BRYNHILD.
'Oft with anxious straining eyes
We watch the coming of some joy long hoped for;
And now 'tis near. But at its side a dark
And stealthy thing, that we should fly like death
Did we but see it, is advancing on us,
Yes, step by step with those of its bright compeer.'
_King Henry II., a Drama._
(_Quoted in Helps' Casimir Maremma._)
'Which is to have the precedence, Alda's child or ours?'
'Alda's child is not likely to be ready for inspection as early as
ours.'
'Oh! I thought you would vote it treason to babydom not to begin with
Lowndes Square.'
'My maternal feelings draw me the other way, you see.'
'You won't confess it to Wilmet!'
'It is of no use to go to Alda before twelve,' put in Marilda. 'Cherry
had better go to the Royal Academy before it gets full.'
It was May, and the catalogue of the Royal Academy bore--
No. 260.--Brynhild. . . . . . . . . . . . T.E. Underwood.
and a good way further on, among the water-colours,
{The Lesson }
No. 601.--Four studies, {Hearing a Story } Geraldine
{With the Kitten } Underwood.
{Listening to Music}
No. 615.--The Faithful Acolyte . . . Geraldine Underwood.
'But abruptly turning,
Hied he to the choir,
Touched the Altar tapers
With a flake of fire.'
(_The Three Crowns._)
So, these having been accepted, Geraldine had come up to town to see
them in their place. The undertaking was far less formidable than it
had been a year ago, for Cherry was now much more at home with her
cousins.
She understood Marilda better now, and reproached herself for having
taken for worldliness what was really acquiescence rather than cause
any disturbance in the family such as could worry her father, of whose
state she had been aware all that last summer. Cherry respected her
now, though they had little in common. Marilda had become too much
acclimatized to London to like country life. She made some awkward
attempts at squiress duty, but was far more in her element in her
office, where she took on herself to attend to business so vigorously,
that no one would have known there had been any change but by the
initials. Felix had been of much use to her, and had certainly gained a
good deal in consideration by the manifest reliance placed on him; and
his position among the citizens of Bexley was now a fixed and settled
thing.
Mrs. Underwood, in the inertness of grief, did not move from Centry
until she was carried up to town by her strong desire to preside at
Lady Vanderkist's confinement. She was, however, disappointed, for Lady
Mary undertook the care of her daughter-in-law; but she made up for it
as well as she could by permitting all the assiduities from the good
lady that Alda would endure, and being herself extremely friendly and
good-natured.
The first proposal had been that Cherry should go up with them and
see the pictures on the private day, but the east wind and flying
threats of rheumatism had prevented this, till Marilda, running down to
inspect her works at Centry, carried her off, undertaking, with better
knowledge than before, that she should be well cared for.
So here was the carriage at the door, and Edgar come to escort her
to the realization of the almost incredible fact that she, as well
as himself, was an artist and exhibitor. She had heard favourable
opinions, but none the less did her heart palpitate with far more of
distress than of exultation as at a strange presumptuous unnatural
position--she, who, while striving to be satisfied with faithfully
doing her best, had so much wished for success as to make it a
continual prayer, that the works of their hands might be prospered upon
both, and to feel it an effort honestly to add the clause, 'If it be
thy will--if Thou see it good for us.'
She had not seen Edgar's picture, nor himself since the concert, and
there had been some breaths of rumour which took form in the saying
that the absence of the family from Kensington Palace Gardens had been
a sad thing for him.
However that might be, he was as much at his 'Chérie's' service as
ever, though with something of the forced manner she had known in him
at moments of crisis, and which betrayed much anxiety. He repeated
to her many times on the way that Brynhild had been unfairly dealt
with in the hanging, and related anecdotes of injustice suffered
by whoever did not belong to favoured cliques, all which made her
uneasy. Of hers he said little. She knew that water-colours at the
Royal Academy exhibition received little notice, but had obediently
followed some crotchet of Mr. Renville's which had taken her thither.
Trafalgar Square was then still the locality, and when the steps had
been surmounted, and they stood between the two doors leading to the
water-colours, it was straight on that they went, for the sight of
Brynhild was the triumph and delight that Geraldine had figured to
herself for months past.
It was, as she already knew, in the second room, rather below the
privileged line; and at this early hour, the numbers of visitors were
so scanty that she could see the cocoon shaped glow of yellow flame
across the room.
'Oh! there she is! She is smaller than I thought.'
'Just what Polly said. All ladies go in for 'igh hart on the Zam zummin
scale.'
She must have hurt his feelings, she saw, or he would not have compared
her criticism with Marilda's; and as she felt that he was watching her
countenance as he led her forward and lodged her opposite. From eager
expectation her look became constrained, as it shot through her that
this was not the Brynhild of the sketch and of her imagination. She was
disappointed!
'Well, what?' asked Edgar impatiently, reading the countenance in spite
of all endeavours.
'How like Marilda!'
