No words can paint the mingled rage and mortification that filled the
heart of Lady Inskip as she drove away from The Poplars, after her
interview with the dowager.
"The Jezabel!" she said, in a voice of anger, "I've never been so
scandalously treated in my life. You need not laugh, miss!" she fired
out on Carry, who was exploding in fits of laughter at the humorous
nature of the rencontre. "You need not laugh, miss; it is no laughing
matter to see your mother insulted! But what can you expect from a
vulgar boor but abuse? I ought to have known that before I laid myself
open to such treatment. I don't think I can ask that young Hartshorne
to my house again after this."
"Good gracious! ma," said Carry; "why what has he got to do with it?
I'm sure he's a very nice fellow, and he is not accountable for his
mother's actions."
"Well," said the old campaigner, mollifying somewhat, as she got further
from the scene of her defeat, and allowed her better judgment to
prevail; "perhaps he's not to blame, and I am sure I never said so. He
can come of course to the pic-nic, now he is invited; but I am sorry I
left the note with that old cat, after all. Never mind, it's done now,
and there's no use in regretting it. He is a good match; and if you
listen to my words, Carry," she leaned over and said confidentially to
her daughter, so that Buttons might not overhear, "instead of giggling
so foolishly, and play you cards well, you will secure him in spite of
that Jezabel, his mother. Not that I am afraid of her, or twenty like
her," Lady Inskip said to herself consolingly, now that a distance of
road lay between them.
But where was Master Tom all this while?
Well, you must understand that Mr Thomas Hartshorne, of Her Majesty's
Plungers, was, and had been all the morning, learning the craft of
fly-fishing on the banks of the little stream that ran by the bottom of
the parsonage, under the apt tuition of the incumbent's sister. The
young reverend himself had long since gone out for his parochial duties,
such as enquiring after farmer Giles' rheumatism, and the widow Blake's
asthma, intending also to do himself the honour of calling on Lady
Inskip on his way home, for Pringle had been much struck by the charming
Laura the more he saw of her, and wanted to see more still.
It was most surprising what a violent and indefatigable interest that
previously indolent young man Tom had taken in the piscatorial art.
He who had before declared Isaac Walton an old humbug, and who had
professed his agreement with the dogmatic old doctor Johnson's
assertion, that fishing consisted of "a worm at one end of a rod and a
fool at the other," now used to sally out every morning nearly from The
Poplars, with his fishing-tackle on his shoulder down to the parsonage,
telling Markworth, whom he used to faintly persuade to accompany him,
that it was "the best sport in the world, old fellow."
He went to the incumbent's grounds because it was the "finest spot in
the county for perch," and Pringle was "a brother angler, and such a
jolly good fellow, you know." Those were his only reasons, of course!
Hartwood parsonage was the beau ideal of a snug little country lodge; a
long, straggling, one-storied cottage form of house, all ingles and
corners and slanting roofs, and covered with roses, jessamine, and
clematis.
It had low, diamond-paned French windows, opening down to the ground; so
that one could walk out into the trim-inclined but wild planted flower
garden--Lizzie's especial pride--and on to the smooth velvetty lawn
beyond, that sloped down to the water's edge, bordered with hanging
branches of weeping willows, and sappy, luscious, green osiers, that
sprang like ostrich plumes from the quiet pools and crinks into which
the stream widened here and there.
The parsonage had a "fine walled-in kitchen garden," as house agents
advertise, devoted to spruce rows of cabbages and arrogant cauliflowers,
each of which weighed more than a good-sized Christmas turkey; and
fruit-clustered pear and apple and peach trees, all nailed up and
trained along the walls, like a giant's palms spread out with the
fingers extended. Beyond the kitchen garden the walls were overhung
with rich green ivy, which took off the stuck-up appearance it might
have had like most enclosures, and gave the place a much, more
picturesque aspect. But it was in the flowery plaisance, marked out on
each side by a thick laurel shrubbery, that Lizzie's handiwork shone
out.
