"No, Miss Clode; I can be angry, and I can speak my own mind, but I'm
not going to be so mean and shabby as to take my custom somewhere else,
though it is so tempting; but what I say is this--don't you never say a
word to me again about that young lady, or I shall fly out."
"I'm very sorry, ma'am, I'm sure, and you and Mr Barclay are such good
customers, besides being my landlord and landlady."
"Oh, there's nothing in that, Miss Clode. You pay your rent to the day,
and, as Mr Barclay says, it's a business transaction."
"Of course, it's very painful to me, Mrs Barclay, and I shouldn't have
told you what I did, only you know you came and asked me what people
were saying."
"Well, so I did. Yes, you're right, I did. But it isn't true, Miss
Clode. Miss Claire Denville is as good as gold, and people tell most
horrible stories, and where you get to know so much I can't think. But
does everybody talk about it?"
"Yes, ma'am, everybody; and Mr and Mrs Burnett haven't been there
since."
"I don't care: I won't believe it. And is it a fact that she goes
regularly to Fisherman Miggles's to see that little girl?"
"Yes, ma'am, regularly."
"Then she has a good reason for it. There!"
"It's a terrible blow for Mr Denville, of course, ma'am; and they say
the young gentleman who has only just joined the dragoons is horribly
put out, and challenged Sir Harry Payne, only the Colonel would not let
them fight."
"Dear--dear--dear! Poor Denville! he has nothing but misfortunes. I am
sorry for him; I am indeed. Well, I must go; but mind this, Miss Clode:
Claire Denville is a particular friend of mine, and no one shall say ill
of her in my presence."
There was a very strong resemblance to a ruffled hen, whose chickens had
been looked at by a strange cat, in Mrs Barclay's aspect as she left
Miss Clode's, while, at her aunt's command, Annie, the bun-faced, moved
a Berlin wool pattern on one side in the window so that she could
command a view of the Parade from the bulging panes, and after watching
there for a few minutes she said:
"She's gone by, auntie."
"Ah, with all her fuss, she daren't keep up the acquaintance."
"She has turned back and gone in, auntie."
"Oh, very well, just as she likes; it is no business of mine."
Annie, the innocent, was quite right, for Mrs Barclay had walked by the
Denvilles', and then stopped short, indignant with herself; turned back
and given a good bold rap at the door, to which Isaac, who looked
discontented and strange, replied, and said, before he was asked:
"Not at home."
"Now don't you talk nonsense to me, young man," said Mrs Barclay,
"because--"
"My master and mistress are--not--at--"
Isaac began to drag his works towards the last, for Mrs Barclay was
rummaging in her reticule for a half-crown, but could only find a good
old-fashioned crown, which she slipped into the footman's hand.
To a man-servant who was beginning to look upon his arrears of wages as
doubtful, a crown-piece was a coin not to be despised, and he took it
and smiled.
"Mr Denville is out, I suppose, isn't he?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, I don't want to see him, but just you go and ask Miss Claire to
see me, and if she says no, you say I must see her. There!"
The result was that Mrs Barclay was shown into the drawing-room, where
Claire rose to meet her with cold dignity, and pointed to a chair.
Instead of taking it, Mrs Barclay caught the girl in her arms, and gave
her rapidly some half-dozen hearty kisses.
"There, my dear," she said, "if every bit as I've heard was quite true,
I should have come all the same; but as I don't believe one single
synnable of the pack o' lies, I've come to see you. There!"
That _there_ came like an expiration of the breath as she plumped
herself down, and the next minute Claire was upon her knees, her arms
round the wide waist, and her face buried in the extensive bosom,
sobbing violently, and relieving herself in tears of the pressure that
had been crushing her down ever since the troubles of that terrible
night.
"That's right, my darling: you cry--cry hard. A good cup o' tea and a
good cry's the greatest blessings o' Providence for us poor suffering
women. No, no: you needn't put a hankychy between. My Jo-si-ah never
stints me in dresses, and you may spoil a dozen of 'em if that'll do you
any good."