'What, Brynhild, the toad! So she would be. I suppose the caricature
demoralized me, and the family features are the same.'
'And Sigurd is Ferdinand.'
'Nature created him for a model.'
It was not the likeness to Marilda which gave Cherry the sense of
unfulfilled expectation and dissatisfaction. The lofty expression, the
deep awe, the weird cloud-land grandeur that she had connected either
with the sketch or her memory of it, had passed away from the finished
oil-painting; and when she had called it small, it was not because it
was cabinet sized, but because it was wanting in the sense of majesty
that can be conveyed in a gem as well as in a colossus. What was to
have been a wild scene of terror in the world of mists _would_ look
extravagant, and neither the pose of Brynhild's limbs nor the position
of Sigurd's sword, approved themselves to her eye as correct drawing.
Brother and sister were both far too acute, and too well used to read
each other's looks and tones, for fencing or disguise to be possible.
'You don't like it.'
'O Edgar!' much distressed, 'indeed there is a great deal very
beautiful, but somehow I had imagined it different.'
'Oh, if you came with a preconceived notion.'
'Perhaps that's it,' said Cherry, peeping through her eye-lashes, as
long ago at the great Achilles, and making them a sieve to divest the
image before her of all that her eye would condemn in spite of herself.
'I see a great deal of beauty, but somehow I thought the whole would
have been more finished,' she said.
'Not possible. A rude half developed myth is not in keeping with the
precision of a miniature. Besides, the finish of Sigurd's armour throws
back the vague beyond.'
Her feeling had been that the Pre-Raphaelitism of the hauberk was too
like worsted stockings, and not in keeping with the Turneresque whirl
of flame and smoke around the sleeping Valkyr; but the disloyalty of
not admiring Edgar's picture was impossible to her loving spirit; she
listened and looked through her eye-lashes, till though Brynhild's
limbs were to her unassisted sense almost as uncomfortable as those
of Achilles had been, he imparted a glamour, so that she thought she
beheld it as it ought to have been, and believed it to be so great and
deep a work of art that study alone could appreciate it.
'Yes, I see--I see it now--I could not before--but that is all the
better!'
The room was filling and they were jostled by a group diligently
working their way with their catalogue from No. 1 to No. 1200.
'What's that glaring red and yellow thing?'
'260, Brynhild. Who was she, Flo?'
'Don't you know, Mamma? That French queen who was torn to pieces by
wild horses.'
'I don't see any horses. She is all on fire.'
'I suppose she was burnt afterwards. And that's the king who did it.'
'What a horrid picture!'
'There's the intelligent public one works for,' said Edgar. 'Come and
try your luck.'
He paused, however, to show her the difference a foot's elevation
would have made to his painting; and she, with a mind more at leisure
from itself, waited not only to sympathize but to be fascinated with
the loveliness or power of more than one picture past which he would
have hurried her, with murmurs at the R.A. who had secured the best
situation.
Here they were in the water-colour room, obliged to wait, to penetrate
the throng round the lesser ones, which were so close together that
there was no distinct appropriation of the remarks.
'What a dear little thing!' 'Is it all the same child?' 'It can't be
portrait, she is so pretty.'
Edgar smiled at her, and she whispered, with great inconsistency, 'No,
it can't be that. Besides, childish prettiness always pleases more
people than anything high and ideal.'
She tried to turn to the Acolyte, and two or three gentlemen yielded
place to the lame girl. 'Geraldine Underwood,' said one, making her
start, till she saw he was reading from his catalogue. 'I don't
remember her name before.'
'No, and there's so much power as well as good drawing and expression,
that I should not have thought it a woman's work.'
This, the most ambitioned praise a woman can receive, made her indeed
Cherry-red, and Edgar's beaming glance of congratulation was most
delightful.
Certainly, whatever his faults, among them was neither jealousy nor
want of affectionateness; and Cherry's success gave him unqualified
pleasure, both agreeing in the belief that she was on a level with the
public taste, while he soared too high beyond it.
Her paintings had a strength of colouring unusual in inexperienced
artists, perhaps owing to the depth of hue she had grown accustomed to
when painting for her old woman, and thus they asserted themselves,
and were not killed by their neighbours, but rather, as Edgar said,
committed slaughter all round.
Yet 'The Acolyte' was on the whole a dark picture: the Church was in
a brown dim shade, within which, however, its perspective vaultings,
arches, and tracery, were perfectly drawn, knowing where they were
going and what they meant, yet not obtruded; and the Altar hangings,
richly patterned in olive green and brown gold, were kept back in
spite of all their detail, throwing out the 'flake of fire' and the
glitter reflected on the gold ornaments, which had been drawn with due
deference to Clement's minute information, while in the fragment of the
east window just seen above, glittered a few jewels of stained glass
touched by the rising sun, and to which the subdued colouring of the
rest gave wonderful glory; and the server himself was so tinted with
grey that even his white dress did not glare, while his face was the
face of Lance, as it had been a few years back, boyish and mirthful
through all its dutiful reverence. Of course it was not new to Edgar,
but he owned that he was always struck by it whenever he came that way;
and Cherry heaved a little sigh of parental pride and delight as she
owned that her little 'server' did look better than she had expected.
