Luncheon--a dreadful hot luncheon--luncheon enough for four hungry men,
at least; and Alice had a headache. Of course she could not touch a bit,
so she listlessly nibbled a biscuit, and sipped half a glass of wine,
and felt very lonely and uncomfortable, and sat down to think--which was
just the very worst thing she could have done under the circumstances,
for it brought on a second attack of the “neglected wife” state of
feeling; and she had actually proceeded so far, that she was about
mentally to convict Harry (that matrimonial phoenix) of positive
selfishness, when the enormity of the idea horrified her, and produced
an instantaneous re-action, and she told herself, roundly and sharply,
that she was ungrateful in the extreme, and weak, and childish and
vacillating, and altogether unworthy of such a blessing of a husband as
Harry Coverdale. And thus, having taken herself severely to task, and
repented and confessed, and promising amendment for the future, yet
refused herself absolution, she recovered sufficiently to determine that
she would do something energetic to dissipate reflection, though of what
nature the deed was to be, she had not the smallest conception. Should
she order the carriage, and pay visits?--no, impossible! they were all
first visits to a set of total strangers, and she could no more call
upon them alone than she could fly: besides she would be lost in that
great carriage all by herself, and the horses would be sure to avail
themselves of the opportunity to shy and run away, if Harry were not
there to protect her. She knew the white-legged horse had a spite
against her, for when she wanted to pat his nose one day, he tried to
bite her--what a wonderful thing instinct was, to be sure! No, she would
go and take a brisk walk, that would rouse her, and do her headache
good; besides, she could have the dear dogs for company--oh, yes! a walk
by all means. Where should she go?--why, across the fields to visit Mrs.
Markum, and see how the little stranger looked in his gorgeous apparel,
and learn whether mother or son wanted for anything. Harry would like
her to do that, he was so fond of Markum. Ah, Alice! had you no mental
reservation?--did not a hope lurk in the bottom of your heart that
at the gamekeeper’s cottage you might possibly catch a glimpse of his
master, calling in for dry shoes, or a relay of powder and shot? Poor,
loving little Alice, ashamed to confess, even to herself, the depth
and strength of her affection!--silly little Alice, jealous even of her
involuntary rivals, the partridges, who would gladly have dispensed
with the attentions her husband was paying them!--weak, foolish, little
Alice!--and yet more truly wise in such loving folly, stronger in the
weakness of such tender womanly devotion, nearer the Divine ideal,
whence God who made man in his own image formed woman as a help meet
for him, than the most self-engrossed _esprit fort_ who ever confused
herself and others by prating of things above her comprehension.
So Alice set out for her solitary ramble, taking with her Pepper and
Ginger, which (although the former was often found in a pretty pickle,
and would have been wholly inappropriate in a bream tart; and the
latter, judging by the appearance of a very red tongue, was decidedly
“hot i’ the mouth”) were not a couple of spicy condiments, but a
brace of Skye terriers. The dogs were in charming spirits, which they
displayed by running after and barking at respectable blackbirds seeking
their frugal “diet of worms;” coming back in eccentric and violent
circles, to twitch the ends of Alice’s boa and the corners of
her shawl, only to dash away again and lose themselves, by forcing
burglarious entrances into forbidden rabbit-burrows, with the vicious
intention of worrying the timid inmates, in their little brown coats
with practical jokes of tails. And here be it observed parenthetically,
that of all the freaks of nature, the unexpected way in which she has
seen fit to turn up rabbits’ tails, and to line them with white, to
the great disfigurement and personal hazard of the owners, has always
appeared to us one of the strangest, and only to be accounted for by the
hypothesis of a chronic practical joke. Whether this idea enhanced the
fun Pepper and Ginger had with the rabbits during that expedition, or
whether it never occurred to them, is more than we can tell; but the
extent to which those dogs persisted in burying themselves alive, and
harassing their mistress by a succession of these amateur extramural
interments, almost justifies us in supposing it must have done so.
Having at last succeeded in reducing her four-footed torments to such
a measure of obedience that, when thoroughly tired of scampering and
scratching, they condescended to follow her, Alice entered a grass
field, and had walked half across it ere she discovered the alarming
fact that there were some cows grazing in it; one of which she, to her
intense discomposure, immediately decided to be a bull, because, as she
afterwards graphically described it, “it moo’d so low down its throat
that it almost growled at her.” Of course all bulls being mad, and a mad
bull being enough to frighten anybody, Alice began to run; which feat of
activity (or activity of feet, if any reader should prefer the phrase so
transposed) charmed the dogs--who thought she did it for their express
delectation--to such an extent, that they began to bark furiously, which
frightened the cow (for despite her base voice, she was a “very” cow
after all, and fortunately a quiet one into the bargain), so that,
exalting her tail, and twisting it like a corkscrew for the greater
effect, she also set off running, thereby adding to Alice’s terror to
such a degree, that, if a providential stile had not mercifully rescued
her, the consequences might have been serious. This last “spirt,”
however, brought her to Markum’s cottage, where she found the baby in a
great state of slobbering splendour--very red, ugly, and promising, and
altogether (as an assistant old lady, not to say hag, rather the worse
for something that had dropped into her tea out of the gin-bottle, and
who, from the accident, was in an extensive condition of maudlin and
inappropriate Christianity, piously observed), a “little crowing mercy.”
Having done her duty by this young child--that is, having said it was
very pretty, which, to speak mildly, was untrue--and a very fine child,
which, as far as regarded its dress, it certainly was--and exactly like
its father, which was an awful----well, never mind, pious fraud we’ll
call it,--Alice tipped the inappropriate Christian half-a-crown (in
exchange for which she received a tipsy blessing), and took leave,
having obtained geographical instructions by which she might, on her
homeward route, avoid the proximity of the _basso profundo_ cow.
