When my Uncle saw that letter, he declared that he would go to London
with me. No power on earth should prevent him. Not even his
self-willed Clara. It was not revenge he wanted: even though it were for
his innocent brother, whose wrongs he could not pardon. No, if the
small-minded wretch who had spent his life in destroying a
fellow-creature's, if that contemptible miscreant lay at his feet
to-morrow, he would not plant foot upon him; but forgive him heartily,
if he had the grace to desire it. But for his children,--for them he
must go to London. Only let him see them once before he died. No
torpid limbs for him. Who said he was old--and he only forty-seven?
One thing seemed rather strange to me. He longed, yearned I should say,
to look upon his little Lily even more than on the child he knew, his
son, his first-born Harry. "Why, Clara," he used to say, "she is nearly
as old as you, and you are a full-grown girl. On the 21st of this
month"--it was now July--"she will be eighteen; I can hardly believe it.
I wonder what she is like. Most likely she takes after her lovely
mother. No doubt of it, I should say. Don't you think so, Clara?"
"Of course, Uncle," I would reply, knowing nothing at all about it, "of
course she does. How I should like to see her."
Perhaps fifty times a day, he would ask for my opinion, and I would
deliver it firmly, perhaps in the very same words and without a shade of
misgiving; and though of no value whatever, it seemed to comfort him
every time. But the prolonged excitement, and the stress of imagination
exerted on Lily junior, told upon him rapidly in his worn and weak
condition. Longing for his company, assistance, and advice, I waited
from day to day, even at the risk of leaving Balaam and Balak without
good beer. All this time, my imagination was busy with weak surmises,
faint suspicions, and tangled recollections.
At last, I could delay no longer. Tuesday was the latest day I could
consent to wait for, and on the Monday my Uncle was more nervous and
weak than ever. It was too plain that he must not attempt the journey,
and that the long suspense was impairing his feeble health. So for once
I showed some decision--which seemed to have failed me of late--without
telling him any more about it, I got everything ready, and appeared at
his bedroom door, only to say "Good bye." Annie Franks, who was going
with me, for a short visit to her father, hung back in some amazement,
doubting whether she had any right to be there, and dragged off her legs
by the coil of my strong will. My poor Uncle seemed quite taken aback;
but as it could not be helped, he speedily made up his mind to it. "The
carriage was at the door;" which announcement to English minds precludes
all further argument.
"Good bye, Uncle dear," I cried, as cheerily as I could, "I shall be
back by the end of the week and bring your Lily with me. Give me a good
kiss for her, and now another for myself."
He was sitting up in the bed, with a Cashmere dressing-gown on, and
poring over some relics of olden time.
"Good bye, my darling, and don't be long away. They have robbed me
enough already."
After giving Judy the strictest orders, I hurried off in fear and hope,
doubtful whether I ought to go. Annie lingered and gave him a kiss, for
she was very fond of him. He whispered something about me, which I did
not stop to hear, for I wanted to leave him in good spirits.
After a rapid journey, I saw dear Annie safe in the arms of her father
and mother, and found Mrs. Shelfer at home, and in capital spirits, all
the birds, &c. well, and no distress in the house. Charley was doing
wonders, wonders, my good friend, sticking to his work, yes, yes, and
not inside the public house for the best part of the week. Leastways so
he said, and it would not do to contradict him. And she really did
believe there were only three bills over-due!
My little rooms were snug and quiet, and the dust not more than half an
inch thick. Mrs. Shelfer used to say that dusting furniture was the
worst thing in the world to wear it out. According to her theory, the
dust excluded the air, especially from the joints, and prevented the
fly-blows coming. However, I made her come up and furbish, while I went
out to post a letter for Messrs. Balaam and Balak, requesting them to
visit me in the morning.
When things were set to rights a little, and air, which Mrs. Shelfer
hated, flowed in from either balcony, I bought a fine crab and some
Sally Lunns, and begged for the pleasure of my landlady's company at
tea. This she gladly gave me, for the little woman loved nothing better
than sucking the hairy legs of a crab. But she was so overcome by the
rumours of my wealth, that she even feared to eject the pieces in her
ordinary manner, and the front rail of her chair was like the beam of a
balance. Infinitely rather would I be poor myself, than have people
ceremonious to me because I am not poor; and to tell the honest truth, I
believe there is a vein of very low blood in me, which blushes at the
sense of riches and position. Why should I have every luxury, that is
if I choose to have it, while men and women of a thousand times my mind,
and soul, and heart, spend their precious lives in earning the value of
their coffins?
