"With what a leaden and retarding weight,
Does expectation load the wing of time!"
When, after a few minutes, I got outside the church, she had
disappeared, although I had endeavoured to follow as close as I could on
her footsteps, without, of course, appearing to be intrusively watching
her.
I had managed too cleverly. She was gone. I had been so long, to my
great vexation, painfully pacing after the slowly-moving, out-shuffling
mass of ex-worshippers--dexterously essaying the while to avoid treading
on the trailing trains of the ladies, or incurring the anathemas, "not
loud, but deep," of gouty old gentlemen with tender feet, which they
_would_ put in one's way--that, on my succeeding at length in arriving
at the outer porch, and being enabled to don my hat once more, there was
not a single trace of either her mother or herself to be seen anywhere
in sight.
Here was a disappointment! While getting-out, I had made up my mind to
track them home, and find out where they lived; and now, they might be
beyond my ken for ever.
I had noted them both so keenly, as to their appearance and the manner
in which each was dressed, for, in spite of mother and daughter being
alike "in mourning," there were still distinctive features in their
toilets, that I could not have failed to distinguish them from the rest
of the congregation.
But now, my plans were entirely overthrown. What should I do in the
emergency? Stop, there was Horner; I would ask him if he had seen them.
There, dressed a merveille and with his inseparable eye-glass stuck
askew in the corner of his left eye, he stood listlessly criticising the
people as they came forth from prayer, in his usual impertinently-
inoffensive way. He was just as likely as not to have seen them, and
could naturally give me the information I sought about the direction in
which they had gone.
"Jack Horner," as he was familiarly styled by those having the honour of
his acquaintance, was a clerk in Downing Street languishing on a
hundred-and-fifty pounds per annum, which paltry income he received from
an ungrateful country in consideration of his valuable services on
behalf of the state. How he contrived merely to dress himself and
follow the ever-changing fashions on that sum, paid quarterly though it
was, appeared a puzzle to many; but he did, and well, too. It was
currently believed, besides, by his congeners, that he never got into
debt, happy fellow that he was! notwithstanding that, in addition to his
hopes of promotion at "the office," he had considerable "expectations"
from a bachelor uncle, reported to be enormously wealthy and with no
near kindred to leave his money to save our friend Horner, who
cultivated him accordingly.
No, Horner never got into debt. He was said to be in the habit of
promptly discharging all his tailor's claims punctually every year, as
the gay and festive season of Christmas--and bills!--came round.
Truth to say, however, there need not have been any great astonishment
concerning Horner in this respect. The surprise would have been that he
had _not_ discharged his just obligations to his tailor and others; for
his habits were regular, and he was guiltless of the faintest soupcon of
extravagance. He never played billiards, did not smoke, did not care
about "little dinners" at Richmond or elsewhere, never betted, never
went to the Derby, seldom, if ever, patronised the theatre, unless
admitted through the medium of orders; consequently, he had no
expenditure, with the exception of that required for his toilet, as he
eschewed all those many and various ways mentioned for running through
money, which more excitable but less conscientious mortals than himself
find thrown in their way.
His neatly-clad form and constant eye-glass were in great request at all
tea-parties and carpet dances that took place in the social circle to
which he belonged; but, beyond such slight beguilements of "life's dull
weary round," his existence was uneventful. His character altogether
might be said to have been a negative one, as the only speciality for
which he was particularly distinguished was for the variety of
intonation and meaning which he could give to his two favourite
exclamations, "Yaas," and "Bai-ey Je-ove!"--thus economising his
conversational powers to a considerable extent, which was a great
advantage for him--and others, too, as he might, you know, have had
little more to say.
Horner's principal amusement when at home on a Sunday, was to go to
church; that is, if he had not to go to town, which was sometimes the
case even on the great day of rest, through his diplomatic skill being
required in Downing Street. This was what he said, pleading his having
to adjust some nice and knotty point of difference between the valiant
King of Congo and the neighbouring and pugnacious Ja Ja, or else to
remonstrate, in firm and equable language, as Officialdom knows so well
how to do, against the repeated unjustifiable homicides of the despot of
Dahomey, in sacrifice to his gods, beneath the sheltering shade of the
tum-tum tree.
Well, what of that--you may pertinently remark--a most praiseworthy
proceeding, surely, on his part to go to church whenever he possibly
could? Granted; but then, Horner was prone to indulge in another
practice which might not be held quite so praiseworthy in some people's
view.
