Reverses of fortune might be far more easily supported, if they did not
entail, as their inevitable consequence, the association with those
all of whose tastes, habits, and opinions run in a new and different
channel. It is a terrible aggravation to the loss of those comforts
which habit has rendered necessaries, to unlearn the usages of a certain
condition, and adopt those of a class beneath us,--or, what is still
worse, engage in the daily, hourly conflict between our means and our
requirements.
Perhaps Lady Eleanor Darcy and her daughter never really felt the
meaning of their changed condition, nor understood its poignancy, till
they saw themselves as residents of Mrs. Fumbally's boarding-house,
whither Mr. Dempsey's polite attentions had conducted them. It was to
no want of respect on that lady's part that any portion of this
feeling could be traced. “The Panther” had really behaved with the most
dignified consideration; and while her new guests were presented as
Mrs. and Miss Gwynne, intimated, by a hundred little adroit devices
of manner, that their real rank and title were regarded by her as
inviolable secrets,--not the less likely to be respected that she was
herself ignorant of both. Heaven knows what secret anguish the retention
of these facts cost poor Paul! secrecy being with him a quality
something like Acres' courage, which “oozed out of his fingers' ends.”
Mr. Dempsey hated those miserly souls that can treasure up a fact for
their own personal enjoyment, and yet never invite a neighbor to
partake of it; and it was a very inefficient consolation to him, in this
instance, to throw a mysterious cloak over the strangers, and, by an air
of profound consciousness, seek to impose on the other boarders. He
made less scruple about what he deemed his own share of the mystery;
and scarcely had Mrs. Fumbally performed the honors of the two small
chambers destined for Lady Eleanor and Helen, than Paul followed her to
the little apartment familiarly termed her “den,” and shutting the door,
with an appearance of deep caution, took his place opposite to her at
the fire.
“Well, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mrs. Fumbally, “now that all is done
and settled,--now that I have taken these ladies into the
'Establishment,'”--a very favorite designation of Mrs. Fum's when she
meant to be imposing,--“I hope I am not unreasonable iu expecting a full
and complete account from you of who they are, whence they came, and, in
fact, every particular necessary to satisfy me concerning them.”
“Mrs. Gwynne! Miss Gwynne! mother and daughter--Captain Gwynne, the
father, on the recruiting staff in the Isle of Skye, or, if you like it
better, with his regiment at St. John's. Mrs. G------, a Miss Rickaby,
one of the Rickabys of Pwhlmdlwmm, North Wales--ancient family--small
estate--all spent--obliged to live retired--till--till--no matter
what--a son comes of age--to sign something--or anything that way--”
“This is all fiddle-faddle, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mrs. Fum, with an
expression that seemed to say, “Take care how you trifle with me.”
“To be sure it is,” rejoined Paul; “all lies, every word of it. What
do you say, then, if we have her the Widow Gwynne--husband shot at
Bergen-op-Zoom--”
“I say, Mr. Dempsey, that if you wish me to keep your secret before the
other boarders--”
“The best way is never to tell it to you--eh, Mrs. Fum? Well, come, I
will be open. Name, Gwynne--place of abode unknown--family ditto--means
supposed to be ample--daughter charming--so very much so, indeed,
that if Paul Dempsey were only what he ought--the Dempsey of Dempsey's
Grove--”
“Oh, is that it?” said Mrs. Fumbally, endeavoring to smile,-“is that
it?”
“That's it,” rejoined Paul, as he drew up his shirt-collar, and adjusted
his cravat.
“Isn't she very young, Mr. Dempsey?” said Mrs. Fum, slyly.
“Twenty, or thereabouts, I take it,” said Paul, carelessly,--“quite
suitable as regards age.”
“I never thought you 'd marry, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mrs. Fum, with a
languishing look, that contrasted strangely with the habitually shrewish
expression of the “Pauther's” face.
“Can't help it, Mrs. Fum. The last of the Romans! No more Dempseys when
I 'm gone, if I don't. Elder branch all dropped off,--last twig of the
younger myself.”
“Ah! these are considerations, indeed!” sighed the lady. “But don't you
think that a person more like yourself in taste--more similar in opinion
of the world? She looks proud, Mr. Dempsey; I should say, overbearingly
proud.”
“Rather proud myself, if that's all,” said Dempsey, drawing himself up,
and protruding his chin with a most comic imitation of dignity.
