"The head remains unchanged within,
Nor altered much the face,
It still retains its native grin,
And all its old grimace.
"Men with contempt the brute surveyed,
Nor would a name bestow,
But women liked the motley beast,
And called the thing a beau."
The Monkies, MERRICK.
The Woodford family did not long remain at Winchester. Anne
declared the cold to be harming her mother, and became very anxious
to bring her to the milder sea breezes of Portchester, and though
Mrs. Woodford had little expectation that any place would make much
difference to her, she was willing to return to the quiet and repose
of her home under the castle walls beside the tranquil sea.
Thus they travelled back, as soon as the Doctor's Residence was
ended, plodding through the heavy chalk roads as well as the big
horses could drag the cumbrous coach up and down the hills, only
halting for much needed rest at Sir Philip Archfield's red house,
round three sides of a quadrangle, the fourth with a low wall backed
by a row of poplar trees, looking out on the alternate mud and
sluggish waters of Fareham creek, but with a beautiful garden behind
the house.
The welcome was hearty. Lady Archfield at once conducted Mrs.
Woodford to her own bedroom, where she was to rest and be served
apart, and Anne disrobed her of her wraps, covered her upon the bed,
and at her hostess's desire was explaining what refreshment would
best suit her, when there was a shrill voice at the door: "I want
Mistress Anne! I want to show her my clothes and jewels."
"Coming, child, she is coming when she has attended to her mother,"
responded the lady. "White wine, or red, did you say, Anne, and a
little ginger?"
"Is she never coming?" was again the call; and Lady Archfield
muttering, "Was there ever such an impatient poppet?" released Anne,
who was instantly pounced upon by young Mrs. Archfield. Linking her
arm into that of her visitor, and thrusting Lucy into the
background, the little heiress proceeded to her own wainscotted
bedroom, bare according to modern views, but very luxurious
according to those of the seventeenth century, and with the toilette
apparatus, scanty indeed, but of solid silver, and with a lavish
amount of perfumery. Her 'own woman' was in waiting to display and
refold the whole wedding wardrobe, brocade, satin, taffetas,
cambric, Valenciennes, and point d'Alencon. Anne had to admire each
in detail, and then to give full meed to the whole casket of jewels,
numerous and dazzling as befitted a constellation of heirlooms upon
one small head. They were beautiful, but it was wearisome to repeat
'Vastly pretty!' 'How exquisite!' 'That becomes you very well,'
almost mechanically, when Lucy was standing about all the time,
longing to exchange the girlish confidences that were burning to
come forth. 'Young Madam,' as every one called her in those times
when Christian names were at a discount, seemed to be jealous of
attention to any one else, and the instant she saw the guest attempt
to converse with her sister-in-law peremptorily interrupted, almost
as if affronted.
Perhaps if Anne had enjoyed freedom of speech with Lucy she would
not have learnt as much as did her mother, for the young are often
more scrupulous as to confidences than their seniors, who view them
as still children, and freely discuss their affairs among
themselves.
So Lady Archfield poured out her troubles: how her daughter-in-law
refused employment, and disdained instruction in needlework,
housewifery, or any domestic art, how she jangled the spinnet, but
would not learn music, and was unoccupied, fretful, and exacting, a
burthen to herself and every one else, and treating Lucy as the
slave of her whims and humours. As to such discipline as mothers-
in-law were wont to exercise upon young wives, the least restraint
or contradiction provoked such a tempest of passion as to shake the
tiny, delicate frame to a degree that alarmed the good old matron
for the consequences. Her health was a continual difficulty, for
her constitution was very frail, every imprudence cost her
suffering, and yet any check to her impulses as to food, exertion,
or encountering weather was met by a spoilt child's resentment.
Moreover, her young husband, and even his father, always thought the
ladies were hard upon her, and would not have her vexed; and as
their presence always brightened and restrained her, they never
understood the full amount of her petulance and waywardness, and
when they found her out of spirits, or out of temper, they charged
all on her ailments or on want of consideration from her mother and
sister-in-law.
