The idea in the mind of Mr. James Hardy when he concocted his infamous
plot was that Jack Nugent would be summarily dismissed on some pretext
by Miss Kybird, and that steps would at once be taken by her family to
publish her banns together with those of Mr. Silk. In thinking thus he
had made no allowance for the workings and fears of such a capable mind
as Nathan Smith’s, and as days passed and nothing happened he became a
prey to despair.
He watched Mr. Silk keenly, but that gentleman went about his work in
his usual quiet and gloomy fashion, and, after a day’s leave for the
purpose of arranging the affairs of a sick aunt in Camberwell, came
back only a little less gloomy than before. It was also clear that Mr.
Swann’s complaisance was nearly at an end, and a letter, couched in
vigorous, not to say regrettable, terms for a moribund man, expressed
such a desire for fresh air and exercise that Hardy was prepared to see
him at any moment.
It was the more unfortunate as he thought that he had of late detected
a slight softening in Captain Nugent’s manner towards him. On two
occasions the captain, who was out when he called, had made no comment
to find upon his return that the visitor was being entertained by his
daughter, going so far, indeed, as to permit the conversation to gain
vastly in interest by that young person remaining in the room. In face
of this improvement he thought with dismay of having to confess failure
in a scheme which apart from success was inexcusable.
The captain had also unbent in another direction, and Mr. Wilks, to his
great satisfaction, was allowed to renew his visits to Equator Lodge
and assist his old master in the garden. Here at least the steward was
safe from the designs of Mrs. Silk and the innuendoes of Fullalove
Alley.
It was at this time, too, that the widow stood in most need of his
advice, the behaviour of Edward Silk being of a nature to cause
misgivings in any mother’s heart. A strange restlessness possessed
him, varied with occasional outbursts of hilarity and good nature.
Dark hints emanated from him at these times concerning a surprise in
store for her at no distant date, hints which were at once explained
away in a most unsatisfactory manner when she became too pressing in
her inquiries. He haunted the High Street, and when the suspicious
Mrs. Silk spoke of Amelia he only laughed and waxed humorous over such
unlikely subjects as broken hearts and broken vows.
It was a week after Mr. Kybird’s visit to the alley that he went,
as usual, for a stroll up and down the High Street. The evening was
deepening, and some of the shops had already lit up, as Mr. Silk,
with his face against the window-pane, tried in vain to penetrate the
obscurity of Mr. Kybird’s shop. He could just make out a dim figure
behind the counter, which he believed to be Amelia, when a match was
struck and a gas jet threw a sudden light in the shop and revealed Mr.
Jack Nugent standing behind the counter with his hand on the lady’s
shoulder.
One glance was sufficient. The next moment there was a sharp cry from
Miss Kybird and a bewildered stare from Nugent as something, only
comparable to a human cracker, bounced into the shop and commenced to
explode before them.
“Take your ’and off,” raved Mr. Silk. “Leave ’er alone. ’Ow dare you?
D’ye hear me? ’Melia, I won’t ’ave it! I won’t ’ave it!”
“Don’t be silly, Teddy,” remonstrated Mr. Nugent, following up Miss
Kybird, as she edged away from him.
“Leave ’er alone, d’ye ’ear?” yelled Mr. Silk, thumping the counter
with his small fist. “She’s my wife!”
“Teddy’s mad,” said Mr. Nugent, calmly, “stark, staring, raving mad.
Poor Teddy.”
He shook his head sadly, and had just begun to recommend a few remedies
when the parlour door opened and the figure of Mr. Kybird, with his
wife standing close behind him, appeared in the doorway.
[Illustration: “He could just make out a dim figure behind the
counter.”]
“Who’s making all this noise?” demanded the former, looking from one to
the other.
“_I_ am,” said Mr. Silk, fiercely. “It’s no use your winking at me; I’m
not going to ’ave any more of this nonsense. ’Melia, you go and get
your ’at on and come straight off ’ome with me.”
Mr. Kybird gave a warning cough. “Go easy, Teddy,” he murmured.
“And don’t you cough at me,” said the irritated Mr. Silk, “because it
won’t do no good.”
Mr. Kybird subsided. He was not going to quarrel with a son-in-law who
might at any moment be worth ten thousand pounds.
“Isn’t he mad?” inquired the amazed Mr. Nugent.
“Cert’nly not,” replied Mr. Kybird, moving aside to let his daughter
pass; “no madder than you are. Wot d’ye mean, mad?”
Mr. Nugent looked round in perplexity. “Do you mean to tell me that
Teddy and Amelia are married?” he said, in a voice trembling with
eagerness.
“I do,” said Mr. Kybird. “It seems they’ve been fond of one another all
along, and they went up all unbeknown last Friday and got a license and
got married.”
“And if I see you putting your ’and on ’er shoulder ag’in” said Mr.
Silk, with alarming vagueness.
“But suppose she asks me to?” said the delighted Mr. Nugent, with much
gravity.
“Look ’ere, we don’t want none o’ your nonsense,” broke in the irate
Mrs. Kybird, pushing her way past her husband and confronting the
speaker.
