A LITTLE PARADISE.
The place which Alice Claxton called her home, of which she was sole
mistress, and which she dearly loved, was situate at Hendon. An
old-fashioned, dreamy, by-gone kind of village, which, in these latter
days, the Midland Railway has discovered to be a metropolitan suburb,
and, as such, has brought it into vogue. Until within a very few
years, however, it was one of the quietest places in England, visited
occasionally in the summer by a few people from town, who found that
Hampstead had been already almost swallowed up in bricks and mortar,
and who extended their outing to get a little fresher air, and to
enjoy the lovely view from Hendon Church. But its inhabitants
generally were nothing-doing sort of people, bred and born in the
parish, who preferred vegetating on an income which enabled them to
keep a pony-chaise, and gave them perpetual leisure for pottering in
their gardens, rather than adventuring their little capital, in
speculations which might be disastrous, and which undoubtedly would be
questionable.
The house where Alice Claxton lived was on the right-hand side of the
way as you turn from the little main street of the village towards the
church. There is no use in looking for it now; it has been pulled
down, and on its site have been erected two brand-new stucco villas,
with plate-glass windows and brass door-knockers, high flights of
door-steps with a stone pine-apple on either side, and long strips of
garden before and behind, which the landscape-gardener's art has
decorated with beds in the shape of pears, and hearts, and crosses,
and various other elegant and appropriate designs. But in Alice's days
it was a long, low-roofed, one-storied house, built of bricks of a
comfortable warm ruddiness, without being glaringly red, and covered
all over with a splendid Virginia creeper, which at this autumnal time
was just assuming its loveliest hue. The rooms on the ground-floor
were large, with rather low ceilings, and opening with French windows
on a little paved terrace verandah-covered. It had been John Claxton's
delight to suit the fittings and the furniture to the place for which
they were destined. No modern stoves were to be found throughout it,
but open fire-places inlaid with tiles, and iron dogs; the high-backed
chairs, the broad table, and the heavy sideboard of the dining-room,
were all in antique black oak; but in the drawing-room he had
endeavoured to consult what he conjectured to be his wife's fancy, and
the Venetian mirrors on the walls reflected the sheen of green silk
and gold, with which the low quaint chairs and sofa and ottoman were
covered, and produced endless repetitions of numerous tasteful
specimens of glass and china with which the various étagères and
whatnots were liberally covered. Alice, who before her marriage had
been governess to the children of a Quaker wine-merchant in York,
whose drab furniture had done good service during three generations,
clapped her hands in childish delight at the first glimpse of her new
home, and immediately afterwards turning round, reproved her husband
for his extravagance. But John Claxton, catching her in his arms,
declared that it was only a little nest just fitted for his bright,
shining, sweet little bird, and he earnestly prayed that she might be
happy in it.
And she was happy; so happy that she sometimes felt her happiness was
too great to be lasting, and that some reverse of fortune must be in
store for her. But these flights of depression only happened when John
was away on his business tours, and then only during the first half of
his absence, for during the second she was busy in contemplating his
return, and in devising all kinds of little expedients to show how
welcome he was. See her now on this bright October evening, so neatly
and becomingly dressed in her tightly-fitting mouse-coloured velveteen
gown, fastened round the waist by a narrow black-leather belt and
buckle, with a linen collar round her pretty throat, and linen cuffs
showing off her small white hands. She had filled every available
ornament with the remnants of the summer garden produce, the last of
the monthly roses, and the scarlet geraniums and calceolarias, and the
earliest of the autumnal crop of dahlias, china-asters, and
chrysanthemums. The air was chill without, but within the light from
the wood logs flickered brightly on the plate and glass set on the
snowy tablecloth, in anticipation of dinner, and the odour of the
burning beech-wood was home-like and comforting. After giving a
finishing touch to her flowers in the drawing-room, and again peeping
into the dining-room to see that all was right and ready, Alice would
open the glazed door and peer out into the darkness, would bend her
head in eager listening for the sound of wheels entering the
carriage-drive. After two or three experiments her patience was
rewarded. First she heard the clanging of the closing gate, then the
sound of the rapidly approaching carriage, and the next minute she was
in her husband's arms.
