VÆ VICTIS.
Crosbie had two engagements for that day; one being his natural
engagement to do his work at his office, and the other an engagement,
which was now very often becoming as natural, to dine at St. John's
Wood with Lady Amelia Gazebee. It was manifest to him when he
looked at himself in the glass that he could keep neither of these
engagements. "Oh, laws, Mr. Crosbie," the woman of the house
exclaimed when she saw him.
"Yes, I know," said he. "I've had an accident and got a black eye.
What's a good thing for it?"
"Oh! an accident!" said the woman, who knew well that that mark had
been made by another man's fist. "They do say that a bit of raw beef
is about the best thing. But then it must be held on constant all the
morning."
Anything would be better than leeches, which tell long-enduring
tales, and therefore Crosbie sat through the greater part of the
morning holding the raw beef to his eye. But it was necessary that he
should write two notes as he held it, one to Mr. Butterwell at his
office, and the other to his future sister-in-law. He felt that it
would hardly be wise to attempt any entire concealment of the nature
of his catastrophe, as some of the circumstances would assuredly
become known. If he said that he had fallen over the coal-scuttle,
or on to the fender, thereby cutting his face, people would learn
that he had fibbed, and would learn also that he had had some reason
for fibbing. Therefore he constructed his notes with a phraseology
that bound him to no details. To Butterwell he said that he had had
an accident--or rather a row--and that he had come out of it with
considerable damage to his frontispiece. He intended to be at the
office on the next day, whether able to appear decently there or not.
But for the sake of decency he thought it well to give himself that
one half-day's chance. Then to the Lady Amelia he also said that he
had had an accident, and had been a little hurt. "It is nothing at
all serious, and affects only my appearance, so that I had better
remain in for a day. I shall certainly be with you on Sunday. Don't
let Gazebee trouble himself to come to me, as I shan't be at home
after to-day." Gazebee did trouble himself to come to Mount Street so
often, and South Audley Street, in which was Mr. Gazebee's office,
was so disagreeably near to Mount Street, that Crosbie inserted this
in order to protect himself if possible. Then he gave special orders
that he was to be at home to no one, fearing that Gazebee would call
for him after the hours of business--to make him safe and carry him
off bodily to St. John's Wood.
The beefsteak and the dose of physic and the cold-water application
which was kept upon it all night was not efficacious in dispelling
that horrid, black-blue colour by ten o'clock on the following
morning.
"It certainly have gone down, Mr. Crosbie; it certainly have," said
the mistress of the lodgings, touching the part affected with her
finger. "But the black won't go out of them all in a minute; it won't
indeed. Couldn't you just stay in one more day?"
"But will one day do it, Mrs. Phillips?"
Mrs. Phillips couldn't take upon herself to say that it would. "They
mostly come with little red streaks across the black before they goes
away," said Mrs. Phillips, who would seem to have been the wife of a
prize-fighter, so well was she acquainted with black eyes.
"And that won't be till to-morrow," said Crosbie, affecting to be
mirthful in his agony.
"Not till the third day;--and then they wears themselves out,
gradual. I never knew leeches do any good."
He stayed at home the second day, and then resolved that he would
go to his office, black eye and all. In that morning's newspaper he
saw an account of the whole transaction, saying how Mr. C---- of
the office of General Committees, who was soon about to lead to the
hymeneal altar the beautiful daughter of the Earl De C----, had been
made the subject of a brutal personal attack on the platform of the
Great Western Railway Station, and how he was confined to his room
from the injuries which he had received. The paragraph went on to
state that the delinquent had, as it was believed, dared to raise
his eyes to the same lady, and that his audacity had been treated
with scorn by every member of the noble family in question. "It was,
however, satisfactory to know," so said the newspaper, "that Mr.
C---- had amply avenged himself, and had so flogged the young man
in question, that he had been unable to stir from his bed since the
occurrence."
On reading this Crosbie felt that it would be better that he should
show himself at once, and tell as much of the truth as the world
would be likely to ascertain at last without his telling. So on that
third morning he put on his hat and gloves, and had himself taken
to his office, though the red-streaky period of his misfortune had
hardly even yet come upon him. The task of walking along the office
passage, through the messengers' lobby, and into his room, was very
disagreeable. Of course everybody looked at him, and of course
he failed in his attempt to appear as though he did not mind it.
"Boggs," he said to one of the men as he passed by, "just see if Mr.
Butterwell is in his room," and then, as he expected, Mr. Butterwell
came to him after the expiration of a few minutes.
