"THE LITTLE CLOUD"
Lord Bearwarden, like other noblemen and gentlemen keeping house in
London, was not invariably fortunate in the selection of his servants.
The division of labour, that admirable system by which such great
results are attained, had been brought to perfection in his as in many
other establishments. A man who cleaned knives, it appeared, could
not possibly do anything else, and for several days the domestic
arrangements below-stairs had been disturbed by a knotty question as
to _whose_ business it was to answer "my lord's bell". Now my lord
was what his servants called rather "a arbitrary gentleman", seeming,
indeed, to entertain the preposterous notion that these were paid
their wages in consideration of doing as they were bid. It was
not therefore surprising that figure-footmen, high of stature and
faultless in general appearance, should have succeeded each other with
startling rapidity, throwing up their appointments and doffing his
lordship's livery, without regard to their own welfare or their
employer's convenience, but in accordance with some Quixotic notions
of respect for their office and loyalty to their order.
Thus it came about that a subordinate in rank, holding the appointment
of second footman, had been so lately enlisted as not yet to have made
himself acquainted with the personal appearance of his master; and it
speaks well for the amiable disposition of this recruit that, although
his liveries were not made, he should, during the temporary absence of
a fellow-servant, who was curling his whiskers below, have consented
to answer the door.
Lord Bearwarden had rung like any other arrival; but it must be
allowed that his composure was somewhat ruffled when refused
admittance by his own servant to his own house.
"Her ladyship's not at home, I tell ye", said the man, apparently
resenting the freedom with which this stranger proceeded into the
hall, while he placed his own massive person in the way; "and if you
want to see my lord, you just can't--_that_ I know!"
"Why?" asked his master, beginning to suspect how the land lay, and
considerably amused.
"Because his lordship's particularly engaged. He's having his 'air
cut just now, and the dentist's waiting to see him after he's
done", returned this imaginative retainer, arguing indeed from his
pertinacity that the visitor must be one of the swell mob, therefore
to be kept out at any cost.
"And who are _you_?" said his lordship, now laughing outright.
"Who am I?" repeated the man. "I'm his lordship's footman. Now, then,
who are _you_? That's more like it!"
"I'm Lord Bearwarden himself", replied his master.
"Lord Bearwarden! O! I dare say", was the unexpected rejoinder. "Well,
that _is_ a good one. Come, young man, none of these games here:
there's a policeman round the corner."
At this juncture the fortunate arrival of the gentleman with
lately-curled whiskers, in search of his _Bell's Life_, left on the
hall-table, produced an _éclaircissement_ much to the unbeliever's
confusion, and the master of the house was permitted to ascend his own
staircase without further obstruction.
Meeting "Gentleman Jim" coming down with a bundle, it did not strike
him as the least extraordinary that his wife should have denied
herself to other visitors. Slight as was his experience of women and
their ways, he had yet learned to respect those various rites that
constitute the mystery of shopping, appreciating the composure and
undisturbed attention indispensable to a satisfactory performance of
that ceremony.
But it _did_ trouble him to observe on Lady Bearwarden's face traces
of recent emotion, even, he thought, to tears. She turned quickly
aside when he came into the room, busying herself with the blinds and
muslin window-curtains; but he had a quick eye, and his perceptions
were sharpened besides by an affection he was too proud to admit,
while racked with cruel misgivings that it might not be returned.
"Gentleman-like man _that_, I met just now on the stairs!" he began,
good-humouredly enough, though in a certain cold, conventional tone,
that Maud knew too well, and hated accordingly. "Dancing partner,
swell mob, smuggler, respectable tradesman, what is he? Ought to sell
cheap, I should say. Looks as if he stole the things ready made. Hope
you've done good business with him, my lady? May I see the plunder?"
He never called her Maud; it was always "my lady", as if they had
been married for twenty years. How she longed for an endearing
word, slipping out, as it were, by accident--for a covert smile, an
occasional caress. Perhaps had these been lavished more freely she
might have rated them at a lower value.
