PENELOPE AND HER SUITORS
RECONNOITRING--BLANCHE’S ALBUM--“SITTING HIM
OUT”--CROSS-PURPOSES--A SMITTEN DANDY--HAIRBLOWER IN
LONDON--THE TRUE-BLUE KAFFIRS--WETTING A PLANT--GOOD ADVICE--A
CURE FOR LOW SPIRITS--THE REAL GLASS SLIPPERS
“Look who it is, Rosine!” exclaimed Blanche, as her maid rushed to the
window of her dressing-room, commanding as it did a view of Grosvenor
Square, and a peep at every visitor who came to that front door, which
was even now reverberating from a knock applied by no feeble hand.
“Il n’y a pas de voiture, mademoiselle,” replied Rosine; “ce n’est
qu’un monsieur à pied--mais il n’est pas mal, lui, je trouve.” The
latter observation escaped Rosine more as a private reflection of her
own than a remark for her lady’s ear, and was indeed no more than due
to the general appearance of Frank Hardingstone, as he stood at that
well-known door, his strong heart beating like a girl’s.
“Run, and say I’ll be down directly, Rosine, if it’s any one for me,”
said Blanche, her colour rising as she thought _who_ it was likely to
be, and wondered why he had not called before, and determined to
punish him and keep him waiting, and be very cold when they _did_
meet, and so show him that she did not choose to be accountable to
_him_ indeed for her actions, and would ride in the Park with whom she
pleased, and was utterly indifferent to his good opinion, and
independent of him altogether--and thus resolving, our consistent
young lady looked at herself in the glass, and was pleased to see that
her eyes were bright and her hair smooth, and that she should
confront Frank armed with her best looks, which proves how entirely
careless she was of that gentleman’s admiration.
In the meantime the object of all this severity was kicking his heels
in the spacious drawing-room appropriated to morning visitors, whither
he had been conducted by an elaborately polite footman, who after
informing him that “the General was _hout_, and Miss Kettering at
_’ome_,” made a precipitate retreat, leaving him to his own thoughts
and the contemplation of his well-dressed figure in some half-dozen
mirrors. Frank soon tired of these resources, and found himself driven
to the table for amusement, where he found the usual litter of
handsomely-bound books, costly work-boxes, grotesque paper-cutters,
and miniatures painted in all the glowing colours of the rainbow. He
was nervous (for him)--very nervous, and though he took one up after
another, and examined them most minutely, he would have been sorely
puzzled to explain what he was looking at. Nor did a contemplation of
Blanche’s portrait in ivory serve to restore the visitor’s composure,
albeit representing that young lady smiling with all her might under a
heavy crimson curtain. He shut up the case with a savage _snap_, and
replaced it with a bitter sneer. But if the representation of Miss
Kettering’s outward semblance met with so little favour, neither did
her album, which we may presume was the index of her mind, seem to
afford greater satisfaction to this discontented young man. It opened
unfortunately at some lines by Lord Mount Helicon, “addressed to B----
on being asked whether the disfigurement of the object was not a
certain cure for any man’s love,” and was entitled--
“THE FADED FLOWER.
“I spied a sweet Moss-rose my garden adorning,
With a blush at her core like the pink of a shell,
And I wrung from her petals the dewdrop of morning,
And gathered her gently and tended her well.
For the bee and the butterfly round her were humming,
To whisper their flattering love-tale, and fly;
And too surely I knew that the season was coming,
When the flower must fade and the insect must die.
So deep in the shade of my chamber I brought her,
And sheltered her safe from the wind and the sun,
And cared for her kindly and dipped her in water,
And vowed to preserve her when summer was done.
Though dark was my dwelling, this darling of Flora,
Like a spirit of beauty, enlivened the gloom;
Yet more than I loved her I seemed to adore her,
Less fond of her fragrance than proud of her bloom.
But long ere the brightness of summer was shaded,
My Moss-rose was drooping and withering away;
Her perfume had perished, her freshness had faded--
The very condition of life is decay.
And now more than ever I cherish and prize her,
For love shall not falter though beauty depart;
And far dearer to me, because others despise her,
That Moss-rose, all withered, lies next to my heart.”
“Rubbish,” growled Frank; “that any man in his senses should write
such infernal nonsense, and then have the face to put his name to it!
