In the early morning, I was off for London, taking Mrs. Fletcher with
me, much against my will, because she seemed to cumber me both in
thought and action. Between the door and the avenue, I looked from the
open carriage--I hate to be shut up in summer--at the dear old house.
Lily had got up to breakfast with me, in spite of my prohibition; and
she was going with us as far as the lodge, to have a nice walk back. To
my great surprise I saw my poor Uncle, standing at his open window,
wrapped in a dressing-gown. He kissed his hand and waved me his last
farewell. I leaped on the seat to reply, and then scolded him with my
glove. Half in play and half in sorrow, he mocked my lively gestures,
and the morning breeze lifted his silver hair, as he wafted me the last
kiss. I told Lily to scold him well, with my very best love, and she
asked me in the most ladylike manner, if I saw any green in her eye.
The girl had picked up a great deal of slang among the fair collegians.
Mrs. Fletcher looked sadly shocked; so I said, to reassure her: "You
know, Mrs. Fletcher, we must make allowances for young ladies who come
from college."
"To be sure, Miss Vaughan, to be sure we must," she replied with her
most sagacious air: and at Gloucester she whispered to the coachman,
"John, the villain that stole Miss Lily sent her to Oxford, in a young
gentleman's clothes, and she took a very high degree: but don't say a
word about it." "Not by any means, ma'am," answered John, with a grin.
Nevertheless, it found its way over the house, and the result was that
all the girls came to Lily about their sweethearts.
I mention this trifling incident only to show how little I thought that
I then saw the last of my Uncle.
At Paddington we met Annie Franks taking her ticket for Gloucester, and
looking most bright and blooming, with a grand pocket in her cloak, made
to hold a three-volumed novel. I had only time for a few words with
her, in which I commended my Uncle to her especial attention, as she had
ten times my cousin's experience. Then I went with her to the
down-platform, and saw her get into the carriage, and gave her the last
of my sandwiches, while a cruel guard made her turn out her new pocket,
insisting that she must have a little dog concealed there. I laughed at
the poor little dear, as crimson with mortification she showed before
all the gentlemen the triple fluted bulk, and the guard read out, more
in amazement than rudeness, "Sir Ingomar of the Red Hand; or, The Knight
of St. Valentine, and the Paynim Lady." The gentlemen were gentlemen,
and tried very hard not to smile; but the way the guard scratched his
head was a great deal too much for them. "Dog's ears, anyhow," cried
he, trying to escape with a joke. I drew her out of the carriage, with
tears in her soft gray eyes, and put her into another, where Sir Ingomar
was unknown, and might spur on at pleasure. Then the smiles returned to
her shy and innocent face, and she put her head to the window, and
whispered gently to me:
"Any strawberries left, dear?"
"I should think so, Annie. The best of them all, the British Queens,
are just coming in. And such a crop of grapes!"
Annie's conception of perfect bliss was to sit upon a shady bank, "the
breeze just fanning her delicate cheek," with a cabbage-leaf full of
strawberries by her, and a cut-and-thrust novel upon her lap. Off she
went with a lovely smile, foreseeing all these delights.
From Paddington we drove straightway to the lodgings of Conrad Vaughan.
As we jolted along the New-road, which always has more holes in it than
any other street in London, I lost my wits in a tumult of thick
tempestuous thought. What would Conny say to see me, me the haughty
Clara, coming all impatiently even in quest of him? Would it not have
been far better, far more like an English maiden, to wait, and wait, and
wear the soul out, rather than to run the risk of mis-interpretation?
True, it was for his father's sake, to save him from deadly peril, and
to make his happiness complete; but might not all have been done by
messenger, as well as by me in person? So at least might fancy those
who did not know our enemy. Worst of all, and cloudiest thought, that
filled the eyes every time it came,--would he love me still? Would not
the strong revulsion, that must have torn him in two, when he dashed his
hand on his forehead, and forgot even man's forbearance, would not, must
not this have snapped all the delicate roots of love? I could not tell.
Of man's heart I know nothing; but I felt that with me, a woman, such a
horrible thing would create only longing to make amends.
"Mrs. Fletcher, how is my hair?"
"Lovely, my pretty child"--she always called me so from habit when no
one else was present--"you look your very best; and I'd like to see them
that could--talk to me of Lilies indeed, when our Miss Clara--"
"No smuts on my nose, Mrs. Fletcher, I hope? I never feel sure, in
London. You don't know London, you see."
