The faithful Cousin Edward had carried the sheets of “Evelina” to Mr.
Lowndes’s shop, with her list of errata, sisters Lottie and Susy giving
him ample instructions as to the disguise he should assume in discharging
that duty; it would be terrible, they thought, if the secret which they
had so carefully guarded for so long should be revealed just when it
was most important that it should be kept. Their imagination was keen
enough to suggest to them the possibility of good Mr. Lowndes setting a
watch upon the people entering his shop, and giving instructions that the
bearer of the parcel of “Evelina” should be detained and brought into his
presence to be questioned.
They advised that Edward should muffle up his face well before going into
the shop, and then lay down his parcel and fly like the wind—that would
be the best way of defeating the curiosity of the bookseller.
But Edward was of the opinion that such a course of action might possibly
only stimulate the man’s curiosity as well as that of the people in the
street, and the cry of “Stop thief!” might bring his frantic flight to a
standstill. He thought that the most artful course to adopt would be to
hang around the shop until he found that several customers were within;
then he would enter quite casually and wait until Mr. Lowndes had served
one customer and was about to attend to another. If the parcel were
thrust into his hands during this interval, he, Edward, would have a good
chance of getting safely away before Mr. Lowndes should have time to
examine its contents.
They were rather struck with his idea, and he got permission to put it
into practice; but in any case he must take the greatest care of the
parcel; valuable parcels were snatched out of people’s hands every day.
He smiled.
In another hour he was back at the house in St. Martin’s Street to report
to them the safe delivery of the precious parcel. After all, he had had
nothing more exciting to do than to place it on a counter—the elderly
gentleman with a pen behind his ear had not even taken the trouble to
rise from his stool to receive it.
“Parcel for Mr. Lowndes? All right. Leave it there”—those were the exact
words with which the parcel was received, Edward reported—the clerk was
buried in his ledger before he had left the shop.
The girls were not a little disappointed at this very tame conclusion
of what they expected would have been an exciting episode; and to say
the truth, their chagrin was shared by Cousin Edward. He had looked for
his resources of artfulness to be drawn on in the transaction—perhaps
even his physical qualifications for the defence of the sacred secret as
well. He felt as a strong man might feel on going forth to meet a giant,
to find himself confronted by a dwarf. The mission was unworthy of his
powers. Fanny’s thanks heartily given to him, with the repeated assurance
that, but for him, the affair could never have been carried out, scarcely
compensated him for the tameness of the affair.
For the next month or two it was a busy household in St. Martin’s Street.
Lieutenant Burney was joining his ship for another long voyage, and he
had to be provided with a fresh outfit. The stitching that went on in
the work-room surpassed even that maintained during the months preceding
Esther’s marriage; but the labour was lightened upon more than one
occasion by the appearance of Mr. Garrick. Mr. Garrick had the freedom of
the house in St. Martin’s Street, as he had had that of the Poland Street
domicile, where he had so often spent hours amusing the children with his
inimitable drolleries.
But Mrs. Burney thought he went a little too far in taking off their
friends, and even their own father, though his malicious touches were as
light as the pinches of Puck. He had been paying a visit to Mr. and Mrs.
Kendal, and he convulsed even Mrs. Burney by his acting of the scene of
his reception by them, the lady much more coy than she had ever been at
the Wells, and the gentleman overflowing in his attentions to her; but
both of them esteeming him as their benefactor.
And they were so well satisfied with the honourable estate to which he
had called them, that they appeared to be spending all their time trying
to bring about matches among their acquaintance. No matter how unsuitable
some of the projected unions seemed, no matter how unlikely some of the
people were to do credit to their discrimination, they seemed determined
that none should escape “the blissful bondage”—that was Mr. Kendal’s neat
phrase. Mr. Garrick repeated it with a smile that made his audience fancy
that Mr. Kendal was before them.