Lady Bearwarden was not one of those women who can tell a lie without
the slightest hesitation, calmly satisfied that "the end justifies
the means"; neither did it form a part of her creed that a lie by
implication is less dishonourable than a lie direct. On the contrary,
her nature was exceedingly frank, even defiant, and from pride,
perhaps, rather than principle, she scorned no baseness so heartily
as duplicity. Therefore she hesitated now and changed colour, looking
guilty and confused, but taking refuge, as usual, in self-assertion.
"I had business with the man", she answered haughtily, "or you would
not have found him here. I might have got rid of him sooner, perhaps,
if I had known you were to be home so early. I'm sure I hate shopping,
I hate tradespeople, I hate--"
She was going to say "I hate everything", but stopped herself in time.
Counting her married life as yet only by weeks, it would have sounded
too ungracious, too ungrateful!
"Why should you do anything you hate?" said her husband, very kindly,
and to all appearance dismissing every suspicion from his mind, though
deep in his heart rankled the cruel conviction that between them this
strange, mysterious barrier increased day by day. "I want you to have as
little of the rough and as much of the smooth in life as is possible.
All the ups and none of the downs, my lady. If this fellow bores you,
tell them not to let him in again. That second footman will keep him out
like a dragon, I'll be bound." Then he proceeded laughingly to relate
his own adventure with his new servant in the hall.
He seemed cordial, kind, good-humoured enough, but his tone was that
of man to man, brother officer to comrade, not of a lover to his
mistress, a husband to his lately-married wife.
She felt this keenly, though at the same time she could appreciate his
tact, forbearance, and generosity in asking no more questions about
her visitor. To have shown suspicion of Maud would have been at once
to drive her to extremities, while implicit confidence put her on
honour and rendered her both unable and unwilling to deceive. Never
since their first acquaintance had she found occasion to test this
quality of trust in her husband, and now it seemed that he possessed
it largely, like a number of other manly characteristics. That he was
brave, loyal, and generous she had discovered already; handsome and of
high position she knew long ago, or she would never have resolved
on his capture; and what was there wanting to complete her perfect
happiness? Only one thing, she answered herself; but for it she would
so willingly have bartered all the rest--that he should love her as
Dick Stanmore did. Poor Dick Stanmore! how badly she had treated him,
and perhaps this was to be her punishment.
"Bearwarden," she said, crossing the room to lean on the arm of his
chair, "we've got to dine at your aunt's to-night. I suppose they will
be very late. I wish there were no such things as dinners, don't you?"
"Not when I've missed luncheon, as I did to-day," answered his
lordship, whose appetite was like that of any other healthy man under
forty.
"I hoped you wouldn't," she observed, in rather a low voice; "it was
very dull without you. We see each other so seldom, somehow. I should
like to go to the play to-morrow--you and I, Darby and Joan--I don't
care which house, nor what the play is."
"To-morrow", he answered, with a bright smile. "All right, my lady,
I'll send for a box. I forgot, though, I can't go to-morrow, I'm on
guard."
Her face fell, but she turned away that he might not detect her
disappointment, and began to feed her bullfinch in the window.
"You're always on guard, I think", said she, after a pause. "I
wonder you like it: surely it must be a dreadful tie. You lost your
grouse-shooting this year and the Derby, didn't you? all to sit in
plate armour and jack-boots at that gloomiest and stuffiest of Horse
Guards. Bearwarden, I--I wish you'd give up the regiment, I do
indeed."
When Maud's countenance wore a pleading expression, as now, it was
more than beautiful, it was lovely. Looking in her face it seemed to
him that it was the face of an angel.
"Do you honestly wish it?" he replied gently. "I would do a great deal
to please you, my lady; but--no--I couldn't do _that_."
"He can't really care for me; I knew it all along", thought poor Maud,
but she only looked up at him rather wistfully and held her peace.
He was gazing miles away, through the window, through the opposite
houses, their offices, their washing-ground, and the mews at the back.
She had never seen him look so grave; she had never seen that soft,
sad look on his face before. She wondered now that she could ever have
regarded that face as a mere encumbrance and accessory to be taken
with a coronet and twenty thousand a year.