This thought has wearied many a mind of pure aerial flight, compared
whereto my weak departures are but the hops of a flea; so I lose the
imago, but catch the larva, upon the nettle, practice. Mrs. Shelfer is
soon at ease; and we talk of the price of cat's meat, and how dear
sausages are, and laugh--myself with sorrow--over the bygone days, when
dripping played the role of butter, and Judy would not take a bone
because he thought I wanted it.
Then we talk over the news. Miss Idols had been there, bless her sweet
face, yes, ever so many times, to look for letters, or to hear tidings
of me. But she was not one bit like herself. She never teased the poor
little woman now; the poor little woman wished very much she would. Oh,
I should hardly know her. She did not know which bird it was that had
the wooden leg, and had forgotten the difference between a meal-worm and
a lob. And she did not care which way she rubbed the ears of the
marmoset. Mrs. Shelfer believed, but for the world it must not be told
again, that Isola was deeply in love, unrequited love, perhaps one of
the weteranarian gents. They did say they had some stuff as would lead
a girl like a horse. But whatever it was, Mrs. Shelfer only knew that
she could not get at the rights of it. Girls had grown so cunning
now-a-days, what with the great supernatural exhibition, and the hats
they had taken to wear flat on the tops of their heads, not at all what
they used to be when she and Charley were young. Then a young woman was
not afraid of showing what her neck was like; now she tucked it in
cotton wool like a canary's egg. And what were they the better, sly
minxes? She saw enough of it in the Square garden, and them showing
their little sisters' legs for patterns of their own, oh fie!"
"Come, Mrs. Shelfer, no scandal, if you please. What news of your Uncle
John?"
"Ah, Miss, you must ask the sharks, and the lobsters, and the big
sea-serpent. They do say, down at Wapping, that the ship was cast away
among the cannibal islands, and the people ate a policeman, and he upon
his promotion. What a pity, what a pity! And his coat four and
sixpence a yard, ready shrunk! But them natives is outrageous."
"Nonsense, Patty, I don't believe a word of it. Sailors are dreadful
story-tellers, ever since the days of Sindbad. Has any one besides Miss
Isola, Mrs. Elton, or any one, been here to ask for me?"
"No, Miss, Mr. Conrad never come after the day you served him so
dreadful; and Miss Idols say he went back and spoiled 300*l.* worth of
work; but that great lady with the red plush breeches, and the pink silk
stockings, and the baker's shop in their hair, she been here twice last
week, and left a letter for you. And Balaam been here several times, and
Balak along of him; but I banged the door on them both, now I hear they
be out of the business, and a nice young man set up who don't bother
about the gun."
"Lady Cranberry's letter may lie there, and go back the next time Ann
Maples comes. But the bailiffs I must see. If they come to-morrow, let
them in immediately. And how are all my friends at the Mews?"
Her reply would fill a chapter, so I will not enter upon it, but go to
bed and miss the sound of dear Judy's tail at the door. In the first
course of my dreams, Mr. Shelfer passed on his bedward road, having
politely taken his shoes off at the bottom of the stairs; in doing which
he made at least three times the noise his shodden feet would have
inflicted.
In the morning I took my old walk round the Square, and then sat down
and tried to be patient until the bailiffs should come. Of course I did
not mean to go to my darling Isola, nor even to let her know that I was
so near at hand, although my heart was burning to see her sweet face
again. I even kept away from the window, though I wanted to watch for
the bailiffs, and strictly ordered Mrs. Shelfer not to tell her, if she
should call, a word about my being there. However, it was all in vain.
Mr. Shelfer went out after breakfast to his play-work in the Square, and
the smell of his pipe invaded my little room. I think he must have left
the front door open; at any rate I heard, all of a sudden, a quick
patter of running feet, and such a crying and sobbing, and Mrs. Shelfer
hurrying out to meet it.
"You can't, Miss, you can't indeed--not for a thousand pounds. The
rooms are let, I tell you, and you can't go up. Oh dear, oh dear,
whatever am I to do?"
"Patty, I _will_ go up. I don't care who's there. My heart is
breaking, and I _will_ die on my darling's bed. If you stand there, I'll
push you. Out of the way, I tell you." And up flew Idols, in a perfect
mess of tears. What could I do but fly to meet her, and hug my only pet?
What with her passion of grief, and sudden joy, at seeing me, she
fainted away in my arms. I got her somehow to the sofa, and kissed her
into her senses again. When she came to herself, and felt sure it was
not a dream, she nestled into my bosom, as if I had been her husband,
and stole long glances at me to see whether I was offended. Her pretty
cloak lay on the floor, and her hat beneath the table. For a long time
she sobbed and trembled so that she could not say a word, while I kept
on whispering such vain words as these:
"Never mind, my pet. There, you have cried enough. Tell your own dear
Clara who has dared to vex you."
