CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
MR JAMES AUBERLY.
With a very stiff cravat, and a dreadfully stiff back, and a painfullystiff aspect, Mr James Auberly sat by the side of a couch and nursedhis sick child.
Stiff and starched and stern though he was, Mr Auberly, had a softpoint in his nature, and this point had been reached at last, forthrough all the stiffness and starch there shone on his countenance anexpression of deep anxiety as he gazed at Loo's emaciated form.
Mr Auberly performed the duties of a nurse awkwardly enough, not beingaccustomed to such work, but he did them with care and with an evidenteffort to please, which made a deep impression on the child's heart.
"Dear papa," she said, after he had given her a drink and arranged hercoverings. "I want you to do me a favour." She said this timidly, forshe knew from past experience that her father was not fond of grantingfavours, but since her illness he had been so kind to her that she feltemboldened to make her request.
"I will do it, dear," said the stiff man, bending, morally as well asphysically, as he had never bent before--for the prospect of Loo's deathhad been presented to him by the physicians. "I will do it, dear, if Ican, and if the request be reasonable."
"Oh, then, do forgive Fred, and let him be an artist!" cried Loo,eagerly stretching out one of her thin hands.
"Hush, darling," said Mr Auberly, with a look of distress; "you mustnot excite yourself so. I have forgiven Fred long ago, and he hasbecome an artist in spite of my objections."
"Yes, but let him come home, I mean, and be happy with us again as heused to be, and go to the office with you," said Loo.
Mr Auberly replied somewhat coldly to this that Fred was welcome toreturn home if he chose, but that his place in the office had beenfilled up. Besides, it was impossible for him to be both a painter anda man of business, he said, and added that Loo had better not talk aboutsuch things, because she did not understand them. All he could say wasthat he was willing to receive Fred, if Fred was willing to return. Hedid not say, however, that he was willing to restore Fred to his formerposition in regard to his fortune, and as Loo knew nothing about herbrother having been disinherited, she felt that she must be satisfiedwith this cold concession.
"Can you not ask some other favour, such as I could grant?" said MrAuberly, with a smile, which was not nearly so grim as it used to bebefore "the fire." (The family always talked of the burning of MrAuberly's house as "the fire," to the utter repudiation of all otherfires--the great one of monumental fame included.)
Loo meditated some time before replying.
"Oh, yes," she exclaimed suddenly, "I _have_ another favour to ask. Howstupid of me to forget it. I want you very much to go and see a fairythat lives--"
"A fairy, Loo!" said Mr Auberly, while a shade of anxiety crossed hisface. "You--you are rather weak just now; I must make you be quiet, andtry to sleep, if you talk nonsense, dear."
"It's not nonsense," said Loo, again stretching out the thin hand, whichher father grasped, replaced under the coverings, and held there; "it'squite true, papa," she continued energetically! "it _is_ a fairy I wantyou to go and see--she's a pantomime fairy, and lives somewhere nearLondon Bridge, and she's been very ill, and is so poor that they sayshe's dying for want of good food."
"Who told you about her, Loo?"
"Willie Willders," she replied, "he has been to see her and her fatherthe clown a good many times."
Mr Auberly, frowned, for the name of Willie Willders did not soundpleasantly in his ears.
"_Do_ go to see her, pray, dear papa," pleaded Loo with muchearnestness, "and give her some money. You know that darling mammasaid, just before she was taken away," (the poor child persistentlyrefused to use the expression "when she died"), "she wanted you to takeme sometimes to see poor people when they were sick, and I've oftenthought of that since--especially when I have come to the verse in myBible which tells me to `consider the poor,' and I have often--oh, sovery often--longed to go, but you were always so busy, dear papa, thatyou never had time, you know," (the stiff man winced a little at this)"but you seem to have more time now, papa, and although I'm too weak togo with you, I thought I would ask you to go to see this poor fairy, andtell her I will go to see her some day--if--if God makes me strongagain."
The stiff man winced still more at this, but it was only a momentarywince, such as a man gives when he gets a sudden and severe twinge oftoothache. It instantly passed away. Still, as in the case oftoothache, it left behind an uneasy impression that there might besomething very sharp and difficult to bear looming in the not distantfuture.
Mr Auberly had covered his face with his hand, and leant his elbow onthe head of the couch. Looking up quickly with a smile--still tingedwith grimness, for evil habits and their results are not to be got ridof in a day--he said:
"_Well_, Loo, I will go to see this fairy if it will please you; butsomewhere near London Bridge is not a very definite address."
