CHAPTER XI.
In spite of the arnica, my cuts were not healed for a month; not enough,I mean, for me to handle a pencil. Mr. Cutting, when he came, accordingto promise, told me something to quiet me, because I was so feverish.Whether he believed it, or only acted medically, was more than I coulddecide. The opinion he gave me, or the substance of it, was this.
That the deed was done, not for money, or worldly advantage in any way,but for revenge. Here I thought of Mrs. Daldy. What wrong the revengewas wreaked for, he could not even guess, or at any rate would not hintto me.
That the straightest clue to the mystery was to be sought in Italy,where my guardian's track should be followed carefully. The idea offorcing, or worming, the truth from him was rejected at once through mydescription of his character; although the Inspector quite agreed withme, that, even if guiltless of the crime, Mr. Edgar Vaughan knew allabout it now.
That no importance should be attached to the anonymous letter fromLondon; in accordance with my promise to Mrs. Elton, I did not mentionthe Polish lady's name; and Mr. Cutting did not press me to do so, forhe firmly believed from what I said that she had made a mistake in theaddress she gave, and would not help us now, even if we could find her.That nevertheless a strict watch should be kept in London, whither flocknine-tenths of the foreigners who ever set foot in this country. Londonmoreover was likely, ere long, to draw nearly all the migratorystrangers to the business or pleasure of next year's "Great Exhibition,"provided only that it should prove successful, as the Inspector thoughtit would.
As for my enemy being attracted by works of industry, it seemed to mequite against nature that a base assassin should care for art orscience, or any national progress. But the remembrance of several cases,among the dark annals I used to delight in, soon proved to me my error;while the long experience of a man, versed from his youth in criminalways, convicted me of presumption.
To put myself more on a level with fraud, and stealth, and mystery, Idid a thing for which I felt guilty to myself and my mother. I changedmy name. But, in spite of Inspector Cutting, I did not travel out ofthe family. My father's second name was "Valentine," taken from hismother. This name I assumed in a shorter form, becoming "ClaraValence;" it saved change of initials and a world of trouble, and I feltwarmer in it, because it seemed to have been my father's. In theneighbourhood I knew no one except Mrs. Elton, to whom (as I grewintimate with her) I partly explained my reasons. As for Mrs. Shelfer,she was delighted at the change. She said that her Uncle John hadchristened me, that it sounded much prettier, and would always remindher of Valentines. Nevertheless I longed for the day when I might callmyself "Clara Vaughan" once more.
By the time I was able to go about freely again and use my hand as ofold, it was the middle of November. The first use I made of my pencilwas to copy most carefully all that Inspector Cutting required. Hepromised to keep these drawings, and indeed the whole matter, mostjealously to himself; by which term he meant, as I afterwards found,Inspector Cutting and those to whom he was bound to report.
What I now wanted was money, to send an adroit inquirer throughout theNorth of Italy, and other parts where my guardian's shifting abode hadbeen. I knew that he dwelt awhile at Pisa, Genoa, and Milan, also at anobscure little village named "Calva," which I could not find in themaps. All I had learned of his rovings was from the lessons my fatherwould give me sometimes, when he used to say, "Now, Tooty, put yourfinger on Uncle Edgar." To every one, but myself, it seemed a strangething that after so many wanderings, Mr. Edgar Vaughan had brought novalet, major domo, or courier, no dependant or retainer of any kind, andnot even a foreign friend to England, or at any rate to Vaughan Park.
But now for the needful resources--the only chance of procuring them layin my young and partly self-tutored art. I braced myself with theremembrance, that while none of my family ever laid claim to genius, thelimner's faculty had never been wanting among them. Inferior gifts areoften as heirlooms in the blood, though high original power follows novein except its own. The latter none of us ever possessed; but tasteand the knack of adaptation had seldom been alienated. Observation too,in a small way, and the love of nature seemed inborn in us all. Myfather's drawings were perfect, but for the one thing wanted; and insketches from outdoor nature that want was less perceived. Mygrandfather had been known among the few amateurs of the day as askilful colourist. As to habits of observation, a little tale handeddown in our family will show that they had existed in one of its membersseven generations ago.
