when they were there, Mrs. St. John never failed to be found once a week
sitting with the wife of the poor tutor, so neglected by the world.
And, after all, when the morrow came, Mrs. Peter Arkell _was_ too ill to
go. So she folded the spare ticket in paper, and sent it, with her love,
to Miss Sophia Arkell.