"Upon my word, that is serious," said Mr. Butterwell, looking into
the secretary's damaged face. "I don't think I would have come out if
I had been you."
"Of course it's disagreeable," said Crosbie; "but it's better to put
up with it. Fellows do tell such horrid lies if a man isn't seen for
a day or two. I believe it's best to put a good face upon it."
"That's more than you can do just at present, eh, Crosbie?" And then
Mr. Butterwell tittered. "But how on earth did it happen? The paper
says that you pretty well killed the fellow who did it."
"The paper lies, as papers always do. I didn't touch him at all."
"Didn't you, though? I should like to have had a poke at him after
getting such a tap in the face as that."
"The policemen came, and all that sort of thing. One isn't allowed
to fight it out in a row of that kind as one would have to do on
Salisbury heath. Not that I mean to say that I could lick the fellow.
How's a man to know whether he can or not?"
"How, indeed, unless he gets a licking,--or gives it? But who was he,
and what's this about his having been scorned by the noble family?"
"Trash and lies, of course. He had never seen any of the De Courcy
people."
"I suppose the truth is, it was about that other--eh, Crosbie? I knew
you'd find yourself in some trouble before you'd done."
"I don't know what it was about, or why he should have made such a
brute of himself. You have heard about those people at Allington?"
"Oh, yes; I have heard about them."
"God knows, I didn't mean to say anything against them. They knew
nothing about it."
"But the young fellow knew them? Ah, yes, I see all about it. He
wants to step into your shoes. I can't say that he sets about it in a
bad way. But what do you mean to do?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing! Won't that look queer? I think I should have him before the
magistrates."
"You see, Butterwell, I am bound to spare that girl's name. I know I
have behaved badly."
"Well, yes; I fear you have."
Mr. Butterwell said this with some considerable amount of decision in
his voice, as though he did not intend to mince matters, or in any
way to hide his opinion. Crosbie had got into a way of condemning
himself in this matter of his marriage, but was very anxious that
others, on hearing such condemnation from him, should say something
in the way of palliating his fault. It would be so easy for a friend
to remark that such little peccadilloes were not altogether uncommon,
and that it would sometimes happen in life that people did not know
their own minds. He had hoped for some such benevolence from Fowler
Pratt, but had hoped in vain. Butterwell was a good-natured, easy
man, anxious to stand well with all about him, never pretending to
any very high tone of feeling or of morals; and yet Butterwell would
say no word of comfort to him. He could get no one to slur over his
sin for him, as though it were no sin,--only an unfortunate mistake;
no one but the De Courcys, who had, as it were, taken possession of
him and swallowed him alive.
"It can't be helped now," said Crosbie. "But as for that fellow who
made such a brutal attack on me the other morning, he knows that he
is safe behind her petticoats. I can do nothing which would not make
some mention of her name necessary."
"Ah, yes; I see," said Butterwell. "It's very unfortunate; very. I
don't know that I can do anything for you. Will you come before the
Board to-day?"
"Yes; of course I shall," said Crosbie, who was becoming very sore.
His sharp ear had told him that all Butterwell's respect and
cordiality were gone,--at any rate for the time. Butterwell, though
holding the higher official rank, had always been accustomed to treat
him as though he, the inferior, were to be courted. He had possessed,
and had known himself to possess, in his office as well as in the
outside world, a sort of rank much higher than that which from his
position he could claim legitimately. Now he was being deposed. There
could be no better touchstone in such a matter than Butterwell. He
would go as the world went, but he would perceive almost intuitively
how the world intended to go. "Tact, tact, tact," as he was in the
habit of saying to himself when walking along the paths of his Putney
villa. Crosbie was now secretary, whereas a few months before he had
been simply a clerk; but, nevertheless, Mr. Butterwell's instinct
told him that Crosbie had fallen. Therefore he declined to offer any
sympathy to the man in his misfortune, and felt aware, as he left
the secretary's room, that it might probably be some time before he
visited it again.
Crosbie resolved in his soreness that henceforth he would brazen it
out. He would go to the Board, with as much indifference as to his
black eye as he was able to assume, and if any one said aught to him
he would be ready with his answer. He would go to his club, and let
him who intended to show him any slight beware of him in his wrath.
He could not turn upon John Eames, but he could turn upon others if
it were necessary. He had not gained for himself a position before
the world, and held it now for some years, to allow himself to be
crushed at once because he had made a mistake. If the world, his
world, chose to go to war with him, he would be ready for the fight.
