"This," said the reverend gentleman, holding up the trophy. "This. A
beautiful specimen of an early Elizabethan tobacco-pipe!"
It was with the greatest difficulty the Admiral restrained a great burst
of laughter from the onlookers. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn got as far as "That,
sir? Why, that's--" when a tremendous dig from the Admiral's elbow
deprived him of his wind, and sent him backward clucking like an
infuriated turkey-cock.
"I do not wonder at your surprise," continued the antiquary. "Yes,
Ladies and Gentlemen, they are sometimes found in the alluvial deposit
of the Thames; but even my friend, the Archbishop of Canterbury, whose
specialty they are, does not possess so perfect a specimen in his entire
collection."
Again the Admiral was obliged to exercise all his authority in order to
suppress unseemly mirth or explanations. Doctor Sternroyd went on with
the tone of regret assumed by a man of learning in the presence of an
ignorant and unappreciative audience. "Ah, you don't understand the
value of these things. Out of this fragment it is possible to
reconstruct an entire epoch. I see Sir Walter Raleigh's fleet bringing
home the fragrant weed from the distant plantations; I see him enjoying
its vapours in his pleasaunce at Sherborne; I see Drake solacing himself
with it on board the Golden Hind. Yes, yes, I shall read a paper on
it.--Ah! if only my dear wife, my beloved Araminta, were here now!"
With mingled melancholy and triumph he drifted across the lawn and into
his house--the last house of the crescent.
"Amazing!" said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn; "but why would n't you let me tell
him, Sir Peter?"
There was a wistful look on Sir Peter's face as he replied. "Ah,
Brooke! We all live on our illusions. The more we believe, the happier
we are!"
This was beyond Brooke; but Miss Ruth understood and sighed her assent.
*CHAPTER IV*
*CONCERNING A MYSTERIOUS LADY, AND AN ELDERLY BEAU*
[Illustration: Chapter IV headpiece]
This was evidently to be a memorable afternoon in the annals of Pomander
Walk; for no sooner had it recovered from its mirth over the Doctor's
antiquarian discovery than Jim, who had been training the sweet peas at
the corner of the Admiral's house, shouted hoarsely:
"Admiral! Pirate in the offing!"
Such a startling announcement was well calculated to silence all
laughter; and the imposing figure who now appeared round the corner
certainly did nothing to encourage mirth: a very tall, very gaunt, very
bony lady, severely but richly dressed; her face hidden in the remote
recesses of a more than usually capacious poke bonnet. She was followed
by an enormous footman carrying a gold-headed cane in one hand, while a
fat pug reposed on his other arm. The Walk was paralysed and could only
stare and gasp. Who was she? Where did she come from? Whom did she
want?
She stopped and examined the Eyesore through her uplifted _face-a-main_,
as if he had been some strange, unpleasant animal. "Fellow," she said,
"is this Pomander Lane?" A shudder ran through the Walk. Pomander
_Lane_, indeed!--The only answer the lady got from the Eyesore was that
at that precise moment he found it agreeable to scratch his back. With
an exclamation of disgust she turned from him only to find herself face
to face with Jim. Now Jim was not pretty to look at.
"Fellow, is this Pomander Lane?" she repeated.
"You 've a-lost yer bearin's, mum," replied the old tar huskily and not
too cordially.
"What savages!" muttered the Lady as she turned to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn.
"You! Is this Pomander Lane?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had laid himself out to fascinate her with his
courtliest manner, but the "You!" with which she addressed him aroused
the turkey-cock within him, and it was an icy and raging Brooke-Hoskyn
who replied, "This, ma'am, is Pomander _Walk_!"
"Same thing," said the Lady contemptuously.
"Excuse me, ma'am--!" exclaimed Sir Peter hotly.
But she waved him aside and proceeded in a tone intended to be
ingratiating, and therefore more offensive than any tone she could have
chosen, "My good people"--imagine the Walk's feelings!--"I have
undertaken to look after the morals of this part of your parish. I have
made it my duty to give advice and distribute alms."
Morals--parish--advice--alms! Had the Walk ever heard such words
uttered within its genteel precincts? The Lady turned to Ruth, who
happened to be at her side. "Where are your children?"
Ruth stood aghast. She could only breathe indignantly, "I am a
spinster."
"Are there no children?" said the Lady reproachfully.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's nurse happened to pass at the moment on her way into
the house. The Lady stopped her. "Ah, yes." Mrs. Poskett and the
Admiral had sunk in helpless surprise on the bench under the elm. The
Lady turned to them. "The father and mother, I suppose?"