"No, my pretty, as clean as a whistle, and as clear as the voice of a
May-bird, every atom of you. There's no such complexion nowhere out of
Gloshire or in it: and its all along of the brimstone and treacle I give
you, when you was small. Talk to me of Lilies--why I see three great
butter spots, as big as the point of a needle, and I know by the make of
her boot that her little toe turn over; and what's more than that--"
"Mrs. Fletcher, I won't hear a word of it. As to her little toe, I can
most solemnly declare that you are wrong altogether; for I have seen her
naked foot, and a lovelier one never was--"
"Take yours out of the way, Miss. But--"
"But-- here we are; and you have made my cheeks quite red! I shall be
ashamed to be seen."
However, it did not matter; for there was no one there to see me.
Conrad was gone to Paris; he had quitted London quite suddenly, and
there was a letter left for his sister, which the girl forgot to post,
till she thought it was too late. And he said very likely he should go
on to Italy; and they were not to keep the rooms, if they had a chance
of letting them, only to put away the things he had left, in the
cupboard. So I took the letter, directed "Miss Isola Ross," but I did
not dare to open it, much as I longed to do so. Having enclosed it in a
new envelope, and posted it in the nearest letter-box, with a heavy
heart I re-entered the cab, and went on to Mrs. Shelfer's.
Mrs. Shelfer was of course surprised to see me so soon again.
Nevertheless she was all kindness and hospitality, as usual. The
residue of her little debt had been long ago released, and now I paid
full rent, for I could easily afford it. In answer to my eager
inquiries as to what had occurred since Wednesday, the little woman said
shortly:
"Nothing at all, Miss, of any account, I thank you. Only Charley threw
double size, three times running, and won--"
"I don't mean that, Mrs. Shelfer; I mean, what has happened for me?"
"Nothing, Miss Vaughan; no, nothing to concern a great lady like you:
only such a queer lot come, and they seemed to be friends of yours.
They ain't gone from here more than half an hour ago."
"Tell me all about them."
"They come and ringed the bell, as modest as could be; and when I went
to the door, says they, 'If you please, where be Miss Clara, ma'am?'
'Miss Clara!' says I, 'a set of dressed up trollops like you, come and
ask for Miss Clara! She'd Miss Clara you, pretty quick time, I doubt,
if she was only here.' 'Us humbly hopes no offence, ma'am,' says the
great big man, the biggest man as ever I see without paying, 'only us
has come up from the country, ma'am.' 'Up from the country!' says I,
'needn't tell me that, my good giant; any fool can see that. And if you
take my advice, you'll clap your hat on, and go down again, and thank
God for it.' You see, Miss, he had got his hat off, and he standing out
of doors, on the shady side of the street! So what I said seemed to
stop him altogether, and he looked as if he wanted to think about it;
and I was just a slapping the door in their faces, when the other man,
the queerest guy I ever see, a hanging in his clothes like a skiver in a
dish-clout, he look full in my face as grave as a heretic parson, and
stretch out his skinny arm, and keep time with one foot, while he say or
sing,
"'Ma'am, us be here now in this Lunnon town,
And it bain't likely as we be going down,
Till us see every mortal thing as there be for to see,
And take all the change out in a thorough-going spree.'
Then the big man laugh and clap him on the back; and the little one wink
both his eyes, and look to see what I think of it. Then when he see me
laugh, he make me such a coorous bow, that what with his--what do they
call the plaister, Miss?"
"Diachylon, perhaps you mean, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Ah, that's the word. What with his strange diaculum, and his dancing
altitude, I declare I was a most a going to invite them in: but I
recollects, no, no: If Charley gets along of such Reginalds as these, I
may stand at the bed-room door and whistle for a week. There's nothing
Charley loves so much as a downright Reginald."
Poor simple-minded woman; how little she perceived that she of all the
number was by far the most original! And, like most of those who are
truly so, she would have taken the imputation as an outrageous insult.
Only the sham original glories in being thought queer.
"Well, Mrs. Shelfer, I want to hear the end of it."
"Just what I say, Miss. Yes, yes, no time to spare, and the pudding
boiling. So I says, quite sharp, 'What name, my good sir, and will you
leave a message? Miss Vaughan is out of town.' 'Wull,' says he, just
as I tell you, Miss, 'ony plase you say, ma'am, as Jan Uxtable, and
Beany Dawe, and the two beggest of the chillers has doed theirselves the
honour of coming to lave their dooty.' Then the little girl look up and
she flash her ribbons and say, 'Mr. Huxtable, if you please, ma'am, and
Mr. Ebenezer Dawe, and Miss Huxtable, and Master John, has called.'
