MRS. LUPEX AND AMELIA ROPER.
[ILLUSTRATION: (untitled)]
I should simply mislead a confiding reader if I were to tell him that
Mrs. Lupex was an amiable woman. Perhaps the fact that she was not
amiable is the one great fault that should be laid to her charge;
but that fault had spread itself so widely, and had cropped forth in
so many different places of her life, like a strong rank plant that
will show itself all over a garden, that it may almost be said that
it made her odious in every branch of life, and detestable alike
to those who knew her little and to those who knew her much. If a
searcher could have got at the inside spirit of the woman, that
searcher would have found that she wished to go right,--that she did
make, or at any rate promise to herself that she would make, certain
struggles to attain decency and propriety. But it was so natural to
her to torment those whose misfortune brought them near to her, and
especially that wretched man who in an evil day had taken her to his
bosom as his wife, that decency fled from her, and propriety would
not live in her quarters.
Mrs. Lupex was, as I have already described her, a woman not without
some feminine attraction in the eyes of those who like morning
negligence and evening finery, and do not object to a long nose
somewhat on one side. She was clever in her way, and could say
smart things. She could flatter also, though her very flattery had
always in it something that was disagreeable. And she must have had
some power of will, as otherwise her husband would have escaped
from her before the days of which I am writing. Otherwise, also,
she could hardly have obtained her footing and kept it in Mrs.
Roper's drawing-room. For though the hundred pounds a year, either
paid, or promised to be paid, was matter with Mrs. Roper of vast
consideration, nevertheless the first three months of Mrs. Lupex's
sojourn in Burton Crescent were not over before the landlady of that
house was most anxiously desirous of getting herself quit of her
married boarders.
I shall perhaps best describe a little incident that had occurred
in Burton Crescent during the absence of our friend Eames, and the
manner in which things were going on in that locality, by giving at
length two letters which Johnny received by post at Guestwick on the
morning after Mrs. Dale's party. One was from his friend Cradell,
and the other from the devoted Amelia. In this instance I will give
that from the gentleman first, presuming that I shall best consult
my reader's wishes by keeping the greater delicacy till the last.
Income-tax Office, September, 186--.
MY DEAR JOHNNY,--We have had a terrible affair in the
Crescent; and I really hardly know how to tell you; and
yet I must do it, for I want your advice. You know the
sort of standing that I was on with Mrs. Lupex, and
perhaps you remember what we were saying on the platform
at the station. I have, no doubt, been fond of her
society, as I might be of that of any other friend. I
knew, of course, that she was a fine woman; and if her
husband chose to be jealous, I couldn't help that. But I
never intended anything wrong; and, if it was necessary,
couldn't I call you as a witness to prove it? I never
spoke a word to her out of Mrs. Roper's drawing-room; and
Miss Spruce, or Mrs. Roper, or somebody has always been
there. You know he drinks horribly sometimes, but I do
not think he ever gets downright drunk. Well, he came
home last night about nine o'clock after one of these
bouts. From what Jemima says [Jemima was Mrs. Roper's
parlour-maid], I believe he had been at it down at the
theatre for three days. We hadn't seen him since Tuesday.
He went straight into the parlour and sent up Jemima to
me, to say that he wanted to see me. Mrs. Lupex was in
the room and heard the girl summon me, and, jumping up,
she declared that if there was going to be blood shed she
would leave the house. There was nobody else in the room
but Miss Spruce, and she didn't say a word, but took her
candle and went upstairs. You must own it looked very
uncomfortable. What was I to do with a drunken man down in
the parlour? However, she seemed to think I ought to go.
"If he comes up here," said she, "I shall be the victim.
You little know of what that man is capable when his wrath
has been inflamed by wine!" Now, I think you are aware
that I am not likely to be very much afraid of any man;
but why was I to be got into a row in such a way as this?