Mrs. Poskett and the Admiral started apart, as if they had been shocked
by a galvanic battery. Mrs. Poskett uttered an indignant scream; the
Admiral could only gasp, "Gobblessmysoul!"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, purple in the face, came clucking down. "This,
ma'am, is my youngest. The youngest of four--at present."
The Lady looked him up and down. "I will give your wife instructions
about their management--"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn danced with rage. "You'll--haha!--She'll teach
Selina!--Hoho!--Oh, that's good!"
But the Lady had caught sight of Marjolaine, who with Barbara was
standing by the Gazebo. Both young ladies, I regret to say, were
laughing immoderately. Brushing the Admiral aside, she sailed
imposingly across to them and addressed Marjolaine, who was by this time
looking demure, and overdoing it.
"What do I see?" said the Lady severely, examining Marjolaine through
her glasses. "Curls? At your age, curls? Fie!" Then shaking a lank
finger at her, "Mind! your hair must be quite straight when next I
come."
To the delight of the Walk Marjolaine made a pretty and submissive
curtsey, and answered, "Yes, ma'am; but don't come again in a hurry.
Give me lots and lots of time!"
Meanwhile Mrs. Poskett and Ruth had been urging the Admiral on. Now he
approached the Lady in his quarter-deck manner, and said,
"Madam--hum--we give alms, and we do not take advice. You 're on the
wrong tack. You 're out of your reckoning." Then, pointing grandly to
the only entrance to the Walk, "That is your course for Pomander Lane."
"Yes," said Brooke-Hoskyn, with the same action, "That!"
"Yes," said all the ladies, pointing melodramatically to the corner,
"That!"
"Jim," ordered the Admiral, "pilot the lady out."
"Ay, ay, sir."
The Lady eyed them all in turn through her _face-a-main_. "Very well,"
she said, with magnificent scorn. "I was told I should have difficulty
here. I was told you only go to church twice on Sundays. I did not
expect to find you so bad as you are. I shall come again. I am not so
easily beaten. I shall certainly come again!"
In grim silence she gathered her skirts about her and departed as she
had come, followed by the footman and the fat pug.
When she had turned the corner the Walk once more indulged in a burst of
laughter.
"What a figure of fun!" cried Ruth.
"I gave here her sailing orders--what?" chuckled the Admiral.
And Mrs. Poskett gazed into his face with admiration.
"What a wonderful man you are, Sir Peter!"
When they had all recovered, Basil came to Marjolaine and eagerly
reminded her it was high time for her singing-lesson.
Marjolaine appealed to Barbara: "Maman told me to ask you to come with
me."
Barbara gave a little hop of delight, but Ruth exclaimed, "Shall I take
your place, dear?"
"No, no," cried Barbara, almost as if she were in a fright, "I love to
hear her." Barbara, Marjolaine, and Basil moved slowly towards Number
Three, while Ruth approached Mrs. Poskett. "Will you come in and take a
dish of tea?"
"No," replied Mrs. Poskett, "no, thank you," and then, with a giggle,
"I'm going--you'll never guess!--I 'm going to comb my wig."
Seeing the ladies all strolling towards their houses the Admiral once
more challenged Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn to play off the rubber at quoits. But
he declined. "I think not, Sir Peter. Selina will be expecting me."
Mrs. Poskett stopped. "I wonder you can bear to leave her so much
alone."
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn felt the implied reproach. With a countenance full of
woe, he replied, "It tears my heart-strings, ma'am; but she will have it
so. 'Brooke,' she says--or 'Jerome,' as the case may be--'your place is
in the fashionable world, among the hote tonn.' So I sacrifice my
inclination to her pleasure."
"How unselfish of you!" said Ruth.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn continued more cheerfully. "She has many innocent
pastimes. At the present moment the dear soul is joyously darning my
socks."
By this time Mrs. Poskett and the other ladies were on their respective
door-steps. Mrs. Poskett gave a startled cry and called the Admiral's
attention to the corner of the Walk, where four men in livery had just
deposited a sedan chair. "Company, Sir Peter!" she cried.
Sir Peter turned abruptly and examined the person who was with
difficulty emerging from the sedan. "Eh?-- Gobblessmysoul! Is it
possible?-- My old friend, Lord Otford!" He bustled up to the
newcomer, shouting "Otford! Otford!"