“Only becomingly so, Mr. Dempsey,--a proper sense of self-respect, a due
feeling for your future position in life,--I never saw more than that, I
must say. Now, I could n't help remarking the way that young lady threw
herself into the chair, and the glance she gave at the room. It
was number eight, Mr. Dempsey, with the chintz furniture, and the
looking-glass over the chimney! Well, really you 'd say, it was poor
Leonard's room, with the settee bed in the corner,--the look she gave
it!”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Dempsey, who really felt horrified at this
undervaluing judgment of what every boarder regarded as the very sanctum
of the Fumbally Temple.
“Truth, every word of it!” resumed Mrs. Fum. “I thought my ears
deceived me, as she said to her mother, 'Oh, it 's all very neat and
clean!'--neat and clean, Mr. Dempsey! The elegant rug which I worked
myself--the pointer--and the wild duck.”
“Like life, by Jove, if it was n't that the dog has only three legs.”
“Perspective, Mr. Dempsey, don't forget its perspective; and if the
bird's wings are maroon, I could n't help it, it was the only color to
be had in the town.”
“The group is fine,--devilish fine!” said Paul, with the air of one whose
word was final.
“'Neat and clean' were the expressions she used. I could have cried as
I heard it.” Here the lady, probably in consideration for the omission,
wiped her eyes, and dropped her voice to a very sympathetic key.
“She meant it well, depend upon it, Mrs. Fum, she meant it well.”
“And the old lady,” resumed Mrs. Fumbally, deaf to every consolation,
“lay back in her chair this way, and said, 'Oh, it will all do very
well,--you 'll not find us troublesome, Mrs. Flumary!' I haven't been
the head of this establishment eight-and-twenty years to be called
Flumary. How these airs are to be tolerated by the other boarders, I'm
sure is more than I can say.”
It appeared more than Mr. Dempsey could say also, if one might pronounce
from the woe-begone expression of his face; for, up to this moment
totally wrapped up in the mysterious portion of the affair, he had lost
sight of all the conflicting interests this sudden advent would call
into activity.
“That wasn't all,” continued Mrs. Fumbally; “for when I told them
the dinner-hour was five, the old lady interrupted me with, 'For the
present, with your permission, we should prefer dining at six.' Did any
one ever hear the like? I 'll have a pretty rebellion in the house, when
it gets out! Mrs. Mackay will have her tea upstairs every night; Mr.
Dunlop will always breakfast in bed. I would n't be surprised if Miss
Boyle stood out for broth in the middle of the day.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Paul, holding up both hands in horror.
“I vow and protest, I expect that next!” exclaimed Mrs. Fum, as folding
her arms, and fixing her eyes rigidly on the grate, she sat, the ideal
of abused and injured benevolence. “Indeed, Mr. Dempsey,” said she,
after a long silence on both sides, “it would be a great breach of the
regard many years of intimacy with you has formed, if I did not say,
that your affections are misplaced. Beauty is a perishable gift.”
Paul looked at Mrs. Fumbally, and seemed struck with the truth of her
remark.
“But the qualities of the miud, Mr. Dempsey, those rare endowments that
make happy the home and hearth. You 're fond of beef hash with pickled
onions,” said she, smiling sweetly; “well, you shall have one to-day.”
“Good creature!” muttered Paul, while he pressed her hand
affectionately. “The best heart in the world!”
“Ah, yes,” sighed the lady, half soliloquizing, “conformity of
temper,--the pliancy of the reed,--the tender attachment of the ivy.”
Paul coughed, and drew himself up proudly, and, as if a sudden thought
occurred to him that he resembled the oak of the forest, he planted his
feet firmly, and stood stiff and erect.
“You are not half careful enough about yourself, Mr. Dempsey,--never
attend to changing your damp clothes,--and I assure you the climate here
requires it; and when you come in cold and wet, you should always step
in here, on your way upstairs, and take a little something warm and
cordial. I don't know if you approve of this,” suiting the action to the
words. Mrs. Fum had opened a small cupboard in the wall, and taken out
a quaint-looking flask, and a very diminutive glass.
“Nectar, by Jove,--downright nectar!”
“Made with some white currants and ginger,” chimed in Mrs. Fum, simply,
as if to imply, “See what skill can effect; behold the magic power of
intelligence!”
“White currants and ginger!” echoed Paul, holding out the glass to be
refilled.
“A trifle of spirits, of course.”