“I’ve been deceived,” said Mr. Nugent in a thrilling voice; “you’ve all
been deceiving me. Kybird, I blush for you (that will save you a lot of
trouble). Teddy, I wouldn’t have believed it of you. I can’t stay here;
my heart is broken.”
[Illustration: “But suppose she asks me to?’ said the delighted Mr.
Nugent.”]
“Well we don’t want you to,” retorted the aggressive Mrs. Kybird. “You
can take yourself off as soon as ever you like. You can’t be too quick
to please me.”
Mr. Nugent bowed and walked past the counter. “And not even a bit of
wedding-cake for me,” he said, shaking a reproachful head at the heated
Mr. Silk. “Why, I’d put you down first on _my_ list.”
He paused at the door, and after a brief intimation that he would send
for his effects on the following day, provided that his broken heart
had not proved fatal in the meantime, waved his hand to the company
and departed. Mr. Kybird followed him to the door as though to see him
off the premises, and gazing after the receding figure swelled with
indignation as he noticed that he favoured a mode of progression which
was something between a walk and a hornpipe.
Mr. Nugent had not been in such spirits since his return to Sunwich,
and, hardly able to believe in his good fortune, he walked on in a
state of growing excitement until he was clear of the town. Then he
stopped to consider his next move, and after a little deliberation
resolved to pay a visit to Jem Hardy and acquaint him with the joyful
tidings.
That gentleman, however, was out, and Mr. Nugent, somewhat irritated at
such thoughtlessness, stood in the road wondering where to go next. It
was absolutely impossible for him to sleep that night without telling
the good news to somebody, and after some thought he selected Mr.
Wilks. It was true that relations had been somewhat strained between
them since the latter’s attempt at crimping him, but he was never one
to bear malice, and tonight he was full of the kindliest thoughts to
all mankind.
He burst into Mr. Wilks’s front room suddenly and then pulled up short.
The steward, with a pitiable look of anxiety on his pallid features,
was leaning awkwardly against the mantelpiece, and opposite him Mrs.
Silk sat in an easy-chair, dissolved in tears.
“Busy, Sam?” inquired Mr. Nugent, who had heard of the steward’s
difficulties from Hardy.
“No, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, hastily; “sit down, sir.”
He pushed forward a chair and, almost pulling his visitor into it,
stood over him attentively and took his hat.
“Are you quite sure I’m not interrupting you?” inquired the thoughtful
Mr. Nugent.
“Certain sure, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, eagerly. “I was just ’aving a bit
of a chat with my neighbour, Mrs. Silk, ’ere, that’s all.”
The lady in question removed her handkerchief from her eyes and gazed
at him with reproachful tenderness. Mr. Wilks plunged hastily into
conversation.
“She came over ’ere to tell me a bit o’ news,” he said, eyeing the
young man doubtfully. “It seems that Teddy——”
Mr. Nugent fetched a mighty sigh and shook his head; Mrs. Silk gazed at
him earnestly.
“Life is full of surprises, sir,” she remarked.
“And sadness,” added Mr. Nugent. “I hope that they will be happy.”
“It struck me all of a ’eap,” said Mrs. Silk, rolling her handkerchief
into a ball and placing it in her lap. “I was doing a bit of ironing
when in walks Teddy with Amelia Kybird, and says they was married last
Friday. I was that shaken I didn’t know what I did or what I said. Then
I came over as soon as I could, because I thought Mr. Wilks ought to
know about it.”
Mr. Wilks cleared his throat and turned an agonized eye on Mr. Nugent.
He would have liked to have asked why Mrs. Silk should think it
necessary to inform him, but the fear of precipitating a crisis stayed
his tongue.
“What I’m to do, I don’t know,” continued Mrs. Silk, feebly. “You can’t
’ave two queens in one ’ouse, so to speak.”
“But she was walking out with Teddy long ago,” urged Mr. Wilks. “It’s
no worse now than then.”
“But I wouldn’t be married by license,” said Mrs. Silk, deftly ignoring
the remark. “If I can’t be asked in church in the proper way I won’t be
married at all.”
“Quite right,” said Mr. Nugent; “there’s something so sudden about a
license,” he added, with feeling.
“Me and Mr. Wilks was talking about marriage only the other day,”
pursued Mrs. Silk, with a bashfulness which set every nerve in the
steward’s body quivering, “and we both agreed that banns was the proper
way.
“You was talking about it,” corrected Mr. Wilks, in a hoarse voice.
“You brought up the subject and I agreed with you—not that it matters
to me ’ow people get married. That’s their affair. Banns or license,
it’s all one to me.”
“I won’t be married by license,” said Mrs. Silk, with sudden petulance;
“leastways, I’d rather not be,” she added, softening.
Mr. Wilks took his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose
violently. Mrs. Silk’s methods of attack left him little opportunity
for the plain speaking which was necessary to dispel illusions. He
turned a watery, appealing eye on to Mr. Nugent, and saw to his
surprise that that gentleman was winking at him with great significance
and persistence. It would have needed a heart of stone to have been
unaffected by such misery, and tonight Mr. Nugent, thankful for his own
escape, was in a singularly merciful mood.
