LORD MAYOR'S DAY.
It was Lord Mayor's Day. Haggard and his wife sat in the little
drawing-room of their bijou house in May Fair. The room was prettily
furnished, and Georgie had often accused herself of extravagance. The
regulation chairs and tables of the furnished house had been banished
from Mrs. Haggard's drawing-room. It had been a pleasure to choose the
various tasteful specimens of the upholsterer's art. The nesting faculty
is perhaps even more strongly developed in young married ladies than in
birds; young Mrs. Haggard was no exception to this rule. Many had been
the happy pilgrimages made by Georgie and her lover, for Haggard was her
lover still, to the great firm in Pall Mall and to the world-famed
house in Bond Street.
"Pick up what you like, my dear, and make our drawing-room, your drawing
room, as pretty as you please; nothing can be good enough in the little
kingdom in which my Georgie deigns to reign."
But sugared compliments and furniture-buying cannot go on for ever. A
pile of invitations attested the Haggards' popularity. Dance-giving
mammas were anxious to secure the success of their entertainments by
obtaining the presence of "lovely Mrs. Haggard."
A well-known professional beauty in the heyday of her charms was
"sitting-out" at a great ball, the observed of all observers, in a
_dos-à-dos causeuse_ with a Royal Highness.
"And is your Royal Highness also a worshipper at the shrine of budding
bucolic beauty? I mean pretty Mrs. Haggard," said the spoilt darling of
society, as with a little _moue_ she had indicated Georgie, who entered
the room on her husband's arm. The good-natured prince glanced
carelessly in the direction indicated; his lazy eyes sparkled as he
quickly replied in a tone of reproof:
"Pretty is not the word, Mrs. Charmington; if that is the lady you
allude to, she is lovely, absolutely lovely, and must count amongst her
admirers every member of the human race who has had the happy privilege
of beholding her." His Royal Highness rose.
Mrs. Charmington hastened to spread the report that his Royal Highness
was seriously smitten.
"Royals ripen early, I suppose; naturally they age as quickly; perhaps
his Royal Highness is arriving at a second childhood, and his heart
turns to people of the Dolly the Dairymaid type."
But in her first rage Mrs. Charmington had been weak enough to let out
that the prince had called young Mrs. Haggard "lovely." Mrs.
Charmington had received her own unsigned patent as a recognized beauty
from the discriminating admiration of his Royal Highness. The _fiat_ had
gone forth, and Julia Charmington had commenced her reign. The
Charmington boot and the Charmington Bouquet were very freely
advertised. A reproduction of Mrs. Charmington herself decorated the
interior of the omnibuses.
"Why use dangerous cosmetics when Jones' soap retains youth and health
for the complexion, and fosters the development of beauty?" Underneath
the portrait was a facsimile of Mrs. Charmington's fashionable scrawl,
"I owe you so much, so very much. I have never used any other soap than
yours. Very faithfully yours, Julia Charmington."
Ill-natured people said that Mrs. Charmington owed a great deal to
Messrs. Jones. That the cheque that paid for her well-known turn-out
had been signed by the firm; that they had twice paid her dress-maker's
bill, when that terrible person had become importunate; that they had
settled the account of Monsieur Alphonse, the great _coiffeur_; that
they had paid her husband's debts. Some of them, more imaginative,
declared that Mrs. Charmington was even a sleeping partner in the
saponaceous firm. But the ill-natured people were quite wrong; it was
not Messrs. Jones who paid Mrs. Charmington's bills. Little Jack
Charmington, her husband, had a snug four hundred a year of his own,
which quite sufficed for his modest needs. Mrs. Charmington's graceful
letter had been written by her in a moment of good nature, and, it may
be said in confidence, at the instigation, some eight years ago, of Big
Reginald Haggard, who had looked on the whole matter as a joke, and who
had, at that stormy period of his career, been very much in Mrs.
Charmington's confidence. The real fact was that Mrs. Charmington kept
Messrs. Jones before the public, and those astute advertisers did the
same kind office for the lady.
Thus it was that Georgie became "lovely Mrs. Haggard." This is what the
writers of serious books pompously call "the _secret history_ of the
whole matter."
Georgie now, to her astonishment, found her movements invariably
chronicled in the society journals. It rather annoyed her than
otherwise, but her husband was pleased, and that was enough for Georgie.