To see that sweet child's misery, I felt in such a rage, I could have
boxed her enemy's ears. But I never thought that it was more than a
child's vexation. At last, after drinking a tumblerful of water, and
giving room to her palpitating heart, she contrived to tell me her
trouble.
"Why, dear, you know my pappy--pappy I used to call him--he is not my
papa at all, he says himself he is not; and that is not the worst of it,
for I could do well enough without him, he is always so dreadfully
cross, and doesn't care for me one bit. I could do without him very
well, if I had a proper papa, or if my father was dead and had loved me
before he died; but now I have no father at all, and never had any in
the world; I am only an outcast, an abandoned-- Oh, Clara, will you
promise to forgive me, and love me all the same?"
"To be sure I will, my dearest. I am sure, you have done no harm. And
even if you have been led astray--"
She looked at me with quick pride flashing through her abasement, and
she took her arm off my shoulder.
"No, you have quite mistaken me. Do you think I would sit here and kiss
you, if I were a wicked girl? But who am I to be indignant at anything
now? He told me--are you sure the door is shut?--he told me, with a
sneer, that I was a base-born child, and he used a worse word than
that."
She fell away from me, her cheeks all crimson with shame, and her long
eyelashes drooping heavily on them. I caught her to my heart: poor
wronged one, was she a whit less pure? I seemed to love her the better,
for her great misfortune. Of course, I had guessed it long ago, from
what her brother told me.
"And who is your father, my pretty? Any father must be a fool who would
not be proud of you."
"Oh, Clara, the worst of it is that I have not the least idea. But from
something that hard man said, I believe he was an Englishman. I think I
could have got everything from him, he was so beside himself; but when
he told me that dreadful thing, and said that my father had lied to my
mother and ruined her, I felt so sick that I could not speak, till he
turned me out of the house, and struck me as I went."
"What?"
"Yes, he turned me out of the house, and gave me the blow of disgrace,
and said I should never look on his face again. He had won his
revenge--I cannot tell what he meant, for I never harmed him--and now I
might follow my mother, and take to--I can't repeat it, but it was worse
than death. No fear of my starving, he said, with this poor face of
mine. And so I was going to Conny, dear Conny; I think he knew it all
long ago, but could not bear to tell me. And I sat on some steps in a
lonely place, for I did not know how to walk, and I prayed to see you
and die: then old Cora came after me, and even she was crying, and she
gave me all her money, and a morsel of the true cross, and told me to
come here first, for Conny was out of town, and she would come to see me
at dark; and perhaps the Professor would take me back when his rage was
over. Do you think I would ever go? And after what he told me to do!"
Such depth of loathing and scorn in those gentle violet eyes, and her
playful face for the moment so haughtily wild and implacable--Clara
Vaughan, in her stately rancour, seemed an iceberg by a volcano.
I saw that it was the moment for learning all that she knew; and the
time for scruples was past.
"Isola, tell me all you have heard, about this dastard bully?"
"I know very little; he has taken good care of that. I only know that he
did most horrible things to unfortunate cats and dogs. It made me
shudder to touch him at one time. But he gave that up I believe. But
there is some dark and fearful mystery, which my brother has found out;
that is if he be my brother. How can I tell even that? Whatever the
discovery was, it made such a change in him, that he cared for nothing
afterwards, until he saw you, Clara. I am not very sharp, you know,
though I have learned so much, that perhaps you think I am."
"My darling, I never thought such a thing for a moment."
"Oh, I am very glad. At any rate I like to talk as if I was clever.
And some people say I am. But, clever or stupid, I am almost certain
that Conny found out only half the secret; and then on the day when he
came of age, that man told him the rest, either for his own purposes, or
holy Madonna knows why."
"When was your brother of age?"
"Last Christmas Eve. Don't you remember what I told you at the school
of design that day?"
"And when is your birthday, Isola?"
"I am sure I don't know, but somewhere about Midsummer. They never told
Conny when his was, but he knew it somehow. Come, he is clever now,
Clara, though you don't think I am. Isn't he now? Tell the truth."
"I am thinking of far more important matters than your rude brother's
ability. Whence did you come to England and when?"
This was quite a shot in the dark. But I had long suspected that they
were of Southern race.
"I am sure I don't know. I was quite a child at the time, and the
subject has been interdicted; but I think we came from Italy, and at
least ten years ago."
"And your brother speaks Italian more readily than English. Can you
tell me anything more?"