As for Butterwell,--Butterwell the incompetent, Butterwell the
vapid,--for Butterwell, who in every little official difficulty had
for years past come to him, he would let Butterwell know what it was
to be thus disloyal to one who had condescended to be his friend. He
would show them all at the Board that he scorned them, and could be
their master. Then, too, as he was making some other resolves as to
his future conduct, he made one or two resolutions respecting the De
Courcy people. He would make it known to them that he was not going
to be their very humble servant. He would speak out his mind with
considerable plainness; and if upon that they should choose to break
off this "alliance," they might do so; he would not break his heart.
And as he leaned back in his arm-chair, thinking of all this, an idea
made its way into his brain,--a floating castle in the air, rather
than the image of a thing that might by possibility be realized; and
in this castle in the air he saw himself kneeling again at Lily's
feet, asking her pardon, and begging that he might once more be taken
to her heart.
"Mr. Crosbie is here to-day," said Mr. Butterwell to Mr. Optimist.
"Oh, indeed," said Mr. Optimist, very gravely; for he had heard all
about the row at the railway station.
"They've made a monstrous show of him."
"I am very sorry to hear it. It's so--so--so-- If it were one
of the younger clerks, you know, we should tell him that it was
discreditable to the department."
"If a man gets a blow in the eye, he can't help it, you know. He
didn't do it himself, I suppose," said Major Fiasco.
"I am well aware that he didn't do it himself," continued Mr.
Optimist; "but I really think that, in his position, he should have
kept himself out of any such encounter."
"He would have done so if he could, with all his heart," said the
major. "I don't suppose he liked being thrashed any better than I
should."
"Nobody gives me a black eye," said Mr. Optimist.
"Nobody has as yet," said the major.
"I hope they never will," said Mr. Butterwell. Then, the hour
for their meeting having come round, Mr. Crosbie came into the
Board-room.
"We have been very sorry to hear of this misfortune," said Mr.
Optimist, very gravely.
"Not half so sorry as I have been," said Crosbie, with a laugh. "It's
an uncommon nuisance to have a black eye, and to go about looking
like a prize-fighter."
"And like a prize-fighter that didn't win his battle, too," said
Fiasco.
"I don't know that there's much difference as to that," said Crosbie.
"But the whole thing is a nuisance, and, if you please, we won't say
anything more about it."
Mr. Optimist almost entertained an opinion that it was his duty to
say something more about it. Was not he the chief Commissioner, and
was not Mr. Crosbie secretary to the Board? Ought he, looking at
their respective positions, to pass over without a word of notice
such a manifest impropriety as this? Would not Sir Raffle Buffle have
said something had Mr. Butterwell, when secretary, come to the office
with a black eye? He wished to exercise all the full rights of a
chairman; but, nevertheless, as he looked at the secretary he felt
embarrassed, and was unable to find the proper words. "H--m, ha,
well; we'll go to business now, if you please," he said, as though
reserving to himself the right of returning to the secretary's black
eye when the more usual business of the Board should be completed.
But when the more usual business of the Board had been completed, the
secretary left the room without any further reference to his eye.
Crosbie, when he got back to his own apartment, found Mortimer
Gazebee waiting there for him.
"My dear fellow," said Gazebee, "this is a very nasty affair."
"Uncommonly nasty," said Crosbie; "so nasty that I don't mean to talk
about it to anybody."
"Lady Amelia is quite unhappy." He always called her Lady Amelia,
even when speaking of her to his own brothers and sisters. He was too
well behaved to take the liberty of calling an earl's daughter by her
plain Christian name, even though that earl's daughter was his own
wife. "She fears that you have been a good deal hurt."
"Not at all hurt; but disfigured, as you see."
"And so you beat the fellow well that did it?"
"No, I didn't," said Crosbie, very angrily. "I didn't beat him at
all. You don't believe everything you read in the newspapers, do
you?"
"No, I don't believe everything. Of course I didn't believe about
his having aspired to an alliance with Lady Alexandrina. That was
untrue, of course." Mr. Gazebee showed by the tone of his voice that
imprudence so unparalleled as that was quite incredible.
"You shouldn't believe anything; except this,--that I have got a
black eye."
"You certainly have got that. Lady Amelia thinks you would be more
comfortable if you would come up to us this evening. You can't go
out, of course; but Lady Amelia said, very good-naturedly, that you
need not mind with her."
"Thank you, no; I'll come on Sunday."
"Of course Lady Alexandrina will be very anxious to hear from her
sister; and Lady Amelia begged me very particularly to press you to
come."
"Thank you, no; not to-day."