The lazy giant was sprawling on the most comfortable of the sofas; the
pair were alone in the dainty little drawing-room. Young Mrs. Haggard's
eyes were full of tears. "Won't you take me with you," she sobbed
appealingly, "it's only for six months, Reginald?"
"I can't, my darling; it's a beast of a climate, and the mosquitos would
eat you up. I shall only be away for six months; you know I have made
up my mind to get rid of the whole bag of tricks. It's quite true the
land can't run away, but there are always rows and revolutions and
smashes going on; you can't trust anybody. Of course, Georgie, I should
like you to go; but think of the risk. It won't wash at all. We'll stay
over Christmas here in England. I suppose I must take you down to see
the old man, and then we'll go straight off to Rome, and finish the
winter there. I'm getting rather bored, you know, Georgie, with the fuss
people make in town. It's deuced fine fun for you of course."
The fact was that this excellent husband hated playing second fiddle,
and he found, to his astonishment, that young Mrs. Haggard's social
success had far eclipsed that of Georgie Warrender. As a good-looking
young bachelor, though a detrimental, he had been very popular. As a
wealthy _parti_ and a sort of lion he had been the fashion himself the
previous season, and to his own knowledge his curly hair and big
moustache had caused a quicker beating of the heart in many a female
breast. But as Beauty's husband he felt out of his element. "You lucky
beggar!" had been repeated to him so often that he hated the phrase. Of
course, he still admired his wife as the handsomest woman he had ever
clapped eyes upon; he wasn't even jealous of the great attention that
Georgie habitually received. First, because he knew he could trust her
implicitly; but secondly, and this was far the more powerful reason,
because he was too much a man of the world ever to render himself
ridiculous.
"You know we can have rather a jolly time of it in Rome, Georgie," he
said. "You must by this time be as heartily sick of the eternal
_tête-à-tête_ as I am. I don't mean that," he said, springing to his
feet as he noticed that his young wife shuddered and turned pale; "but
the fact is, Georgie, I don't want to be pointed at like poor old Jack
Charmington, and I confess, dear," he added with a smile, "that I should
like a little more of 'lovely Mrs. Haggard's' society."
A very little crust thrown to the very hungry is always accepted with
gratitude. Georgie Haggard brightened up at once. "I suppose I must make
the best of it, dear," she said with a pleased smile; "at all events, I
shall have you all to myself in Rome."
"Yes; it will be quite a second honey-moon; but I half promised your
cousin Lucy that she should join us. It'll be beastly dull for her at
The Warren, you see, poor girl; and she doesn't seem to jump at
Spunyarn, though he does hang on. Is there any one else in the wind, do
you think, Georgie?" he said with some interest.
"No; Lucy seems perfectly heartwhole," replied his wife.
"I often wonder you two hit it off so well," mused Haggard as he gazed
into the blue flames that flickered over the little wood fire, for his
wife affected a wood fire as more cheerful. "Why, Lucy has been your
only serious competitor this season; I wonder you aren't jealous of each
other."
"How can you talk such nonsense, Reginald?" the wife replied with a
sunny laugh.
"Then you don't mind her coming with us on the Roman trip?"
It showed that Mrs. Haggard had considerable confidence in her own
attractions, as she innocently replied, "If you don't mind, why should
I, dear?"
"Well, then it's all settled, old girl; we'll put in the dull time in
Italy. Old Pit Town knows lots of good people, and would give us
letters, I suppose. In the spring I'll just rush across and polish off
the Mexican affair."
His gaze again returned to the fire which smouldered on the hearth.
There was a silence.
Gradually Haggard raised his eyes; they rested on his wife, they took
her in from head to foot, and seemed to appraise each of her numerous
points. The husband's countenance was lighted up by a pleased
expression.
"By Jove! Georgie," he said, "people are quite right; you are an
uncommonly fine woman."
He kissed her.
It was the kiss of proprietorship, similar to the appreciative pat he
would have given to a prize dog or a valuable horse that was his own
property.
Yes, Georgie loved the man, and looked up at him with wistful, trusting
eyes. She was his, body and soul.
But the door opens, and a peal of merry laughter caused Haggard and his
wife to subside into seats on either side of the fireplace.
"Oh, Georgie! I'm so sorry you missed it, it's been such fun, and Mr.