Poor Lady Archfield, it was trying for her that her husband should
be nearly as blind as his son. The young husband was wonderfully
tender, indulgent, and patient with the little creature, but it
would not be easy to say whether the affection were not a good deal
like that for his dog or his horse, as something absolutely his own,
with which no one else had a right to interfere. It was a relief to
the family that she always wanted to be out of doors with him
whenever the weather permitted, nay, often when it was far from
suitable to so fragile a being; but if she came home aching and
crying ever so much with chill or fatigue, even if she had to keep
her bed afterwards, she was equally determined to rush out as soon
as she was up again, and as angry as ever at remonstrance.
Charles was gone to try a horse; and as the remains of the effects
of her last imprudence had prevented her accompanying him, the
arrival of the guests had been a welcome diversion to the monotony
of the morning.
He was, however, at home again by the time the dinner-bell summoned
the younger ladies from the inspection of the trinkets and the
gentlemen from the live stock, all to sit round the heavy oaken
table draped with the whitest of napery, spun by Lady Archfield in
her maiden days, and loaded with substantial joints, succeeded by
delicacies manufactured by herself and Lucy.
As to the horse, Charles was fairly satisfied, but 'that fellow,
young Oakshott, had been after him, and had the refusal.'
"Don't you be outbid, Mr. Archfield," exclaimed the wife. "What is
the matter of a few guineas to us?"
"Little fear," replied Charles. "The old Major is scarcely like to
pay down twenty gold caroluses, but if he should, the bay is his."
"Oh, but why not offer thirty?" she cried.
Charles laughed. "That would be a scurvy trick, sweetheart, and if
Peregrine be a crooked stick, we need not be crooked too."
"I was about to ask," said the Doctor, "whether you had heard aught
of that same young gentleman."
"I have seen him where I never desire to see him again," said Sir
Philip, "riding as though he would be the death of the poor hounds."
"Nick Huntsman swears that he bewitches them," said Charles, "for
they always lose the scent when he is in the field, but I believe
'tis the wry looks of him that throw them all out."
"And I say," cried the inconsistent bride, "that 'tis all jealousy
that puts the gentlemen beside themselves, because none of them can
dance, nor make a bow, nor hand a cup of chocolate, nor open a gate
on horseback like him."
"What does a man on horseback want with opening gates?" exclaimed
Charles.
"That's your manners, sir," said young Madam with a laugh. "What's
the poor lady to do while her cavalier flies over and leaves her in
the lurch?"
Her husband did not like the general laugh, and muttered, "You know
what I mean well enough."
"Yes, so do I! To fumble at the fastening till your poor beast can
bear it no longer and swerves aside, and I sit waiting a good half
hour before you bring down your pride enough to alight and open it."
"All because you _would_ send Will home for your mask."
"You would like to have had my poor little face one blister with the
glare of sun and sea."
"Blisters don't come at this time of the year."
"No, nor to those who have no complexion to lose," she cried, with a
triumphant look at the two maidens, who certainly had not the lilies
nor the roses that she believed herself to have, though, in truth,
her imprudences had left her paler and less pretty than at
Winchester.
If this were the style of the matrimonial conversations, Anne again
grieved for her old playfellow, and she perceived that Lucy looked
uncomfortable; but there was no getting a moment's private
conversation with her before the coach was brought round again for
the completion of the journey. All that neighbourhood had a very
bad reputation as the haunt of lawless characters, prone to
violence; and though among mere smugglers there was little danger of
an attack on persons well known like the Woodford family, they were
often joined by far more desperate men from the seaport, so that it
was never desirable to be out of doors after dark.
The journey proved to have been too much for Mrs. Woodford's
strength, and for some days she was so ill that Anne never left the
house; but she rallied again, and on coming downstairs became very
anxious that her daughter should not be more confined by attendance
than was wholesome, and insisted on every opportunity of change or
amusement being taken.
One day as Anne was in the garden she was surprised by Peregrine
dashing up on horseback.
"You would not take the Queen's rosary before," he said. "You must
now, to save it. My father has smelt it out. He says it is
teraphim! Micah--Rachel, what not, are quoted against it. He would
have smashed it into fragments, but that Martha Browning said it
would be a pretty bracelet. I'd sooner see it smashed than on her
red fist. To think of her giving in to such vanities! But he said
she might have it, only to be new strung. When he was gone she
said, 'I don't really want the thing, but it was hard you should
lose the Queen's keepsake. Can you bestow it safely?' I said I
could, and brought it hither. Keep it, Anne, I pray."