"Now come in, John, at once, out of that bitter wind," she cried, as
soon as she was released, which was not for a minute or two; "it is
enough to cut you in two. It has been sighing and moaning round the
house all day, and I am sure I was thankful that you were coining home
and hadn't to go any sea-voyages or other dreadful things."
"Thank you, my darling, I am all right, I shall do very well now,"
said John Claxton, in a chirping, cheery voice.
Why had Tom Durham called him old? There was a round bald place on the
crown of his head to be sure, and such of his hair as remained and his
whiskers were streaked with gray; the lines round his eyes and mouth
were somewhat deeply graven, and the brow was heavy and thoughtful,
but his bright blue eyes were full of life and merriment, the tones of
his voice were blithe and musical, his slight wiry figure, though a
very little bowed and stooping, was as iron in its hardness; and when
away from business he was as full of animal spirits and fun as any
boy.
"I am all right, my darling," he repeated, as, after taking off his
hat and coat, he went with her into the dining-room; "though I know it
is by no means prudent to stand in draughts, especially for people of
my age."
"Now, John," cried Alice, with uplifted forefinger, "are you going to
begin that nonsense directly you come into the house? You know how
often I have told you that subject is tabooed, and yet you have
scarcely opened your lips before you mention it."
"Well, my dear," said John Claxton, passing his arm round her and
drawing her closely to him, "you know I have an age as well as other
people, and a good deal more than a great many, I am sorry to say;
talking of it won't make it any worse, you know, Alley; though you may
argue that it won't make it any better."
"Silence!" she cried, stopping his speech by placing her hand upon his
mouth. "I don't care whether it makes it better or worse, or whether
it doesn't make it anything at all; I only know I won't have it
mentioned here. Your age, indeed! What on earth should I do with you
if you were a dandy in a short jacket, with a little cane; or a great
hulking fellow in a tawny beard, such as one reads of in the novels?"
"I have not the least idea, Alley; but I daresay you would manage to
spare some of your sweet love and kindness for me if I were either of
the specimens you have mentioned. As I am neither, perhaps you will
allow me to change my coat and wash my hands before dinner."
"That you shall do. You will find everything ready for you; and as you
have had a long journey, and it is the first time of your return, I
insist on your availing yourself of the privilege which I gave you on
such occasions, and on your coming down in your shooting-coat and
slippers, and making yourself comfortable, John dear; and don't be
long, for we have your favourite dinner."
When Mr. Claxton appeared in the dining-room, having changed his coat
for a velvet shooting-jacket, and his boots for a pair of embroidered
slippers, his wife's handiwork; having washed his hands and brushed-up
his hair, and given himself quite a festive appearance, he found the
soup already on he table.
"You are late, as usual, John," cried Alice, as he seated himself.
"I went to speak to Bell, dear," replied John Claxton; "but nurse
motioned to me that she was asleep; so I crept up as lightly as I
could to her little bedside, and bent down and kissed, her cheek. She
is quite well, I hope, dear, but her face looked a little flushed and
feverish."
"There is nothing the matter with her, dear, beyond a little
over-excitement and fatigue. She has been with me all day, in the
greatest state of delight at the prospect of your return, helping me
to cut and arrange the flowers, to get out the wine, and go through
all the little household duties. I promised her she should sit up to
see her papa; but little fairies of three or four years of age have
not much stamina, and long before the time of your return she was
dropping with sleep."
"Poor little pet! Sleep is more beneficial to her than the sight of me
would have been, though I have not forgotten to bring the doll and the
chocolate creams I promised her. However, the presentation of those
will do well enough to-morrow."