Sleek has been so attentive. I really think the two girls thought I was
setting my cap at their father. What with the procession outside, and
the farce indoors, we've had a delightful morning," cried Lucy
Warrender, as she entered the room.
"I fear it was rather a tragedy to poor little Sleek," said Lord
Spunyarn, who followed her; "a tiger when a-lashing of his tail was
nothing to Sleek. I shall never forget the look he gave me after lunch."
"When inflamed with love and wine, you know," said Lucy pertly. "Behold
his scalp."
Lucy triumphantly extended an enormous formal bouquet. Alas, for poor
little Sleek! his flowers were carelessly tossed upon the table.
"Oh, they were very confidential, you know," lisped Spunyarn; "I was
quite out in the cold."
"Ungrateful man, when you had a window all to yourself, and a smiling
Miss Sleek on either side of you, gazing into your eyes. You neglected
your opportunities, Lord Spunyarn. Let me tell you that the daughters of
my last conquest are two very pretty girls."
"Not when Miss Warrender is present."
"I rather think you forgot Miss Warrender's presence," retorted the
coquette.
"Anyhow, two's company and three isn't, you'll all allow that. How happy
could I have been with either were t'other dear charmer away."
"Did they both propose to you, Lord Spunyarn?" said Mrs. Haggard with a
smile.
"If I were a vain man I should confess that they rather gave themselves
away."
"Much as Hanibal Peter Gray did for love of the beautiful cannibal,"
said Lucy.
"Oh, they were quite safe in my case, not being a _mangeur de
coeurs_," replied the discreet young nobleman. "But my attention was
not sufficiently absorbed by those guileless girls that I failed to
perceive the doings of the other couple."
"You are quite wrong, as usual. Mr. Sleek was merely explaining who the
various people were."
"In that case, Miss Warrender, he might at least have given us all the
benefit of his information, instead of conveying it in an inaudible
whisper to Miss Warrender's private ear. And he needn't have blushed
till he looked like a pickled cabbage."
"It's not fair, Lucy," said Mrs. Haggard reprovingly, with an attempt at
matronly dignity.
"Well, you know," laughed the girl, "it wasn't my fault. Spunyarn
declined to come to the rescue. There I was, practically _tête-à-tête_
with the man; the noise of the crowd drowned my cries and remonstrances.
Besides, after the scalp, and the elaborate lunch which was awaiting us
in the middle of the room, I felt myself bound to listen to the voice of
the charmer. I was cheered, too, by Lord Spunyarn's masterly defeat of
Dabbler. _Poor_ Dabbler!"
"'Pon my word, I didn't know it. When we came in there was a fat man
messing with the things on the table. He was dressed like a waiter, and
he looked like one--a regular City waiter, you know. He held out his
hand. Of course, I gave him my hat and coat. He has no business to dress
like a waiter and to hold out his hand."
"Lord Spunyarn, he is a common councilman, and he is going to dine with
the Lord Mayor," cried Lucy.
"All the same, he has no business to be dressed like a waiter in the
morning, if even he be a common councilman and going to dine with the
Lord Mayor. Anyhow, he took the hat and coat, and then, thank heaven, he
bolted."
"What's Dabbler to him, or he to Dabbler, that he should weep?"
misquoted Georgie's husband, who had enjoyed Dabbler's discomfiture.
"It's all very well for you all to laugh, but Mr. Sleek didn't seem to
like it at all. What did he mean by saying that Mr. Dabbler was a warm
man?" asked Lucy.
"Oh, piles of money of course; all the common councilmen have piles of
money," said Spunyarn.
"And do they all dress like waiters in the morning, and then dine with
the Lord Mayor?"
"Yes. I suppose it's an old City custom, you know. Anyhow they always
dine with the Lord Mayor. That's what they die of."
"And now I have something to tell you, Lucy," said Mrs. Haggard. "It's
all been decided. After the Christmas festivities at the Castle we are
to go to Rome, and we hope you will come too."
Lucy clapped her hands with girlish glee. "Go with you, Georgie dear? Of
course I will. How good of you to ask me." The girl was evidently
delighted.
"And have you the heart, Miss Warrender, to leave me, Mr. Sleek, and
your other countless admirers, here in England to 'dree our weary
weirds alone?'"
