CHAPTER VII.
At last we got through our parting with the best of people (far worthierthan myself to interest any reader), and after it the dark ride over themoors, and the farmer's vain attempt at talking to relieve both himselfand us. The honest eyes were bright with tears, tears of pity for myweakness, which now he scarcely cared to hide, but would not show bywiping away; and how many times he begged for frequent tidings of us,which Sally could now interpret, if written in large round hand. Howmany times he consulted, commanded, and threatened the coachman, andpromised him a goose at Michaelmas, if he took good care of us and ourluggage! These great kindnesses, and all the trifling cares which strewthe gap of long farewells, were more to think of than to tell. But Iought to mention, that much against the farmer's will, I insisted onpaying him half the sum, which he had lent me in a manner never to beforgotten. Moreover, with the same presentiment which he had alwaysfelt, he made me promise once more to send for him, if I fell into anydreadful strait.
It was late at night when our cabman, the most polite, and (if his wordmay be trusted) the most honourable of mankind, rang the bell of Mrs.Shelfer's house. The house was in a by-street near a large unfinishedsquare, in the northern part of London. Mrs. Shelfer came out at once,sharp and quick and short, and wonderfully queer. At first she took nonotice at all of either of as, but began pulling with all her strengthat the straps of the heaviest boxes, which, by means known to herselfalone, she contrived to drag through the narrow passage, and down threelow steps into the little kitchen. Then she hurried back, talking allthe time to herself, re-opened the door of the fly, jumped in, and feltunder both the seats, and round the lining. Finding nothing there, sheclimbed upon the driver's box, and thoroughly examined both that and theroof. Being satisfied now that none of our chattels were left in thevehicle, she shook her little fist at two or three boys, who stood atthe corner near the mews, and setting both hands to the farmer's greathamper or "maun" (as he called it), she dragged it inside the frontdoor, and turned point blanc upon me.
"Pray, my good friend, how many is there?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Mrs. Shelfer, your cousin knows best."
"Ah, they're terrible fellows them cabbies, terrible!" The cabman stoodby all the time, beating his hands together. "'Twas only last time Iwent to Barbican, one of 'em come up to me, 'Mrs. Shelfer,' says he,'Mrs. Shelfer!' says I, 'pray my good friend, how do you know my name?''Ho, I knows Charley well enough,' says he, 'and there ain't a betterfellow living.' 'A deal too good for you,' says I, 'and now pray what'syour business with me?' 'Why, old lady,' he says, as impudent as theman with the wooden leg, 'you've been and left your second best umbrellaunder the seat of the Botany Bay Bus.' 'Catch me!' says I. 'It's Bibletruth,' says he, 'and my old woman's got it now.' 'If you never getdrunk,' says I, 'till that umbrella runs in your shoes, your old womanneedn't steal her lights,' and with that I ran between the legs of asheep, hanging up with my Tuscan bonnet on trimmed with white--nothinglike it, my good friend, the same as I've had these two and twentyyears."
"What for, Mrs. Shelfer?" I asked in great surprise.
"Why, for the butcher to see me, to be sure, Miss. You see he wanted toget me down the mews, and murder me with my little wash-leather bag, asI was going to pay the interest on Shelfer's double-barrel gun. Ah yes,"with a short sigh, "and there'll be four and ninepence again, nextTuesday."
Talking at this rate, and stopping for no reply, she led us into herkitchen, saying that she would not light a fire upstairs, it was sobootiful, the trimmings of the grate, because she wasn't certain that wewould come, but she had got supper for us, excuse me, my good friend, inher own snug little room, and bootiful they was sure enough, the windlast week had made them so fat.
She pointed in triumph to a large dish on the table piled up with blueshells.
"Why, Mrs. Shelfer, they are muscles," I exclaimed with some disgust.
"Ah I see you knows 'em, that they are, Miss, and as bootiful as everyou ate. Charley and me sits down to a peck of them. But the man ascomes round with the catsmeat's brother the man with the truck and hiseyes crossed, he told me there was such a demand for them in GrosvenorSquare, and they was so cunning this weather when they gets fat, hehadn't more than half a peck left, but they was the best of the lot.Now I'll have them all bootiful hot, bootiful, boiling my good friend,if you'll just run upstairs, and a teaspoon and a half of salt, andCousin Ann knows the way, and the apartments is splendid, splendid, MissVaughan!"
She drew herself up, at the end of the sentence, with an air of thegreatest dignity; then suddenly dropped it again, and began bustling inand out. Now for the first time, I had leisure to examine her, forwhile she spoke, the short jumps of her ideas unsettled my observation.
She was a little body, rather thin, with a face not strongly peculiar,but odd enough to second the oddities of her mind. No doubt she hadonce been pretty, and her expression was pleasant now, especially when aglimpse was afforded of her quick grey eyes, which generally avoided thegaze, and dropped beneath a fringe of close-set lashes. But the loss ofthe front teeth, and the sharpening and wrinkling of the face, with thestraggling neglect of the thick black hair fraying out from the blackcap, and the habit she had of shutting her mouth with a snap, all theseinterfered with her credit for pristine good looks. Like Mrs. Huxtable,she was generally in a bustle, but a bustle of words more often than ofdeeds. She had no deception about her, yet she never knew thedifference between the truth and a lie, and could not understand thatany one else should do so. Therefore she suspected everything andeverybody, till one of her veins of opinion was touched, and then shewould swallow anything.
Tired out with the long day's travel, the dazing of railway speed, andthe many scenes and faces which had flashed across me, I could notappreciate the beauty of Mrs. Shelfer's furniture; but leaving AnnMaples to eat the muscles, if she could, and to gossip with her cousin,I was not slow to revisit the old farmhouse, and even the home of mychildhood, in the winged cradle of sleep.
Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 25