"Why not?"
"Oh, simply because I shall be better at home."
"How can you be better at home? You can have anything that you want.
Lady Amelia won't mind, you know."
Another beefsteak to his eye, as he sat in the drawing-room,
a cold-water bandage, or any little medical appliance of that
sort;--these were the things which Lady Amelia would, in her domestic
good nature, condescend not to mind!
"I won't trouble her this evening," said Crosbie.
"Well, upon my word, I think you're wrong. All manner of stories will
get down to Courcy Castle, and to the countess's ears; and you don't
know what harm may come of it. Lady Amelia thinks she had better
write and explain it; but she can't do so till she has heard
something about it from you."
"Look here, Gazebee. I don't care one straw what story finds its way
down to Courcy Castle."
"But if the earl were to hear anything, and be offended?"
"He may recover from his offence as he best likes."
"My dear fellow; that's talking wildly, you know."
"What on earth do you suppose the earl can do to me? Do you think
I'm going to live in fear of Lord De Courcy all my life, because I'm
going to marry his daughter? I shall write to Alexandrina myself
to-day, and you can tell her sister so. I'll be up to dinner on
Sunday, unless my face makes it altogether out of the question."
"And you won't come in time for church?"
"Would you have me go to church with such a face as this?"
Then Mr. Mortimer Gazebee went, and when he got home he told his wife
that Crosbie was taking things with a high hand. "The fact is, my
dear, that he's ashamed of himself, and therefore tries to put a bold
face upon it."
"It was very foolish of him throwing himself in the way of that young
man,--very; and so I shall tell him on Sunday. If he chooses to give
himself airs to me, I shall make him understand that he is very
wrong. He should remember now that the way in which he conducts
himself is a matter of moment to all our family."
"Of course he should," said Mr. Gazebee.
When the Sunday came the red-streaky period had arrived, but had by
no means as yet passed away. The men at the office had almost become
used to it; but Crosbie, in spite of his determination to go down to
the club, had not yet shown himself elsewhere. Of course he did not
go to church, but at five he made his appearance at the house in St.
John's Wood. They always dined at five on Sundays, having some idea
that by doing so they kept the Sabbath better than they would have
done had they dined at seven. If keeping the Sabbath consists in
going to bed early, or is in any way assisted by such a practice,
they were right. To the cook that semi-early dinner might perhaps be
convenient, as it gave her an excuse for not going to church in the
afternoon, as the servants' and children's dinner gave her a similar
excuse in the morning. Such little attempts at goodness,--proceeding
half the way, or perhaps, as in this instance, one quarter of the
way, on the disagreeable path towards goodness,--are very common with
respectable people, such as Lady Amelia. If she would have dined at
one o'clock, and have eaten cold meat, one perhaps might have felt
that she was entitled to some praise.
"Dear, dear, dear; this is very sad, isn't it, Adolphus?" she said on
first seeing him.
"Well, it is sad, Amelia," he said. He always called her Amelia,
because she called him Adolphus; but Gazebee himself was never
quite pleased when he heard it. Lady Amelia was older than Crosbie,
and entitled to call him anything she liked; but he should have
remembered the great difference in their rank. "It is sad, Amelia,"
he said. "But will you oblige me in one thing?"
"What thing, Adolphus?"
"Not to say a word more about it. The black eye is a bad thing, no
doubt, and has troubled me much; but the sympathy of my friends has
troubled me a great deal more. I had all the family commiseration
from Gazebee on Friday, and if it is repeated again, I shall lie down
and die."
"Shall 'oo die, uncle Dolphus, 'cause 'oo've got a bad eye?" asked De
Courcy Gazebee, the eldest hope of the family, looking up into his
face.
"No, my hero," said Crosbie, taking the boy up into his arms, "not
because I've got a black eye. There isn't very much harm in that, and
you'll have a great many before you leave school. But because the
people will go on talking about it."
"But aunt Dina on't like 'oo, if oo've got an ugly bad eye."
"But, Adolphus," said Lady Amelia, settling herself for an argument,
"that's all very well, you know--and I'm sure I'm very sorry to cause
you any annoyance,--but really one doesn't know how to pass over such
a thing without speaking of it. I have had a letter from mamma."
"I hope Lady De Courcy is quite well."
"Quite well, thank you. But as a matter of course she is very anxious
about this affair. She had read what has been said in the newspapers,
and it may be necessary that Mortimer should take it up, as the
family solicitor."
"Quite out of the question," said Adolphus.
"I don't think I should advise any such step as that," said Gazebee.