Then Edgar elbowed her to what was called at home her 'Constellation,'
where she had caught Stella's sweet little head four times over--in the
seriousness of lesson-learning, with eager parted smiling lips with
which she listened to a story, with her tender caressing expression
towards the kitten she was nursing, and with the rapt dreamy gaze that
her brother's music would bring over her countenance. All had the merit
of being caught--in the first sketch--entirely without consciousness
on Stella's part; and though she had been nailed to the positions
afterwards, it had been possible to preserve the unstudied expression
that was one great charm of the drawings, much more sketchy and
suggestive than was their companion.
It was not easy to maintain a stand before the frame that held the
four, for people must have told one another of it, and squeezed their
way to it; till the poor little artist, growing nervous at the press,
was grasping her brother tight to make him take her away. Just then
there was a kind eager greeting, 'Good morning; I am delighted to meet
you here. You must allow me to congratulate you.'
It was Mr. Grinstead, too considerate to utter a name that would
instantly have brought all eyes upon the little lame girl, whom the
gazers were almost sweeping away. He was full of that gracious fatherly
kindness that elderly men were prone to show her, and solicitously
asked where she was staying, and whether he might call upon her; and
then, taking advantage of an interval of people, he brought her again
in front of her pictures. With him on Lord Gerald's side of her,
and Edgar on the other, she felt safe enough to enter into his kind
critique, so discriminating as to gratify, improve, and stimulate her
far more than if it had been all compliment. By the time this was over,
Cherry could stand no longer, and it was time for her visit to her
sister, so the sculptor did Ferdinand's old part by taking care of her
while Edgar hunted up their cousin's brougham.
'O Edgar, aren't you coming?'
'Well! I can't say the Mynheer's _ménage_ likes me better than I like
it.'
'Oh, Eddie, dear, _do_. How shall I ever get in among all those
dreadful strange servants?'
'What, the crack exhibitor, whose pictures transcend woman's genius,
afraid of a flunky or two!'
Nevertheless, he let her pull him into the carriage, laughing, and
demanding whether she could not have opposed coachman and footman to
their congeners; but he recollected the stair-case, and was all the
more amenable that in her he had the only perfectly willing auditor of
all his whys and wherefores of all Brynhild's characteristics, all his
hopes of purchasers and plans built upon her, and (now that Brynhild
was out of sight) the most profound believer in her beauties and
sublimities.
The arrival was impressive. The vista of liveries, flowers, and marble,
was so alarming, that Cherry could hardly have found courage to make
her way through them with no support but Lord Gerald's; but when she
entered the drawing-room the grandeur was instantly mitigated by the
plainly attired, gentle, motherly lady who came forward to greet her
with a kiss. 'So you are Geraldine, the only sister I have never seen.
Alda will be delighted.'
Lady Mary Murray must have been rather surprised by the sight of 'the
little deformed one,' with her sweet pensive face of sunshine and
shade, and the small slender form, as shapely as that of her sister,
though leaning a little forward when walking. So kind was she, that
Cherry felt that she could quite spare Edgar when he made his retreat,
and never observed that he was not pressed to stay to see Alda, who had
a dress-maker with her, and would send down when ready.
This gave Cherry time to become at home with Lady Mary, and to receive
some gratifying compliments upon her Constellation, united with a
little caution on the danger of making the little girl vain. 'I hope
not,' said Cherry much in earnest; 'indeed, I think Edgar and I are
mere terrors to all our pretty ones, we tease them so with sitting.'
'The little boy in a surplice is another brother, I think I heard.'
'Yes, my brother Lance. He is gone into the business now. He was in the
Cathedral choir at Minsterham.'
'Oh! I understood that it was a portrait of the one who was in the St.
Matthew's brotherhood, in his ornaments.'
'Oh no. That was Clement; and I am sure neither of them wore anything
like that! I made out the ornaments from a book.'
'I am glad to hear it,' said Lady Mary, a little less cordially; and
when Cherry, recollecting her views, proceeded to lead away by speaking
of Brynhild, it was to be met with a kind smile and avowal that Mr.
Underwood's picture was not so easy to understand.
Then came the summons to Lady Vanderkist's room. It seemed chiefly
addressed to her mother-in-law, who, however, extended it to Cherry,
and proffered a soft, comfortable, substantial arm to help her up the
stairs.
There sat Alda, beautiful to behold in white and bright blue ribbons,
thinner than formerly, but exquisitely and delicately pretty, and so
eager in her conference with her milliner, that she could only give
Geraldine a hasty kiss, and sign her to a seat, before appealing to
Lady Mary on some point of clashing taste respecting her court dress,
which was the present subject of engrossing interest to the younger
lady, while the elder evidently did not feel greatly at home or
interested in a subject which she said had not come before her since
the maiden days of Queen Victoria. Indeed, when Alda became excited
in maintaining her own opinion, she put an end to it with gentle but
irresistible authority, dismissed the milliner, and insisted upon the
repose that Alda was inclined to laugh to scorn.