Now the name had had a magical effect on Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. At the
sound of it the colour had all vanished from his fat cheeks, the
strength seemed to have gone out of his legs, and his knees were
knocking together. "Lord Otford, by all that's unlucky!" he exclaimed.
Mrs. Poskett had swept back to the elm. She happened to have a very
becoming dress on, and she was determined the noble lord should see it.
She caught sight of Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's face. "What's the matter?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn pulled himself together with a mighty effort.
"Nothing, ma'am." Then with great dignity, "He and I differ in
politics. There might be bloodshed." And while Mrs. Poskett exclaimed
"Well, I never!" he had dashed into his house as a rabbit dashes into
its burrow.
Mrs. Poskett sailed up to her house trying to catch his lordship's eye.
I am afraid all the ladies were anxious to be noticed, for all lingered
at their doors. A real, live lord was not an ordinary sight in Pomander
Walk. And this one happened to be a handsome one; well set up, dressed
in the height of fashion, yet quietly, as a gentleman should dress; and
carrying his forty-five years as though they had been no more than
thirty.
"You're looking well, Peter!" he exclaimed, still shaking the Admiral by
the hand.
"My dear Jack! My dear old Jack!" cried the latter. "Here! come into
the house!"
"No, no," laughed his friend, with a suspicious glance at the diminutive
window. "Stuffy. No. Looks pleasant under the elm."
"Why, come along, then!" shouted the Admiral, dragging him towards the
tree.
Lord Otford took off his hat to Mrs. Poskett with an elaborate bow. "I
say, Peter, in clover, you rascal!"
"Dam fine woman--what?"
Here Lord Otford caught sight of Marjolaine just disappearing in the
doorway of Number Three. He stopped short. "Ay, and pretty gel on
door-step." Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, "By Jove!"
"Dainty little thing, eh?" said the Admiral with a chuckle.
"Yes," replied the nobleman, pensively. "Reminds me vaguely--" but he
changed the subject. "Well! You're hale and hearty!"
"Nothing amiss with you, neither," laughed Sir Peter, sitting on the
bench and drawing his friend down beside him. "I am glad to see you!
Thought you was in Russia."
"Got home a month ago, Peter. Not married yet?"
"Peter Antrobus married? That's a good 'un." Up went the Admiral's
finger to his nose. "No, my Lord. All women, yes. One woman, no!"
"Sure nobody can hear us?"
Sir Peter looked round cautiously. Save for the Eyesore, absorbed in
his placid effort to catch fish, there was no sign of life in the Walk.
Nobody was visible at the windows. From Number Three came the sound of
a fresh young voice singing scales and arpeggios.
"Quite safe, Jack," said he.
"Peter, I want your help."
"Woman?" asked Sir Peter.
"Yes. Not my woman, though, this time. It's about my boy--Jack."
"Aha! Got into a mess? Chip of the old block--what?"
"No, no. Marriage."
"Gobblessmysoul! How old is he?"
"Twenty-five."
"Good Lord!"
"I want to see Jack settled. There 's the succession to think of."
"You talk as though you was a king."
"Well, so I am, in a small way. Think of the estate! I want Jack to
take the reins."
"How can he, when he 's on the sea?"
"He's to retire as soon as he gets his Captaincy."
The Admiral jumped up. "Retire! Now! With Boney ready to gobble us
up!"
Otford drew him down again. "Don't you see? With all this battle and
bloodshed, now's the time for Jack to give me a grandson. He 's my only
child, remember. Why, hang it, man, if he was to die without issue, the
title and the estates would go to that infernal whig scoundrel, James
Sayle."
"That won't do," Sir Peter assented, wisely nodding his head.
"Of course it won't. Now, there's old Wendover's gel--Caroline Thring."
[Illustration: CAROLINE THRING]
The Admiral made a wry face. "Caroline Thring? I've heard of her.
Never seen her: but heard of her. Eccentric party, ain't she? And did
n't I hear there was an affair with Young Beauchamp?"
"That's fallen through. She's an estimable person."
"Ugh," said the Admiral.
"People call her eccentric," Lord Otford continued, hotly, "because she
goes about doing good--distributing alms--"
The Admiral was about to exclaim, but Otford gave him no time. "You 're
prejudiced, you old reprobate. Wendover 's willing, and there's nothing
in the way. The estates join. She's sole heiress. Gad, sir, that
alliance would make Jack the biggest man in the Three Kingdoms."