'Hadn't you better write it down, Miss?' says I, as innocent as
possible. 'Do you suppose I can't then?' says she, with such a spitting
out of her eyes, and she swinging a new parry sole. 'Just give me a
sheet of papper, if you keep such a thing in the house.' 'Plase to
excuse the little wanch, ma'am,' says the big man, quite humble, 'us
can't hardly make head nor tail of her, since her come to this here
Lunnon. If I had only knowed it I'd have had her mother along of me,
that I would ees fai, and the coo be her own midwaife. But ony plase
you say Jan Uxtable come if they count it dacent hereaway. Threescore
acres and five, ma'am, without reckon the Cleeve, and no man have a
call, to my mind, to christen himself "Mister" on less than a hundred
acres, in Lunnon or out of it.' 'Very well, sir,' I says, for I took to
the big man somehow, 'I will deliver your message. Miss Vaughan only
went from here of middle day on Wednesday.' 'And tell her please, if
she do come back,' says spirity Miss Parrysole, with the tears in her
great blue eyes, 'that Sally Huxtable leave her very best love and duty,
and hope so much Miss Clara will come to see the great wrestling
to-morrow, twelve o'clock, and be early. And they be betting now two to
one on the other man, ma'am. But he have no chance, no more than Tim
Badcock with father.' 'I be much afeared, ma'am,' says the deep-voiced
man, as soft as any bell, 'I be afeared our Sally will be begger by a
lanyard nor ever her daddy or her mammy was. But likely it be all for
the best.' And with that all four of them crooked their legs to me most
polite, and went on round the corner; and after them went a score of
boys, that seemed to follow them everywhere. The boys knew all about
it, and so did I at last, that it was the great champion wrestling, that
is to be to-morrow. Charley have been mad about it going on now two
months. And can you please to tell him, Miss, which way to lay his
money?"
"To be sure, I can. Let him take every offer of two to one against the
Devonshire champion; and if he loses I will make it good to him, upon
condition that he gives you everything he wins. Now please to let me
have a cup of strong tea."
Having thus got rid of my most talkative friend, and Mrs. Fletcher
having started off to buy something, I had time to think a little.
It was nearly two o'clock on the Friday afternoon. Nothing more could be
done at present towards recovering Conrad, for he had not even left at
his lodgings any Continental address. Possibly his place of sojourn
might be revealed in the letter to his sister, posted by my hand: but it
was far more likely that he himself knew not, at the time of writing,
where he should find quarters. I must have been beside myself with
worry and disappointment, when I dropped that letter into Her Majesty's
box; for if I returned, as had been arranged, by the express at five
o'clock, several hours would be saved in the delivery of its tidings.
And, as yet, I little dreamed where I should be at five P.M.
In that little room, whose walls were more relieved than decorated by
certain daubs of mine, which even in my narrowest straits I could not
bear to part with, because an indulgent critic had found merit in
them--a discovery requiring much acumen--here I now sat, gazing fondly,
dreaming hazily, yearning strongly for the days gone by, yet only three
months old, when I had not a crust or dress till I earned it by my
labour. How that pinch enlarged my heart, God only knows, not I. Ah,
then I was a happy girl, though I never guessed it. How proudly I
walked down the Square, with my black straw bonnet on--which Idols
called the Dowdy,--and my dark plaid shawl around me, the plainest of
the plain, yet not prepared to confess myself so quotidian as my dress.
Who could tell, in those happy days, who might come, or round what
corner, and who could say whether of the twain would look the more
accidental? And then the doubt--shall I look or not, better perhaps be
intent on the fire-plug, and make him come round again?
But now. Ah me, they have heaped up riches for me, and who shall come
to enjoy them?
Just as I was warming to this subject, gushing along in a fine vein of
that compassion which alone of soft emotions we find it no duty to
wrestle with, I mean of course self-pity--in came Mrs. Fletcher,
suddenly, and in anger.
"Well, Miss Clara," she exclaimed, throwing down her parcel, "so this is
London, is it?"
"To be sure, Mrs. Fletcher. What objection have you to make to it?"
"No objection, Miss, only this, that if ever I seen a set of countrified
folk, the Londoners are them. Why the commonest of our kitchen-maids
would be ashamed to talk so broad, and to dress so contemptuous. And
here I went half a mile to buy boots, real London-made; and trees all
along by the side of the road, and pots on the shelves of the windows.
I never, if Gloucester don't look much more like a town."