After an exhibition of the little four weeks daughter, a pretty
creature, in whom mother as well as grandmother showed plenty of pride,
the two sisters were left to a _tête à tête_, Cherry feeling almost
hypocritical when Lady Mary supposed them to be so eager for it.
Rather languidly Alda inquired after everyone at home, chiefly after
Wilmet and Captain Harewood, where he was, and what chance there was of
his return. Then Cherry talked of the great home subject of interest,
namely that the organ was actually ordered; but Lady Vanderkist
attended little, and it was safer as well as more entertaining to let
her talk of herself; and she seemed to have had a very gay winter, to
have been recognized as the great lady of her neighbourhood as well as
bride and beauty, and to have had much sporting society at home and
abroad, while now she looked forward to a season among the circles
which had always been the object of her ambition. No wonder that the
cares and joys of Bexley occupied her but little, and that it was not
much to her whether Felix was to be a town-councillor. However, she
was now among people who considered it an honour to have a sister
exhibiting at the Academy, and she professed much eagerness to see
the Constellation. 'But what could have induced Edgar to send such a
picture?' she added; 'Adrian says it is the maddest thing he ever saw
in his life.'
'It takes some study,' said Cherry, subduing her indignation.
'I should think it had taken very little study.'
'You have not seen it?'
'No of course not yet. I shall go as soon as I can, it is so stupid
not to be able to talk of the Exhibition; but I don't look forward
to Edgar's picture at all, I hear the drawing and painting are so
disgraceful.'
'There is an apparent carelessness that enhances effect.'
'Standing up for Edgar as usual, Cherry! But if you still have any
influence with him, this is the time to use it. Adrian hears that he
has taken up with a lot of tremendous scamps. Indeed, he saw him on
the Derby day betting away with all his might. Now he cannot stand
that long, and Adrian says I must let him know that when he gets into
difficulties, he need not expect to fall back upon us.'
'The last thing he is likely to do,' said Cherry, burning with
suppressed wrath.
'Well, give him a warning, and tell him to be careful how he comes in
Adrian's way. It upsets me so when he comes in and asks where I think
he has met my precious brother.'
'I don't see,' cried Geraldine, breaking out, 'why a place should be
worse for one than for the other.'
Alda drew up her head with a little contempt, but instead of flying out
as when they were on an equality, she merely said, 'Don't you?'
Then Geraldine recollected herself, and tried to say meekly something
about the difference made by being able to afford it; but though Alda
was kinder than usual, and changed the subject, there was no more
real comfort throughout the visit, and she went home to be unhappy.
Here it was as hard as ever to behave properly to Alda. Her presence
seemed always to rouse the spitfire propensities, of which Cherry
would otherwise have been unconscious; and what was far worse was the
misgiving that she had only spoken too truly. Cherry's heart sank,
scold it as she would for sinking. Her _will_ might adore Brynhild,
but her sense assured her of grievous carelessness in the execution;
and when she recalled Edgar himself, she knew there was something
indefinable about him that confirmed Alda's suspicions.
Her own success had been real and brilliant, but through it all her
heart ached with apprehension as she became more conscious of the
difference with which her doings and his were regarded, and could not
always succeed in attributing everything to personal politeness to
herself. She was staying on to take a few more studies, and to collect
materials for the illustrations of a serial tale, an order for which
Mr. Renville had procured her; and she found herself quite at home
at those pleasant little parties at his house, treated as one of the
confraternity who had won her standing, and with new comers begging to
be introduced. Mr. Grinstead was always there, and a real friend and
protector among strangers; and all was delightful except the reserve
about Brynhild, and the frequent absence of Edgar, who used once to be
always welcome, and like a son of the house.
Even at Lady Vanderkist's, Geraldine found herself a mild sort of lion,
when Alda came out into the world and found that her sister was viewed
as having done something remarkable.
Not that there was much intercourse. There _was_ an invitation to the
christening, extended even to Edgar and the school girls; but Lady Mary
was more the mover in this than Alda herself. Edgar excused himself,
and it was not a very brilliant festivity. Indeed, one anxiety on
Geraldine's part was lest Lady Mary's engaging kindness should embolden
Angela to break out aloud in the wrath and indignation that stiffened
her neck and shone in her eyes at the bare dull christening on a
week-day--standing all alone--in an ugly 'pewy' church. A luncheon, at
which the health of Mary Alda Vanderkist was drunk, was the only honour
to the occasion; and Sir Adrian, though not actually uncivil, looked as
usual bored, and left the amiable and gracious to his wife and mother.