And so the idle talk ran on. The Italian trip was discussed, and
considerable ignorance of geography was, as is usual, manifested by all
present. Lucy expressed her disappointment, on being informed that there
were now no brigands in Italy, save those behind the shop counters, or
in the choruses of the opera.
A trim maid then brought in the tea equipage, and Georgie did the
honours with her usual unaffected grace.
And now Parson Dodd and his sister were announced. The Dodds presented a
rather dishevelled appearance. They, too, had seen the Lord Mayor's
Show. But the vicar, in a moment of weakness, had yielded to Anastatia's
wish to see something of the real Londoner, whom "dear Dickens has
described so well," as she had put it.
Great had been her indignation at the want of respect shown to the
Reverend John Dodd's cloth. With horror she had heard her brother
addressed by a disreputable costermonger in a mangy fur cap, as "Old
pal." And though the Reverend John stood all unmoved in the surging
crowd, muscular pillar of the Church that he was, it was only by
clutching him very tightly that poor Anastatia preserved herself from
annihilation. She had seen the Lord Mayor's Show indeed, but at what a
price! The long grey cloak which she wore, a sort of semi-religious garb
which Miss Dodd, as a clergyman's sister, affected, had been splashed
with mud and creased into a thousand wrinkles. Her maiden feet, which
had never felt the sacrilegious touch of the toe of obtrusive
appreciation, had been trampled on by an exhilarated London mob. And
after several hours of agony, just as the Lord Mayor was actually
passing, she had heard and felt a horrid rending, crackling sound, and
had almost shrieked into her awe-stricken brother's ear, "Oh, Jack, I'm
gone at the gathers!" What she meant neither the Reverend John Dodd, or
any other male person, could ever truly know. But evidently something
dreadful had occurred. "Take me back, Jack; take me back to Mrs.
Haggard's at once," the poor little woman had pleaded to the parson. He
got her into a cab at last, and they had reached the Haggards' house in
May Fair, at which, they were stopping for the night. But Georgie
Haggard came to the poor lady's rescue; she and her cousin bore her off
to her hostess's own quarters, where she detailed her sufferings to
their sympathizing ears. Eau de Cologne was duly dabbed upon her
temples, strong tea was administered, but at length the wounded feelings
of the vicar's sister found vent in a little gentle fit of sobbing, and
she was accordingly put to bed.
"What possessed me I can't imagine," said the Reverend Jack to his two
male friends; "we were quite comfortable at first, you know," said poor
Jumbo, warm with the remembrance of his numerous humiliations. "I had
put Anastatia on a bench; the man made an exceedingly moderate charge of
threepence. I gave him sixpence, and strange to say he had no change. I
didn't like to be done; the man urged me to occupy one place that was
yet vacant; my evil genius prompted me to do so. Alas! I had no sooner
stepped upon the frail structure when it suddenly and unaccountably gave
way in the middle. I was precipitated to the ground in a sitting
posture. Anastatia was fortunately unhurt, but she was much frightened.
Those who had paid for the use of the bench demanded their money _from
me_; while the miserable proprietor, who had previously been most
respectful, in a truculent manner, and with horrible menaces, claimed a
sovereign, and on my declining to comply with his extortionate demand,
he actually offered to fight me, me a clergyman of the Church of
England. From a sense of justice, I hastened to remunerate those who had
been deprived of their coign of vantage, but, alas! the claimants were
innumerable; every man and boy in my vicinity declared that he had paid
for a place. The mob cheered me with derisive epithets. The climax was
reached when a most offensive policeman in a dictatorial manner ordered
me to 'Move on.' The Church of England, in my person, was ordered to
'move on.' I attempted to remonstrate, but I and the proprietor of the
broken bench were both suddenly propelled by the Jack in-office into a
bye street, and I discovered, to my horror, that I had lost Anastatia.
Of course I had to satisfy the ruffian's insolent demands, but I did so
under protest. The officer, however, now became more civil, and I,
fortunately, with his assistance, was able to rescue my sister from the
mob. I _will_ take another cup of tea, if you please. Thank you, three
lumps. I _have_ seen the Lord Mayor's Show, never again will I assist at
that degrading spectacle."
In vain did Haggard and Lord Spunyarn attempt to reassure the indignant
vicar. Only on the return of Mrs. Haggard and Lucy did the Reverend John
Dodd become comparatively tranquil. Under the soothing influence of
beauty, however, the vicar forgot his woes.