The dinner was good, cosey, and delightful. They did not keep the
servant in the room to wait upon them, but helped themselves and each
other. When the cloth was removed, Alice drew her chair close to her
husband, and according to regular practice poured out for him his
first glass of wine.
"Your own particular Madeira, John," she said; "the wine that your old
friend Mr. Calverley sent you when we were first married. By the way,
John, I have often wanted to ask you what you drink at the hotels and
the horrible places you go to when you are away--not Madeira, I am
certain."
"No, dear, not Madeira," said John Claxton, fondly patting her cheek;
"wine, beer, grog--different things at different times."
"Yes, but you never get anything so good as this, confess that?"
"Nothing that I enjoy so much, certainly; whether it is the wine, or
the company in which the wine is drunk, I leave you to guess."
"O, it is the wine, I am sure! there is no such other wine in the
world, unless Mr. Calverley has some himself. There now, talking
of Mr. Calverley reminds me that you never have asked about
Tom--about Tom, John--are you attending to what I say?"
"I beg your pardon, dear," said John Claxton, looking upward with
rather a flushed face, and emptying his glass at a draught. "I confess
my thoughts were wandering towards a little matter of business which
had just flashed across me."
"You must put aside all business when you come here; that was a rule
which I laid down at first, and I insist on its being adhered to. I
was telling you about Tom, my brother, you know."
"Yes, dear, yes, I know--you went to Southampton to see him off."
"Yes, John; that is to say, I went to Southampton and I saw him there,
but I did not actually see him off--that is, see him sail, you know."
"Why, Alice, you went to Southampton for the express purpose!"
"Yes, John, I know; but, you see, the trains did not suit, and Tom
thought I had better not wait; so I left him just an hour or two
before the steamer started."
"I suppose he _did_ go," said John Claxton anxiously; "there is no
doubt about that, I hope?"
"Not the least in the world, not the smallest doubt. To tell you the
truth, John, I was rather anxious about it myself, knowing that Tom
had the two thousand pounds which you sent him by me, you dear, kind,
good fellow, and that he is--well, perhaps not quite so reliable as he
might be--but I looked in the newspaper the next day, and saw his name
as agent to Calverley and Company among the list of outgoing
passengers."
"Did he seem tolerably contented, Alice?"
"O, yes, John; he went away in great spirits. I am in hopes that he
will settle down now, and become a steady and respectable member of
society. He has plenty of talent, I think, John, don't you?"
"Your brother has plenty of sharp, shrewd insight into character, and
knowledge of the wickedness of the world, Alice," said Mr. Claxton
somewhat bitterly; "these are not bad as stock-in-trade for a man of
his nature, and I have no doubt they will serve his turn."
"Why, John," said Alice, with head upturned to look at him more
closely, "how cynically you are speaking! Are you not well, dear?"
"Quite well, Alice. Why do you ask?"
"Your face is rather flushed, dear, and there is a strange look in
your eyes, such as I have never noticed before. O, John! I am certain
you work too hard, and all this travelling is too much for you. When
will you give it up?"
"When I see my way to settling down here in peace and comfort with
you, my darling, and little Bell. Depend upon it, when that
opportunity comes I shall grasp it eagerly enough."
"And when will it come, John?"
"That, my child, it is impossible to say; it may come sooner than we
expect; I hope it will, I'm sure. It is the one thing now, at the
close of my life, left me to look forward to."
"Don't talk about the close of your life in that wicked way, John. I
am sure if you only take care of yourself when you are away on those
journeys, and mind that your bed is always aired, and see that you
have proper food, there is no question about the close of your life
until you have seen little Bell grown up into a marriageable young
woman."
"Poor little Bell," said John Claxton, with a grave smile; "dear
little Bell. I don't think we did wrongly, Alice, in adopting this
little fatherless, motherless waif?"