This commenced just under the windows of the house, round which it
extended, and spread out to where it joined the lawn, from which it was
separated by a sort of strawberry island, and a hedge-row of box, tall,
up-grown, and cut in queer, fantastic shapes.
In Lizzie's flower garden, which she had specially looked after since
she came to keep house for her brother, there was the most lavish
display. Tiger lilies and jonquills, sunflowers and pale-faced
narcissi, vied with each other for effect; and the great charm of the
whole lay in the utter absence of any set form or arrangement--roses and
lilies all grew together in the most charming confusion, with sundry
creepers twining around them; it was only on account of there being no
weeds visible, that you did not set down this wilderness of flowers to
be totally neglected.
Other effects were not wanting to complete the picture. Here on a
summer afternoon you would hear a pet robin punctually begin his sweet
song, at "four of the clock precisely," from his favourite perch on a
spreading fir tree that overhung the eaves of the house--a little robin
that used to hop down every morning to the adjacent window of the
parlour, to receive his matutinal crumbs from Lizzie's hand. The
"chuck! chuck! chuck!" of the black bird too, would be also heard from
the laurel shrubbery; and the rival strains of the yellow-hammer from
the neighbouring medlar tree. The latter gentleman would commence his
lay with a "whirr," like an alarm clock running down, and end with a
sort of chorus like the concluding bars of "Green grow the Rushes O!"
The Beccaficoes, too, or English ortolan, very like the thrush, would
assemble here in the hot months of the year, and did not fail to leave
evidences of their partiality for the fruit tree which received the
Saviour's curse.
Tom Hartshorne had explored all this paradise long before, in the
company of Miss Lizzie; and he was now, as I said, under her tuition,
looking at her tying on some artificial May-fly or other ichneumon to
his line.
It was a beautiful morning--not yet twelve--and the air was balmy, and
scented with new-mown hay and flowers; while bees were buzzing around,
and birds singing in the air, the lark, chief songster, above them all;
altogether, Master Tom was situated under very romantic circumstances,
and his handsome Saxon face and honest blue eyes looked and shone out
happy in the extreme.
Lizzie was dressed in a dainty little muslin dress, picked out with some
lilac tinge, and her little hat was thrown on coquettishly, half off and
half on; while her bright pretty little face was unclouded, and there
was a depth of tenderness in the deep violet eyes that glanced up every
now and then to Tom.
She had just succeeded in tying on the fly, and looked up suddenly in a
triumphant, saucy little way, in Tom's face. He was very close to her,
for he had to watch very narrowly to see how the work was done, and he
stooped at the time she looked up; and she said, "There, sir!"
They were very close together, and their eyes met, and Tom was stooping,
and, naturally, as those sweet little tempting rosebud lips were so
near, he--
Well, what would you do if a very pretty girl was very close to you,
male reader, under the same circumstances? What reply would you make?
Very well, Tom did it!
Just at that moment, Lady Inskip was driving round the road which
skirted by the parsonage garden, to pay a visit, and leave an
invitation, at the house of our friend, the young incumbent. It was not
long after her encounter with the dowager, and Lady Inskip was still
wrath: her observation being keen, and the pony carriage high, she could
therefore see the little meeting between Tom and Lizzie over the wall.
She saw it all, my dear sir; and her sense of propriety was so shocked,
that, instead of calling, as she intended, on the Pringles, she only
left the invitation and drove on homewards.
Here she had been twice defeated this morning! The dowager had routed
her at The Poplars, and "that artful little minx" had presumed to poach
upon her manor--was actually making love to Master Tom, whom she had
designed for her own Carry. It was absolutely startling! She did not
know what to do. Fortunately, she thought, no one had observed the
pleasant little episode in the garden--so indelicate!--but herself, as
her daughters, riding on the front seat, had had their backs turned at
the time, so she would keep it to herself, and determine what was to be
done.
One thing, at all events, she resolved to do, and that was to speak to
the Reverend Herbert Pringle privately, and in confidence, about his
sister. He was a most gentlemanly young man, and could not be offended
at her mentioning the subject, especially as she would put it to him,
since she was old enough to be his mother--at least, his mother-in-law!