Quite contrary to his abnormal mode of progression, he would hasten out
of the sacred edifice immediately after the doxology; and, planting
himself easily and gracefully in a studied attitude some short distance
from the doors, would from that commanding position proceed to stare at
and minutely observe the congregation, collectively and severally, as
they came tripping forth from the porch after him. This was, really,
very indefensible; and yet, I do not think that Horner meant to commit
any deliberate wrong in so doing.
Be the motive what it may, such was his general habit.
He would always courteously acknowledge the passing salutations of men-
folk with an almost imperceptible nod, so as not to disarrange the
careful adjustment of his eye-glass, or disturb the poise of his beaver:
to ladies, on the contrary, he was all "effusion," as the French say,
dashing off his hat as if he metaphorically flung it at their feet for a
gage d'amour, not of battle--just like an Ethiopian minstrel striking
the gay tambourine on his knee in a sudden flight of enthusiasm. All in
all, Horner was essentially a ladies' man, his points lying in that way;
and, although what is popularly known as "harmless," he was not by any
means a bad sort of fellow on the whole, when judged by the more
exacting masculine standard, being very good-natured and obliging, like
most of us, when you did not put him out of his way or expect too much
from him.
To me at this crisis of my fate, he appeared for the nonce an angel in
human form. He would be just the person who could tell me in what
direction my unknown enchantress went. I would ask him.
Fiat.
"Hullo, Horner!" I said, tapping him at once on the shoulder, and
arresting him from the abstracted contemplation of two stylish girls in
pink, who were just turning the corner of the churchyard out of sight.
"Yaas, 'do?" he replied, moving his head round slowly, as if it worked
on a pivot which, wanted greasing, so as to confront me. He was as mild
and imperturbable as usual. An earthquake, I believe, would not have
quickened his movements.
"How d'ye do?" responded I to his mono-syllabical greeting. "I say, old
fellow," I continued, "did you chance to see which way two ladies went
who came out a minute or so before myself? One was middle-aged, or
thereabouts; the other young; both were dressed in half-mourning. They
looked strangers to the parish, I think: you must have seen them, I'm
sure, eh?"
"Bai-ey Je-ove! Two middle-aged ladies; one dwessed in hawf-mawning?--"
"Nonsense, Horner!" said I, interrupting him; "what a mess you are
making of it! I said _one_ lady was middle-aged; and _both_ dressed in
half-mourning."
"Weally, now? No, Lorton, 'pon honah; didn't see 'em, I asshaw you.
Was it Baby Blake and her moth-ah, now, ah?" and he smiled complacently,
as if he had given me a fund of information.
"Baby Blake!" I ejaculated in disgust--"why, Horner, you're quite
absurd. Do you take me for a fool? I think I ought to know Baby Blake
as well as yourself by this time, my Solon!"
"Yaas; but, my deah fellah, I don't know who you know, you know. Bai-ey
Je-ove! there's _Lizzie_ Dangler. Who's that man she's got in tow, ah?"
"Hang Lizzie Dangler!" I exclaimed, impatiently. "Can't you answer a
question for once in your life--did you see them, or not?"
"Weally, Lorton," said he, in quite an imploring way, "you needn't get
angwy with a fellah, because he can't tell you what you want to know,
you know! It's weally too hot for that sawt of thing. I didn't see
them, I tell you. I can't say mo-ah than that, can I? You mustn't
expect a fellah to see evwybody. Why, it's seem-plee impawsible!"
His languid drawl exasperated me.
"Oh, bother!" I muttered, sotto voce, but loud enough for him to hear;
and turned away from him angrily, leaving him still standing in his pet
attitude, taking mental stock of all the fast-looking fair ones who
might come under his notice. "Oh, bother?" I am not prepared to assert
positively that I did not use a much stronger expletive. He _ought_ to
have seen them! What the deuce was the use of his sticking star-gazing
there, unless to observe people, I should like to know?
Just fancy, too, his comparing my last madonna, the image and eidolon of
whose witching face filled my heart, to that odious little flirt, Baby
Blake, a young damsel that hawked her tender affections about at the
beck and call of every male biped who might for the moment be enthralled
by her charms! It was like his cool impudence. And then, again, his
asking me his stupid, inane questions, as if I cared what man, and how
many. Lizzie Dangler or any other girl might have "in tow," as he
called it. Idiot! I declare to you I positively hated Horner at that
moment, inoffensive and harmless as he was.
I left the precincts of the church; and, walking along the path by the
fosse, directed my steps towards the Prebend's Walk, hoping to light
upon the object of my quest.