Mrs. Underwood was indignant, and abused him all the way home. All
Lady Mary's kindness had not hidden from her the fact that Alda was
ready to spurn aside the scaffolding by which she had mounted to her
present elevation, and was only withheld from so doing in consideration
of Marilda's wealth; while Marilda, with her unfailing good nature
and instinct of defence towards Alda, declared that all arose out
of anxiety lest Sir Adrian should be wearied with them, and bluntly
declared, 'You know, Mamma, we are very tiresome people; not like
Cherry here, who always has something to say.'
'Oh! Cherry is a genius, but without that people needn't be tiresome,
as you call it, to those that brought them up, and made them what they
are.'
'We didn't bring up Sir Adrian, Mamma.'
'I'm not talking of Sir Adrian. One expects nothing from a fine young
man about town; but, Alda, that was like my own child to me, never so
much as asking us to see her in her court dress!'
'She ought to have done that,' said Cherry, who had been reckoning the
quantity of pleasure that could have been so cheaply given.
'Now depend on it, Sir Adrian doesn't like his wife to make a show of
herself,' cried Marilda, hitting on a subtly delicate motive rather
than have no weapon of defence for this favourite cousin. Certainly
there never had been a fuller adoption as sister and brother than
hers had been of Alda and Edgar from the moment they had been given
to her. She respected and trusted Felix, and was free and kind with
Cherry and all the rest; but her affection for these two was quite a
different thing, and resolutely blind; and this--just as last year with
Wilmet--made her comfortable to Cherry, since she too ignored all that
could be against Edgar, and fought his battles fiercely when mother or
grandmother picked up reports of his idleness, of the ill success of
the National Minstrelsy, in which he was somehow concerned, and of the
unsatisfactory habits into which he was falling.
Very dull were the evenings when he did not come, and only worn through
by reading aloud. No doubt the house in its quiet widowed condition
was far less attractive than of old, and that the lively young man
should neglect it, even with his favourite sister there, was more to be
regretted than wondered at; but whenever he did come, he was greeted
with delight, petted and made much of, as if with the desire to secure
that presence, though it was not always as much of a sunbeam as of old.
One afternoon, however, he hurried in in a state of ecstasy. A wealthy
manufacturer, noted as a purchaser of modern pictures, was in treaty
for Brynhild; and Edgar looked on his fame and fortune as made.
Three days ago the taste of the cotton-spinner had been denounced as
dependant on fashion and notoriety. Now his discernment had gone up to
the skies, and Edgar was wandering about the room in his exultation,
talking to Cherry of a winter trip to Rome, and ready to promise
everything to everybody. Only the next day, however, came out the
principal art journal, containing the long expected mention of Brynhild.
Alas! No. 260 was disposed of in two lines as 'the flaming production
of a tyro in suspense between the Pre-Raphaelite and the Turneresque,
who in the meantime had better study the primary rules of drawing.'
Poor Geraldine! She shed a great many bitter tears over the cruel
verdict, while Marilda characterised it as wicked, ill-natured, and
spiteful; and when Edgar came to them they received him with tenderness
and sympathy that would have befitted his sentence in his own proper
person.
He was crushed as he had never been before. He did not abuse his
critic. Indeed, he had candour enough to tell Cherry that her editorial
experience might have taught her the need of shedding a little
life-blood now and then for the public to slake their thirst upon, but
this very charitableness almost proved it to be his life-blood.
The intended purchaser had not gone so far but that he could draw back,
and this breath of hostility had effectually blown him away. He had
broken off his treaty and declined Brynhild.
'I don't blame him,' dejectedly said Edgar; 'all the other critics
will yelp in suit, and he would be the laughing-stock of his fellow
cotton-lords; but he has done for me. The very sight of "Sold" upon my
picture would have saved me.'
'Shall you be worse off than before?' asked Marilda.
'Of course one is, for having been led to make engagements under a
deception. But there--never mind. Don't vex yourselves about me. I'm
the most miserable dog in the world, and that's all about it.'
'Dear Edgar,' said Cherry, smoothing his hand, 'maybe the opposition
paper will take up another line.'
'Not a hope, Cherry. That demolished me long ago, only they were all
too merciful to show it to you. This was my last chance.'
He lay back in a sort of collapse of complete depression.
Marilda, meanwhile, sat writing at her davenport, and presently
rising, came towards him with a closed envelope. 'There, Edgar,' she
said. 'Now put "Sold" on your picture.'
'Polly, Polly, you're a girl of gold!' cried Edgar, starting to his
feet. 'You've made a man of me. I must give you a kiss.'
To Cherry's amazement, a little to her horror, the kiss was given;
Marilda only bluntly and gruffly saying, 'There then, only take
warning, and don't be a fool again.'
'Your warning comes sweetened, my dear,' said Edgar, 'and it ought to
save me. I don't mind confessing that I was in a most awful fix. Well,
you have Brynhild, and we'll hang her over the drawing-room door for a
scare-crow, only don't let in any Sigurds who won't be as good as you
are to art out at elbows!--Good-bye, my Cherry ripe. I must betake me
to shaking off the toils of the hunter, now that this good mouse has
nibbled them through.'