_His_ moss-rose, indeed! and this is what women like. These are the
coxcombs they prefer to a plain, sensible, true-hearted gentleman--put
wisdom, talent, courage, faith, and truth in one scale, and weigh them
against a soft voice, a large pair of whiskers, and varnished boots in
the other--why, the boots have it twenty to one! and it is for this
thoughtless, ungrateful, unfeeling, volatile, ill-judging sex that we
are all prepared to go through fire and water, sacrifice friends,
country, fame, position, honour itself! Blanche! Blanche is as bad as
the rest, but _I_ at least will no longer be such a fool. I have no
idea of becoming a _pis-aller_--a substitute--a stop-gap--if this
hair-brained peer should change his mind, and that warlike _roué_ find
some one he likes better than Miss Kettering. O Blanche! Blanche! that
I had never known you, or having known you, could rate you at your
real value, and give you up without a struggle!”
“How do you do, Miss Kettering? What a beautiful day!” Only the last
sentence of the foregoing, be it observed, was spoken aloud; Frank had
just schooled himself to the point of separation for ever, when the
door opened and Blanche entered, looking so exactly as she used, with
the same graceful gestures, and the same kind smile, that her empire
was, for the moment, completely re-established; and although she,
too, had meant to be very reserved and very distant, she could not
forbear greeting her old admirer with all the cordiality of bygone
days. These young people loved one another very much; each would have
given the world to pour forth hopes, and fears, and misgivings, and
vows, and reproaches, and pardons, into the other’s ear, but the lip
_will_ tremble when the heart is full, and they got no further than
“How do you do?” and “What a beautiful day!” Blanche was the first to
regain her composure, as is generally the case with a lady, perhaps
from her being more habituated to losing it--perhaps from her whole
training being one of readier hypocrisy than that of man. Be this how
it may, the deeper water, when stirred, is longer in smoothing its
ruffled surface; and whilst the lover’s lip shook, and his heart beat,
the girl’s voice was steady and tranquil, though she dared not trust
herself, save with the commonplace topics and every-day
conversation of society. They tried Chiswick--the new singer--the
Drawing-room--Lady Ormolu’s ball--the opera--and the Park; this last
was tender ground, and Blanche coloured to the temples when Frank
hesitated and stammered out (so different from his usual manly, open
address) that he “_thought_ he had seen her yesterday, and her horse
was looking remarkably well. By the by, was she not riding with----”
“Major D’Orville,” announced the polite footman, with the utmost
stateliness; and our handsome hussar made his appearance, and paid his
respects to Miss Kettering in his usual self-possessed and dignified
manner, contrasting favourably with poor Frank’s obvious embarrassment
and annoyance, now heightened by the intrusion of so unwelcome a
visitor at such an unlucky moment. A few seconds more might have
produced an explanation, a reconciliation--possibly a scene--but that
cursed door-knocker could not be still, even for so short a space; and
Mr. Hardingstone was once more at a dead-lock.
And now began another game at cross purposes, which, though not
uncommon amongst ladies and gentlemen who are of opinion that “two
form pleasanter company than three,” is, nevertheless, a dull and
dreary recreation when persisted in for any length of time. It is
termed “sitting each other out,” and was now performed by Frank
Hardingstone and the Major in its highest perfection. But here again
the man of war had an advantage over the civilian. Besides the
occupation afforded him by his moustaches, of which ornaments even
D’Orville acknowledged the value in a case like the present, he was
thoroughly at his ease, and consequently good-humoured, lively, and
agreeable; whereas Frank was restless, preoccupied, almost morose. He
had never before appeared to such disadvantage in Blanche’s eyes. But
if he hoped to obtain her ear by dint of patient assiduity, and an
obvious intention to remain where he was till dinner-time, he must
have been grievously disappointed, for again a thundering knock shook
the house to its foundations, and “Lord Mount Helicon” was announced
by the polite footman, with an extra flourish on account of the title.
His lordship greeted Blanche with the greatest _empressement_, nodded
to the gentlemen with the most hearty cordiality, as though rivalry
was a word unknown in his vocabulary, and settled himself in an
arm-chair by the lady’s side with a good-natured assurance peculiarly
his own.