"Would you like to know why I cannot make this sacrifice to please
you?" he asked, in a low, serious voice. "I think you _ought_ to know,
my lady, and I will tell you. I'm fond of soldiering, of course. I've
been brought up to the trade--that's nothing. So I am of hunting,
shooting, rackets, cricketing, London porter, and dry champagne; but
I'd give them up, each and all, at a moment's notice, if it made you
any happier for ten minutes. I _am_ a little ambitious, I grant, and
the only fame I would care much for is a soldier's. Still, even if
my chance of military distinction were ten times as good I shouldn't
grudge losing it for your sake. No: what makes me stick to the
regiment is what makes a fellow take a life-buoy on board ship--the
instinct of self-preservation. When everything else goes down he's got
that to cling to, and can have a fight for his life. Once, my lady,
long before I had ever seen you, it was my bad luck to be very
unhappy. I didn't howl about it at the time, I'm not going to howl
about it now. Simply, all at once, in a day, an hour, everything in
the world turned from a joy to a misery and a pain. If my mother
hadn't taught me better, I should have taken the quickest remedy of
all. If I hadn't had the regiment to fall back upon I must have gone
mad. The kindness of my brother officers I never can forget; and to
go down the ranks scanning the bold, honest faces of the men, feeling
that we had cast our lot in together, and when the time came would all
play the same stake, win or lose, reminded me that there were others
to live for besides myself, and that I had not lost everything, while
yet a share remained invested in our joint venture. When I lay awake
in my barrack-room at night I could hear the stamp and snort of the
old black troopers, and it did me good. I don't know the reason, but
it did me good. You will think I was very unhappy--so I was."
"But why?" asked Maud, shrewdly guessing, and at the same time
dreading the answer.
"Because I was a fool, my lady," replied her husband--"a fool of the
very highest calibre. You have, no doubt, discovered that in this
world folly is punished far more severely than villainy. Deceive
others, and you prosper well enough; allow yourself to be deceived,
and you're pitched into as if you were the greatest rogue unhung. It's
not a subject for you and me to talk about, my lady. I only mentioned
it to show you why I am so unwilling to leave the army. Why, I _dare_
not do it, even to please you."
"But"--she hesitated, and her voice came very soft and low--"you--you
are not afraid--I mean you don't think it likely, do you, that you
will ever be so unhappy again? It was about--about somebody that you
cared for, I suppose."
She got it out with difficulty, and already hated that unknown
Somebody with an unreasoning hatred, such as women think justifiable
and even meritorious in like cases.
He laughed a harsh, forced laugh.
"What a fool you must think me", said he: "I ought never to have told
you. Yes, it was about a woman, of course. You did not fancy I could
be so soft, did you? Don't let us talk about it. I'll tell you in
three words, and then will never mention the subject again. I trusted
and believed in her. She deceived me, and that sort of thing puts a
fellow all wrong, you know, unless he's very good-tempered, and I
suppose I'm not. It's never likely to happen again, but still, blows
of all sorts fall upon people when they least expect them, and that's
why I can't give up the old corps, but shall stick by it to the last."
"Are you sure you haven't forgiven her?" asked Maud, inwardly
trembling for an answer.
"Forgiven her!" repeated his lordship; "well, I've forgiven her like
a Christian, as they say--perhaps even more fully than that. I don't
wish her any evil. I wouldn't do her a bad turn, but as for ever
thinking of her or caring for her afterwards, that was impossible. No.
While I confided in her freely and fully, while I gave up for her sake
everything I prized and cared for in the world, while I was even on
the verge of sending in my papers because it seemed to be her wish I
should leave the regiment, she had her own secret hidden up from me
all the time. That showed what she was. No; I don't think I could ever
forgive _that_--except _as a Christian_, you know, my lady!"
He ended in a light sarcastic tone, for like most men who have lived
much in the world, he had acquired a habit of discussing the gravest
and most painful subjects with conventional coolness, originating
perhaps in our national dislike of anything sentimental or dramatic
in situation. He could have written probably eloquently and seriously
enough, but to "speak like a book" would have lowered him, in his own
esteem, as being unmanly no less than ungentlemanlike.
Maud's heart ached very painfully. A secret then, kept from him by the
woman he trusted, was the one thing he could not pardon. Must this
indeed be her punishment? Day by day to live with this honourable,
generous nature, learning to love it so dearly, and yet so hopelessly,
because of the great gulf fixed by her own desperate venture, risked,
after all, that she might win _him_! For a moment, under the influence
of that great tide of love which swelled up in her breast, she felt as
if she must put her whole life's happiness on one desperate throw, and
abide the result. Make a clean breast, implore his forgiveness, and
tell him all.
