Happy House was a big old house with rooms on both sides of the door,
and a good many bedrooms, but it was old-fashioned in the wrong way,
like a man's straw hat, say, of the early seventies. It was inconvenient
without being picturesque. There was only one bathroom, and the passages
were narrow. Most of the children had been born there, indeed all of
them except Paul, for the prudent Mrs. Walbridge had bought it out of
the proceeds of her first book, "Queenie's Promise"--a book that is even
now dear to thousands of romantic hearts in obscure homes. Paul had been
born in the little house at Tooting Bec, for there it was that the Great
Success had been written. In those days might have been seen walking
under the fine trees of the common, a little dowdy figure with a bustle
and flowing unhygienic draperies, that was the newly married Mrs.
Ferdinand Walbridge, in the throes of literary invention. But just
before the birth of Maud Evelyn the removal had been made; the hastily
gathered, inexpensive household gods had been carried by the faithful
Carter Paterson to Walpole Road and set up in their over-large, rather
dwarfing shrine. Those were the days of limitless ambition and mad, rosy
dreams, when Ferdinand was still regarded by his young wife much in the
way that Antony Trollope's heroines worshipped their husbands a short
time before. The romantic light of the runaway match still hung round
him and his extraordinary good looks filled her with unweakened pride.
They hung up Mr. Watts's "Hope," the beautiful and touching "Soul's
Awakening" (which, indeed, bore a certain resemblance to Walbridge at
that time), she arranged her little odds and ends of china, and her few
books that her father had sent her after the half-hearted reconciliation
following Paul's birth, and one of the first things they bought was a
gilt clock, representing two little cupids on a see-saw. Mrs.
Walbridge's taste was bad, but it was no worse than the taste of the
greater part of her contemporaries of her own class, for she belonged
body and soul to the Philistines. She hadn't even an artistic uncle
clinging to the uttermost skirts of the pre-Raphaelites to lighten her
darkness, and, behold, when she had made it, her little kingdom looked
good to her. She settled down light-heartedly and without misgivings, to
her quadruple rôle of wife, mother, housekeeper and writer. She had no
doubt, the delicate little creature of twenty, but that she could
"manage" and she had been managing ever since. She managed to write
those flowery sentimental books of hers in a room full of crawling,
experimental, loud-voiced babies; she managed to break in a series of
savage handmaidens, who married as soon as she had taught them how to do
their work; she managed to make flowers grow in the shabby, weed-grown
garden; she managed to mend stair-carpets, to stick up fresh wallpapers,
to teach her children their prayers and how to read and write; she
managed to cook the dinner during the many servantless periods. The fate
of her high-born hero and heroine tearing at her tender heart, while
that fabulous being, the printer's devil, waited, in a metaphorical
sense, on her doorstep. But most of all, she managed to put up with
Ferdinand. She had loved him strongly and truly, but she was a
clear-sighted little woman, and she could not be fooled twice in the
same way, which, from some points of view, is a misfortune in a wife. So
gradually she found him out, and with every bit of him that crumbled
away, something of herself crumbled too. Nobody knew very much about
those years, for she was one of those rare women who have no confidante,
and she was too busy for much active mourning. Ferdinand was an
expensive luxury. She worked every day and all day, believed in her
stories with a pathetic persistence, cherishing all her press
notices--she pasted them in a large book, and each one was carefully
dated. She had a large public, and made a fairly large, fairly regular
income, but there never was enough money, because Walbridge not only
speculated and gambled in every possible way, but also required a great
deal for his own personal comforts and luxuries. For years it was the
joy of the little woman's heart to dress him at one of the classic
tailors in Savile Row; his shirts and ties came from a Jermyn Street
shop, his boots from St. James's Street, and his gloves (he had very
beautiful hands) were made specially for him in the Rue de Rivoli. For
many years Ferdinand Walbridge (or Ferdie, as he was called by a large
but always changing circle of admiring friends) was one of the most
carefully dressed men in town. He had an office somewhere in the city,
but his various attempts at business always failed sooner or later, and
then after each failure he would settle down gently and not ungratefully
to a long period of what he called rest.