“Do you ride to-day, Miss Kettering?” said he, with the most
matter-of-course air. “I promised the General to show him my famous
pony, so I have ordered ‘Trictrac’ (that’s his name) to be here at
five--perhaps you’ll allow me to accompany you.”
Frank looked intensely disgusted: he had brought no hacks to town, and
if he had, would never have proposed to ride with his lady-love in
such an off-hand way. Even the Major opened his eyes wider than usual,
and gave an extra twirl to his moustaches; but “Mount” rattled on,
nothing daunted: “We shall have Lacquers here directly. I met him as I
drove up Bond Street, coming out of Storr and Mortimer’s, and I taxed
him on the spot with the accusation that he was going to be married.
He couldn’t stand the test, Miss Kettering! he blushed--actually
blushed--and tried to get rid of me by an assurance that he was very
busy, and that we should meet again in the Park. But I know better;
he’s coming here, I can take my oath of it. His hair is curled in five
rows, and he never wears more than four, save for particular
occasions. He is very fidgety about his ‘chevelure,’ ‘_his_
chevalier,’ he calls it; and went the other night to hear ‘The
Barbiere,’ as he himself acknowledged, ‘to get a wrinkle, you know,
about dressing and shaving and all that.’”
Blanche laughed in spite of herself; and Frank, seizing his hat in
ill-concealed vexation, bade her a hurried farewell, and rushed out of
the house, just as the redoubtable Lacquers made his appearance, “got
up,” as Lord Mount Helicon had observed, with the greatest
magnificence, and fully resolved in his own mind to push the siege
briskly with the heiress, and at least to lose no ground in her good
graces for want of attention to the duties, or rather, we should say,
the pleasures of the toilette.
Poor Frank was very wretched as he stalked down the sunshiny street,
and almost vowed he would never enter _that_ house again. He felt a
void at his heart that quite startled him. He had no idea he was so
far gone. For a time he believed himself really and utterly miserable;
nor did the reflection that such a feeling was a bitter satire on his
boasted strength of mind--on that intellectual training of which he
was so proud--serve to administer much consolation. Like the ruined
gamester, who
“Damned the poor link-boy that called him a duke,”
Frank felt inclined to quarrel with the world in general, and buttoned
his coat with savage energy when the poor crossing-sweeper held out
her toil-worn hand for a penny. He relented too, and gave her money,
and felt ashamed that he should have thought for an instant of
visiting his own afflictions on that hard-working creature, the more
so as a sailor-looking man in front of him had evidently given a
trifle to the poor industrious woman.
Frank thought he recognised those broad shoulders, that large, loose
frame and rolling gait; in another moment he was alongside Hairblower,
and clasping the delighted seaman’s hand with a warmth and cordiality
by no means less vigorously returned.
“The last person as I ever expected to come across hereaway,” said
Hairblower, his broad, honest face wrinkling with pleasure. “I little
thought when I came cruising about this here place as I should fall
in with friends at every corner; and pretty friends they’ve showed
theirselves, some on ’em.”
As the seaman spoke these last words in bitter and desponding tones,
Frank remarked that he looked pale and haggard; and though his clear
eye and good-humoured smile were the same as ever, he had lost the
well-to-do air and jovial manner which used to distinguish him at St.
Swithin’s. Frank asked if there was anything wrong: “You know I’m an
old friend, Hairblower; I can see something has happened--can I assist
you? At any rate, tell me what is the matter.”
The tears stood in Hairblower’s eyes, and again he wrung Frank’s hand
with a grasp like a vice, and his voice came hoarse and thick as he
replied, “God bless you, Mr. Hardingstone, you’re a real gentleman,
_you_ are, and though I’m a plain man and poor--_poor_, I haven’t five
shillings left in the world--you think it no shame to be seen walking
and talking with the likes of me in the broad daylight, and that’s
what I call _manly_, sir: no more didn’t Master Charlie--poor lad!