Fortune favoured the old campaigner in her object. Our friend, the
incumbent, having visited and cheered his poor people, by asking affably
as to their healths, returned homewards by way of Laburnum Cottage, to
see the Inskips, determining to himself that that was the shortest way
round, although it was at least five miles out of his way.
Lady Inskip only arrived a few moments before him, and so he caught her
when she was red hot on the subject just then rampant in her heart.
When she had flattered him sufficiently, and after he had basked in the
sunshine of Laura's smiles, he rose to leave, and Lady Inskip
accompanied him herself to the door, and on to the grass plot beyond,
and the gate, where stood his dapple-grey pony with his reins flung over
the post to keep him from straying. When the girls saw their mother
follow Clericus without, they made up their minds that she was going to
"ask his intentions," and much did the lively Carry chaff her sister
therenent. The campaigner's motive was, however, a very different one.
"You will excuse me, Mr Pringle, I'm sure, but I am an old woman, you
know, and I take such a motherly interest in you--(very motherly!)--that
you will forgive me for asking you a question?"
Poor Clericus, himself, trembled at this introduction, as I believe his
idea of what was coming was very similar to those of the girls inside.
"Oh, certainly, Lady Inskip, certainly!" he said, with a sort of
dead-alive alacrity.
"Is your sister engaged to Mr Tom Hartshorne?" said the old campaigner;
and Pringle was immensely relieved.
"Oh dear, no!" he responded, this time cheerfully enough. "Oh dear, no,
Lady Inskip, what made you suppose so?"
And, thereupon, my lady spoke, and told what she had seen; and, although
Pringle was not very angry at first, nor did he look upon the affair as
anything serious, the campaigner presently persuaded him that it was his
duty to speak to his sister. He, of course,--so she explained--could
not be aware how a young girl would be talked about if she were allowed
_carte blanche_ to flirt with every young man she came across. Poor
Lizzie! as if she would have done so--and that it was very unfortunate
the poor girl had no mother to warn her, and so on. But it was his duty
as her brother, and not only on that account, but as a clergyman also--
so the campaigner put it--to speak earnestly at once, and have the thing
broken off.
Herbert Pringle promised to do so, and rode home very sadly, for he
loved his little sister very much in his way, and hated the business of
talking so seriously to her, besides not knowing how to set about it.
Let us return to our lovers; our poor tender sheep, into whose fold such
a great gaunt wolf had now penetrated.
They did not hear the wheels of the old campaigner's chaise as it passed
round by the garden wall, nor did they see her grim eyes surveying them
above it, and taking notes of their propinquity--not they!
When Master Tom committed himself in the way I have hinted at, little
Lizzie blushed crimson, and hung down her head so that he could not see
her face.
"Oh, how could you? How could you?" she stammered out, nearly crying.
"Forgive me! I beg your pardon: I could not help it"--and Tom was going
to tell his love, and disclose all the feelings that filled his heart,
when, at that moment, my Lady Inskip rang the bell to leave her note, as
already detailed.
Before Tom could catch her so as to hold her, Lizzie darted off, like a
startled fawn, towards the house, and the opportunity was lost.
The next day she was not in when he called round, and Pringle visited
him the day after that, instead of his visiting him; and so, although he
was not spoken to, no opportunities were put in the way of their meeting
alone.
Both Tom and Lizzie were looking forward to the pic-nic with heartfelt
longing, for the former, at least, determined to speak then.
Oh, Love! Love! When will thy course run smooth?
Volume 1, Chapter XII.
"THE BEGINNING OF THE END."
Markworth's plot was now nearly ripe for execution.
When he had been down at The Poplars some weeks now, he said one morning
at the breakfast table that he must run up to town for a day or two, as
he had some important business to transact; so excusing himself to the
Hartshornes, mother and son, the former of whom did not look as if she
would break her heart if he never returned, he said he supposed he had
better start at once and come down on the next day, Saturday, so as to
be in time for the contemplated pic-nic on the following Tuesday, which
Tom would not hear of his missing.