"Oh, but Willie Willders knows it," said Loo.
"But where is Willie Willders?" objected her father.
"Perhaps at home; perhaps at Mr Tippet's place."
"Well, we shall soon find out," said Mr Auberly, rising and ringing thebell.
Hopkins answered the summons.
Stiff, thin, tall, sedate, powdered, superfine Hopkins, how differentfrom the personage we saw but lately plunging like a maniac at thefire-bell! Could it have been thee, Hopkins? Is it possible thatanything so spruce, dignified, almost stately, could have fallen so verylow? We fear it is too true, for human nature not unfrequentlyfurnishes instances of tremendous contrast, just as material naturesometimes furnishes the spectacle of the serene summer sky beingengulfed in the black thunderstorm!
"Hopkins!" said Mr Auberly, handing him a slip of paper, "go to thisaddress and ask for the boy William Willders; if he is there, bring himhere immediately; if not, find out where he is, search for him, andbring him here without delay. Take a cab."
Hopkins folded the paper delicately with both his little fingersprojecting very much, as though they wished it to be distinctlyunderstood that they had no connection whatever with the others, andwould not on any account assist the low-born and hard-workingforefingers and thumbs in such menial employment. Hopkins's noseappeared to be affected with something of the same spirit. Then Hopkinsbowed--that is to say, he broke across suddenly at the middle, causinghis stiff upper man to form an obtuse angle with his rigid legs for onemoment, recovered his perpendicular--and retired.
Oh! Hopkins, how difficult to believe that thy back was once as roundas a hoop, and thy legs bent at acute angles whilst thou didst layviolent hands on--well, well; let bygones be bygones, and let us all, inkindness to thee, learn the song which says--
"Teach, O teach me to forget."
Hailing a cab with the air of six emperors rolled into one, Hopkinsdrove to Mr Tippet's residence, where he learned that Willie had gonehome, so he followed him up, and soon found himself at Notting Hillbefore the door of Mrs Willders' humble abode. The door was opened byWillie himself, who stared in some surprise at the stately visitor.
"Is William Willders at 'ome?" said Hopkins.
"I rather think he is," replied Willie, with a grin; "who shall I saycalls on him--eh? You'd better send up your card."
Hopkins frowned, but, being a good-natured man, he immediately smiled,and said he would walk in.
"I think," said Willie, interposing his small person in the way, "thatyou'd as well stop where you are, for there's a invalid in thedrawing-room, and all the other rooms is engaged 'cept the kitchen,which of course I could not show _you_ into. Couldn't you deliver yourmessage? I could manage to carry it if it ain't too heavy."
In a state of uncertainty as to how far this was consistent with hisdignity, Hopkins hesitated for a moment, but at length delivered hismessage, with which Willie returned to the parlour.
Here, on the little sofa, lay the tall form of Frank Willders, arrayedin an old dressing-gown, and
with one of his legs bandaged up andmotionless. His face was pale, and he was suffering great pain, but afree-and-easy smile was on his lips, for beside him sat a lady and ayoung girl, the latter of whom was afflicted with strong sympathy, butappeared afraid to show it. Mrs Willders, with a stocking andknitting-wires in her hands, sat on a chair at the head of the bed,looking anxious, but hopeful and mild. An open Bible which lay on asmall table at her side, showed how she had been engaged before thevisitors entered.
"My good sir," said the lady, with much earnestness of voice and manner,"I assure you it grieves me to the heart to see you lying in this state,and I'm quite sure it grieves Emma too, and all your friends. When Ithink of the risks you run and the way you dash up these dreadful fire--fire--things--what-d'ye-call-ums. What _do_ you call them?"
"Fire-escapes, ma'am," answered Frank, with a smile.
"Ah, fire-escapes (how you ever come down them alive is a mystery to me,I'm sure!) But as I was saying, it makes one shudder to think of; and--and--how does your leg feel _now_?" said Miss Tippet, forgetting whatshe had intended to say.
"Pretty well," replied Frank; "the doctor tells me it has broken withoutsplintering, and that I'll be all right in a few weeks, and fit for dutyagain."
"Fit for duty, young man!" exclaimed Miss Tippet; "do you mean to saythat you will return to your dreadful profession when you recover? Haveyou not received warning enough?"
"Why, madam," said Frank, "some one must look after the fires, you know,else London would be in ashes in a few months; and I like the work."
"Like the work!" cried Miss Tippet, in amazement; "like to be almostsmoked to death, and burned alive, and tumbled off roofs, and get upsetoff what's-its-names, and fall down fire--fire--things, and break allyour legs and arms!"