In the autumn of 1651, when King Charles was stealing along from ColonelWyndham's house to the coast of Hampshire and Sussex, the little bandwas overtaken by nightfall, somewhere near the New Forest. It wasshortly after the narrow escape of the King from that observantblacksmith, who saw that his horse was shod with North-country iron.Though he was taking it easily, his three trusty friends knew well thata Roundhead Squadron was near, and that his last chance depended onspeed and night travel. What could they do now in the tempestuousdarkness? They were in a tract thinly inhabited, half woodland, halfheather, and the road was hopelessly lost. No rain fell as yet it wastrue, and the wind was waiting for rain, but the lightning came fitfullyfrom the horizon all round. The King alone was on horseback, his threecompanions afoot. They stood still in doubt and terror, for they couldnot tell north from south. Suddenly Major Cecil Vaughan espied a faintgleam familiar to him of old in the waste land round Vaughan Park. Toan accurate eye there could be little doubt as to the source of thelambent light--flame it could not be called. It played in a pale yetconstant stream on a certain kind of moss, known to botanists, not tome, for the waste lands have been reclaimed. This light is to be seenat no time, except when the air is surcharged with electricity.
"Follow me all; I know the way!" cried Major Vaughan, right cheerily.
"And if you do, man," said the King, "your eyes are made of dashers."
[What this meant, I used as a child to wonder; but now I know.]
For six dark miles the Major led them without default, until they cameto a lonely heathman's house, where they slept in safety. He never toldthem how he did it; being apt, I suppose, as men of the second orderare, to hug superior knowledge. But it was a most simple thing. Thatstrangely sensitive moss follows the course of the sun, and thereforethe lambent light can only be seen from the west. So all the time hecould see it--the others never saw it at all--he knew that they werewending from west to east, which was their proper course.
To return to myself. I put the finishing touch to a view of rock andwoodland scenery, north-west of Tossil's Barton, and set off to try myfortune with it. Some young ladies, born to my position, would havethought this errand one of much degradation, but it did not appear so tome. So I walked briskly--for I hate an omnibus, and could ill afford acab--to the shop of a well-known dealer in pictures, not far from theHaymarket. It was my first venture into the heart of London, but Ifound the way very easily, having jotted it down from a map. The daywas dark and drizzly; the pavement grimy and slimy, and hillocked withmud at the joints of the flags. It was like walking on a peeledkneading-trough with dollops of paste left in it. Along the far reach ofthe streets, and the gardens in the squares, wisps of fog were crawling,and almost every one was coughing.
The dealer received me politely. Too politely in fact: for it seemed tosavour of kindness, which I did not want from him. What I wanted wasbusiness, and nothing else. He took my poor drawing, done only inwater-colours, and set it up in a square place made perhaps for thepurpose, where the brown flaw fell upon it from a skylight formed like aDevonshire chimney. Then he drew back and clasped his hands, thenshaded his eyes with them, as if the light were too strong, whereas thewhole place was like a well turned upside down. He seemed uneasybecause I did not care to follow him throughout all this littleperformance.
"And now," I said, for my foolish pride was up, and I spoke as I wouldhave done to the porter at our lodge, not with the
least contempt--I wasnever so low as that--but with a long perspective, "Now, Mr. Oxgall, itwill soon be dark. What will you give me for it?"
"Allow me, Miss; allow me one moment. The light is a leetle too strong.Ah, the mark of the brush comes out. Strong touch, but indiscreet. Ayear of study required. Shade too broad and massive. A want of tone inthe background. Great feeling of nature, but inexperienced rendering.More mellowness desiderated. Full however of promise. All the faultson the right side. Most energetic handling; no weak stippling here.But water-colours are down just now; a deal depends on the weather andtime of year."
"How so, Mr. Oxgall?"
"Hot sun, and off they go. Fog and murk and frost, and the cry is allfor oil. Excuse me, Miss--a thousand pardons, your name escaped me, youdid not pronounce it strongly."
"Miss Valence!" I said, with an emphasis that startled him out of hismincing.
"Miss Valence, you think me very long. All young ladies do. But myobject is to do them justice, and if they show any power, to encouragethem."
"Thank you, I want no encouragement. I know I can draw a little; andthere it is. The fog is thickening. I have far to go. Your price, ifyou please?"
I went up many steps in his opinion, by reason of my curtness andindependence.
"Miss Valence, I will give you three guineas, although no doubt I shallbe a loser."
"Then don't give it," said I in pure simplicity.
I went up several steps more. How utterly men of the world are puzzledby plain truth!
"Miss Valence, if you will forgive the observation, I would beg toremark that your conversation as well as your painting is crisp. I willtake this little piece at all hazards, because it is full of character.Will you forgive me for one word of advice?"
"There is nothing to forgive. I shall thank you heartily for it."