I hadn't done anything. And then, if there was to be a
quarrel, and anything was to come of it, as she seemed to
expect,--like bloodshed, I mean, or a fight, or if he were
to knock me on the head with the poker, where should I be
at my office? A man in a public office, as you and I are,
can't quarrel like anybody else. It was this that I felt
so much at the moment. "Go down to him," said she, "unless
you wish to see me murdered at your feet." Fisher says,
that if what I say is true, they must have arranged it all
between them. I don't think that; for I do believe that
she really is fond of me. And then everybody knows that
they never do agree about anything. But she certainly did
implore me to go down to him. Well, I went down; and, as I
got to the bottom of the stairs, where I found Jemima, I
heard him walking up and down the parlour. "Take care of
yourself, Mr. Cradell," said the girl; and I could see by
her face that she was in a terrible fright.
At that moment I happened to see my hat on the hall table,
and it occurred to me that I ought to put myself into the
hands of a friend. Of course, I was not afraid of that
man in the dining-room; but should I have been justified
in engaging in a struggle, perhaps for dear life, in Mrs.
Roper's house? I was bound to think of her interests.
So I took up my hat, and deliberately walked out of the
front door. "Tell him," said I to Jemima, "that I'm not at
home." And so I went away direct to Fisher's, meaning to
send him back to Lupex as my friend; but Fisher was at his
chess-club.
As I thought there was no time to be lost on such an
occasion as this, I went down to the club and called
him out. You know what a cool fellow Fisher is. I don't
suppose anything would ever excite him. When I told him
the story, he said that he would sleep upon it; and I had
to walk up and down before the club while he finished
his game. Fisher seemed to think that I might go back to
Burton Crescent; but, of course, I knew that that would
be out of the question. So it ended in my going home and
sleeping on his sofa, and sending for some of my things in
the morning. I wanted him to get up and see Lupex before
going to the office this morning. But he said it would be
better to put it off, and so he will call upon him at the
theatre immediately after office hours.
I want you to write to me at once saying what you know
about the matter. I ask you, as I don't want to lug in any
of the other people at Roper's. It is very uncomfortable,
as I can't exactly leave her at once because of last
quarter's money, otherwise I should cut and run; for the
house is not the sort of place either for you or me. You
may take my word for that, Master Johnny. And I could tell
you something, too, about A. R., only I don't want to make
mischief. But do you write immediately. And now I think of
it, you had better write to Fisher, so that he can show
your letter to Lupex,--just saying, that to the best of
your belief there had never been anything between her and
me but mere friendship; and that, of course, you, as my
friend, must have known everything. Whether I shall go
back to Roper's to-night will depend on what Fisher says
after the interview.
Good-by, old fellow! I hope you are enjoying yourself, and
that L. D. is quite well.--Your sincere friend,
JOSEPH CRADELL.
John Eames read this letter over twice before he opened that from
Amelia. He had never yet received a letter from Miss Roper; and felt
very little of that ardour for its perusal which young men generally
experience on the receipt of a first letter from a young lady. The
memory of Amelia was at the present moment distasteful to him; and he
would have thrown the letter unopened into the fire, had he not felt
it might be dangerous to do so. As regarded his friend Cradell, he
could not but feel ashamed of him,--ashamed of him, not for running
away from Mr. Lupex, but for excusing his escape on false pretences.
And then, at last, he opened the letter from Amelia. "Dearest John,"
it began; and as he read the words, he crumpled the paper up between
his fingers. It was written in a fair female hand, with sharp points
instead of curves to the letters, but still very legible, and looking
as though there were a decided purport in every word of it.
DEAREST JOHN,--It feels so strange to me to write to you
in such language as this. And yet you are dearest, and
have I not a right to call you so? And are you not my own,
and am not I yours?
Again he crunched the paper up in his hand, and, as he did so, he
muttered words which I need not repeat at length. But still he went
on with his letter.
I know that we understand each other perfectly, and when
that is the case, heart should be allowed to speak openly
to heart. Those are my feelings, and I believe that you
will find them reciprocal in your own bosom. Is it not
sweet to be loved? I find it so. And, dearest John, let me
assure you, with open candour, that there is no room for
jealousy in this breast with regard to you. I have too
much confidence for that, I can assure you, both in your
honour and in my own--I would say charms, only you would
call me vain. You must not suppose that I meant what I
said about L. D. Of course, you will be glad to see the
friends of your childhood; and it would be far from your
Amelia's heart to begrudge you such delightful pleasure.