"Wrong, indeed! I should think not," said Alice quickly. "Even from a
selfish point of view it was one of the best things we ever did in our
lives. See what a companion she is to me while you are away; see how
the time which I have to spare after attending to the house, and my
garden, and my reading, and my music, and all those things which you
insist upon my doing, John, and which I really go through
conscientiously every day; see how the spare time, which might be
dull, is filled up in dressing her, and teaching her, and listening to
her sweet little prattle. Do you think we shall ever find out whose
child she was, John?"
"No, dear, I should say not. You have the clothes which she had on,
and the little gold cross that was found round the mother's neck after
her death; it is as well to keep them in case any search should be
made after the child, though the probability of that is very remote."
"We should not give Bell up, whatever search might be made, should we,
John?" said Alice quickly. "The poor mother is dead, and the search
could only originate with the father, and it is not likely that after
leaving the mother of his child to die in a workhouse bed, he will
have any long-deferred stings of conscience to make him inquire as to
what has become of her offspring. O, John when I think of the
wickedness that goes on in the world, through men, John, through men
alone--for women are but what men choose to make them--I am so
thankful that it was given to me to win the honest, noble love of an
honourable man, and to be removed in good time from the temptations
assailing a girl in the position which I occupied. Now, John, no more
wine!"
"Yes," he cried, "give it to me quickly, full, full to the brim,
Alice. There!" he said, as he drained it; "I am better now; I wanted
some extra stimulant to-night; I suppose I am knocked-up by my
journey."
"Your face was as pale then as it was flushed before, John. I shall
take upon myself to nurse you; and you shall not leave home again
until you are quite recovered, whatever Mr. Calverley may say. You
should have him here, some day, John, and let me talk to him. I
warrant I would soon bring him round to my way of thinking."
"Your ways are sufficiently coaxing to do that with anybody, Alice,"
said John Claxton, with a faint smile; "but never mind Mr. Calverley
just now; what were we saying before?"
"I was saying how pleased I was to be removed from the temptations to
which a girl in the position which I held is always exposed."
"No," said Claxton, "I don't mean that--before."
"Yes, yes," said Alice, "I insist upon talking about these old times,
John; you never will, and I have no one else who knows anything about
them, or can discuss them with me. Now, do you recollect," she
continued, nestling closer to him, "the first time you saw me?"
"Recollect it! As you were then, I can see you now."
"And so can I you; you are not altered an atom. You were standing at a
bookstall in Low Ousegate, just beyond the bridge, looking into a
book; and as I passed by with the two little Prestons you raised your
eyes from the book, and stared at me so hard, and yet so gravely, that
I--"
"That you were quite delighted," said John Claxton, putting his arm
round her; "you know that; so don't attempt a bashfulness which is
foreign to your nature, but confess at once."
"I decline to confess any such thing," said Alice. "Of course I was in
the habit of being stared at by the officers and the young men of the
town. Come now, there is the return blow for your impertinent hit just
now; but one scarcely expects to create an impression on people whom
one finds glazing over bookstalls."
"Elderly people, you should have said, Alice."
"Elderly people, I will say, John, if it pleases you. Much less does
one expect to see them lay down the hook, and come sailing up the
street after one in direct pursuit."
"O, you saw that, did you, miss? You never told me that before."
"Saw it, of course I saw it; what woman ever misses anything of that
kind? At a distance you tracked me straight to Mr. Preston's door; saw
me and my little charges safely inside; and then turned on your heel
and walked away."
"While you went up to your room and sat down before your glass,
admiring your own charms, and thinking of the dashing young cavalier
whose attention you had just attracted. Was that it?" said John.
"Nothing of the sort; though I don't mind confessing that I did wonder
whether I should ever see you again. And then, two days after, when
Mrs. Preston told me to take the little girls into the drawing-room in
the evening, and to be sure that they practised thoroughly some piece
which they would be called upon to play, as there was a gentleman
coming to dinner who doated on little children, how could I have the
slightest idea that this benevolent Mr. Claxton was to be my friend of
the Low Ousegate bookstall? And yet you scarcely spoke to me once
during that evening, I remember."
"That was my diplomacy, my child; but I paid great attention to Mrs.