"Mrs Barclay--Mrs Barclay!"
"No, no, no: you're going to take and try and explain and a lot more of
it; but I won't hear a word. I tell you I don't believe nothing of
what's about. I said if Miss Claire Denville did this or that, she had
good reason, being like the mother of that family, as even manages her
poor father, so I don't want to hear no lying scandal."
"Heaven bless you!" sobbed Claire, kissing her.
"Ah, that's nice," said Mrs Barclay, smiling. "My little girl died, my
dear, as would have been as old as you. Not like you, of course, but it
seems as if she might have kissed me like that. I'm a very vulgar sort
of woman, I know, my dear, well enough: and if I didn't I soon should,
with people sneering at me as they do. You ain't sorry I came?"
"Sorry? I can never say how it has touched me."
"I'm very glad of it, for I don't want to know. And now, not another
word about all that, for I know everything, and how all the people are
cutting you and your poor pa. But never you mind, my dear. Lots of the
people you knew were very fine-weather friends, such as run away as soon
as a storm blows. You've got a clear conscience, so don't you take on
about it, but live it down."
"I shall try to," said Claire, with a smile--the first that had been
seen on her face for days.
"It's what I often say to my Jo-si-ah, though I haven't got a clear
conscience through Barclay's money transactions, which ought to be on
his, but as I keep his books, and know everything, they trouble me all
the same. So everybody's cutting you, eh?"
"Yes," said Claire sadly.
"Then you cut them till they beg your pardon. And now, my dear, just
one word from a simple plain woman, whose heart's in the right place.
If you want some one to confide in, or you want help of any kind, you
know where Betsey Barclay lives, and that's where there's help, whether
it's a kind word, a cup o' tea, or some one that you can put your arms
round and cry upon, and whose purse is open to you, if you'll excuse me
for mentioning it."
"Miss Dean, ma'am," said Isaac, opening the door.
"Not at--"
"Which I thought you were receiving, ma'am," said Isaac in defence.
Mrs Barclay rose to go, but Claire laid a hand upon her arm, and she
resumed her seat as Cora Dean entered, elaborately dressed, and
exchanged a most formal courtesy as the visitor rose once more.
Cora could not have explained her visit, even to herself. She hated
Claire: she loved her. She was triumphant over her fall: she was sorry
for her. She was certain that she would no longer find in her a rival,
and in spite of this, she felt a curious sensation of soreness of heart.
She who had for a couple of years past been slighted by the fashionable
folk of Saltinville, while Claire had been received everywhere, felt in
the new flush of the success she had won a kind of triumph over an
unfortunate sister, who would now, she knew, be socially ostracised; and
in the plenitude of her own wealth of position she had told herself that
she could afford to go and call upon the fallen rival, and, under the
guise of politeness, see for herself how she bore her trouble, and
assume a consolatory _role_ that she told herself she did not feel.
But Cora Dean, ill-educated and badly brought up, violent in her
passions and quick to dislike a rival, had a very kindly woman's heart
within her breast; and as soon as she had formally saluted Mrs Barclay,
and had seen the sad, grave face that met hers, ready to suffer insult
if it were offered in the guise of friendship, a change came over her,
the tender heart leaped, and in full remembrance of their last parting,
she advanced quickly and kissed Claire warmly.
There was no disguising the tears in her eyes, and they were infectious,
for Mrs Barclay, whose feathers had been rising fast and her tongue
sharpening into a point, heaved a tremendous sigh as she jumped up and
exclaimed:
"It's very little I know of you, Miss Dean, and--I'm a plain woman--I
never thought I should like you; but if you wouldn't mind, my dear!"
It was a kiss of peace, and Mrs Barclay added another that was very
loud and very warm.
"And her saying that she had no friends," she exclaimed. "Pooh!"