Anne hesitated, and referred it to her mother upstairs.
"Tell him," she said, "that we will keep it in trust for him as a
royal gift."
Peregrine was disappointed, but had to be content.
A Dutch vessel from the East Indies had brought home sundry strange
animals, which were exhibited at the Jolly Mariner at Portsmouth,
and thus announced on a bill printed on execrable paper, brought out
to Portchester by some of the market people:--
"An Ellefante twice the Bignesse of an Ocks, the Trunke or Probosces
whereof can pick up a Needle or roote up an Ellum Tree. Also the
Royale Tyger, the same as has slaine and devoured seven yonge Gentoo
babes, three men, and two women at the township at Chuttergong, nie
to Bombay, in the Eastern Indies. Also the sacred Ape, worshipped
by the heathen of the Indies, the Dancing Serpent which weareth
Spectacles, and whose Bite is instantly mortal, with other rare
Fish, Fowle, Idols and the like. All to be seene at the Charge of
one Groat per head."
Mrs. Woodford declared herself to be extremely desirous that her
daughter should see and bring home an account of all these marvels,
and though Anne had no great inclination to face the tiger with the
formidable appetite, she could not refuse to accompany her uncle.
The Jolly Mariner stood in one of the foulest and narrowest of the
streets of the unsavoury seaport, and Dr. Woodford sighed, and
fumed, and wished for a good pipe of tobacco more than once as he
hesitated to try to force a way for his niece through the throng
round the entrance to the stable-yard of the Jolly Mariner,
apparently too rough to pay respect to gown and cassock. Anne clung
to his arm, ready to give up the struggle, but a voice said, "Allow
me, sir. Mistress Anne, deign to take my arm."
It was Peregrine Oakshott with his brother Robert, and she could
hardly tell how in a few seconds she had been squeezed through the
crowd, and stood in the inn-yard, in a comparatively free space, for
a groat was a prohibitory charge to the vulgar.
"Peregrine! Master Oakshott!" They heard an exclamation of
pleasure, at which Peregrine shrugged his shoulders and looked
expressively at Anne, before turning to receive the salutations of
an elderly gentleman and a tall young woman, very plainly but
handsomely clad in mourning deeper than his own. She was of a tall,
gaunt, angular figure, and a face that never could have been
handsome, and now bore evident traces of smallpox in redness and
pits.
Dr. Woodford knew the guardian Mr. Browning, and his ward Mistress
Martha and Mistress Anne Jacobina were presented to one another.
The former gave a good-humoured smile, as if perfectly unconscious
of her own want of beauty, and declared she had hoped to meet all
the rest here, especially Mistress Anne Woodford, of whom she had
heard so much. There was just a little patronage about the tone
which repelled the proud spirit that was in Anne, and in spite of
the ordinary dread and repulsion she felt for Peregrine, she was
naughty enough to have the feeling of a successful beauty when
Peregrine most manifestly turned away from the heiress in her silk
and velvet to do the honours of the exhibition to the parson's
niece.
The elephant was fastened by the leg to a post, which perhaps he
could have pulled up, had he thought it worth his while, but he was
well contented to wave his trunk about and extend its clever finger
to receive contributions of cakes and apples, and he was too well
amused to resort to any strong measures. The tiger, to Anne's
relief, proved to be only a stuffed specimen. Peregrine, who had
seen a good many foreign animals in Holland, where the Dutch
captains were in the habit of bringing curiosities home for the
delectation of their families in their Lusthausen, was a very
amusing companion, having much to tell about bird and beast, while
Robert stood staring with open mouth. The long-legged secretary and
the beautiful doves were, however, only stuffed, but Anne was much
entertained at second hand with the relation of the numerous
objects, which on the word of a Leyden merchant had been known to
disappear in the former bird's capacious crop, and with stories of
the graceful dancing of the cobra, though she was not sorry that the
present specimen was only visible in a bottle of arrack, where his
spectacled hood was scarcely apparent. Presently a well known
shrill young voice was heard. "Yes, yes, I know I shall swoon at
that terrible tiger! Oh, don't! I can't come any farther."
"Why, you would come, madam," said Charles.
"Yes, yes! but--oh, there's a two-tailed monster! I know it is the
tiger! It is moving! I shall die if you take me any farther."
