Valentine Vidler and Salome his wife chirped about the gloomy house in
Wimpole Street like a pair of exceedingly happy crickets. Vidler used
to kiss Mrs V. and say she was a "dear little woman," and Mrs V. would
always, when they were downstairs amongst the shining coppers and tins,
call Vidler "love." They were quaint to look at, but their blood
circulated just as did that of other specimens of humanity; their nerves
grew tense or slack in the same way; and in their fashion they
thoroughly enjoyed life.
Certainly no children were born unto them, a fact due, perhaps, to the
absence of light; but somehow the little couple were very happy without,
and so their life glided on as they placidly thought of other people's
troubles, talked of how the Captain took this or that, wondered when Sir
Humphrey would come and see him again; if Lady Millet would ever get
over the snubbing she had had, for wanting to interfere during a visit,
and let in light, which she declared she could not exist without, and
Captain Millet had told her she could get plenty out of doors.
Dull as the house seemed, it was never dull to Salome, with her dusting,
cleaning, cooking, and cutting-up little squares and diamonds of cotton
print for her master's needle, and afterwards lining and quilting the
counterpanes, which were in great request for charitable affairs and
fancy bazaars.
The kitchen at Wimpole Street was very cosy in its way--a good fire
always burned in the glistening grate, a cricket or two chirped in warm
corners; there was a very white hearthstone, a very bright steel fender,
and a very thick warm hearthrug, composed of cloth shreds, in front of
the little round table drawn up pretty close; for absence of light meant
apparently absence of heat.
The tea-things were out, it being eight o'clock; the Captain's dinner
over, Renee seated by the panel reading to him in a low voice, and the
Vidlers' duties done for the day. Hence, then, they had their tea
punctually at eight o'clock, making it their supper as well.
Vidler was busy, with a white napkin spread over his knees, making
toast, which Mrs V. buttered liberally, and then placed round after
round upon the plate, which just fitted the steel disc in the fender.
The kettle was sending out its column of steam, the hot toast looked
buttery and brown, and a fragrant scent arose from the teapot, the
infusion being strong and good, consequent upon the Captain's having one
cup directly after his dinner, and the pot being kept afterwards to
draw.
The meal over and the tea-things washed up--Salome doing the washing,
finishing off with that special rinse round of the tray with hot water
and the pouring out of the rinsings at one corner, just as a
photographer used to cover his plate with collodion--the table was
cleared, aprons folded and put away by Vidler in the dresser drawer,
while his wife brushed up the hearth, and then came the event of the
day--that is to say, the work being done, came the play.
It was the Vidlers' sole amusement, and it was entered into with a kind
of solemn unction in accordance with the gloom of the place. Some
learned people would have been of opinion that a light gymnastic kind of
sport would have been that most suited for such a life as the Vidlers
led, and would have liked to see hooks in the ceiling, and Valentine and
his little wife swinging by ropes and turning head over heels on bars
for the bringing into play of unused muscles. They might have
introduced, too, that pleasing occupation of turning one's self into a
human quintain, with a couple of clubs swung round and round over the
head to the great endangerment of the rows of plates and tureens upon
the dresser, but they would have been wrong: the stairs gave both an
abundance of gymnastic exercise, and their ordinary work brought their
other muscles into play. Hence, then, they disported themselves over a
pleasant pastime which combined skill, the elements of chance, and
mental and arithmetical calculation--the Vidlers' pastime was cribbage.
The cards taken from the box which opened out into a board were
tolerably clean, though faded, it being Salome's custom to rub them once
a week with bread-crumbs, and upon the couple taking their places, with
a vast amount of solemnity, spectacles were mounted, and the game began.
Old-fashioned six-card cribbage was their favourite, because, as Vidler
said, he didn't care twopence for a game where there wasn't plenty of
pegging; so the cards were cut. Salome won the deal; they were cut
again, and she began.
It was a sight to see Salome deal the cards. Had they been
hundred-pound notes she could not have been more particular; wetting her
thumb, and taking the greatest care she could to deliver only one at a
time, while Vidler looked calmly on, then took up his, smiled at them,
selected two for the crib, frowned over them, counted how many he should
hold, tried another way, seemed satisfied, and then as he threw out,
having thoroughly instructed his partner--now his opponent--in all the
technicalities and time-honoured sayings of the game, he informed Salome
that he had contrived a "regular bilk."
"Have you?" said Salome, nodding and throwing out her own couple. "Cut
up."
Vidler "cut up," and Salome took the card upon the top, exclaimed "Two
for his heels," scored them, and Vidler frowned, for his "bilk" accorded
wonderfully well with the turned-up card. "Master didn't seem to relish
that cutlet," said Vidler, playing first--"six."
"No," said Salome, "he has been too much bothered lately--fifteen," and
she scored a second "two."
"More trouble coming," said Vidler--"twenty-two."
"And nine's a screw," said Salome seriously, taking another couple for
thirty-one.
Then the played cards were solemnly turned down and the game went on.
"Eight," said Vidler. "How ill Miss Renee looks!"
"Fourteen," said Salome, playing a six. "Yes, poor girl! she's brought
her pigs to a bad market."
"Got you this time," said Vidler, smiling, as he played an
ace--"fifteen"--and scored his two.