he’s far enough now; many’s the time he’s said to me, ‘Hairblower,’
says he--but that’s neither here nor there. Well, Mr. Hardingstone,
things has gone cross with me now for a goodish bit: the fishin’ ’s
not what it used to be, nor the place neither. Bless ye, I’ve seen the
day when I could take and put my ten-pound note on the old table at
home, ay, and another to the back of that! but times is altered now,
betterer for some, worserer for others. I’ve had my share, mayhap, but
I’ve been drifting to leeward a long while back, and I’ve had a deal
of way to fetch up. Well, sir, I’m pretty stiff and strong yet, and
the Lord’s above all, so I thought I might just get things together a
bit, and streak up here to London town, and so look out for a berth in
some of these here ships a-going foreign. I’ve neither chick nor child
to care for me at home, and I reckoned as a voyage wouldn’t hurt me no
worse now than five-and-twenty years ago. Well, sir, to make a long
story short, I got a bit o’ money together, as much as would buy me an
outfit and chest, and such like, for I meant to ship as second mate at
the worst, and I always liked to be respectable; and when I’d got
that I’d got _all_, but I didn’t owe no man a farthing, and so would
be ready to clear out with a clean breast. Lord, sir, what a place
this here town is for sights: go where I would there was something to
be seen. To be sure I hadn’t many shillings to throw away, and I just
looked straight afore me, and I never so much as winked at the mammon
horse, nor the stuffed sea-serpent, nor the biggest man in Europe, nor
the fattest woman, nor the world turned upside down, nor none on ’em,
till I was brought up all standing by a board, where they offered to
show me some True-blue Kaffirs, all alive and as dark as natur’. Well,
sir, I knew a very respectable Kaffir family once, on the coast of
Africa, where we used to land a boat’s crew, at odd times, for fresh
water and such like; and, thinks I, I’ll just go and have a peep at
the True-blues, and see if they remind me of my old friends. There
they was, Mr. Hardingstone, sure enough. Old True-blue was a stampin’,
and yellin’, and hissin’, and makin’ of such a disturbance as he never
got leave to do at home, and his wives, five or six on ’em, was
yowlin’, and cryin’, and kickin’ up the devil’s delight, as _I_ never
see them when they was living decently in the bush. Well, sir, when
the True-blues held on for a while to have their beer, the company was
invited to go and inspect ’em closer, and pat ’em, and feel ’em, and I
made no doubt they was Ingines myself, when I got the wind of ’em; but
just as I was castin’ about to see if I could fish up an odd word or
two of their language, only to be civil, you know, to strangers,
True-blue’s wife--she comes up and lays hold of me by the whiskers,
and grins, and smiles, and points, and pulls at ’em like grim Death;
and old True-blue himself--he comes up and has a haul, too, and grins,
and chatters, and looks desperation fierce, and so they holds me
amongst ’em. You see, Mr. Hardingstone, they’re not used to beards,
’cos it’s not their natur’, nor whiskers neither. Well, I looked
uncommon foolish, and the company all began to laugh; and I heard a
voice behind me say, ‘Why, it’s Hairblower!’ and I turns round, and
who should I see but an old friend of mine, by name Blacke, as was a
lawyer’s clerk at St. Swithin’s: _friend_, is he?” and Hairblower
ground his teeth, and doubled a most formidable-looking fist, as he
added, “if ever I catch him I’ll give him his allowance; _friend_,
indeed! I’ll teach him who his friends are.”