"Plague upon your folly, madam! It is only the elephant," said a
gruffer, rude voice.
"Oh, it is dreadful! 'Tis like a mountain! I can't! Oh no, I
can't!"
"Come, madam, you have brought us thus far, you must come on, and
not make fools of us all," said Charles's voice. "There's nothing
to hurt you."
Anne, understanding the distress and perplexity, here turned back to
the passage into the court, and began persuasively to explain to
little Mrs. Archfield that the tiger was dead, and only a skin, and
that the elephant was the mildest of beasts, till she coaxed forward
that small personage, who had of course never really intended to
turn back, supported and guarded as she was by her husband, and
likewise by a tall, glittering figure in big boots and a handsome
scarlet uniform and white feather who claimed her attention as he
strode into the court. "Ha! Mistress Anne and the Doctor on my
life. What, don't you know me?"
"Master Sedley Archfield!" said the Doctor; "welcome home, sir!
'Tis a meeting of old acquaintance. You and this gentleman are both
so much altered that it is no wonder if you do not recognise one
another at once."
"No fear of Mr. Perry Oakshott not being recognised," said Sedley
Archfield, holding out his hand, but with a certain sneer in his
rough voice that brought Peregrine's eyebrows together. "Kenspeckle
enough, as the fools of Whigs say in Scotland."
"Are you long from Scotland, sir?" asked Dr. Woodford, by way of
preventing personalities.
"Oh ay, sir; these six months and more. There's not much more sport
to be had since the fools of Cameronians have been pretty well got
under, and 'tis no loss to be at Hounslow."
"And oh, what a fright!" exclaimed Mrs. Archfield, catching sight of
the heiress. "Keep her away! She makes me ill."
They were glad to divert her attention to feeding the elephant, and
she was coquetting a little about making up her mind to approach
even the defunct tiger, while she insisted on having the number of
his victims counted over to her. Anne asked for Lucy, to whom she
wanted to show the pigeons, but was answered that, "my lady wanted
Lucy at home over some matter of jellies and blancmanges."
Charles shrugged his shoulders a little and Sedley grumbled to Anne.
"The little vixen sets her heart on cates that she won't lay a
finger to make, and poor Lucy is like to be no better than a cook-
maid, while they won't cross her, for fear of her tantrums."
At that instant piercing screams, shriek upon shriek, rang through
the court, and turning hastily round, Anne beheld a little monkey
perched on Mrs. Archfield's head, having apparently leapt thither
from the pole to which it was chained.
The keeper was not in sight, being in fact employed over a sale of
some commodities within. There was a general springing to the
rescue. Charles tried to take the creature off, Sedley tugged at
the chain fastened to a belt round its body, but the monkey held
tight by the curls on the lady's forehead with its hands, and
crossed its legs round her neck, clasping the hands so that the
effect of the attempts of her husband and his cousin was only to
throttle her, so that she could no longer scream and was almost in a
fit, when on Peregrine holding out a nut and speaking coaxingly in
Dutch, the monkey unloosed its hold, and with another bound was on
his arm. He stood caressing and feeding it, talking to it in the
same tongue, while it made little squeaks and chatterings, evidently
delighted, though its mournful old man's visage still had the same
piteous expression. There was something most grotesque and almost
weird in the sight of Peregrine's queer figure toying with its odd
hands which seemed to be in black gloves, and the strange language
he talked to it added to the uncanny effect. Even the Doctor felt
it as he stood watching, and would have muttered 'Birds of a
feather,' but that the words were spoken more gruffly and plainly by
Sedley Archfield, who said something about the Devil and his dam,
which the good Doctor did not choose to hear, and only said to
Peregrine, "You know how to deal with the jackanapes."
"I have seen some at Leyden, sir. This is a pretty little beast."
Pretty! There was a recoil in horror, for the creature looked to
the crowd demoniacal. Something the same was the sensation of
Charles, who, assisted by Anne and Martha, had been rather carrying
than leading his wife into the inn parlour, where she immediately
had a fit of hysterics--vapours, as they called it--bringing all the
women of the inn about her, while Martha and Anne soothed her as
best they could, and he was reduced to helplessly leaning out at the
bay window.
