Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3)

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER XIV.

  Meanwhile old Christmas was come, and all I was worth in the world waschange for half a sovereign. True, my lodgings were paid for, afortnight in advance, because good Mrs. Shelfer wanted to treat all herpets to a Christmas dinner; but as for my own Christmas dinner--though Ican't say I cared much for it--if I got one at all, it must be uponcredit, since my drawing would not be finished for another week.Credit, of course, I would not think of. Any day in the week or year, Iwould rather starve than owe money. However, I was not going to cryabout plum-pudding, though once or twice it made me hungry to think ofthe dinner in the great hall at Vaughan Park on the Christmas eve; amuch more elaborate matter in the old time, than the meal served in thedining-room next day.

  Now I sat in my little room this dreary Christmas eve; and do what Iwould, I could not help thinking a little. It was a gusty evening, coldand damp, with scuds of sleet and snow, as yet it had not made up itsmind whether to freeze or thaw. Nevertheless, the streets were full ofmerry laughing parties, proud of their bargains for the Christmas cheer;and as they went by, the misletoe and the holly glistened in theflickering gaslight.

  For old recollection's sake, I had made believe to dress my little roomwith some few sprigs of laurel and unberried holly; the sceptre branch,all cobbed with coral beads, was too expensive for me. Misletoe Iwanted not. Who was there now to kiss me?

  From the sheer craving of human nature for a word of kindness, I hadcalled, that afternoon, upon Mrs. Elton. But good as she was and sweetto me, she had near relatives coming; and I saw or fancied, that Ishould be in the way. Yet I thought that her mother heart yearnedtoward me as she said "Good bye," and showed me out by the Christmastree, all trembling to be lighted.

  Now I sat alone and lonely by the flickering of three pennyworth of woodwhich I had bought recklessly for the sake of the big ash-tree that usedto glow with the lichen peeling round it on the old Christmas hearth,where I was believed the heiress. The little spark and sputter of mysallow billet (chopped by the poor old people at St. Pancras workhouse)led me back through eight sad years to the last merry time when myfather was keeping his latest Christmas, and I his pride and hope wasprouder than all, at being just ten years old.

  How he carved and ladled the gravy; how he flourished his knife and forkwith a joke all hot for every one; how he smiled when the thrice-helpedfarmers sent for another slice, and laughed when the crow-boy was nearlychoked with plum-pudding; how he patted me on the head and caught me fora kiss, when I, dressed up as head-waitress, with my long hair all tiedback, pulled his right arm and pointed to widow Hiatt's plate--thespeech he made after dinner, when I was amazed at his eloquence andclapped my little hands, and the way he made me stand up on a chair anddrink the Queen's health first--then the hurrahs of the tenants andservants, and how they kissed me outside--all this goes through mymemory as the smoke of the billet goes up the chimney, and the tearssteal under my eyelids.

  Then I see the long hall afterwards, with the tables cleared away andthe lights hung round the tapestry, and the yule log roaring afresh; myfather (a type of the true English gentleman, not of the past but thepresent century), holding the hand of his wife (a lady of nocondescending airs, but true womanly warmth and love)--both dressed forthe tenants' ball as if for the lord-lieutenant's; both eager to leadoff the country dance, and beating their feet to the music. Next them,a laughing child in a little white frock and pink slip (scarce to beknown for myself), hand-in-hand with my brave chevalier, Master RoderickBlount, accounted by Cooky and both lady's-maids, and most of all byhimself, my duly affianced lord.

  Then the housekeeper, starched beyond measure, yet not too stiff tosmile, and open for the nonce even to jokes about courtship, yieldingher gracious hand for the dance to the senior tenant, a man with greatcalves, red face, and snow-white hair. After them come--

  Hark! a loud knock and a ring. It is just in time before I begin thepalinode. Who can want me to-night? I want no one but those I cannothave, whom the fire has now restored me, though the earth has hiddenthem.

  Mrs. Shelfer is hard at work in the kitchen, preparing a wonderfulsupper for Charley, who has promised to come home. She has canvassedthe chance of his keeping this promise fifty times in the day. Hopecries "yes;" experience whispers "no." At any rate the knock is nothis, for he always carries a latch-key.

  She calls up the stairs "Miss Valence!" before she goes to the door, forwho knows but she might be murdered in the midst of her Christmaspudding? I come out to prove my existence and stand in the dark on thelanding. She draws back the bolt; I hear a gruff voice as if it camethrough a hat.

  "Young 'ooman by the name of Clara Waun live here?"

  "Yes to be sure; Miss Valence you mean, my good friend."

  "The name on this here ticket ain't Walence, but Waun."

  "All right, my good friend. All right. It's just the same."

  "Hor, I don't know that though. Jim, the name of the party here ain'tWaun after all. It be Walence. And three blessed days us has been allover London!"

  Jim, from the top of the van, suggests that, after all, Walence and Waunbe much of a muchness. For his part, he'll be blessed if he'll go anyfurther with it. Let him and Ben look at the young lady, and see if shebe like the card. Meanwhile, of course, I come forward and claim theparcel, whatever it is. Mrs. Shelfer redoubles her assurances, andcalls the man a great oaf, which has more effect than anything.

  "Why, Jim, this must be Charley's missus; Charley Shelfer's missus! Himas beat you so at skittles last week, you know."

  "Ah, he did so. And I'd like to back him again you, Ben, for a quartall round."