Cherry had not spirit to rally him on his quiet assumption of the
lion's part. And her acceptance of his embrace was not warm. To
the delicate sense nurtured under Felix, the whole proceeding was
as painful as it was strange; and she was longing to have sold her
pictures so as to relieve him herself. True, she had many visions, but
she would much have preferred freeing her brother herself to seeing
Marilda make a purchase to which she was indifferent, palpably for the
sake of assisting him.
Maybe he saw the questioning look in her face, and therefore hurried
away so fast that Marilda broke out in regret at having failed to
secure him for an intended visit to Sydenham the next day, when part
of the day would be spent with friends and the rest in the Crystal
Palace. It was the sort of expedition Edgar hated, and Cherry's pride
rose enough against the notion of his being purchased to be dragged at
Marilda's chariot wheels to prevent her from seconding the proposal to
write and ask for his company.
She would have been glad enough of his arm through the long galleries.
The heartless glare and plaster showiness tired her to death; nor were
Mrs. Underwood's friends particularly restful.
When she came home late in the evening, she had hardly energy to open a
note that lay on the table; but when she had wearily unfolded it, she
screamed with amazement and delight. Mr. Renville wrote to tell her of
an offer for the Acolyte, and to propose to her to meet the intending
purchaser at his studio on the second day ensuing, at twelve o'clock,
to consult about an order for a companion water-colour, the subject
likewise taken from the Silver Store, the price of the two together
to be £150. Here opened the fulfilment of the longing of her heart,
the lightening of Felix's burthen! Her dreams were a strange maze of
beautiful forms to be drawn, and of benefits to be heaped on all the
world; and her first measure in the morning was to write a dispatch to
Edgar, begging him to come and support her at the interview, and almost
laying her gains at his feet.
All day she expected him to show himself, full of advice, joy, and
congratulation; but he came not. Her note must have missed him, she
supposed; and she had to experience the lack of sympathy, for Spooner
had come almost before breakfast was over, and Marilda had immediately
gone back with him into the City; and Mrs. Underwood was not sure
whether it were _comifo_ to be elated about selling a picture, and had
no council to give between Cherry's sketches of the robin with the
wheat-ear, the monk and his olive tree, the blessing of the swallows,
or the widow Euphrasia and her straw.
When Marilda did come home, she was more glum than Cherry had ever seen
her. She would not even guess why Edgar made no answer, but advised
that no one should think about it. Man could not be always dancing
after woman. She was in no better humour in the morning, when Cherry
expressed her security that though he might have come home too late to
answer her note, he would not fail her at the appointment.
No such thing, he did not come for her; nor did she find him at the
studio, where Mr. Renville was however a perfectly kind and sufficient
protector, in the arrangements with the courteous and gracious old
nobleman who viewed it as a duty to encourage art, and intended the
pictures to adorn his daughter's drawing-room. The choice fell on
Cherry's favourite, the red-breast, and altogether the interview would
have filled her with transport if only Edgar had been there to share
it. She could not believe him to be so changed as to neglect her out
of mortification at the contrast between her success and his own; but
the bare idea poisoned the laudatory critique in the Times of her two
productions.
It was Mrs Kedge's birthday, when her family always dined with her at
her old-fashioned hour of five. When they set off, Cherry faltered
an entreaty that they might call and inquire for her brother at his
lodgings, but this was so curtly, almost harshly, negatived, that she
feared that she had unwittingly proposed something improper. Still
there remained the chance of his coming to the festival, where he was
certain of a welcome. It would be so like his good nature, that Cherry
never relinquished the hope through the hot stuffy dinner, when, after
the two elder ladies had sighed, shed a few natural tears, but wiped
them soon, over the absence of poor Mr. Underwood, they took to City
gossip, occasionally rallying the two young ladies on their silence
and abstraction; Mrs. Kedge contriving to joke at her grand-daughter's
supposed loss of her 'eart, and at Cherry for having made such a
conquest with her hart.
Just as dessert came in, and Geraldine was reflecting with a sort of
dreamy despair that it was the hour for driving in the park, there
came a thundering knock, and Cherry bounded on her chair, exclaiming,
'There's Edgar!' while Mrs. Kedge cried out, laughing, 'Just like him!
I knew he'd be in time for my preserved ginger. Ah! Mr. Hedgar, trust
to--What! isn't it him? Who is it, Mary?' handing the card to her.
'Mr. Travis!' Marilda and the maid exclaimed at the same time; and
the next moment he stood before the quartette, receiving a cordial
welcome from all; for though Mrs. Underwood might bridle a little,
she remembered that Alda was safely disposed of, and that he was now
an undoubted millionaire depending on no one's good-will. Geraldine
was flushed, and quivering between pleasure, shame, and the moment's
disappointment; and Marilda's broad face flashed for a moment with a
look of indescribable illumination and relief, then subsided into its
usual almost stolid calm.