The air was filled with the fragrance of wild flowers and the smell of
the new-mown hay from the adjacent meadows. One heard the buzzing sound
of busy insect life around, and the love-calls of song-birds from the
hedge-rows; while the grateful shade of the lime-grove seemed to invite
repose and suggest peaceful meditation: but I heeded none of these
things. I felt, like the singer of "The Banks and Braes of Bonny Doon,"
out of harmony with nature and all its surroundings. My thoughts were
jostling one another in a wild dance through my breast. Where on earth
could they have disappeared so very suddenly! It was quite
inexplicable. I must find them. Himmel! I must see _her_ again. I
felt in a perfect state of frenzy. So excited was I, that, although it
was a broiling hot day in July, I walked along as if I were walking for
a wager. I do not think, by the way, that a very learned and
distinguished philosopher was so very much out in his reckoning after
all, when he laid down the general dogma, that all men are more or less
mad. I know, at all events, that I felt mad enough at this moment, as I
was careering along the Prebend's Walk. I was almost nerved up to
desperation.
I was an only child; and my parents being both elderly people, rarely
mixing in society, I could not make use of home influence, as I might
have done if I had had any kind sister to assist me in the way that kind
sisters sometimes can assist their brothers when they fall victims to
the tender passion. Whom should I ask to help me in my strait? I could
not go round everywhere, asking everybody after two ladies dressed in
half-mourning, could I? Not exactly. People might take me for a maniac
at large; and, even should I be one, still, I would naturally wish to
keep my mental derangement to myself. What could I do?
While I was thus perplexing myself with vain imaginings, the
recollection of the Dashers occurred to my mind. How was it that I had
not thought of them before, when they were the very people for my
purpose? Why, not a soul could come into Saint Canon's parish without
their knowledge, and a fresh face in church would set them at once on
the qui vive. The Dashers, of course, must have seen my unknown ladies,
and would be able to give me more information concerning them than I
could expect from any one else. I had often heard three to one betted,
with no "takers," that they would tell you everything about any
particular person, his, or her, antecedents, prospects, and position,
who had but remained for ten consecutive minutes within a radius of one
mile of their house. To the Dashers I would consequently go, by all
means--thank Providence for the suggestion, and their existence!
Lady Dasher, the head of this all-wise circle, was the youngest daughter
of a deceased Irish peer, whom she was continually bringing on the
carpet, and causing--unhappy ghost that he was--to retrace his weary way
from wherever the spirits of defunct Hibernian nobles most do
congregate.
She did not do this through family pride, or with any boastful
intention, but simply from sheer morbidity. She was always scoring down
grievances in the present by looking back on the past. With her, it was
all repining and retrospect. When her poor father, the earl, was alive,
she was never slighted in this way. Had her dear papa but now existed,
Mistress So-and-So would have returned her call, and not insulted her by
her palpable neglect. It was very Christian-like and charitable to say
otherwise; but _she_ knew better: it was on account of her being poor,
and living in a small house. Oh, yes! she was very well aware of
_that_; yet, although she could not keep up a grand establishment and
was poor, she was proud, and would never forget that she was an earl's
daughter. She would not be ground down with impunity! Even the worm
will turn: and so on. You can understand her character almost without
another word of description.
In spite of being a kindly-hearted soul at bottom, she was really, I
believe, the most morbid and melancholic person that ever breathed,--at
least, in my experience. Should you, unfortunately, be forced to remain
for any length of time in her presence, she had a most singularly
depressing influence on your spirits. Wet blanket? Bless your heart!
that would be no name for her. She was a patent shower-bath, coming
down on all your cherished sentiments, hopes, and schemes, with a
"whish" of heavy extinguishment. The cheeriest, sprightliest mortal in
the world could not have continued gay in her society. Mark Tapley
would have met his match in her, I'm certain.
Next to the demise of her lamented parent--which was indeed an after
consideration--Lady Dasher's marriage was the source and well-spring of
all her woes. She had espoused, as soon as she had a will of her own, a
handsome young gin distiller, who "ran" a large manufactory in Essex.
People said it was entirely a love match; but, whether that was the case
or no, all _I_ know is, that on changing the honoured name of
Planetree--the first Earl had been boot-black to the conquering Cromwell
in Ireland--for the base-born patronymic Dasher, all her troubles began.
Her noble relatives cut her dead in the first instance, as Dasher,
aspiring though he was, aspired a trifle too high. The connection was
never acknowledged; and his papa-in-law, utterly ignoring his entity,
never gave him the honour of an invitation to Ballybrogue Castle, the
ancestral seat of the Planetrees in Tipperary.
This was not the worst of it, either. Dasher, forgetting that
simplicity of his forefathers which had promoted his fortunes, learnt on
his marriage to launch out into unheard-of extravagances, spending his
hardly-gained substance in riotous living. He kept open house in town
and country, getting laughed at, en parenthese, by the toadies who
spunged upon him; failed; got into "the Gazette;" and?--died of a broken
heart. Poor Dasher!