She had been wandering about while he spoke, straightening a
table-cover here, snipping a dead leaf off a geranium there, and
otherwise fidgeting to conceal her emotion. Now she walked across the
room to her husband's side, and in another minute perhaps the whole
truth would have been out, and these two might have driven off to
dinner in their brougham, the happiest couple in London; but the door
was thrown wide open, and the student of _Bell's Life_, on whose
whiskers the time employed in curling them had obviously not been
thrown away, announced to her ladyship, with much pomp, that her
carriage was at the door.
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Maud, "and your aunt is always so punctual.
You must dress in ten minutes, Bearwarden. I'm certain I can. Run down
this moment, and don't stop to answer a single letter if it's a case
of life and death."
And Lady Bearwarden, casting all other thoughts to the winds in the
present emergency, hurried up-stairs after the pretty little feet of
her French maid, whose anxiety that her lady should not be late, and
perhaps a certain curiosity to know the cause of delay, had tempted
her down at least as far as the first landing, while my lord walked to
his dressing-room on the ground-floor, with the comfortable conviction
that he might spend a good half-hour at his toilet, and would then be
ready a considerable time before his wife.
The reflections that chased each other through the pretty head of the
latter while subjected to Justine's skilful manipulations, I will not
take upon me to detail. I may state, however, that the dress she chose
to wear was trimmed with Bearwarden's favourite colour; that she
carried a bunch of his favourite flowers on her breast and another in
her hair.
A brougham drawn by a pair of long, low, high-stepping horses, at
the rate of twelve miles an hour, is an untoward vehicle for serious
conversation when taking its occupants out to dinner, although well
adapted for tender confidence or mutual recrimination on its return
from a party at night. Lady Bearwarden could not even make sure that
her husband observed she had consulted his taste in dress. Truth
to tell, Lord Bearwarden was only conscious that his wife looked
exceedingly handsome, and that he wished they were going to dine at
home. Marriage had made him very slow, and this inconvenient wish
lasted him all through dinner, notwithstanding that it was his
enviable lot to sit by a fast young lady of the period, who rallied
him with exceeding good taste on his wife, his house, his furniture,
manners, dress, horses, and everything that was his. Once, in
extremity of boredom, he caught sight of Maud's delicate profile
five couples off, and fancied he could detect on the pale, pure face
something of his own weariness and abstraction. After that the fast
young lady "went at him", as she called it, in vain. Later, in the
drawing-room, she told another damsel of her kind that "Bruin's
marriage had utterly spoilt him. Simply ruination, my dear! So unlike
men in general. What he could see in her I can't make out! She looks
like death, and she's not _very_ well dressed, in my opinion. I wonder
if she bullies him. He used to be such fun. So fast, so cheery, so
delightfully satirical, and as wicked as Sin!"
Maud went home in the brougham by herself. After a tedious dinner,
lasting through a couple of hours, enlivened by the conversation of
a man he can't understand, and the persecutions of a woman who bores
him, it is natural for the male human subject to desire tobacco, and
a walk home in order to smoke. Somehow, the male human subject never
does walk straight home with its cigar.
Bearwarden, like others of his class, went off to Pratt's, where, we
will hope, he was amused, though he did not look it. A cigar on a
close evening leads to soda-water, with a slice of lemon, and, I had
almost forgotten to add, a small modicum of gin. This entails another
cigar, and it is wonderful how soon one o'clock in the morning comes
round again. When Lord Bearwarden turned out of St. James's Street it
was too late to think of anything but immediate bed. Her ladyship's
confessions, if she had any to make, must be put off till
breakfast-time, and, alas! by _her_ breakfast-time, which was none of
the earliest, my lord was well down in his sheepskin, riding out of
the barrack-gate in command of his guard.
"Fronte capillatâ post est Oceasio calav"
Bald-pated Father Time had succeeded in slipping his forelock out of
Maud's hand the evening before, and, henceforth, behind his bare and
mocking skull, those delicate, disappointed fingers must close on
empty air in vain!