“All this sounds as though you are going to be married,” he said,
turning to Mrs. Silk with a polite smile.
The widow simpered and looked down, thereby affording Mr. Nugent an
opportunity of another signal to the perturbed steward, who sat with
such a look of anxiety on his face lest he should miss his cue that the
young man’s composure was tried to the utmost.
“It’s been a understood thing for a long time,” she said, slowly, “but
I couldn’t leave my son while ’e was single and nobody to look after
’im. A good mother makes a good wife, so they say. A woman can’t always
’ave ’er own way in everything, and if it’s not to be by banns, then by
license it must be, I suppose.”
“Well, he’ll be a fortunate man, whoever he is,” said Mr. Nugent, with
another warning glance at Mr. Wilks; “and I only hope that he’ll make a
better husband than you do, Sam,” he added, in a low but severe voice.
Mrs. Silk gave a violent start. “_Better husband than ’e does?_” she
cried, sharply. “Mr. Wilks ain’t married.”
Mr. Nugent’s baseless charge took the steward all aback. He stiffened
in his chair, a picture of consternation, and guilt appeared stamped on
every feature; but he had the presence of mind to look to Mr. Nugent’s
eye for guidance and sufficient strength of character to accept this
last bid for liberty.
“That’s my business, sir,” he quavered, in offended tones.
“But you ain’t married?” screamed Mrs. Silk.
“Never mind,” said Nugent, pacifically. “Perhaps I ought not to have
mentioned it; it’s a sore subject with Sam. And I daresay there were
faults on both sides. Weren’t there, Sam?”
“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, in a voice which he strove hard to make
distinct; “especially ’ers.”
“You—you never told me you were married,” said Mrs. Silk, breathlessly.
“I never said I wasn’t,” retorted the culprit, defiantly. “If people
liked to think I was a single man, I don’t care; it’s got nothing to
do with them. Besides, she lives at Stepney, and I don’t ’ear from ’er
once in six months; she don’t interfere with me and I don’t interfere
with her.”
Mrs. Silk got up from her chair and stood confronting him with her hand
grasping the back of it. Her cold eyes gleamed and her face worked with
spite as she tried in vain to catch his eye. Of Mr. Nugent and his
ingenuous surprise at her behaviour she took no notice at all.
“You’re a deceiver,” she gasped; “you’ve been behaving like a single
man and everybody thought you was a single man.”
“I hope you haven’t been paying attentions to anybody, Sam,” said Mr.
Nugent in a shocked voice.
[Illustration: “You’re a deceiver,’ she gasped.”]
“A-ah,” said Mrs. Silk, shivering with anger. “Ask ’im; the deceiving
villain. Ask anybody, and see what they’ll tell you. Oh, you wicked
man, I wonder you can look me in the face!”
Truth to tell, Mr. Wilks was looking in any direction but hers. His
eyes met Nugent’s, but there was a look of such stern disdain on that
gentleman’s face that he was fain to look away again.
“Was it a friend of yours?” inquired the artless Mr. Nugent.
“Never mind,” said Mrs. Silk, recovering herself. “Never mind who it
was. You wait till I go and tell Teddy,” she continued, turning to the
trembling Mr. Wilks. “If ’e’s got the ’art of a man in ’im you’ll see.”
With this dire threat, and turning occasionally to bestow another
fierce glance upon the steward, she walked to the door and, opening it
to its full extent, closed it behind her with a crash and darted across
the alley to her own house. The two men gazed at each other without
speaking, and then Mr. Wilks, stepping over to the door, turned the key
in the lock.
“You’re not afraid of Teddy?” said the staring Nugent.
“Teddy!” said Mr. Wilks, snapping his huge fingers. “I’m not afraid o’
fifty Teddies; but she might come back with ’im. If it ’adn’t ha’ been
for you, sir, I don’t know wot wouldn’t ’ave happened.”
“Go and draw some beer and get me a clean pipe,” said Nugent, dropping
into a chair. “We’ve both been mercifully preserved, Sam, and the best
thing we can do is to drink to our noble selves and be more careful for
the future.”
Mr. Wilks obeyed, and again thanking him warmly for his invaluable
services sat down to compile a few facts about his newly acquired
wife, warranted to stand the severest cross-examination which might
be brought to bear upon them, a task interspersed with malicious
reminiscences of Mrs. Silk’s attacks on his liberty. He also insisted
on giving up his bed to Nugent for the night.
“I suppose,” he said later on, as Mr. Nugent, after a faint objection
or two, took his candle—“I suppose this yarn about my being married
will get about?”
“I suppose so,” said Nugent, yawning, as he paused with his foot on the
stair. “What about it?”
“Nothing,” said Mr. Wilks, in a somewhat dissatisfied voice. “Nothing.”
“What about it?” repeated Mr. Nugent, sternly.
“Nothing, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, with an insufferable simper. “Nothing,
only it’ll make things a little bit slow for me, that’s all.”
Mr. Nugent eyed him for a space in speechless amazement, and then, with
a few strong remarks on ingratitude and senile vanity, mounted the
winding little stairs and went to bed.