For himself, he looked more like what he had been as Peter Brown's
clerk than the Life-guardsman, for he had outgrown the boyish display
of ornament, though he had never lost the fine military bearing that
so well became his figure; but he now had a grand black beard, which
made him more romantic-looking than ever. His countenance was as usual
grave, but not so depressed or languid as formerly, and indeed it
lighted into glad animation at the unexpected sight of Geraldine,
as he wrung her hand with the fervour of a brother. He sat down; but
except to drink Mrs. Kedge's health he accepted none of the eager
offers of hospitality, but said he was to dine with Mr. Brown at eight
o'clock. He had come home on business, and not being able to wind up
his uncle's affairs quickly, thought he should have to spend his time
between England and America for a good while to come; but he hoped to
run down and see Felix, 'and to hear about the organ.' Cherry had so
much to tell him about the building of it, and of Lance's delight in
the prospect, that she forgot her anxieties for the moment, till he
asked after the success of the concert, and she had to tell him of
Edgar and his stars. He looked at his watch, and said he should have
time to see after Edgar before dinner. 'Ah, do!' said Cherry; 'and find
out whether he got my note, I haven't seen him these four days!'
There was a break-up from the dining-room; and Ferdinand, smiling a
sort of apology to Mrs. Kedge, offered his arm to Cherry to take her up
to the drawing-room, where except on these great occasions no one ever
sat; Marilda managed to linger on the stairs, so as to intercept him on
his way down.
'Mr. Travis,' she said, 'you will do me a great favour, if you will
call on me at our office between ten and twelve to-morrow. Can you?'
'Certainly,' he replied, much surprised; but she flew up the stairs
before any more could be said.
She was at her counting-house in full time, sitting at the
library-table in the private room, just like her father, opening
letters and jotting on them the replies to be made by her clerks,
without often needing to take counsel with Spooner.
At ten o'clock a clerk brought up Mr. Travis, and he was soon seated
opposite to her, not quite so unprepared as on the previous day.
'Thank you for coming,' she said; 'I knew you were the only person whom
I could trust in for help.'
'I shall be very happy,' he began. 'Is it about Edgar Underwood?'
'Do you know anything?'
'Only that no one at his rooms seems to know where he is.'
'Ah!' (as if expecting this). 'Now, I know you would do anything for
Felix Underwood and the rest, and can keep silence. To speak would be
worse than anything.' He bent his head: and she went on, 'Read that.
No, you won't understand it;' then collecting herself, 'Poor Edgar! you
know what he is, and how he can't help running into debt. We gave him
his tastes, and it is our fault. This year he managed to do a picture,
an odd red and yellow looking thing, but very fine, with a lady fast
asleep in the middle of a fire. Well, he thought he had sold it, and
made sure of the price, when some spiteful newspaper abused it, and
the shabby man was off his bargain, and left the picture on his hands.
He was so frightfully downcast, and I had reason to think him so hard
up, that I thought I'd take the picture off his hands; and so I popped
a cheque for a hundred, done up in an envelope, into his hand, not
telling him what it was--more's the pity. We were out all the next
day, and he called and wanted to find out where we were gone, but the
footman is stupidity itself, and could not tell him. He came three
times; but we were racketting at that miserable Sydenham, and did not
get home till eleven. If he had only come in and waited! The next day
came Spooner to me in a terrible rage. Now, promise, Mr. Travis, that
this is never mentioned. On your honour!'
'On my honour. Never!'
'My cheque had been presented with the one hundred changed into four.
The clerk at the bank doubted it, and had come here, and Spooner came
to Kensington about it. I believe I went nearer to a lie than ever I
did before; I said it was all right, and stood to it so that they both
had to be pacified. You see,' as she saw how shocked Ferdinand was, 'he
was in great difficulties, and he only meant it for a trick which would
have been explained directly, if only I had not been so unfortunately
out of reach.'
'You don't mean that you would overlook it?'
'Well, it seems that I was altogether wrong about the value, as
pictures go. Of course I thought it rather too bad, and meant to give
him a piece of my mind and frighten him thoroughly; but ever since poor
Cherry has been pining, and wondering at his not coming; and yesterday
I got this--addressed here, no doubt that Cherry might not see it, but
marked private to keep Spooner's hands off.'
She thrust a sheet of paper into his hand.
DEAR MARILDA,
Had I seen you yesterday, I should not be in my present plight.
I rehearse continually in my own ears the assault I had in
readiness for you for your ignorance of the market price of
art. Brynhild may be worthless, but if she be worth a penny,
she is worth £250, which was what that gay deceiver was to
have given. I had liabilities which I had staved off; indeed,
my villain of a landlord only refrained from seizing my goods
and chattels on the promise of the cash instanter. Other debts
I durst not face. All that was left of your father's bequest
is gone in the smash of the National Minstrelsy. County
courts yawned on me, and only promptitude could save me. But
verily I would not have taken a sheep when a lamb would have
sufficed the first wolf, if _one_ would have lent itself to
transformation into anything but a cool _four_. Your round hand
has been the ruin of me, Polly. It must have been the loop of
your _e_ that undid me. Nevertheless, I had the odd £150 in my
pocket to hand over as your rightful change, (and maybe have
begged of you,) when thrice I failed in finding you; and as I
was coming this very morning--or was it yesterday? I'm all in
a maze--I saw Spooner dash by in a cab, and knew it was all up
with me!