"You'll be sure to be back in time, old fellow," said the latter, as he
wished Markworth good-bye; and the train glided off from the little
station to which they had walked in company across the fields.
"There'll be heaps of fun, for Harrowby and a lot of the fellows will be
down, and I want you to draw out the campaigner, or she'll be making a
dead set at me, and--"
"You'll have other fish to fry, and will want to attend to someone else,
eh? I quite understand it all, my boy; I'm not so blind as some people
think, Master Tom. However, I'll spare your blushes and your
explanations: don't be alarmed, my boy, I'll be back in plenty of time
for the pic-nic, and will take care to occupy my lady's attention so as
to leave you to your own devices. Good-bye, old chap."
"Good-bye, old fellow," said Tom; and Markworth was soon whizzing on his
way to London.
Arrived in town, he first directed his steps to the private
billiard-room where he and his friend first made the acquaintance of the
reader.
His object was to enlist the services of the little old-fashioned
marker, who we had previously seen watching the game.
This man, Joe Begg by name, although only known to the sporting world
who frequented the room by his Christian name alone, was an accomplice
and ally of Markworth. When our friend would manage to get hold of a
nice pigeon for plucking, Joe Begg used to be of the greatest service.
He had a peculiarly dexterous way of running up the score, and also a
pleasant and most unaccountable manner of sneezing just when Markworth's
opponent would be making some important stroke. It was most unfortunate
of course, and the victim would meet with so much sympathy, and the
marker would apologise so earnestly with tears in his eyes for the
unfortunate cold in the head, "which takes me most unexpected, sir," as
he would explain, that poor pigeon could not but allow that it was an
accident, and accept the _amende honorable_ by continuing his play.
When neophyte went away, after his vanity had been flattered by his
being allowed _nearly_ to win and his losing "rather hot, you know, by
Jove?" he did not know that Markworth and the marker generally came to
an understanding, which always resulted in the former offering and the
latter accepting sundry substantial tokens of esteem and regard.
It was not to make use of his aid in the matter of billiards and by-play
that Markworth now sought the company of Joe Begg. It was for something
much more important and vastly different, although of a similar nature.
He wanted a witness for the contemplated marriage, and he could not
think of anyone better qualified to assist him than Joe. He was just
the man, for he had been always faithful to Markworth's interests, and
could be as "close as wax," although he would naturally require a
"consideration."
"Well, Joe, how's business," he said, as he walked into the
billiard-room, when, as was usual at such an early hour of the day, the
marker was all alone.
"Very dull, Mister Markworth, very dull! Why, sir, I haven't made a bob
at pool for the last three weeks. Everybody's out of town, and those
City fellows as comes in are afeared to bet a tizzy on a dead certainty.
Can I do anything for you to-day, Mister Markworth?"
"Not to-day, Joe; but I will want you shortly."
"All right, sir, whenever you want me you've only got to speak, and I'm
there."
"I thought I could rely on you, Joe. The fact is, I shall want you to
be a witness to a marriage between a lady and myself."
"How much will you stand?"
"I'll do the thing handsomely. I tell you what, I will give you a fiver
after it's all over, because I shall want you to swear to it perhaps in
evidence afterwards."
"I'm your man, sir," replied the marker, with alacrity; "swear to
anything for that sum. When is the little affair coming off?"
"I can't say yet, Joe. Maybe in a week, maybe not for a month; but when
I want you I shall write here and let you know. Mind! You must be
ready at once to accompany me when I write for you."
"I'm fly, sir," responded Joe, with a cunning movement of his left
eyelid, more expressive than an ordinary wink. "I'll be ready any time;
and perhaps, sir, as the business is partickler, it'll be worth more
than a fiver, who knows?"
"I shan't forget you, Joe; we won't quarrel about terms," answered
Markworth, meaningly, and he then went away, for he had even more
important arrangements to make.
He paid a second visit to the dingy purlieus of Doctors Commons.