For a while the seaman’s indignation was too strong for him, and he
walked on several paces without saying a word, forgetful apparently of
his companion and his situation, and all but his anger at the unworthy
treatment to which he had been subjected. As he cooled down, however,
he resumed: “Well, Mr. Hardingstone, in course we went out together,
and we turned into a Tom-and-Jerry shop to have some beer, and spin a
bit of a yarn about old times; and I asked him about his missus, and
he remembered all the ins-and-outs of the old place, and I liked to
talk to him all about it, ’specially as I shouldn’t see it again for a
goodish while; and we had some grog and pipes, and was quite
comfortable. After a time, a chap came in--a big chap, in a white
jacket and ankle-boots--and he took no notice of us, but began
braggin’ and chaffin’ about his strength, and his liftin’ weights and
playin’ skittles and such like; and Blacke whispers to me,
‘Hairblower,’ says he, ‘you’re a strong chap; put this noisy fellow
down a bit, and perhaps he’ll keep quiet.’ Well, he kept eggin’ of me
on, and at last I makes a match, stupid like, to lift a heavier weight
than the noisy one. So the landlord, he brings in half-a-dozen
fifty-sixes, and I beats him all to rubbish. So he was somethin’ mad
at that, and offered to play me at skittles for five pounds, or ten
pounds, or twenty pounds; and I said it was foolish to risk so much
money for amusement, but I’d play him for a sovereign, ’cos, ye see,
my blood was up, and I wasn’t a-goin’ to knock under to such a
land-lubber as this here. ‘Sovereign!’ says he, ‘I don’t believe as
you’ve got a sovereign,’ and he pulls out a handful of notes and
silver, and such like; and, says he, ‘Afore I stake,’ says he, ‘let me
see my money covered; it’s my belief that this here’s a plant.’ ‘You
ought to be ashamed of yourself,’ says Blacke, the first time he spoke
to him; ‘_my_ friend’s a gen’l’man, and can show _the ready_ against
all you’ve got--coin for coin, and shillin’ for shillin’.’ With that I
pulls out my purse and counts my money down on the table--eleven
golden sovereigns and a five-pound note. So we gets to skittles quite
contented, and I puts my purse back in my jacket pocket, and gives it
to Blacke to hold. Well, sir, I polished him off at skittles, too, and
he paid his wager up like a man, and treated us all round, and behaved
quite sociable-like; so we got drinkin’ again--him and me and
Blacke--at the same table. After a time my head began to get bad--I
never felt it so afore--and the mixture I was drinkin’ of--gin it was
and beer--seemed to taste queerish, somehow, but I thought nothing of
it, and drank on, thinking as the stuff would soon settle itself; but
it didn’t though; for in a little while the room and the tables and
the chairs seemed to be heavin’ and turnin’ and pitchin’, and I felt
all manner of ways myself, and broke out into a cold sweat, and says
I, ‘I think I’ll go out into the fresh air a bit, for I’m taken bad,’
says I, ‘someway; but don’t ye disturb yourselves, I’ll soon be back
again.’ So Blacke he helped me out, and directly I got into the yard
where the skittles was, I see the place all green-like, and after that
I remember no more till I found myself on the landlord’s bed
up-stairs; and by that time it was ten o’clock at night, so I up and
asked what was become of my friend; and the landlord he told me both
the gentlemen was gone, and that they had said I didn’t ought to be
disturbed, and that I was _often so_; and they was goin’ away without
payin’ the score, but the landlord was a deep cove, and he wouldn’t
let them off without settling, so they paid it all, and so walked
away. Well, I got my jacket and walked away too; and all in a moment I
thought I’d _heard_ of such things, and I’d feel in my pocket to see
if my purse was safe. There was _the purse_ sure enough, but the
_money_ was gone, every groat of it--there wasn’t a rap left to jingle
for luck, Mr. Hardingstone. Well, sir, it all came across me at
once--I’d been hocussed, no doubt--they drugged my lush, the thieves,
and then they robbed me--and my old friend Tom Blacke, as I’ve known
from a boy, was at the bottom of it. The landlord, he thought so too;
but he was in a terrible takin’ himself for the character of his
house, and he gave me half-a-crown, and begged I’d say nothin’ about
it; and that half-crown, all but sixpence I gave just now to a poor
creatur’ that wanted it more nor me, is the whole of my fortun’, Mr.
Hardingstone. But it’s not the money I care for--thank God, I can work
and get more--it’s the meanness of a man I once thought well of.
That’s where it is, sir, and I can’t bear it. Blacke by name, and
black by natur’--he must be a rank bad ’un; and I’m ashamed of him,
that I am!”