“Of course! could n't be comforting without it.”
“That's what poor dear Fumbally always called, 'Ye know, ye know!' It
was his droll way of saying 'Noyau!'” Here Mrs. F. displayed a conflict
of smiles and tears, a perfect April landscape on her features. “He had
such spirits!”
“I don't wonder, if he primed himself with this often,” said Dempsey,
who at last relinquished his glass, but with evident unwillingness.
[Illustration: 266]
“He used to say that his was a happy home!” sobbed Mrs. Fum, while she
pressed her handkerchief to her face.
Paul did not well know what he should say, or if, indeed, he was called
upon to utter a sentiment at all; but he thought he could have drunk
another glass to the late Fum's memory, if his widow had n't kept such a
tight grip of the flask.
“Oh, Mr. Dempsey, who could have thought it would come to this?” The
sorrowful drooping of her eyelids, as she spoke, seemed to intimate
an allusion to the low state of the decanter, and Dempsey at once
replied,--
“There's a very honest glass in it still.”
“Kind--kind creature!” sobbed Mrs. Fum, as she poured out the last of
the liquor. And Paul was sorely puzzled, whether the encomium applied to
the defunct or himself. “Do you know, Mr. Dempsey,” here she gave a kind
of hysterical giggle, that might take any turn,--hilarious, or the
reverse, as events should dictate,--“do you know that as I see you
there, standing before the fire, looking so pleasant and cheerful, so
much at home, as a body might say, I can't help fancying a great
resemblance between you and my poor dear Fum. He was older than you,”
said she, rapidly, as a slight cloud passed over Paul's features;-“older
and stouter, but he had the same jocose smile, the same merry voice, and
even that little fidgety habit with the hands. I know you 'll forgive
me,--even that was his.”
This was in all probability strictly correct, inasmuch as for several
years before his demise the gifted individual had labored under a
perpetual “delirium tremens.”
“He rather liked this kind of thing,” said Paul, pantomiming the action
of drinking with his now empty glass.
“In moderation,-only in moderation.”
“I 've heard that it disagreed with him,” rejoined Paul, who, not
pleased with his counterpart, resolved on showing a knowledge of his
habits.
“So it did,” sighed Mrs. Fum; “and he gave it up in consequence.”
“I heard that, too,” said Paul; and then muttered to himself, “on the
morning he died.”
A gentle tap at the door now broke in upon the colloquy, and a very
slatternly servant woman, with bare legs and feet, made her appearance.
“What d'ye want, Biddy?” asked her mistress, in an angry voice. “I 'm
just settling accounts with Mr. Dempsey, and you bounce in as if the
house was on fire.”
“It 's just himsel 's wanted,” replied the northern maiden; “the leddie
canna get on ava without him, he maun come up to number 'eight,' as soon
as he can.”
“I 'm ready,” quoth Paul, as he turned to arrange his cravat, and run
his hand through his hair; “I 'm at their service.”
“Remember, Mr. Dempsey, remember, that what I've spoken to you this day
is in the strictest confidence. If matters have proceeded far with the
young lady upstairs, if your heart, if hers be really engaged, forget
everything,--forget _me_.”
Mrs. Fumbally's emotion had so overpowered her towards the end of her
speech, that she rushed into an adjoining closet and clapped-to the
door, an obstacle that only acted as a sound-board to her sobs, and from
which Paul hastened with equal rapidity to escape.
An entire hemisphere might have separated the small chamber where Mr.
Dempsey's late interview took place from the apartment on the first
floor, to which he now was summoned, and so, to do him justice, did Paul
himself feel; and not all the stimulating properties of that pleasant
cordial could allay certain tremors of the heart, as he turned the
handle of the door.
Lady Eleanor was seated at a writing-table, and Helen beside her,
working, as Mr. Dempsey entered, and, after a variety of salutations,
took a chair, about the middle of the room, depositing his hat and
umbrella beside him.
“It would seem, Mr. Dempsey,” said Lady Eleanor, with a very benign
smile, “it would seem that we have made a very silly mistake; one, I
am bound to say, you are quite exonerated from any share in, and the
confession of which will, doubtless, exhibit my own and my daughter's
cleverness in a very questionable light before you. Do you know, Mr.
Dempsey, we believed this to be an inn.”
“An inn!” broke in Paul, with uplifted hands.