"Nothing. Only I know that old Cora is a Corsican: she boasts of it
every night, when she comes to see me in bed, although she has been
forbidden. But what does she care--she asks--for this dirty little
English island? And she sits by my bed, and sings droning songs, which I
hardly understand; but she says they are beautiful nannas."
How my heart was beating, at every simple sentence. None of this had I
heard before, because she durst not tell it.
"Any other questions, Donna?" She was recovering her spirits, as girls
always do by talking. "Why, my darling, you ought to have a wig. You
beat all the senior sophists."
"Yes. Now come and kiss me. Kiss me for a pledge that you will never
leave me. I am rich again now: you can't tell how rich I am, and
nothing to do with my money, and nobody likely to share it. If you were
my own sister, I could not love you more; and most likely I should not
love you a quarter as much. And my Uncle longs to see you so. You shall
come and live with me, and we'll be two old maids together. Now promise,
darling, promise. Kiss me, and seal the bargain."
"Clara, I would rather be your servant than the queen of the world.
Only promise first that you will never scold me. I cannot bear being
scolded. I never used to be; and it will turn all my hair gray."
"I will promise never to scold you, unless you run away."
She swept back her beautiful hair, threw her arms round my neck, looked
in my eyes with a well-spring of love, and kissed me. Oh, traitorous
Clara, it was not the kiss--deeply as I loved her--but the evidence I
wanted. I knew that with her ardent nature she would breathe her soul
upon me. The exquisite fragrance of her breath was like the wind
stealing over violets. I had noticed it often before. My last weak
doubt was scattered; yet I played with her and myself, one sweet moment
longer.
"Darling, what scent do you use? What is it you wash your teeth with?"
"Nothing but water, Clara; what makes you ask in that way?"
"And the perfume in your hair--what is it? Oh, you little Rimmel!"
"Nothing at all, Donna. I never use anything scented. Not even Eau de
Cologne. I hate all the stuff they sell."
"How very odd! Why, I could have declared that your lips and your hair
were sprinkled with extract of violets."
"Oh, now I know what you mean. I never perceive it myself, but numbers
of people have fancied that I use artificial perfume. But that man--oh,
what shall I call him? And only this morning I called him 'pappy'--he
always accounts for everything, you know; and he said it was
hered--herod--I can't say it now, the long English word, but I could at
college--no matter, it means something in the family. My mother, he
said, was so well known to possess it, that she had an Italian name
among the servants for it; though her real name was quite a different
flower. Clara, why do you look at me so? And what are you crying for?"
"Because, my own darling dear, I have not loved you for nothing. You
are my own flesh and blood. You are my own cousin, I tell you, my dear
Uncle's daughter; and your name is Lily Vaughan."
She drew her arms from me, and leaped up from the sofa; she was so
amazed and frightened. She looked at me most sadly, believing that I
was mad; then she fainted again, and fell back into my arms.
When I had brought her round, and propped her up with a pillow--for
cushions were very scarce--the strain of the mind being over, my brain
began to whirl so that I could neither think nor act. For a long time I
could not have enough of kissing and hugging Idols. I played with her
hair, as if I had been her lover; and then patted and caressed her, as
if she had been my baby. And had I no thought of another, who ought to
be doing all this to me? Yes, I fear that it lay in the depth of my
heart, stronger than maid's love of maiden, or even than my delight at
the joy coming to my Uncle.
Then I hated myself for my selfishness, and caught up my Lily and rubbed
her, and made her understand things. I flung a decanter of water over
both her and myself, which saved us from hysterics.
Poor little thing! She was not like me. Strong Passion was a stranger
to her, and she fell before his blow. I had fought with him so long,
that I met him like a prize-fighter, and countered at every stroke. Up
ran Mrs. Shelfer, in the height and crest of the wave, when backwards or
forwards, crying or laughing, hung on a puff of wind. She came with a
commonplace motive; she thought we were playing at cricket with her
beloved sticks. Her arrival made a diversion, though it had no other
effect, for I walked the little thing out, and locked the door behind
her.
Then I got my darling new cousin into my arms, and kissed her, and
marched her about the room, and made her show her Vaughan instep.
Excuse the petty nonsense--what women are quite free from it?--but for
many generations our feet have been arched and pointed: of course it
does not matter; still I was glad that hers were of the true Vaughan
pattern. Then, as she so hated all the stuffs they sell, I showered
over her an entire bottle of the very best Eau de Cologne. It was a bit
of bullying; but all girls of high spirit are bullies. And it made her
eyes water so dreadfully, that she cried as hard as I did.