When the three elder children were eight, six and three, a very bad time
had come to "Happy House." Little had been known about it except for the
main fact that Mr. Walbridge was made a bankrupt. But Caroline Breeze,
the only woman who was anything like an intimate friend of the
household, knew that there was, over and above this dreadful business, a
worse trouble.
Caroline Breeze was one of those women who are not unaffectionately
called "a perfect fool" by their friends, but she was a close-mouthed,
loyal soul, and had never talked about it to anyone. But years
afterwards, when the time had come for her to speak, she spoke, out of
her silent observation, to great purpose. For a long time after his
bankruptcy Ferdie Walbridge walked about like a moulting bird; his
jauntiness seemed to have left him, and without it he wilted and became
as nothing. During this three years Mrs. Walbridge for the first time
did her writing in the small room in the attic--the small room with the
sloping roof and the little view of the tree-tops and sky of which she
grew so fond, and which, empty and desolate though it was, had gradually
grown to be called the study; and that was the time when Caroline Breeze
was of such great use to her. For Caroline used to come every day and
take the children, as she expressed it, off their mother's hands.
In '94 Mrs. Walbridge produced "Touchstones," in '95 "Under the Elms"
and in '96 "Starlight and Moonlight." It was in '98 that there appeared
in the papers a small notice to the effect that Mr. Ferdinand Walbridge
was discharged from his bankruptcy, having paid his creditors twenty
shillings in the pound.
Naturally, after this rehabilitation, Mr. Walbridge became once more his
charming and fascinating self, and was the object of many
congratulations from the entirely new group of friends that he had
gathered round him since his misfortune.
"Most chaps would have been satisfied to pay fifteen shillings in the
pound," more than one of these gentlemen declared to him, and Ferdie
Walbridge, as he waved his hand and expressed his failure to comprehend
such an attitude, really almost forgot that it was his wife and not
himself who had provided the money that had washed his honour clean.
Caroline Breeze, faithful and best of friends, lived up three pairs of
stairs in the Harrow Road, and one of her few pleasures was the keeping
of an accurate and minute record of her daily doings. Perhaps some
selections from the diary will help to bring us up to date in the story
of "Happy House."
_October_, 1894--_Tuesday._--Have been with poor Violet. Mr. Walbridge
has been most unfortunate, and someone has made him a bankrupt. It is a
dreadful blow to Violet, and poor little Hermy only six weeks old.
Brought Maud home for the night with me. She's cutting a big tooth. Gave
her black currant jam for tea. Do hope the seeds won't disagree with
her....
_Wednesday._--Not much sleep with poor little Maud. Took her round and
got Hermy in the pram, and did the shopping. Saw Mr. Walbridge for a
moment. He looks dreadfully ill, poor man. Told me he nearly shot
himself last night. I told him he must bear up for Violet's sake....
_A week later._--Went to "Happy House" and took care of the children
while Violet was at the solicitors. She looks frightfully ill and
changed, somehow. I don't quite understand what it is all about. Several
people I know have gone bankrupt, and none of their wives seem as upset
as Violet....
_November 5th._--Spent the day at "Happy House" looking after the
children. Violet had to go to the Law Courts with Mr. Walbridge. He
looked so desperate this morning that I crept in and hid his razors. He
dined at the King's Arms with some of his friends, and Violet and I had
high tea together. She looks dreadfully ill, and the doctor says she
must wean poor little Hermy. She said very little, but I'm afraid she
blames poor Mr. Walbridge. I begged her to be gentle with him, and she
promised she would, but she looked so oddly at me that I wished I hadn't
said it.
_November 20th._--Violet has moved into the top room next the nursery to
be nearer the children. I must say I think this is wrong of her. She
ought to consider her husband. He looks a little better, but my heart
aches for him.
_February_, 1895.--Violet's new book doing very well. Third edition out
yesterday. She's getting on well with the one for the autumn. Such a
pretty title--"Under the Elms." It's about a foundling, which I think is
always so sweet. She's very busy making over the children's clothes.