The walk back (with the trifling exception of an episode wherein Ginger
disturbed the tenants of a wasps’-nest) proved singularly uneventful,
and Alice, in her secret soul, pronounced the whole expedition a
failure--which, as it had cured her headache, was very ungrateful of
her; but she was so engrossed by a little pain about the heart, which
nothing but her husband’s return could cure, that she had entirely
forgotten her headache.
The hall clock struck four as its mistress entered--four o’clock, two
long hours to dinner-time! the time when Harry would, that is, ought to,
return; for she daresay’d he would be late, and that they should not sit
down to table till half-past six, at the very earliest. What should she
do to fill up this unharmonious interval? Why, as she had worked so hard
all the morning, surely she had a right to amuse herself now. She would
read some entertaining book, which would make her laugh and raise her
spirits; for, despite her best endeavours, she was getting decidedly
miserable. So to this end she opened a parcel of books from the
library, and began upon a new novel, by that very talented lady, Mrs.
Bluedeville, and read how a “fair and gentle girl,” brought up by a
select coterie of fiendish relations, and subjected from infancy to
a series of tortures, sufficient to have expended the stoutest negro,
developed, under these favourable circumstances, into a perfect Houri
of Paradise, with the “additional attraction” of possessing the mind,
manners, erudition, and phraseology of an old Divine of the Church of
England. This interesting young martyr, released from her educational
Bastile, and turned out to grass for a brief space in a pleasant
meadow, wherein pastured a gallant, but very moral, officer of dragoons,
naturally falls in love with the same, who fortunately does not resent
the liberty. Angelica, taken up from her month’s run and put to work
much too heavy for her, becomes better and better, until, as might have
been expected, she overdoes the thing, and getting too good to live,
has nothing left for it but to die, which she accordingly does on the
arrival of the post which brings an account of the bold dragoon (in
whom, from a fancied resemblance to Harry, Alice had taken the deepest
interest) having fallen a victim to his dauntless courage, which,
leading him to kill sixteen mounted Sikhs in single combat, had
failed to preserve him from the vindictive fury of the seventeenth
evil-disposed survivor. Strange to say this talented work, delightful as
it was, failed to render Alice much more cheerful; but it succeeded in
occupying her till it was time to go and dress for dinner, and for this
she was grateful to the genius of Mrs. Bluedeville.
By six o’clock Alice, ready for dinner in more senses than one,
betook herself to the drawing-room, where she waited patiently for
half-an-hour, reading up sundry parts of Mrs. Bluedeville, which, in her
rapid flight through that lady’s instructive romance, she had failed to
peruse. At seven o’clock she rang the bell, and inquired of the butler
whether his master had come in, or whether, if not, anything definite
was known of his whereabouts. The reply was unsatisfactory in the
extreme.
Master had not returned, he (Wilkins) could form no idea where he was
likely to be; but, as a general maxim, considered shooting to be a
highly dangerous amusement. Would Mrs. Coverdale obligingly condescend
to ring the bell when she wished the dinner to be brought up?
Shooting a dangerous amusement! Yes, of course, so it was--guns
constantly went off of their own accord, and shot those who were
carrying them. How was it she had never thought of this before? and she
had been blaming Harry, when, perhaps----the idea was too horrible to
clothe in words, but it had occurred to her, and for Alice now there was
no peace.
Mrs. Bluedeville was thrown aside with no more ceremony than if she had
been a penny-a-liner; and with flushed cheeks and a beating heart the
anxious young wife began to pace up and down the apartment. As the
minutes crept by (_so_ slowly!) Alice’s fear increased, until, at
half-past seven, the suspense grew intolerable; and, ringing the bell,
she was just giving incoherent orders for two mounted grooms to set off
in utterly useless directions, when bang! bang! went a double-barrelled
gun in the stable-yard, and Wilkins (an amiable but timid London
servant) and his mistress nearly jumped into each other’s arms.
Still haunted by the conviction that something untoward must have
happened, Alice hastened to meet her husband as he entered the hall.
“Oh, Harry dearest, how glad I am you are safe!” she exclaimed; “but
tell me,” she continued, referring to the mysterious cause of his
prolonged absence, “tell me--what is it?”
“Sixteen brace of birds, three hares, two couple of rabbits, a landrail,
and a woodpigeon; and a very fair bag I call it for one gun,” was the
unexpected reply.
Relieved, yet slightly provoked, Alice resumed: “But what has made you
so late? I have been dreadfully frightened about you--”
“Frightened! what at? oh, you silly child! But come, let us have
dinner; I shall be ready in less than ten minutes. The idea of being
frightened!” and with a smile of compassionate derision, Harry marched
off to dress, humming--
“A southerly wind and a cloudy sky
Proclaim it a hunting morning.”
And this was Alice’s recompense for a lonely day spent in looking
forward to, and longing for, her husband’s return, ending in
half-an-hour of breathless anxiety for his safety! She felt decidedly
cross, and we think she had a right to be so. During dinner she was
silent and dignified on principle--her husband should see that she felt
his neglect. But Harry didn’t see it one bit, bless him! He was very
hungry, so for some time kept strictly to business, and he was very
happy, so when his appetite was appeased, he rattled on about anything
and everything, and was so pleasant and cheerful that Alice felt dignity
would be quite out of place, had a little struggle with her feelings,
and then mentally forgave him.
To prove that she did so, she laid herself out to entertain and amuse
him, and with this view, when the servant had left the room, she treated
him to a comic account of her day’s adventures, and having talked
herself into a great state of communicativeness and sociability, had
just reached the bass cow episode, when a slight sound, not very unlike
the voice of the cow itself, reached her ear--_Harry had fallen fast
asleep!_