"Is Jack fond of her?"
"Does n't object to her. Hesitates. Says he don't want to marry at
all. Says he has n't had his fling."
"Well--what's it all got to do with me?"
"Ever since Jack's been home on leave, he's done nothing but talk about
you--"
"Good lad!" cried Sir Peter, slapping his thigh. "I loved him when he
was a middy on board the _Termagant_."
"And he loves you. Coming to look you up. To-day, very likely. When he
comes, refer to Caroline--carelessly. Say what a fine gel she is.
Don't say a word about the estate. These young whipper-snappers have
such high-and-mighty ideas about marrying for money. Refer to young
Beauchamp. Say in your time young fellers did n't let other young
fellers cut 'em out. See?"
"You 're a wily old fox, Jack. But, hark'ee! Sure he's not in love with
anybody else?"
"He says he is n't. Oh, there may be a Spanish Senorita!--Gad! I
should almost be ashamed of him if there wasn't!--But there's no--no--"
"No Lucy Pryor?" said the Admiral carelessly.
The name seemed to fall on Lord Otford like a blow. He sat quite still
a moment, looking straight before him into who knows what memories. At
last he said very sadly, "No. No Lucy Pryor."
The Admiral realised his own tactlessness. He took Lord Otford's hand.
"I beg your pardon, Jack. I 'm sorry."
"It still hurts, Peter," said his Lordship with a wistful smile. "Like
an old bullet.--Well! You 'll do what you can, eh?--I don't want you to
overdo it. Just edge him in the right direction."
"Keep his eye in the wind, what?"
"That's it.--Well? Any new-comers in the Walk?"
"Yes," chuckled the Admiral, "two oil lamps. One in front of my house,
and one in front of Sternroyd's. They wanted to give us their
new-fangled, stinking gas, but the whole Walk mutinied."
"Very fine, but--"
"They 're only used when there's no moon."
"But I meant new people!"
"Oh! Ah! Yes!--" Then with a sort of smack of the lips indicative of
the highest appreciation, "A French widow and her daughter."
At once Lord Otford showed a lively interest. "French, eh?--What? the
little gel I saw going in?"
"Yes," answered the Admiral, rising and leading his friend towards the
Gazebo where his whisper would no longer make the windows of the Walk
rattle. "Yes. They're not really French, y' know. Mother's the widow
of a Frenchman. Madame Lachesnais."
This sounded very dull. His Lordship stifled a yawn, but he noticed the
Admiral's kindling eye, and felt constrained to continue the subject.
"Pleasant?"
"De-lightful!" answered Sir Peter, kissing the tips of his fingers at an
imaginary ideal. "The Walk was shy of 'em at first. So was I. Thought
they was foreigners. Foreigners are all very well for you and me, Jack.
We 're men o' the world. But think of Mrs. Poskett! Think of the
Misses Pennymint! Think of Mr. and Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn!"
Lord Otford started slightly at the last name.
"Eh? Mr. and Mrs. what?"
"Brooke-Hoskyn. Sh!" pointing to the house with his thumb. "Very
distinguished man. Moves in the highest circles. Hote tonn, Jack. Dines
in town regularly four times a week."
"Man of family?" asked Lord Otford.
"Family?" roared the Admiral. "Well, I should say so. Four little gels
in five years, and more to come! Never met him?"
"I seem to remember a man called Hoskyn," said his friend nonchalantly.
The Admiral shook his head in dismissal of the undistinguished Hoskyn.
"No, no. This is Brooke-Hoskyn; Brooke--h'm--Hoskyn; with a hyphen."
Lord Otford had had enough of Brooke-Hoskyn. "Go on about the French
widow."
"Well, one morning their shay was signalled from the back of the Misses
Pennymint. We'd all been watching for their coming, y' know, because of
their house having been painted white--but that's another yarn
altogether. Shays can't get beyond the corner of Pomander Lane; so I
had time to put on my uniform, and my medals, and my cocked hat--"
"Meant to show 'em you was Admiral on your own quarter-deck, eh?"
"That's it. And then--" the Admiral glowed with enthusiasm--"well, then
Madame came round the corner; and then Mademerzell. They did n't walk,
Jack, they floated. And what did I do? I just sneaked back into
harbour, and struck my colours. Yes!-- She was the most gracious
creature I 'd ever seen. And the gel--! Well, you saw her." He paused
for a moment, and then added in a curiously subdued voice: "They brought
something new into the Walk."