Claire darted a grateful look at both, and then began to wince and
shrink as Mrs Barclay, in all well-meaning, went on talking from one to
the other with the most voluble of tongues.
"I declare," she cried, "as I said to my Jo-si-ah, there's no end to the
nasty scandals talked in this miserable town."
"Pray say no more, Mrs Barclay," cried Claire; "I am so grateful to you
both for coming here, but--"
"I won't say much, my dear, but I must tell Miss Dean, or I shan't be
able to bear myself. What we want here is a great high tide to come all
over the place and wash it clean."
"Why, we should be drowned, too, Mrs Barclay," said Cora, laughing.
"I hope not, my dear, for I'm no lover of scandal; but do you know, they
actually have had the impudence to say that my dear Claire here has been
seen at her back door talking to a common soldier."
Claire tried to control herself, but her eyes would stray to Cora Dean's
and rest there as if fascinated.
"When the reason is," continued the visitor, as Claire was asking
herself should she not boldly avow her connection, "the reason is that
she has been seen talking to her brother, who is not a common soldier,
but an officer. What do you think of that?"
Cora turned to her, smiled, and said:
"I can believe in the Saltinville people saying anything ill-natured for
the sake of petty gossip. We had much to contend against when we came."
"Of course, you had, my dear. Look at me, too: just because my poor
Jo-si-ah does money business with some of the spendthrifts, and, of
course, lets 'em pay for it, I'm made out to be the most greedy,
miserly, wicked, drinking woman that ever breathed. I'm bad enough, I
dare say, and between ourselves I do like a glass of hot port wine negus
with plenty of nutmeg; but I am not so bad as they say, am I, my dear?"
"You are one of the truest-hearted women I know," said Claire, taking
her hand.
"There's a character for me, my dear," said Mrs Barclay, turning to
Cora and nodding her head and laughing. "Ah, I must tell you that too,"
she cried as the recollection came, "just because--"
"Mrs Barclay," said Claire, rising, "pray spare me. I am not well; I
have not been well lately, and--and--I know you will forgive me."
"Forgive you, my dear?" cried Mrs Barclay. "Why, of course. It's
horribly thoughtless of me. There, good-bye. Are you coming, Miss
Dean?"
Cora rose, feeling that she could not stay longer, and after a warm
leave-taking, during which the two younger women mentally asked
themselves whether they were friends or bitter enemies, Claire's
visitors withdrew and walked together along the parade.
The slightest touch set Mrs Barclay's tongue going, and before they had
gone far Cora was in full possession of the newly-retailed story about
Claire's visits to the fishermen's huts.
"And do you believe this of her?" said Cora, with an eagerness that she
could not conceal.
"Now, we're just become friendly, my dear, and I should be sorry to say
anything nasty, but I ask you do I look as if I believed it?"
"You look as if you were Claire Denville's best friend," said Cora
diplomatically.
"And so I am," replied Mrs Barclay proudly. "I can't help people
talking scandal. They glory in it. And, look here, my dear, it isn't
far from here, and if you don't mind, we'll go along the cliff to the
very house and call."
"Call!" said Cora in amaze.
"Yes; it's at a fisherman's, you know--Fisherman Dick's--and we can get
a pint or two of s'rimps for tea."
The consequence was that Cora did walk along the cliff to Fisherman
Dick's cottage, and when Mrs Barclay reached her house an hour later
her reticule bag was bulging so that the strings could not be drawn
close, and the reason why was--shrimps.
On the other hand, Cora Dean had not filled her reticule with shrimps,
but her mind with unpleasant little thoughts that made it bulge.
Curious thoughts they were, too, and, like Mrs Barclay's shrimps, all
jumbled together, heads and tails, ups and downs. She felt then that
she could not arrange them, but that there was a great sensation of
triumph in her breast, and what she wanted to do most was to sit down
and think--no easy task, for her brain was in a whirl.
Volume Two, Chapter XVIII.