Hairblower got better after making a clean breast of it. He had no
friends in London--none to confide in, none to advise him; and his
chance meeting with Frank Hardingstone “did him a sight of good,” as
he said himself, and “made a man of him again.” Nor was the rencontre
less beneficial to Frank. When a man is suffering from that imaginary
malady (none the less painful for being imaginary) which originates in
the frown of a pretty girl, there is nothing so likely to do him good
as a stirring piece of real business, to which he must devote all his
energies of body and mind. Byron recommends a sea-voyage, with its
accompanying sea-sickness; the latter he esteems a more perfect cure
than “purgatives,” or “the application of hot towels.” Not but that
these unromantic remedies may be extremely effective; but, failing
such counter-irritants, we question whether a visit to Scotland-yard,
and an interview with those courteous and matter-of-fact gentlemen who
preside over our well-organised metropolitan police force, be not as
good a method of cauterising the wound as any other, more particularly
when such a visit is undertaken for the express purpose of seeing a
friend through an awkward scrape. Frank soon had Hairblower into a
cab, and off on his way to the head-quarters of that detective justice
which is anything but blind; where the seaman, having again told his
unvarnished tale, and been assured that his grievances should meet
with the promptest attention, was dismissed, not a little comforted,
though at the same time most completely puzzled. Frank’s assistance to
his humble friend, however, did not stop here. He _liked_ Hairblower,
partly, it must be confessed, because the seaman was so strong and
plucky, and possessed such physical advantages as no man despises,
though he who shares them himself often rates them higher than the
rest of the world. Frank enjoyed associating with men of all sorts,
but more especially he relished the society of such daring spirits as
are accustomed to look death in the face day by day, in the earning of
their very subsistence, and to trust their own cool heads and strong
hands amidst all the turmoil of the deep, “blow high, blow low.” Many
a wild night had he been out in the Channel with his sailor friend,
when an inch or two more canvas, or a moment’s neglect of the helm,
would have made the reckless couple food for those fishes after which
they laboured so assiduously; and our two friends, for so we must call
them, notwithstanding their difference of station, had learned to
depend on each other, and to admire reciprocally the frame that labour
could not subdue, the nerves that danger could not daunt. So now the
gentleman talked the sailor’s affairs over with him as if he had been
a brother. He gave him the best advice in his power; he recommended
him to go back to St. Swithin’s to prosecute the fishing trade once
more, and with the same delicacy which he would have thought due to
one of his own rank, he offered to _lend_ him such a sum of money as
would enable him to begin the world again, and expressly stipulated
that he should be repaid by instalments varying with the price of
mackerel and the success of the fishing.
“If once you get your head above water, I know you can swim like a
duck,” said Frank, grasping the honest fellow’s hand, “so say no more
about it. We’ll have rare times in the yawl before the summer’s quite
done with; and till then, God bless you, old friend, and good luck to
you!”
As Hairblower himself expressed it, “you might have knocked him down
with a feather.”
How different the world looked to Frank when he parted with his old
companion from what it had seemed some few hours before, as he left
the great house in Grosvenor Square. There is an infallible recipe for
lowness of spirits, nervousness, causeless misery, and mental
irritation, which beats all Dr. Willis’s restorative nostrums, and
emancipates the sufferer more rapidly than even the famous “Ha! ha!
Cured in an instant!” remedy. When oppressed with _ennui_, the poet
says--
“Throw but a stone, the giant dies!”
and so, when the bright sky above seems leaden to your eyes--when the
song of birds, the prattle of children, or the gush of waters, fall
dully upon your ear--when the outward world is all vanity of vanities
and existence seems a burden, and, as Thackeray says, “Life is a
mistake”--go and do a kindly action, no matter how or where or to
whom; but, at any sacrifice, at any inconvenience, go and do it--and
take an old man’s word for it, you will not repent. Straightway the
fairy comes down the kitchen chimney, and touches your whole being
with her wand. Straightway the sun bursts out with a brilliant smile,
the birds take up a joyous carol, the children’s voices are like the
morning hymn of a seraph choir, and the babbling of the stream woos
your entranced ear with the silver notes of Nature’s own melody. Those
are now steeds from Araby which seemed but rats and mice an hour or
two ago. That is a glittering equipage which you had scouted as a
huge, unsightly pumpkin. You yourself, no longer crouching in dust and
ashes, start upright, with your face to heaven, attired in the only
robe that preserves eternal freshness, the only garment you shall take
away with you when you have done with all the rest--the web of
charity, that cloak which covers a multitude of sins. You have,
besides, this advantage over Cinderella--that whereas her glass
slippers and corresponding splendour must be laid aside before
midnight, your enchantment shall outlast the morrow; your fairy’s wand
can reach from earth to heaven; your kindly action is entered in a
book from which there is no erasure, whereof the pages shall be read
before men and angels, and shall endure from everlasting to
everlasting.