This time not to the deed depository of the dead, but to the legal
portals of Hymen, where Cupid sits enthroned on the bench, in all the
majesty of the law, with a horsehair wig and a pair of clerical bands,
to issue licenses to marry and for giving in marriage.
It was now Friday, and the pic-nic was to come off at Bigton on the
ensuing Tuesday, so Markworth determined that he would manage to get
Susan Hartshorne away from The Poplars on that day, as he would be less
liable to observation and detection; and taking her up to London, could
have the marriage solemnised on the succeeding day. Tuesday, strange to
say, was the very day, the 27th of August, according to the information
of Miss Kingscott, retailed from the Family Bible, when the girl would
be of legal age, one and twenty, and entitled to the free disposal of
her money.
He accordingly got a license made out without much trouble, by means of
a little stretch of the imagination--called perjury in courts of law--
and the initiatory step for his design was taken. If everything went
well, he would before that day week be the husband of Susan Hartshorne,
and master of her twenty thousand pounds. He had well weighed every
step in his programme; he had studied every possible consequence to
himself; and he saw no reason to anticipate failure when everything
pointed to success.
After leaving Doctors Commons he went to some old lodgings of his in a
retired street in Bloomsbury, where he was well-known, and a set of
rooms always kept vacant for him, for his comings and goings were so
irregular that no one knew when to expect him. None of his West End
friends knew of his ever living here, for he always gave an hotel as an
address; and to tell the truth, he had often been comfortably installed
in these same Bloomsbury lodgings when the world thought him travelling
on the Continent, or shooting grouse on the moors.
His appearance was therefore looked upon as a usual thing, and no
surprise was manifested; for his ways had always been inscrutable, and
as he checked curiosity and was a good and regular paying lodger, he
could do as he liked. He had always done so from the first, and his
landlady never bothered herself about him or his business, "it was no
concern of hers, he always paid his rent, and that was all she cared
about," she said.
He stopped here that night, and went away the next morning, telling Mrs
Martin, the landlady, that he was going to bring "his sister" to town on
the following Tuesday, and would require the rooms to be ready for her
reception. This was the first time she had ever heard of his having a
sister; but he might have brought twenty so long as he paid his rent. I
believe a regular London lodging-house keeper is more of a cosmopolitan
than any other person in the world. She will take in anybody with a
decent supply of luggage, and who is tolerably regular in the payment of
his or her weekly bills--the wandering Jew, Calcraft, or Eugene Aram.
It is all the same to the proprietors of the "apartments" whether her
tenant be Jew or Gentile, gentleman or "snob," criminal or honest man;
she has but one standard for social position, morality or nationality,
and that is a pecuniary one. A lodger may be forgiven everything, even
seventy times seven, if he only pays his rent regularly; that is the
_ultima ratio_ to which appeal is made--it is practical and works well!
These preliminary arrangements being seen to, Markworth walked down
through Lincoln's Inn Fields, across into Chancery Lane, and paid a
visit to some dingy, tumble-down looking chambers close to the projected
site for the new Law Courts, which are to be built at some era dim in
futurity. A brass plate was on the door, with the names "Solomonson and
Isaacs, solicitors," engraved thereon.
His business was with the senior partner, who greeted him as an old
client or customer, which indeed he was. Solomonson was not at all
averse to transact business, even on the Jewish Sabbath.
"Vell, Mishter M," said the Jew, who was part money lender, part lawyer,
and all rogue. "Doesh de leetel affairsh go on? Have you got de mad
girlsh yet. I vants to see her Mishtressh M'sh--"
"Not yet, Shylock; but everything's in train, and I shall do it before
the week is out. But you told me right, I hope, about the law; I would
not like to commit a felony?"
"You are all rightsh, Mishter M'sh. Leave de cashe in dese hands and ve
vill see you trough!"
"I rely upon you then, and will let you conduct the whole affair,--but I
must have some money to carry the thing through, Solomonson. How much
can you let me have on my own security?"