Don't believe so badly of me as he has told you, dear old Poll.
I have put myself out of his reach that he may have the less
chance to break Felix's heart. For myself, I don't care a rap
what becomes of me; but if it be not too late, I implore you to
screen him and poor little Geraldine from the knowledge. Let
them think it a simple flight from creditors--true enough in
all conscience, as I fear they will soon find.
If it have got wind, I need not beg you to spare them and
let Lance know that I am thankful to the 'early piety' or
whatever it was that kept him out of the scrape. Some day all
shall be repaid; but until then you have seen and heard the
last of--your not ungrateful in heart, however ungrateful in
deed--the most miserable and unlucky of dogs,
T.E.U.
'Where was this posted?' asked Ferdinand.
'At Ostend. Here's the post-mark.'
'Has he sent back the £150?'
'Oh no; of course he must have that to go on with.'
'It would have been more like repentance if he had sent it.'
'No, no; he couldn't. He would have had nothing to live on. Besides, it
makes no real difference. Don't you turn against him, Mr. Travis, for I
have no one else to trust to. I can't tell Felix; for it might do him
serious harm in his business, and he might not consent to hush it up.
Then Clement is a formal prig; and Lance is a boy, and couldn't get
away. Nobody but you can do any good.'
'And what is it that you wish me to do?'
'I wanted your advice, first of all; I had no one I could venture to
talk to, lest he might think some dreadful thing his duty, and go and
tell!'
'There can be no palliating the criminality of the act,' said Ferdinand
gravely; 'but for the sake of the--the innocent--' (his lip quivered
at the word,) 'it may well be concealed, since you are so generous.
Vanderkist might make a cruel use of it.'
'And I think it would kill Cherry. What I wished was--since one can't
write with no address--if any one could go after him, and tell him
that not a soul knows. I do believe now, after this shock, he might be
sobered and make a new start; not here perhaps--'
'I'll go!' cried Ferdinand. 'I'll do my business with Brown, and start
by to-night's steamer. Do you know where he is likely to be?'
'His wish has always been for Italy, but it is hardly the season; and
my dread is of his going to Hesse Homburg, or Baden, or some of those
places, hoping to retrieve this money.'
'I'll look, I'll make every inquiry. I'll never rest till I have
found him!' said Ferdinand, with the earnestness of one delighted to
have found the means of rendering an important service to his dearest
friends.
'I felt sure that you could and would, from the moment I saw you,' said
Marilda, 'When your card came in, there seemed to open a way out of
this dreadful black misery.'
'Remember,' said Ferdinand, 'it would not be right to bring him home
at once on the former terms. You forgive him, and for the sake of his
family you do not expose him; but he ought not to be reinstated.'
'Not only for his family's sake--for his own!' cried Marilda. 'He is
just like my brother--it was only between brother and sister. But you
are right,' she added, as the man's grave look of severity recalled
her from her sisterly championship; 'it would only be running him into
danger again. He had much better go and study in Italy; and he can be
helped there, if he will only keep out of mischief.'
She then mentioned all the haunts of his she knew of in Belgium and
Germany; Geraldine might know more, but how was she to be told?
Marilda had a perfect terror of renewing the condition into which she
had last year been thrown, and besides feared her quickness of eye
might discover the secret. She hoped to keep her in ignorance till
Ferdinand could send home tidings, and make Edgar write what would be
some comfort after the suspense; but when the time that, at the lowest
computation, must elapse before anything could be heard was reckoned,
they both felt that it was cruelty to keep Cherry in her present state.
A week more would be enough to destroy her.
But Marilda, though a strong-minded woman enough ordinarily, shrunk
with dismay from telling her. Should Felix be written to? There was no
doubt that so soon as he heard the tidings from Cherry, or otherwise,
he would hurry up to investigate and to take her home; so that to ask
him to come and break it to her was hardly giving him unreasonable
trouble. Besides the secret might be safer, so managed. Thus, the
two generous spirits who sat in council first destroyed poor Edgar's
letter, lest it should ever serve as evidence against him; and then
Marilda wrote--
MY DEAR FELIX,
Geraldine will have told you that we have not seen Edgar for
some time. From a note received from him, I have reason to
believe that debts are the cause of his flight. Mr. Travis is
kind enough to follow and see what can be done; but I do not
know how to tell poor Cherry, and if you will come up I will
meet you at the station at 11.30.
Your affectionate cousin,
M.A. UNDERWOOD.