"Perhaps not; very likely not. But you cannot be surprised, Mortimer,
that my mother under such circumstances should wish to know what are
the facts of the case."
"Not at all surprised," said Gazebee.
"Then once for all, I'll tell you the facts. As I got out of the
train a man I'd seen once before in my life made an attack upon me,
and before the police came up, I got a blow in the face. Now you know
all about it."
At that moment dinner was announced. "Will you give Lady Amelia your
arm?" said the husband.
"It's a very sad occurrence," said Lady Amelia with a slight toss of
her head, "and, I'm afraid, will cost my sister a great deal of
vexation."
"You agree with De Courcy, do you, that aunt Dina won't like me with
an ugly black eye?"
"I really don't think it's a joking matter," said the Lady Amelia.
And then there was nothing more said about it during the dinner.
There was nothing more said about it during the dinner, but it was
plain enough from Lady Amelia's countenance that she was not very
well pleased with her future brother-in-law's conduct. She was very
hospitable to him, pressing him to eat; but even in doing that she
made repeated little references to his present unfortunate state. She
told him that she did not think fried plum-pudding would be bad for
him, but that she would recommend him not to drink port-wine after
dinner. "By-the-by, Mortimer, you'd better have some claret up," she
remarked. "Adolphus shouldn't take anything that is heating."
"Thank you," said Crosbie. "I'll have some brandy-and-water, if
Gazebee will give it me."
"Brandy-and-water!" said Lady Amelia. Crosbie in truth was not given
to the drinking of brandy-and-water; but he was prepared to call for
raw gin, if he were driven much further by Lady Amelia's solicitude.
At these Sunday dinners the mistress of the house never went away
into the drawing-room, and the tea was always brought into them at
the table on which they had dined. It was another little step towards
keeping holy the first day of the week. When Lady Rosina was there,
she was indulged with the sight of six or seven solid good books
which were laid upon the mahogany as soon as the bottles were taken
off it. At her first prolonged visit she had obtained for herself
the privilege of reading a sermon; but as on such occasions both
Lady Amelia and Mr. Gazebee would go to sleep,--and as the footman
had also once shown a tendency that way,--the sermon had been
abandoned. But the master of the house, on these evenings, when his
sister-in-law was present, was doomed to sit in idleness, or else to
find solace in one of the solid good books. But Lady Rosina just now
was in the country, and therefore the table was left unfurnished.
"And what am I to say to my mother?" said Lady Amelia, when they were
alone.
"Give her my kindest regards," said Crosbie. It was quite clear, both
to the husband and to the wife, that he was preparing himself for
rebellion against authority.
For some ten minutes there was nothing said. Crosbie amused himself
by playing with the boy whom he called Dicksey, by way of a nickname
for De Courcy.
"Mamma, he calls me Dicksey. Am I Dicksey? I'll call 'oo old Cross,
and then aunt Dina 'on't like 'oo."
"I wish you would not call the child nicknames, Adolphus. It seems as
though you would wish to cast a slur upon the one which he bears."
"I should hardly think that he would feel disposed to do that," said
Mr. Gazebee.
"Hardly, indeed," said Crosbie.
"It has never yet been disgraced in the annals of our country by
being made into a nickname," said the proud daughter of the house.
She was probably unaware that among many of his associates her father
had been called Lord De Curse'ye, from the occasional energy of
his language. "And any such attempt is painful in my ears. I think
something of my family, I can assure you, Adolphus, and so does my
husband."
"A very great deal," said Mr. Gazebee.
"So do I of mine," said Crosbie. "That's natural to all of us. One of
my ancestors came over with William the Conqueror. I think he was one
of the assistant cooks in the king's tent."
"A cook!" said young De Courcy.
"Yes, my boy, a cook. That was the way most of our old families were
made noble. They were cooks, or butlers to the kings--or sometimes
something worse."
"But your family isn't noble?"
"No--I'll tell you how that was. The king wanted this cook to poison
half-a-dozen of his officers who wished to have a way of their
own; but the cook said, 'No, my Lord King; I am a cook, not an
executioner.' So they sent him into the scullery, and when they
called all the other servants barons and lords, they only called him
Cookey. They've changed the name to Crosbie since that, by degrees."
Mr. Gazebee was awestruck, and the face of the Lady Amelia became
very dark. Was it not evident that this snake, when taken into their
innermost bosoms that they might there warm him, was becoming an
adder, and preparing to sting them? There was very little more
conversation that evening, and soon after the story of the cook,
Crosbie got up and went away to his own home.