"It is simply this:--The worst part of your work is the perspective.And figure-drawing will be of service to you. Study at a school ofdesign, if you have one near you; and be not above drawing stiff andunsightly objects. Houses are the true guides to perspective. I cannotpaint or even draw; but I am so much with great artists, that I knowwell how to advise."
"Thank you. Can you kindly suggest anything more?"
"Yes. Your touch is here and there too harsh. Keep your hand lightthough bold, and your brush just a leetle wetter. But you have thegrand things quite unattainable, when not in the grain. I mean, ofcourse, freedom of handling and an artist's eye."
"Do you think I could do any good in oils?"
"I have no doubt you could, but not for a long time. If fame is yourobject, take to oils. If speedy returns, stick to water-colours. Leaveme your address, if you have no objection; and bring me your next work.If I do well with this, I will try to give you more."
He took from a desk three new sovereigns and three new shillings,wrapped them neatly in silver paper, and handed them to me. I neverimagined I could be so proud of money.
Light of heart I left the shop, not that I had made my fortune yet, butwhat was greater happiness, I thought myself likely to make it.
Soon I perceived, with some alarm, how thick and murky the air hadgrown. The fog was stooping heavily down, and was now become like awash of gamboge and lamp-black. All the street-lamps were lit, thoughthey could not see one another, and every shop-keeper had his littlejet. The pavement was no longer slippery, but sticky and dry; and acold, that pierced to the bones, was stealing along. Already it hadbegun to freeze; and I, so familiar both with white and black frost,observed with no small interest the grey or fog-frost, which was new tome. How different from the pure whiteness when the stars are sparkling,and the earth is gleaming, and the spirit of man so buoyant! This greyfog-frost is rather depressing to most natures, and a chilly damp creepsto the core of all things. Thick encrusting rime comes with it, andsometimes a freezing rain.
Before I reached the New Road, the fog had grown so dense and dark, thatI was much inclined to take a cab, for fear of losing my way. But Icould not see one, and finding myself at last in a main thoroughfarecalled the Hampstead Road, I walked on briskly and bravely till Ireached Camden Town, when I knew what course to pursue.
Slowly wending up College Street, for I was getting tired and the fogthicker than ever, indeed every step seemed a thrust into an ochredwall, I heard a plaintive, and rather musical, voice chanting, much asfollows:--
"Christian friends, and sisters in the Lord, all who own a heart thatfeels for undeserved distress, aid, I implore you, a bereaved wife andmother, who has this very moment seven small lovely children, starvingin a garret, three of them upon a bed of sickness, and the inhumanlandlord, for the sake of a few shillings about to turn them this bitternight into the flinty streets. Christian friends, may you never knowwhat it is to be famished as I and my seven darlings are this verynight, in the midst of plenty. From Plymouth in Devonshire, I walkedtwo hundred and fifty miles afoot all the way to join my beloved husbandin London. When I came to this Christian city--Georgiana, pick up thathalfpenny--he had been ordered off in the transport ship Hippopotamus,to shed his blood for his Queen and country; and I who have known thesmiles of plenty in my happy rustic home, I am compelled for the sake ofmy children to the degradation of publicly soliciting alms. Thesmallest trifle, even an old pair of shoes or a left off garment will bereceived with the heartfelt gratitude of the widow and orphan. Myeldest child, ma'am, the oldest of seven, bad in the whooping cough.Georgiana, curtsey to the pretty lady, and show her your brokenchilblains."
"No thank you," I said: I could just see her through the fog. Shelooked like one who had seen better days, and the thought of my ownvicissitudes opened my heart towards her. How could I show my gratitudebetter for the money I had just earned, than by bestowing a share incharity upon worthy objects? So I took out my purse, an elegant littleFrench one given me by dear mother, and placed my three new shillings inthe poor creature's hand, as she stood in the gutter. She wasoverpowered with gratitude, and could not speak for a moment. Then shecame nearer, to bless me.
"Sweet lady, in the name of seven famishing innocents, whom you havesaved from death this night, may He who guards the fatherless and thewidow from His mercy-seat above, may He shower his richest blessings--"
Snap--she had got my purse and was out of sight in the fog. Georgiana'sred heels were the last thing I saw. For an instant I could not believeit; but thought that the fog had affected my sight. Then I dartedacross the road, almost under the feet of a horse, and down a placecalled "Pratt Street." It was hopeless, utterly hopeless; and not onlymy three pounds were gone, but half besides of all I had in the world.I had taken that money with me, because I meant, if fortunate with mylandscape, to buy a large box of colours in Rathbone-place; but the foghad deterred me. She had snatched my purse while I tried to clasp it,for my glove had first got in the way. All was gone, dear mother'sgift, my first earnings, and all. More than all I felt sore at heartfrom the baseness of the robbery. Nothing is so bitterly grievous toyouth as a blow to faith in one's species.