“‘The blissful bondage—that’s what I term it, sir,’” said Mr. Kendal,
through Mr. Garrick. “‘But the worst of the matter is, Mr. Garrick, that
we have nearly exhausted our own circle of friends’—‘I can easily believe
that, sir,’ interposed Mr. Garrick—‘and so we feel it our duty to fall
back upon you.’ ‘Lud, sir,’ cried Mr. Garrick, jumping a step or two back
as if to avoid a heavy impact—‘Lud, sir! a little man like me! I should
be crushed as flat as a black beetle.’ ‘Nay, sir, I mean that we are
compelled to ask you for a list of a few of your friends who, you think,
should be brought together—half a dozen of each sex would be sufficient
to begin with.’”
“Of course I demurred,” said Garrick, telling his story, “but before ‘the
blissful bondage’ had been repeated more than a score of times I began to
think of all against whom I bore a grudge—here was clearly the means of
getting level with them; the only trouble with me was that I found myself
confounding the people who bore me a grudge with those against whom I
bore a grudge—the former are plentiful, the latter very meagre in number.
With the exception of a few very dear animosities which I was hoarding
up to make old age endurable, I have killed off all my enemies, and was
forced, like Mr. Kendal, to fall back on my friends; but even among these
I could find few that I could honestly say were deserving of such a fate
as I was asked to nominate them for. I ventured, however, to mention the
name of Lieutenant Burney, of His Majesty’s Fleet, coupling it with—I
could not at first think of an appropriate partner for James, but at last
I hit upon exactly the right lady.”
“What! a splice before I set sail next week?” cried Jim. “That’s good
news, sir. And the lady’s name, if you please, and her address. Give me
my hat, Susy; there is no time to be lost. A splice in a trice. Come, Mr.
Garrick, her name? Cannot you see that I am hanging in stays until you
tell me who she is?”
“She is a very pleasant lady, sir. I can assure you of that,” said
Garrick. “Not too tall even with her hair built _à la mode_; a pleasant
smile, and a happy way of conversing. In short, Lieutenant Burney, I can
strongly recommend the lady, for I have known her for the past twenty
years and more, and from the first she was a staid, sensible person—the
very partner for a sailor, sir, being so contrary to him in every point.”
“Hark’ee, Mr. Garrick; though I don’t quite see myself in tow of such a
state barge, I’ll trouble you to relieve my suspense by telling me her
name.”
“I have more than once thought when I was young that she would make me an
excellent wife,” said Garrick; “but I soon perceived that I was not good
enough for her. She has always been an exemplary sister, and I saw that,
try as I might, I could never become her equal in that respect; and for
married happiness, my boy, there is nothing like—”
“Her name—her name?” shrieked the girls.
The actor looked at them with pained surprise on every feature.
“Her name?” he said. “Surely I have described her very badly if you have
not recognized the portrait. But, for that matter, I have often felt how
inadequate are words to describe character combined with grace—a nature
inclined to seriousness in conjunction with a desire to attract—loftiness
of purpose linked with a certain daintiness—”
He made a few gestures with his hands, keeping his elbows close to his
side, and then imitated the spreading of a capacious skirt preparatory to
sinking in a curtsey, and in a moment there was a cry from every part of
the room of “Miss Reynolds—Miss Reynolds!”
“And who has a word to say against Miss Reynolds?” cried the actor.
“No one—no one,” said Fanny. “Character combined with grace—Miss Reynolds
linked with Lieutenant Burney.”
“She would make a fine sheet anchor for an Admiral of the Blue,” laughed
Jim. “And with your permission, sir, I will postpone my offer until I
have attained that rank.”
“I have advised Mr. Kendal to hurry things on,” said Garrick gravely.
“For if you have time to spare before making up your mind, the lady
cannot reasonably be thought equally fortunate. ‘Lieutenant Burney, your
attitude is not complimentary to the blissful bondage’”—once more it was
Mr. Kendal who was in the room.
“Call the roll,” said Jim. “Who comes next on your list, Mr. Garrick?”
“Well, I was thinking of Dr. Johnson with Mrs. Abington,” said Garrick;
“but perhaps you may quibble even at that.”
The room rang with laughter, for everyone had seen the beautiful actress
whose lead in dress was followed by all the ladies in the fashionable
world who could afford to do so, and a greater number who could not; and
the worsted hose and scorched wig, two sizes too small, of Dr. Johnson
had been gazed at with awe by the Burney family when he visited the house
in St. Martin’s Street.