Your friends will, I hope, some day be my friends.
[Another crunch.] And if there be any one among them, any
real L. D. whom you have specially liked, I will receive
her to my heart, specially also.
This assurance on the part of his Amelia was too much for him,
and he threw the letter from him, thinking whence he might get
relief--whether from suicide or from the colonies; but presently he
took it up again, and drained the bitter cup to the bottom.
And if I seemed petulant to you before you went away, you
must forgive your own Amelia. I had nothing before me but
misery for the month of your absence. There is no one here
congenial to my feelings,--of course not. And you would
not wish me to be happy in your absence,--would you? I can
assure you, let your wishes be what they may, I never can
be happy again unless you are with me. Write to me one
little line, and tell me that you are grateful to me for
my devotion.
And now, I must tell you that we have had a sad affair in
the house; and I do not think that your friend Mr. Cradell
has behaved at all well. You remember how he has been
always going on with Mrs. Lupex. Mother was quite unhappy
about it, though she didn't like to say anything. Of
course, when a lady's name is concerned, it is particular.
But Lupex has become dreadful jealous during the last
week; and we all knew that something was coming. She is
an artful woman, but I don't think she meant anything
bad--only to drive her husband to desperation. He came
here yesterday in one of his tantrums, and wanted to see
Cradell; but he got frightened, and took his hat and went
off. Now, that wasn't quite right. If he was innocent,
why didn't he stand his ground and explain the mistake?
As mother says, it gives the house such a name. Lupex
swore last night that he'd be off to the Income-tax
Office this morning, and have Cradell out before all the
commissioners, and clerks, and everybody. If he does
that, it will get into the papers, and all London will be
full of it. She would like it, I know; for all she cares
for is to be talked about; but only think what it will
be for mother's house. I wish you were here; for your
high prudence and courage would set everything right at
once,--at least, I think so.
I shall count the minutes till I get an answer to this,
and shall envy the postman who will have your letter
before it will reach me. Do write at once. If I do not
hear by Monday morning I shall think that something is the
matter. Even though you are among your dear old friends,
surely you can find a moment to write to your own Amelia.
Mother is very unhappy about this affair of the Lupexes.
She says that if you were here to advise her she should
not mind it so much. It is very hard upon her, for she
does strive to make the house respectable and comfortable
for everybody. I would send my duty and love to your dear
mamma, if I only knew her, as I hope I shall do one day,
and to your sister, and to L. D. also, if you like to tell
her how we are situated together. So, now, no more from
your
Always affectionate sweetheart,
AMELIA ROPER.
Poor Eames did not feel the least gratified by any part of this fond
letter; but the last paragraph of it was the worst. Was it to be
endured by him that this woman should send her love to his mother
and to his sister, and even to Lily Dale! He felt that there was a
pollution in the very mention of Lily's name by such an one as Amelia
Roper. And yet Amelia Roper was, as she had assured him,--his own.
Much as he disliked her at the present moment, he did believe that he
was--her own. He did feel that she had obtained a certain property
in him, and that his destiny in life would tie him to her. He had
said very few words of love to her at any time--very few, at least,
that were themselves of any moment; but among those few there had
undoubtedly been one or two in which he had told her that he loved
her. And he had written to her that fatal note! Upon the whole, would
it not be as well for him to go out to the great reservoir behind
Guestwick, by which the Hamersham Canal was fed with its waters, and
put an end to his miserable existence?
On that same day he did write a letter to Fisher, and he wrote also
to Cradell. As to those letters he felt no difficulty. To Fisher he
declared his belief that Cradell was innocent as he was himself as
regarded Mrs. Lupex. "I don't think he is the sort of man to make
up to a married woman," he said, somewhat to Cradell's displeasure,
when the letter reached the Income-tax Office; for that gentleman
was not averse to the reputation for success in love which the
little adventure was, as he thought, calculated to give him among
his brother clerks. At the first bursting of the shell, when that
desperately jealous man was raging in the parlour, incensed by the
fumes both of wine and love, Cradell had felt that the affair was
disagreeably painful. But on the morning of the third day--for he had
passed two nights on his friend Fisher's sofa--he had begun to be
somewhat proud of it, and did not dislike to hear Mrs. Lupex's name
in the mouths of the other clerks. When, therefore, Fisher read
to him the letter from Guestwick, he hardly was pleased with his
friend's tone. "Ha, ha, ha," said he, laughing. "That's just what I
wanted him to say. Make up to a married woman, indeed. No; I'm the
last man in London to do that sort of thing."