Ferdie (he says it is ridiculous that such an intimate friend as I am
should go on calling him Mr. Walbridge) has gone to Torquay for a few
weeks as he's very run down. Mem.--I lent him ten pounds, as dear Violet
really doesn't seem quite to understand that a gentleman needs a little
extra money when he's away. He was sweet about her. Told me how very
good she was, and said that her not understanding about the pocket money
is not her fault, as, of course, she is not quite so well born as he. He
is very well connected indeed, though he doesn't care to have much to do
with his relations. He's to pay me back when his two new pastels are
sold. They are at Jackson's in Oxford Street, and look lovely in the
window....
_November_, 1895.--Violet's new book out to-day--"Under the Elms"--a
sweet story. She gave me a copy with my name in it, and I sat up till
nearly two, with cocoa, reading it. Very touching, and made me cry, but
has a happy ending. I wish I had such a gift.
_January 13th_, 1896.--Just had a long talk with poor Ferdie. He is
really very unlucky. Had his pocket picked on his way home from the city
yesterday with £86 15s. 4d. in his purse. Does not wish to tell poor
Violet. It would distress her so. He had bought some shares in some kind
of mineral--I forget the name--and they had gone up, and he had been
planning to buy her a new coat and skirt, and a hat, and lovely presents
for all the children. He's such a kind man. He was even going to buy six
pairs of gloves for me. The disappointment is almost more than he can
bear. Sometimes I think Violet is rather hard on him. I couldn't bear to
see him so disappointed, so I am lending him £50 out of the Post Office
Savings Bank. He's going to pay me six per cent. It's better than I can
get in any other _safe_ investment. He's to pay me at midsummer.
_N.B._--That makes £60.
_February 12th_, 1896.--Paul's birthday. Went to tea to "Happy House."
Violet made a beautiful cake with white icing, and had squeezed little
pink squiggles all over it in a nice pattern. She gave him a fine new
pair of boots and a bath sponge. His daddy gave him a drum--a real
one--and a large box of chocolates.
_February 13th_, 1896.--Ferdie came round at seven this morning to ask
me to help nurse Paul. He was ill all night with nettle-rash in his
throat, and nearly choked, poor little boy. I've been there all day.
Susan told me Ferdie's grief in the night was something awful. It's a
good thing Violet does not take things so to heart. Odd about the
chocolate. It seems it's always given him nettle-rash.
_September 4th_, 1896.--Darling Hermy's second birthday. Her mother made
her a really lovely coat out of her Indian shawl. I knitted her a
petticoat. Dear Ferdie gave her a huge doll with real hair, that talks,
and a box of chocolates, which we took away from her, as Paul cried for
some. Ferdie had quite forgotten that chocolates poison Paul. He was
very wonderful this evening after the children had gone to bed. He had
made some money (only a little) by doing some work in the city, and he
had bought Violet a lovely pair of seed-pearl earrings. I suppose she
was very tired, because she was really quite ungracious about them, and
hurt his feelings dreadfully. There was also some trouble about the gas
man, which I didn't quite understand. But afterwards, when I had gone
upstairs to take a last look at the children, they had a talk, and as I
came downstairs I saw him kneeling in front of her with his head in her
lap. He has such pretty curly hair, and when I came in he came to me and
took my hand and said he didn't mind my seeing his tears, as I was the
same as a sister, and asked me to help influence her to forgive him, and
to begin over again. It was very touching, and I couldn't help crying a
little. I was so sorry for him. Violet is really rather hard. I
suggested to her that after all many nice people go bankrupt, and that
other women have far worse things to bear, and she looked at me very
oddly for a moment, almost as if she despised me, though it can't have
been that....
_September 30th_, 1896.--Have been helping Violet move her things back
into the downstairs room. Ferdie was so pleased. He brought home a great
bunch of white lilac--in September!--and put it in a vase by the bed. I
thought it was a lovely little attention.
_July 4th_, 1897.--A beautiful little boy came home this morning to
"Happy House." They are going to call him Guy, which is Ferdie's
favourite name. He was dreadfully disappointed it wasn't a little girl,
so that she could be named Violet Peace. He's so romantic. What a pity
there is no masculine name meaning Peace....