"I vill letsh you ave two hundredsh pound. S'help me Gadsh, Mishter
M'sh! itsh all I've got!"
"Nonsense, Shylock! you can't fool me like that," replied Markworth, and
he tried unsuccessfully to get more out of the Jew. He had to be
contented for the present with a couple of hundreds. Solomonson knew,
however, the stake for which he was playing, and told him that as soon
as he was really married to Susan Hartshorne he would advance him more.
Until then he would not let him have another penny. So Markworth was
forced to content himself with what he had got, and he was not pleased
when he recollected that he would have to give the governess half.
He was, however, provided with the sinews of war, so he wished
Solomonson good day, cheerfully as he went out, and told him he would
soon see him back again.
"Good daysh!" replied the Jew. "Don't forget to send me the weddingsh
cakesh, my dearsh! I likesh weddingsh cakesh!"
The last visit Markworth paid before leaving London was to the curate of
a small church in the city, with whom he was acquainted--how he had made
his acquaintance I cannot say; and to this gentleman he made some
explanation about a forthcoming marriage which appeared to be highly
satisfactory to both parties.
Everything was now settled but the great event itself, and so Markworth
returned to Hartwood by the afternoon train. To shew that he did not
forget even trifles in considering everything for his plot, he bought an
odd volume of the recently revived "Essays and Reviews," at the railway
book stall, for the personal edification of the Dowager Mrs Hartshorne,
who had been speaking of the book in connection with her now favourite
topic of ritualism. This he presented to her the same evening, much to
her surprise, and peculiarly snappishly-expressed pleasure and thanks.
The old lady had recently been over head and ears in pre-adamite
geology, and nothing interested her so much as a secular essay on
theological truths.
Tom was delighted to see him back in such good time, and planned out all
sorts of pleasant things for the pic-nic, which was in everybody's
thoughts--little knowing how Markworth intended to dispose of his day.
All the Sussex world was going to be there. A pair of violet eyes
comprised "all the world" to Tom now.
Some time that evening Markworth had a long conversation with Miss
Kingscott, preparing for "the end." Both--strange anomaly!--had worked
together for once, and not for good. He gave her a hundred pounds, the
first instalment of the "hush money," and their compact was nearly
completed.
To one who had not marked out every phase in Susan Hartshorne's
treatment, the change that had been worked in her since Markworth had
devoted his energies to her care, was nothing less than marvellous.
From dull, irksome melancholia the patient had been transported to the
fields of reason. A constantly unchanged vacuity of expression on her
face had given place to mobility of feature. Instead of void animal
eyes, the windows of the soul now looked out of her face. From an idiot
she had been changed nearly if not quite into a reasoning being.
Markworth had done all this, aided by Miss Kingscott acting under him
and by his directions. It is true the girl had only got back the germ
of reason, the reason of a child in nature, and measured by the
experience of years. But it was a germ which, although now of delicate
growth, and requiring every fostering and care, might yet expand into
the fullness of moral culture.
No one had any idea how poor Susan had improved, for she saw no one to
speak to as yet; and although Tom and Mrs Hartshorne noticed some
change in her, yet the former was too much engaged with observing
another to notice much in his sister, and as for the mother she really,
I believe, did not care either way. She had so long looked upon Susan
as insane, that the possibility of her ever recovering her reason now
after the lapse of so many years, was put beyond the pale of
consideration altogether.
And so only Markworth and Miss Kingscott knew of her dawning reason;
with them both she spoke now as sensibly as themselves, and as to
Markworth she was his abject slave.
The first reasoning thought that filled the poor girl's vacuous brain
was one of heartfelt devotion to him who had led her out of darkness to
light. She looked upon him as her saviour, ignorant as she was of a
higher and more powerful God than he; and he was so uniformly kind and
considerate to her, seemingly anticipating her every wish, that one
cannot wonder at her slavish idolatry. He was her god--her all; she
loved him as a dog would love its master, and everything he did was
right: his word, law.
Markworth's material was now plastic enough.
Volume 1, Chapter XIII.