"Upon my word, Caudle, I think you are," said Fisher; "the very last
man."
And then poor Cradell was not happy. On that afternoon he boldly went
to Burton Crescent, and ate his dinner there. Neither Mr. nor Mrs.
Lupex were to be seen, nor were their names mentioned to him by Mrs.
Roper. In the course of the evening he did pluck up courage to ask
Miss Spruce where they were; but that ancient lady merely shook her
head solemnly, and declared that she knew nothing about such goings
on--no, not she.
But what was John Eames to do as to that letter from Amelia Roper? He
felt that any answer to it would be very dangerous, and yet that he
could not safely leave it unanswered. He walked off by himself across
Guestwick Common, and through the woods of Guestwick Manor, up by the
big avenue of elms in Lord De Guest's park, trying to resolve how he
might rescue himself from this scrape. Here, over the same ground,
he had wandered scores of times in his earlier years, when he knew
nothing beyond the innocency of his country home, thinking of Lily
Dale, and swearing to himself that she should be his wife. Here he
had strung together his rhymes, and fed his ambition with high hopes,
building gorgeous castles in the air, in all of which Lilian reigned
as a queen; and though in those days he had known himself to be
awkward, poor, uncared for by any in the world except his mother and
his sister, yet he had been happy in his hopes--happy in his hopes,
even though he had never taught himself really to believe that they
would be realized. But now there was nothing in his hopes or thoughts
to make him happy. Everything was black, and wretched, and ruinous.
What would it matter, after all, even if he should marry Amelia
Roper, seeing that Lily was to be given to another? But then the idea
of Amelia as he had seen her that night through the chink in the door
came upon his memory, and he confessed to himself that life with such
a wife as that would be a living death.
At one moment he thought that he would tell his mother everything,
and leave her to write an answer to Amelia's letter. Should the worst
come to the worst, the Ropers could not absolutely destroy him. That
they could bring an action against him, and have him locked up for a
term of years, and dismissed from his office, and exposed in all the
newspapers, he seemed to know. That might all, however, be endured,
if only the gauntlet could be thrown down for him by some one else.
The one thing which he felt that he could not do was, to write to
a girl whom he had professed to love, and tell her that he did not
love her. He knew that he could not himself form such words upon the
paper; nor, as he was well aware, could he himself find the courage
to tell her to her face that he had changed his mind. He knew that
he must become the victim of his Amelia, unless he could find some
friendly knight to do battle in his favour; and then again he thought
of his mother.
But when he returned home he was as far as ever from any resolve to
tell her how he was situated. I may say that his walk had done him no
good, and that he had not made up his mind to anything. He had been
building those pernicious castles in the air during more than half
the time; not castles in the building of which he could make himself
happy, as he had done in the old days, but black castles, with cruel
dungeons, into which hardly a ray of light could find its way. In all
these edifices his imagination pictured to him Lily as the wife of
Mr. Crosbie. He accepted that as a fact, and then went to work in his
misery, making her as wretched as himself, through the misconduct
and harshness of her husband. He tried to think, and to resolve what
he would do; but there is no task so hard as that of thinking, when
the mind has an objection to the matter brought before it. The mind,
under such circumstances, is like a horse that is brought to the
water, but refuses to drink. So Johnny returned to his home, still
doubting whether or no he would answer Amelia's letter. And if he did
not answer it, how would he conduct himself on his return to Burton
Crescent?
I need hardly say that Miss Roper, in writing her letter, had been
aware of all this, and that Johnny's position had been carefully
prepared for him by--his affectionate sweetheart.