On the death of her other half--it is problematical which half he was,
whether better or worse--Lady Dasher found herself left with a couple of
daughters and a few thousands, which her husband had taken care to
settle on her so as to be beyond the reach of his creditors. The
provision was ample to have enabled her to live in comfort, if she had
practised the slightest economy; but, never having learnt that species
of common sense, called "savoir faire," which is useful in every-day
life, Lady Dasher soon outran the constable. She then had to appeal to
her father, Earl Planetree, who, now that poor Dasher disgraced the
family escutcheon no longer by living, acknowledged her once more,
relieving her necessities; and when he, too, died, he bequeathed her a
fair income, on which, by dint of hard struggling, she contrived to
support existence and repine at her bitter lot.
She was in the habit of telling people--who, between ourselves, were
hopelessly ignorant that such a person as the late earl had ever
breathed, and cared less, probably, about the fact--that had her poor
papa been yet alive, things would have been "very different with her;"
an assertion of questionable accuracy.
There are some persons in this world who can never by any possibility
take a rose-coloured view of life. No matter what vivid touches the
great painter puts in on the canvas of their every-day being, they
always remain mentally colour-blind, and perceive but one monotonous
neutral tint--as they will continue to do until the end, when,
perchance, their proper sight may be restored.
Lady Dasher was one of these. She persisted in taking a despondent view
of everything around her--her past, her future, her position, her
prospects; nay, even the circumstances and surroundings of her friends
and few intimates came to be regarded in the same unsatisfactory light.
She was unacquainted with the healthy tone of wisdom contained in the
old quatrain,--
"That man, I trow, is doubly blest,
Who of the worst can make the best;
And he, I'm sure, is doubly curst,
Who of the best doth make the worst!"
Morbid and melancholic had been her disposition at the commencement of
the chapter:--morbid and melancholic she would naturally remain to its
close.
With all her morbidity, however, she took a wonderful, albeit
lachrymose, interest in the temporal matters of the parish; and was
acquainted with most of the contemporary facts and incidents with which
her neighbours were mixed up, being mostly indebted for her information,
as she seldom went out herself, to her daughters Bessie and Seraphine--
the latter commonly known amongst audacious young men as "the Seraph,"
on account of her petite figure, her blue eyes, and her musical voice,
the latter having just a suspicion of Irish brogue and blarney about it.
They were nice lively girls and much liked, as they were quite a
contrast to their mother. Indeed, it was surprising, considering her
disposition and their bringing up, that they were what they were. Had
it not been for them, Lady Dasher's existence would have been
considerably more monotonous and dreary than it was; but, thanks to
their assistance, she was kept thoroughly "posted up" in all the social
life going on in her midst, in which, through her own lache, she was
unable to take part.
Bessie and Seraphine did not attend parties, although sprightly, taking
girls like themselves would have been welcomed in almost any circle.
The fact was, people would have been glad enough to invite them, had
their mother not been jealous of any attention paid to her daughters
that was not extended to herself; and, hospitable as their friends might
be, it was but reasonable that a monument of grief and picture of woe
unutterable should not be earnestly sought after for the centre-piece of
a social gathering. It was owing to the same reason, also, that neither
of the girls had yet got married; for Lady Dasher would certainly have
expected any matrimonial proposal to have been made to herself in the
first instance, when, after declining the honour, she could have passed
the handkerchief to her daughters. Besides, the mere dread of having
the infliction of such a mother-in-law would have sufficed to frighten
off the most ardent wooer or rabid aspirant for connubial felicity.
Notwithstanding this, the girls went about to some extent in their own
ways; and, on their return home, naturally gossiped with their mother
over all they had seen and heard abroad. Thus it was that Lady Dasher
was so well-informed in all local matters, and why I thought of
appealing to her aid. But I should have to manage cautiously. She
would think nothing--she was such a simple-minded body--of detailing all
your inquiries to the very subject of them, in a fit of unguarded
confidence. Cross-examining her was a most diplomatic proceeding. If
you went the right way about it, you could get anything out of her
without committing yourself in the slightest way; whereas, if you set to
work wrongly, you might not only be foundered by a provoking reticence,
which she could assume at times, but might, also, some day hear that
your secret intentions and machiavellian conduct were the common talk of
the parish.
Lady Dasher, although of a strictly pious turn of mind, did not object
to Sunday callers. Good. I would go there that very afternoon after
lunch, and see how the land lay.