As Mrs. Fletcher did not tell a story with the Herodotean vivacity of
Tim Badcock, I will render her facts in my own unpretending version,
premising only that she had taken the farmer and Sally for specimens of
the true Cockney; a bit of saltatory reasoning of which she has not
heard (and perhaps never will hear) the last. While then the worthy
housekeeper was driving a slow but shrewd bargain, in a smart shop by
the Broadway, taking the boots to the sunshine, to pick clever holes in
the stitching, she observed a diminutive boy, of the genuine shoe-black
order, encamping in a bight or back-eddy of pavement, just at the side
of the door. This little fellow was uniformed, or rather
multi-coloured, in gold, and red, and green. His cap was scarlet, and
edged with gold twist; his tunic red, and his apron of very bright green
baize. On his cap, and on one shoulder, appeared his number, 32, in
figures of brass, an inch and a half in length. Strapped on his back he
carried an oblong block of wood, like a great club-foot, and nearly as
large as himself. This he deposited, with elaborate fuss, on the curb
of the inner pavement, which terraced some inches above the true
thoroughfare. A blacking-jar hung at one end of his block; from a
drawer below he pulled out three well-worn brushes, and began to hiss
and to work away, in double quick time, with both hands, at some boot
projected towards him on the delicate foot of fancy. As he grew warm at
his work, with one sharp eye all the while looking out for a genial
passenger, there slowly came straggling towards him a bevy quite fresh
from Arcadia. First, in treble importance walked, impressively rolling
and leering around, Hermes, Pan, and the owl of Pallas, combined in one
Ebenezer Dawe. His eyes, never too co-operative, roved away upon either
side, in quest of intelligence, which they received with a blink that
meant, "Pooh, don't I know it?" With occasional jerks of his lank right
arm, he was dragging along, like a saw through a knot, the sturdy,
tight-buttoned, and close-pronged form of our little Jack. Jack was
arrayed in a black wide-awake, with blue ribbons, and a bran-new suit of
broad-furrowed corduroy, made of nights by his mother and Suke, and
turned out with countless pockets, each having three broad buttons, to
foil the London thieves. In one of these pockets, the trouser one I do
believe, in spite of all Sally had taught him, he was now chinking, to
the creak of the corduroys, his last-abiding halfpence, and lagging
heavily on the poet's arm, he cast fond glances at a pile of glorious
peg-tops. Sticking her toes into little Jack's heels, to kick anybody
that dared to steal him, came my little Sally, all fire, and wonder, and
self-assertion, towing her mighty father along, like a grasshopper
leading an ox. At times she strove to drag him towards the finery of
the windows, and paid very little heed to his placid protestations.
"Walk fitty, my dear; walk as you ought to do, my dear. Oh fai! oh fai!
Whatever wull they Lunnoners think of Davonsheer, if they zees you
agooin on laike this here? There, dang that Beany Dawe; blest if I
baint a toornin Pouet too. Coomth of larnin to wraite, I reckon." The
farmer's pockets were crammed with circulars, handbills, and puffs of
every description, which he received from all who offered, and was
saving them all for his wife.
"Clean your boots, my gentleman," cried a little shrill voice; "clean
both your boots for a halfpenny. Never say die, Sir; polish 'em bright
till the cat at home won't know them. Three-fardings-worth of blacking,
and a penny in skill and labour, and all for the laughable sum of one
half-penny. Pure satisfaction guaranteed, or the whole of the money
returned. Up with your foot, my gentleman!"
The farmer pulled up suddenly, for fear of walking over him, as the boy,
despising Beany Dawe, had dashed in between Jack and Sally, and danced
before Mr. Huxtable. His brushes were whisking about, like bumble-bees
roughly disturbed, and already menaced the drab of the Sunday fustian
gaiters.
"Zober now," cried the farmer, who could not believe that he was
addressed, having never dreamed, in his most ambitious moments (if any
such he had), of ever being called a gentleman, "zober now, wull'e.
Where bee'st gooin to, thou little hosebird; be they your Lunnon-town
manners? Lat alo-un, I zay; lat alo-un now, wull 'e?"--as the boy got
more and more tentative--"Heart alaive, cant e zee, they be my Zunday
gaiters? Oh, if my missus wor here! And 'e bain't more nor naine year
old! Wull, wull, where ever do 'e goo to schouell?"
"Hinstitooshun 66. No children or females admitted. Up with your foot,
old bloke! Do the young uns and tootor half-price. Just two minutes to
spare, till the Dook of Cambridge's turn. Great Exhibition polish, and
all to encourage the fine arts."