“Yes, and it was only by mere accident we have discovered our error, and
that we are actually in a boarding-house. Pray now, Helen, do not laugh,
the blunder is quite provoking enough already.”
Why Miss Darcy should laugh, and what there could be to warrant the use
of the epithet, “provoking,” Paul might have been broken on the wheel
without being able to guess, while Lady Eleanor went on,--
“Now, it would seem customary for the guests to adopt here certain hours
in common,--breakfasting, dining together, and associating like the
members of one family.”
Paul nodded an assent, and she resumed.
“I need scarcely observe to _you_, Mr. Dempsey, how very unsuited either
myself or Miss Darcy would be to such an assembly, if even present
circumstances did not more than ever enjoin a life of strict
retirement.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Paul in a tone of deprecation, “there never was
anything more select than this. Mother Fum never admits without a
reference; I can show you the advertisement in the Derry papers. We kept
the Collector out for two months, till he brought us a regular bill of
health, as a body might say.”
“Could you persuade them to let us remain in 'Quarantine,' then, for a
few days?” said Helen, smiling.
“Oh, no! Helen, nothing of the kind; Mr. Dempsey must not be put to any
troublesome negotiations, on our account. There surely must be an hotel
of some sort in the town.”
“This is a nice mess!” muttered Paul, who began to anticipate some of
the miseries his good nature might cost him.
“A few days, a week at furthest, I hope, will enable us to communicate
with our law adviser, and decide upon some more suitable abode. Could
you, then, for the meanwhile, suggest a comfortable inn, or if not, a
lodging in the town?”
Paul wrung his hands in dismay, but uttered not a syllable.
“To be candid, Mr. Dempsey,” said Helen, “my father has a horror of
these kind of places, and you could recommend us no country inn, however
humble, where he would not be better pleased to hear of our taking
refuge.”
“But, Fumbally's! the best-known boarding-house in the North.”
“I should be sincerely grieved, to be understood as uttering one
syllable in its disparagement,” rejoined Lady Eleanor; “I could not
ask for a more satisfactory voucher of its respectability; but ours are
peculiar circumstances.”
“Only a pound a week,” struck in Paul, “with extras.”
“Nothing could be more reasonable; but pray understand me, I speak of
course in great ignorance, but it would appear to me that persons living
together in this fashion have a kind of right to know something of those
who present themselves for the first time amongst them. Now, there are
many reasons why neither my daughter nor myself would like to submit to
this species of inquiry.”
“I 'll settle all that,” broke in Paul; “leave that to me, and you 'll
have no further trouble about it.”
“You must excuse my reliance even on such discretion,” said Lady
Eleanor, with more hauteur than before.
“Are we to understand that there is neither inn nor lodging-house to be
found?” said Helen.
“Plenty of both, but full of bagmen,” ejaculated Paul, whose
contrivances were all breaking down beneath him.
“What is to be done?” exclaimed Lady Eleanor to her daughter.
“Lord bless you!” cried Paul, in a whining voice, “if you only come down
amongst them with that great frill round your neck you wore the first
day I saw you at 'The Corvy,' you 'll scare them so, they 'll never have
courage to utter a word. There was Miss Daly--when she was here--”
“Miss Daly,-Miss Maria Daly!” exclaimed both ladies together.
“Miss Maria Daly,” repeated Dempsey, with an undue emphasis on every
syllable. “She spent the summer with us on the coast.”
“Where had she resided up to that time, may I ask?” said Lady Eleanor,
hastily.
“At 'The Corvy'--always at 'The Corvy,' until your arrival.”
“Oh, Helen, think of this!” whispered Lady Eleanor, in a voice tremulous
with agitation. “Think what sacrifices we have exacted from our
friends,--and now, to learn that while we stand hesitating about
encountering the inconveniences of our lot, that we have been subjecting
another to that very same difficulty from which we shrink.” Then,
turning to Mr. Dempsey, she added,--
“I need not observe, sir, that while I desire no mystery to be thrown
around our arrival here, I will not be the less grateful for any
restraint the good company may impose on themselves as to inquiries
concerning us. We are really not worth the attention, and I should
be sorry to impose upon kind credulity by any imaginary claim to
distinction.”
“You'll dine below, then?” asked Paul, far more eager to ascertain this
fact than any reasons that induced it.
Lady Eleanor bowed; and Dempsey, with a face beaming with delight, arose
to withdraw and communicate the happy news to Mrs. Fumbally.