Preston, and was very favourably received by her."
"Yes; I heard Mr. Preston say to Mr. Arthur, as they stood behind the
piano, 'He's of the house of Calverley and Company of Mincing-lane.
Thee hast heard of it? Its transactions are enormous.'"
"And I won Mr. Preston's heart by a good order for wine," said
John Claxton; "and then I threw off all disguise, and I am afraid
made it clear that I had only made his acquaintance for the sake
of paying court to his governess."
"You need have very little delicacy in that matter, John," said Alice.
"Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Preston had the slightest interest in me, and
when I left they cared not what became of me. I suited them as a
governess, and they were angry when I first told them I was going
away; but when they saw that I had fully made up my mind, their sole
thought was how best to supply my place. As to what became of me, that
was no concern of theirs."
"No," said John Claxton, whose colour had returned, and who seemed to
have regained his ordinary composure, "no concern perhaps of either Mr.
or Mrs. Preston; but what about the young gentleman you mentioned just
now, Alice--Mr. Preston's nephew, Mr. Arthur, as he was called? Your
decision as to the future course of life you intended to adopt was not
quite so immaterial to him, was it, child?"
"What do you mean, John?" said Alice, looking down, as the blood began
to mount into her cheeks.
"You know well enough what I mean, child--exactly what I say. Mr.
Arthur Preston took great interest in you--was in love with you, in
point of fact. Is not that so?"
"He said so, John; but his actions belied his words. No man who had
any real honest love--nay, more, I will go farther, and say respect,
for a girl--could have spoken or acted towards me as he did."
"Why, Alice," said John Claxton, looking with surprise at her flushed
cheeks, "you never told me anything of this before. Why have you kept
it secret from me?"
"Because I know, John," said Alice, laying her hand upon his shoulder,
"that, however outwardly calm and quiet you may appear to be, however
sensible and practical you are in most matters, you have a temper
which, when anything touching my honour or my dignity is involved, is
quite beyond your control. I have seen its effects before, John, and I
dreaded any repetition of them."
"Then why do you tell me now?"
"Because we are far away from York, John, and from Arthur Preston and
his friends, and there is no likelihood of our seeing any of them
again; so that I know your temper can be trusted safely now, John;
for, however much it may desire to break out, it will find no object
on which to vent itself."
"This conversation and conduct, then, of Mr. Arthur Preston were
matters, I am to understand, in which your honour and dignity were
involved, Alice?"
"To a certain extent, John, yes," faltered Alice.
"I should like to know what they were," said John Claxton. "I put no
compulsion on you to tell me. I have never asked you since our
marriage to tell me anything of your previous life; but I confess I
should like to know about this."
"I will tell you, John," said Alice; "I always intended to do so. It
is the only thing I have kept back from you; and often and often,
while you have been away, have I thought, if anything happened to you
or to me--if either of us were to die, I mean, John--how grieved I
should be that I had not told you of this matter. Arthur Preston
pretended he loved me; but he could not have done so really. No man
who is wicked and base can know what real love is, John; and Arthur
Preston was both. Some little time before I knew you, he made love to
me--fierce, violent love. I had not seen you then, John; I had
scarcely seen any one. I was an unsophisticated country girl, and I
judged of the reality of his love by the warmth of his professions,
and told him I would marry him. I shall never forget that scene. It
was one summer's evening, on the river bank just abreast of
Bishopthorpe. When I mentioned marriage he almost laughed, and then he
told me, in a cynical sneering way, that he never intended to be
married unless he could find some one with a large fortune, or with
peculiar means of extending his uncle's business when he inherited it;
but that meanwhile he would give me the prettiest house within twenty
miles. I need not go on. He would not make me his wife, but he offered
to make me his mistress. Was it not unmanly in him, John? Was it not
base and cowardly?"
She stopped and looked at her husband. But John Claxton, whose face
had become pale again, his chin resting on his hand, and his eyes
glaring into the fire, made her no reply.