The good farmer was lost beyond hope, in the multitude of subjects
pressed all of a pulp on his slow understanding; nevertheless, he had
presence of mind to feel first for his watch and his money, and then for
the best pocket-handkerchief stitched into the crown of his hat;
meanwhile the boy got hold of one foot, and began to turn up his
gaiters. Then Sally and little Jack rushed to the rescue, and Jack
punched the boy in the face, while Beany Dawe looked on with a grin of
broad experience. But in spite of all aid, the farmer began to collapse
before his mosquito enemy; when luckily three giant Life-guards (for a
crowd was now collected) opened their mouths, like the ends of a
monkey-fur muff, in a round and loud guffaw, with a very coarse sneer at
poor Sally. The farmer looked at them in much amazement; then his
perplexity went like a cloud, and his face shone with something to do,
as he gave Sally his hat to hold. Till now all the mockers had been too
small for him anyhow to fall foul of. Ere the echo of laughter was
over, the three dandy Lifeguards lay on their backs in the mud, with
their striped legs erect in the air, like the rods of a railway
surveyor. The crowd fell back headlong, as if from a plunging horse,
then laughed at the fallen and with the conqueror. Even the boy was
humility multiplied into servility.
"Wutt be up to, arl on 'e?" asked the farmer, replacing his hat; "cas'n
none on 'e lat a pacible chap alo-un? And wutt will they chillers think
as coom here to get example? Why, Beany, if us had knowed this, us
would have brought Bill constable with us, ees fai. Now 'e don't know
nothing about it"--he remonstrated with the admiring multitude--"one o'
them dree worn't throw handsome laike, ony dree pins, I tull 'e. But
us'll do it over again, if he claimeth it. Can't do nothing vitty, zin
I laved my missus at home. But her wadn't coom, God knows." These last
two remarks were addressed to himself, but the crowd had full benefit of
them. "Worn't 'e axing of lave, two or dree minutes agone, little chap
with the brisk there, to tend my butts, and tuk it amost wiout axing?
Us be bound laike to stap here now till us zees if them 'lisher men
feels up for any moor plai. Do as 'e plase, little chap, zoon as Sally
hath toorned my best gaiters up, if her bain't too grand in Lunnon."
With bright ribbons fluttering and finery flapping about her, poor Sally
knelt down in a moment to work at the muddy fustian: but her father
would not allow it, he had only wished to try her; so he caught her up
with one hand, and kissed her, and I think, from what Mrs. Fletcher
said, he must have given her sixpence at least.
It is needless to say that, although the boy worked with both hands in
the most conscientious manner, the farmer's boots defied him.
Neats'-foot oil, and tallow, and beeswax held their own against Day and
Martin. "Coom, little chap," said Mr. Huxtable, kindly, "thee hast dooed
thy very best, but our Zuke will have the laugh of thee. Tache thee
perhaps it wull to be zoberer next taime, and not be quite so peart to
do a dale more nor thee can do. But thee hast used more ink than ai wud
over two copies. Here be a groat for the Exhibition polish."
In this little episode, as will be manifest, Sally has helped me more
than Mrs. Fletcher. But now, to return to my narrative.
Almost directly after the housekeeper left me, Patty came trotting in
with a large white breakfast-cup full of most powerful tea. I cannot
help thinking that the little woman put some brandy in it, or allowed
Mrs. Fletcher, who trusted much in that cordial, to do so; but they
stoutly deny the charge, and declare that there was only a pinch of
gunpowder. Whatever it was, being parched with thirst, I swallowed
without tasting it, and the effect upon my jaded brain was immediate and
amazing. All self-pity was gone; and self-admiration, and haughty
courage succeeded. Was I, Clara Vaughan, who had groped and grubbed for
years to find the hole of a blasting snake, and had now got my hand upon
it, was I to start back and turn pale at his hiss, and say, "God speed
you and polish your skin. Give me your slough for a keepsake?" Would I
not rather seize the incarnate devil, trample his spine, and make his
tongue sputter in dust? In a moment my cloak and hat were on again; I
scarcely looked at the glass, but felt the hot flush on my cheeks, as I
lightly skipped down the stairs, and silently left the house. What to
do next I knew not, nor asked, but flew headlong before the impulse, to
lift and confront--as is my nature--the danger that lay before me. As I
glided along, I was conscious of one thing, the people in the street
turned in surprise to watch me. As if by instinct, I hurried straight
to Lucas Street, my courage mounting higher and higher as I neared the
accursed threshold. Balaam and Balak stood at the bar of a tavern which
commanded a view of the street, but were much too busy with beer to see
me passing so swiftly. Loudly I rang the bell of No. 37; the figures
were bright on the door, and looking narrowly, I perceived the old No.
19, more by the lines than the colour.
Old Cora came as usual; but started at seeing me, and turned as pale as
death.
"Is your master within?" I could not use his false name.
"Yes, Meesa, but you not see him now."
"Dare you to disobey Our Lady's heart?" And I held my gordit before
her. She cowered with one knee on the mat and kissed it; then led me
into the presence of Lepardo Della Croce.