“Let the banns be published without delay,” cried Jim. “Next pair,
please.”
“Well, I was thinking of Signor Rauzzini and Mrs. Montagu,” said Garrick,
“but perhaps that would not be approved of by you any more than the
others.”
“Nay, Mr. Garrick, I will not have our friends made any longer the
subject of your fooling,” said Mrs. Burney.
Garrick and Jim had the laugh between them, but it seemed that they alone
saw the jest of coupling the lively Roman with the mature leader of the
bluestockings: the girls bent silently over their work.
“Madam,” said Garrick apologetically, “I ask your pardon for my
imprudence. May I ask which name I am to withdraw? Was my offence the
introduction of the lady’s name or the gentleman’s? Oh, I can guess.
Those rosy-tinted faces before me—I vow that you will find yourself going
to sea with a chestful of pink shirts, Lieutenant—those sweet blushing
faces reveal the secret more eloquently than any words could do.”
Undoubtedly the three girls were blushing very prettily; but at the
mention of the word “secret” two of them gave a little start, but without
looking up.
“The secret—oh, I have been feeling for some time that I was well to the
leeward of a secret,” cried Jim, “and I’ll not start tack or sheet until
I learn what it is.”
“What, sir; you a sailor and not able to penetrate the secret of a pretty
girl’s blushes!” cried Garrick.
The brother looked at each of his sisters in turn. They continued
stitching away demurely at his shirts.
“Helm’s a-lee,” he said. “Ready about, and off we go on another tack, for
hang me if I see anything of guilt on their faces, bless ’em! Come, Mr.
Garrick, you shall interpret them for me. Let me into the secret which
you say you have read as if it was a book.”
Susy gave a sharp cry.
“The needle!” she said. “That is the third time it has pricked me since
morning.”
“Pay no attention to her, sir,” cried Garrick. “It was a feint on her
part to put us off the scent of the secret.”
“In heaven’s name, then, let us have it,” cried Jim.
“If you will have it, here it is,” said Garrick. “Your three sisters, Mr.
Burney, are contemplating applying to Mrs. Montagu to be admitted to the
freedom and the livery of the Society of Bluestockings. That is why they
thought it akin to sacrilege for me to introduce the lady’s name into a
jest. Their blush was but a reflex of their guilty intention.”
“Indeed, Mr. Garrick, you go too far sometimes,” said Mrs. Burney. “Mrs.
Montagu is a worthy lady, and our girls respect her too highly to fancy
that they have any qualification to be received into her literary set.”
“Faith, Madam, I know my duty too well, I hope, to accuse any of the Miss
Burneys of possessing literary qualities,” said Garrick. “But what I do
say is that if such qualities as they possess were to be introduced into
Mrs. Montagu’s set, it would quickly become the most popular drawing-room
in town. The idea of thinking that any young woman would go to the
trouble of writing a book when she can reach the heart of mankind so much
more easily by blushing over the breast of a shirt! Continue stitching
and doing your own blushing, dear children, and you will never give
anyone cause to blush for you.”
He bowed elaborately to each of them in turn and afterward to Mrs.
Burney, and made a most effective exit. He always knew when he should go,
and never failed to leave a few fragrant phrases behind him, as though he
had dropped a bunch of roses for the girls to cherish.
“Where should we be without Mr. Garrick?” said James, when he had seen
the actor to the door and returned to the work-room.
“If only he would not go too far in his jesting,” remarked Mrs. Burney,
shaking her head. “Mr. Garrick sometimes forgets himself.”
“That is how it comes that he is the greatest actor in the world,” said
James. “It is only when a man has learned to forget himself completely
that he causes everyone else to remember him. Now there’s the text for a
homily that you can write to your Daddy Crisp, Fanny.”
“I’ll note it, Jim, and if Mr. Crisp breaks off correspondence with me
you shall bear the blame,” said Fanny.
* * * * *
“Mercy on us!” whispered Susy when she was alone with her sister a little
later. “I never got such a fright as when Mr. Garrick pretended to read
your secret. Thank goodness! he failed to get the least inkling of it.”
“Thank goodness, indeed!” whispered Fanny.
But she was thinking of quite a different secret when she spoke.