  This fact is decisive. Who can doubt any more? But for all that, thebook must be signed in the name of "Waun," with which of course Icomply. When the two strong men have, with much difficulty (of whichthey made much more), lowered the enormous package from the van, Benstands wiping his forehead. "Lor, how hot it be to-night to be sure!And the job us has had with this big lump sure*ly*! Both the handlescome off long ago. I wish my missus had got a featherbed half theweight of that. Five-and-twenty year I've been along of this company,man and boy, but I never see such a direction as that there in all myborn days. Did ever you, Jim?"

  "Well," replies Jim, "I've seed a many queer ones, but none as couldcome up to that. And who'd a thought after all their trouble--for I'mblessed if they wrote that there under a week--who'd a' thought they'd aput 'Waun' on it when they meant 'Walence.' But the young lady isawaiting for us to drink her health, Ben, and a merry Christmas to her."

  "How much is the carriage?" I ask, trembling for my change of thehalf-sovereign.

  "Nothing, miss. Only eightpence for delivery. It be paid toPaddington, and if ever our Company airned eightpence, I'm blessed ifthey haven't airned it now. Thank you, Miss, and werry handsome on you,and us hopes the contents will prove to your liking, Miss, and make youa merry Christmas."

  Away they go with the smoking horses, after carrying into the littlekitchen the mighty maun, which Mrs. Shelfer, with my assistance, couldnot stir.

  "Bless me, Miss Valence, what a direction!" cries Mrs. Shelfer, when thefull light falls upon it.

  The direction was written in round hand upon a strip of parchment, aboutfour inches wide and at least eight feet in length. It came from thebottom all up over the cover and down upon the other side, so that noone could open the basket without breaking it asunder. It was asfollows:--

  "Miss Clara Vaughan lodges at number seven in Prince Albert Street inLondon town near Windsor Castle in Gloucestershire the daughter of Mr.Henry Valentine Vaughan Esquire a nice tall young lady her always wearsblack things and walks very peart pale with a little red on her cheekswhen they lets her alone can't be no mistake without it be done apurpose If so be this here little maun hain't brought to her safe andsweet and wholesome will be prosecuted with the _utmost rigour of thelaw_ signed John Huxtable his mark x witness Timothy Badcock his'n X."


  I wondered much whether Mr. Beany Dawe had been called in to achievethis masterpiece of manuscript, which was all in large round hand, butwithout any stops. It seemed beyond poor Sally's art, yet were someloops and downstrokes that must be dear little Sally's. I took it offwith much trouble--the parchment was joined in four places--and I haveit now.

  Meanwhile Mrs. Shelfer was dancing around it, neglecting her supper inthe wonder of this gigantic hamper. "Let me get a chopper, Miss, you'llnever get it open. Why it's sewed as tight as an oyster."

  However, I did get it open at last, and never shall I forget thecontents. There was a month's food for a family of twelve. First camehay, such as I never smelt out of Devonshire; then eighteen rolls ofbutter, each with a snowy cloth around it; the butter so golden even atthat time of year, that Mrs. Shelfer compared it to the yolk of an egglooking out of the white. Then a storey of clotted cream and beautifullard and laver, which they knew I loved. Then a floor of hay. Below ita pair of guinea fowls, two large turkeys, and most carefully wrappedfrom the rest a fine hare filled with dried sweet herbs. Below these aflitch of bacon, two wood-smoked hams, a pair of tongues, a leg ofExmoor mutton, and three bottles of best elder wine. Then a brown paperparcel containing Sally's last copy-book (I had set her copies for halfa year to come) and a long letter, the first I had ever received fromTossil's Barton.

  When all was out at last, after the greatest delight and laughter aseach thing appeared, I fell back in utter dismay at the spectacle beforeme. Mrs. Shelfer sat on the floor unable to find her way out, she wasso flounced and tippeted with good things. When I came to her relief,she did nothing but go round and round what was left of the little room,humming a Catholic hymn, and pressing both hands to her side.

  But something must be done at once. Waste is wickedness; how could westave it off? Everything would depend upon the weather. At present allwas beautifully fresh, thanks to the skilful packing and the frost,albeit the mighty package had made the round of all the Albert Streetsin London. Mrs. Shelfer would have looked at it for a month, and atintervals exclaimed, "Bless me, my good friend, that beats Charley'spockets. How they must eat in Devonshire!"

  "Come, Mrs. Shelfer, what good are you at housekeeping? You don't helpme at all. Let us put most of it out of doors at once. You have nocellar, and I suppose they have none in London. At least we can give itthe chance of the open air, and it is not snowing now."

  "Oh, but the cats, Miss!"

  "Well, I must find some plan for them before we go to bed. Now come andhelp, that's a good little creature, and I'll give you some elder winewhen we have done."

  So we got all that was taintable into the little yard, while Tom, whonever stole, except when quite sure of impunity, looked on very sagely.There we fixed it all up to the wall secure, except from cats, of whom aroving band serenaded me every night. I presented Mrs. Shelfer at oncewith a turkey--a specimen of natural history not found by the roadside,even on Mr. Shelfer's Sabbath journey--also a ham, and three rolls ofbutter. As to the rest, I would think what to do with it afterwards.

  Mrs. Shelfer kept off the cats until midnight, after which I held themat bay by the following means. With one of my mineral paints mingledwith some phosphorus, I drew upon a black board a ferocious terrier, thesize of life, with fangs unsheathed, bristles erect, and eyes startingout of his head. We tried the effect in the dark on poor Tom, whoarched his back, and sputtered with the strongest execration, thenturned and fled ignobly, amid roars of laughter from Mr. Shelfer, who bythis time was come home. This one-headed Cerberus being hung so as tooscillate in the wind, right across the cat-leap, I felt quite safe, solong as my chemical mixture should continue luminous.