When the sobs and cries subsided, under cold water and essences
without and strong waters within, and the little lady in Martha's
strong arms, between the matronly coaxing of the fat hostess and the
kind soothings of the two young ladies, had been restored to
something of equanimity, Mistress Martha laid her down and said with
the utmost good humour and placidity to the young husband, "Now I'll
go, sir. She is better now, but the sight of my face might set her
off again."
"Oh, do not say so, madam. We are infinitely obliged. Let her
thank you."
But Martha shook her hand and laughed, turning to leave the room, so
that he was fain to give her his arm and escort her back to her
guardian.
Then ensued a scream. "Where's he going? Mr. Archfield, don't
leave me."
"He is only taking Mistress Browning back to her guardian," said
Anne.
"Eh? oh, how can he? A hideous fright!" she cried.
To say the truth, she was rather pleased to have had such a dreadful
adventure, and to have made such a commotion, though she protested
that she must go home directly, and could never bear the sight of
those dreadful monsters again, or she should die on the spot.
"But," said she, when the coach was at the door, and Anne had
restored her dress to its dainty gaiety, "I must thank Master
Peregrine for taking off that horrible jackanapes."
"Small thanks to him," said Charles crossly. "I wager it was all
his doing out of mere spite."
"He is too good a beau ever to spite _me_," said Mrs. Alice, her
head a little on one side.
"Then to show off what he could do with the beast--Satan's imp, like
himself."
"No, no, Mr. Archfield," pleaded Anne, "that was impossible; I saw
him myself. He was with that sailor-looking man measuring the
height of the secretary bird."
"I believe you are always looking after him," grumbled Charles. "I
can't guess what all the women see in him to be always gazing after
him."
"Because he is so charmingly ugly," laughed the young wife, tripping
out in utter forgetfulness that she was to die if she went near the
beasts again. She met Peregrine half way across the yard with
outstretched hands, exclaiming--
"O Mr. Oakshott! it was so good in you to take away that nasty
beast."
"I am glad, madam, to have been of use," said Peregrine, bowing and
smiling, a smile that might explain something of his fascination.
"The poor brute was only drawn, as all of our kind are. He wanted
to see so sweet a lady nearer. He is quite harmless. Will you
stroke him? See, there he sits, gazing after you. Will you give
him a cake and make friends?"
"No, no, madam, it cannot be; it is too much," grumbled Charles; and
though Alice had backed at first, perhaps for the pleasure of
teasing him, or for that of being the centre of observation,
actually, with all manner of pretty airs and graces, she let herself
be led forward, lay a timid hand on the monkey's head, and put a
cake in its black fingers, while all the time Peregrine held it fast
and talked Dutch to it; and Charles Archfield hardly contained his
rage, though Anne endeavoured to argue the impossibility of
Peregrine's having incited the attack; and Sedley blustered that
they ought to interfere and make the fellow know the reason why.
However, Charles had sense enough to know that though he might
exhale his vexation in grumbling, he had no valid cause for
quarrelling with young Oakshott, so he contented himself with black
looks and grudging thanks, as he was obliged to let Peregrine hand
his wife into her carriage amid her nods and becks and wreathed
smiles.
They would have taken Dr. Woodford and his niece home in the coach,
but Anne had an errand in the town, and preferred to return by boat.
She wanted some oranges and Turkey figs to allay her mother's
constant thirst, and Peregrine begged permission to accompany them,
saying that he knew where to find the best and cheapest.
Accordingly he took them to a tiny cellar, in an alley by the boat
camber, where the Portugal oranges certainly looked riper and were
cheaper than any that Anne had found before; but there seemed to be
an odd sort of understanding between Peregrine and the withered old
weather-beaten sailor who sold them, such as rather puzzled the
Doctor.
"I hope these are not contraband," he said to Peregrine, when the
oranges had been packed in the basket of the servant who followed
them.
Peregrine shrugged his shoulders.
"Living is hard, sir. Ask no questions."
The Doctor looked tempted to turn back with the fruit, but such
doubts were viewed as ultra scruples, and would hardly have been
entertained even by a magistrate such as Sir Philip Archfield.
It was not a time for questions, and Peregrine remained with them
till they embarked at the point, asking to be commended to Mrs.
Woodford, and hoping soon to come and see both her and poor Hans, he
left them.