"Twenty," said Salome; and so the game went on, the little woman playing
with all the serious precision of an old stager, calling thirty-one
"eleven," informing Vidler when she was well ahead that it was "all
Leadenhall Street to a China orange," and proving herself such an adept
that the little man was thoroughly beaten.
"Better luck next time," said Vidler, giving the Cards a good shuffle;
and then the pair stopped to listen, for faint and low, like a melody
from another land, came the sad sweet voice of Renee, singing that
wonderful old Irish air, "Grammachree," putting an end to the play, for
the couple sat and listened, Vidler nodding his head gently, and waving
a card to the melancholy cadence till it ended, when the game once more
began.
_Pop_!
"Bless us and save us?" cried Salome, dropping her Cribbage-peg as she
was in the act of scoring three for a run; "is it a purse or a coffin?"
Vidler rose, and, taking the tongs, carefully picked up the cinder which
had flown from the fire, and was now making an unpleasant savour of
burning woollen fabric to arise from the hearthrug. He laid it solemnly
upon the table to cool, and then it was shaken by Salome, but gave forth
no answering tinkle.
"It isn't a purse," she said, holding it to the light. "It's a coffin!"
She handed the little hollow bubble of cindery coal-tar to her husband,
and he laid it down, took off and wiped his perfectly clean spectacles,
and replaced them before carefully examining the portent by the light.
"It's a coffin for somebody," he said solemnly; and then, as he
carefully cremated the cinder in the most glowing portion of the fire,
the couple sighed, resumed their places, and sat listening as the voice
of Renee singing to Captain Millet once more came down to where they
sat.
It was "Ye banks and braes" this time, and when the pathetic old air was
ended Salome sighed.
"Ah, poor dear, yes--`My false lu-huv has plu-ucked the ro-az, and
le-heft the the--horn be-hi-hind with me,'" said and sang Salome, in a
little piping plaintive voice. "I hope it isn't for her!"
"It may mean only trouble," said Vidler, with his head on one side. "I
have known coffins pop out of the fire and no one die."
"Oh dear no," said Salome. "There's not a minute passes but someone
dies."
"No," said Vidler slowly, as if the great problem propounded required
much consideration; "but so long as it isn't anyone here, why, it don't
matter."
"Quite so much," said Salome correctively. "Let me see; it was three
for a run. I shall beat you this time. You want fourteen."
"Yes," said Vidler, chuckling; "but it's my first show. You want
sixteen."
"Yes," said Salome, pegging one for a "go," "but I've got hand and crib.
Now then."
"Sixteen," said Vidler triumphantly, as he threw down his cards and
stuck a peg in the winning hole.
"Think of that now," said Salome, as she gathered up the cards for what
she called a good shuffle, which was performed by dividing the pack in
two equal portions and holding them as if about to build a card house,
allowing them to fall alternately one over the other. Then they were
knocked together hard and square, and handed to Vidler, who gave them
what he termed "a Canterbury poke," which consisted in rapidly thrusting
his forefinger right to the centre of the pack and driving out a large
portion of the cards, which were afterwards placed upon the top. Then
the pack was cut once more, and game after game followed till suddenly
there was a loud ring at the bell.
"What was that?" cried Salome.
"The coffin," said Vidler solemnly.
"Bless us and save us, man, don't look like that!" cried Salome; "it
turns me cold all down my back;" and then, with a shiver, and very
wide-open eyes, she followed her little lord up to the front door, where
Huish's maid was waiting with a note and a cab to take Renee away.
This caused a little flutter upstairs, and a greater one down, where
Jane, with a few additions of her own, related the arrest of her master.
"It was trouble, then, and not death," said Vidler sagely to his wife,
who then had to answer the bell, and assist Renee, who, after a short
conference with Captain Millet, dressed and hurried off to join her
sister.
"Good-bye, my dear," said the Captain, sighing. "I shall not go to bed.
You may return."
Renee was seen into the cab, and the Vidlers, upon receiving an
intimation from their master, made up the kitchen fire and sat before
it, as if cooking, to see if Mrs Morrison came back, which she did in
about an hour, on finding from the cook that Huish had been and taken
her sister away, the same personage informing her that Sir Humphrey and
Mr Millet had not returned.
Renee hesitated for a time as to whether she should stay or go to
Grosvenor Square to make inquiries; but this last she was averse to
doing; and, with a full conviction upon her that Huish and Gertrude
would be sure to call at Wimpole Street, even if she had not already
missed them, she hurried back.
"They may come yet," said Captain Millet quietly. "We will wait and
see."
Fresh candles were brought, and tea was made, of which no one partook,
and then the occupants of the gloomy house waited hour after hour in
full faith of some news coming during the night, with the consequence
that everyone was on the alert when the bell rang about four o'clock.
Vidler hastened up to open the door, and uttered a cry of dismay which
brought down Renee, for Gertrude Huish fell forward fainting into his
arms, to lie where she was carried hour after hour, now awakening to a
wild hysterical fit, now sinking back into semi-unconsciousness, and
always unable to respond to the eager queries, till at last she started
up wildly, and on recognising her sister, flung her arms round her neck,
exclaiming:
"Oh, Ren, Ren! is there no more happiness on earth? My poor heart's
broken: I shall die?"
Volume 3, Chapter IX.