I am not ashamed to confess that feeling all alone in the fog, I leanedagainst some iron railings and cried away like a child. Child I wasstill at heart, despite all my trials and spirit; and more so perhapsthan girls who have played out their childhood. In the full flow of mypassion, for I was actually sobbing aloud, ashamed of myself all thewhile, I felt an arm steal round my waist, and starting in fear ofanother thief, confronted the loveliest face that human eyes ever lookedon. With soft caresses, and sweetest smiles, it drew close to my ownstormy and bitter countenance.
"Are you better now, dear? Oh don't cry so. You'll break your poorlittle heart. Do tell me what it is, that's a dear. I'll do anythingto help you."
"You can't help me:" I exclaimed through my sobs: "Nobody can help me!I was born to ill luck, and shall have nothing else till I die."
"Don't say so dear. You mustn't think of it. My father, who never iswrong, says there's no such thing as luck."
/> "I know that well enough. People always say that who have it on theirside."
"Ah, I never thought of that. But I hope you are wrong. But tell me,dear, what is the matter with you. I'm sure you have done no harm, anddear papa says no one can be unhappy who has not injured any one."
"Can't they though? Your papa is a moralist. Now I'll just tell youfacts." And to prove my point, I told her of this new trouble, hintedat previous ones and my many great losses, of which money was the least.Even without the controversial spirit, I must have told her all. Therewas no denying anything to such a winning loving face.
"Dear me!" she cried very thoughtfully, with her mites of hands out ofher muff--she had the prettiest set of fur I ever beheld, and how itbecame her!--"Dear me! she couldn't have meant it, I feel quite sure shecouldn't. You'll come to my opinion when you have time to consider,dear"--this was said so sagely that I could have kissed her all overlike a duck of a baby. "To steal from you who had just given her morethan you could afford! Now come with me, dear, you shall have all themoney I have got; though I don't think it's anything like the ninepounds you have lost, and I'm sure it is not new money. Only I haven'tgot it with me. I never carry money. Do you know why, dear?"
"No. How should I?"
"Well, I don't mind telling you. Because then I can't spend it, or giveit away. I don't care a bit about money. What good is it to me? Why,I can never keep it, somehow or other. But papa says if I can show fivepounds on Christmas-day, he will put five more on the top of it, andthen do you know what I'll do? I'll give away five, and spend the restfor Pappy and Conrad." And the lively little thing clapped her hands atthe prospect, quite forgetting that she had just offered me all herstore. Presently this occurred to her.
"No. Now I come to think of it, I won't have the five pounds onChristmas-day. As the girls at the College say, I'll just sell the oldPappy. That will be better fun still. He will find a good reason forit. He always does for everything. You shall have every bit of it.Come home with me now, that's a dear. You are better now, you know.Come, that's a love. I am sure I shall love you with all my heart, andyou are so terribly unlucky."
I yielded at once. She was so loving and natural, I could not resisther. She broke upon me like soft sunshine through the fog, laughing,smiling, dancing, her face all light and warmth, yet not a shallowlight, but one that played up from the fount of tears. Her deep richviolet eyes seldom used their dark lashes, except when she was asleep.She was life itself, quick, playful, loving life, feeling for and withall life around; pitying, trusting, admiring all things; yet true as thehearth to household ties. I never found another such nature: it was theperfection of maiden womanhood, even in its unreason. And thereforenobody could resist her. With me, of ten times her strength of will,and power of mind--small though it be--she could do in a moment exactlyas she liked; I mean of course in trivial matters. It was impossible tobe offended with her.
When she had led me a few steps towards her home--for I went with her(not, of course, to take her money, but to see her safe), she turnedround suddenly:--
"Oh I forgot, dear; I must not take you to our house. We have had neworders. But where do you live? I will bring you my little bagto-morrow. They won't let me out again to-night. Now I know you willoblige me. I am so sorry that I mustn't see you safe home, dear." Thisshe said with the finest air of protection imaginable.
I gave her my name and address, and asked for hers.
"My name is Isola Ross, I am seventeen and a half, and my papa isProfessor at the College. I ran away from old Cora. It seemed such funto be all alone in the fog. What trouble I shall get into! But theycan't be angry with me long. Kiss me, darling. Mind, to-morrow!"
Off she danced through the fog; and I went sadly home, yet thinking moreof her, than of my serious and vexatious loss.
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