"Well--no, I don't like all that," said Frank, laughing; "but I like thevigour and energy that are called forth in the work, and I like theobject of the work, which is to save life and property. Why," exclaimedFrank enthusiastically, "it has all the danger and excitement of asoldier's life without the bloody work, and with better ends in view."
"Nay, nay, Frank," said the peaceful Mrs Willders, "you must not say`better ends,' because it is a great and glorious thing to defend one'snative land."
"A very just observation," said Miss Tippet, nodding approval.
"Why, mother, who would have expected to hear _you_ standing up for thered-coats in this fashion?" said Frank.
"I stand up for the blue-jackets too," observed Mrs Willders meekly;"they fight for their country as well."
"True, mother," rejoined Frank; "but I did not refer to ultimate ends, Ionly thought of the immediate results in connection with those engaged.The warrior fights, and, in so doing, destroys life and property. Thefireman fights, and in doing so protects and preserves both."
"Hear! hear!" interrupted Willie; "but the copy-book says `Comparisonsare _odiows_!' don't it? Mother, here's a fathom and two inches or soof humanity as wants me to go with him to Mr Auberly. I s'pose Frankcan get along without me for a little while--eh?"
"Certainly, my son; why does he want you?"
"Don't know. P'raps he's goin' to offer to make me his secretary. Butyou don't seem at all alarmed at the prospect of my being carried off bya flunkey."
"You'll come back, dearie, I doubt not."
"Don't you? Oh, very well; then I'll just look after myself. If Idon't return, I'll advertise myself in the _Times_. Good-bye."
Willie returned to the door and announced that he was ready to go.
"But where is William?" asked Hopkins.
"Mister William Willders stands before you," said the boy, placing hishand on his heart and making a bow. "Come now, Long-legs," he added,seizing Hopkins by the arm and pushing him downstairs and into the cab.Leaping in after him he shut the door with a bang. "Now then, cabby,all right, Beverly Square, full split; sixpence extra if you do itwithin the half!"
Away they went, and in a few seconds were in the Mall driving at arattling pace.
"See that house?" asked Willie, so suddenly as to startle Hopkins, whowas quite overwhelmed by the vigour and energy of his young companion.
"Eh! which! the one with the porch before the door?"
"No, no, stoopid! the old red-brick house with the limbs of a vine allover the front of it, and the skeleton of a Virginia creeper on thewall."
"Yes, I see it," said Hopkins, looking out.
"Ah, a friend o' mine lives there. I'm on wisitin' terms there, I am.Now then, mind your eye, pump-handle," cried Willie; "the turn's rathersharp--hallo!"
As they swung round into the Bayswater Road the cab came in contact witha butcher's cart, which, being the lighter vehicle, was nearly upset.No serious damage resulted, however, and soon after they drew up at thedoor of the house next Mr Auberly's; for that gentleman still occupiedthe residence of his friend.
"Master Willders," said Hopkins, ushering him into the presence of MrAuberly, who still sat at the head of the couch.
Willie nodded to Loo and then to her father.
"Boy," said the latter, beckoning Willie to approach, "my daughterwishes me to go and visit a poor family near London Bridge. She tellsme you know their name and address."
"The fairy, you know," said Loo, explaining.
"Ah, the Cattleys," answered Willie.
"Yes," resumed Mr Auberly. "Will you conduct me to their abode?"
In some surprise Willie said that he would be happy to do so, and thenasked Loo how she did.
While Mr Auberly was getting ready, Willie was permitted to conversewith Loo and Mrs Rose, who was summoned to attend her young mistress.Presently Mr Auberly returned, bade Mrs Rose be very careful of theinvalid, and then set off with Willie.
At first the boy felt somewhat awed by the remarkably upright figurethat stalked in silence at his side, but as they continued to threadtheir way through the streets he ventured to attempt a littleconversation.
"Weather's improvin', sir," said Willie, looking up. "It is," repliedMr Auberly, looking down in surprise at the boldness of his smallguide.
"Good for the country, sir," observed Willie.
Mr Auberly, being utterly ignorant of rural matters, thought it best tosay nothing to this.
We may add that Willie knew just as little (or as much), and had onlyventured the remark because he had often heard it made in every possiblevariety of weather, and thought that it would be a safe observation,replete, for all he knew to the contrary, with hidden wisdom.
There was silence after this for some time.
"D'you know Mr Tippet well, sir?" inquired Willie suddenly.
"Ye--yes; oh yes, I know him _pretty_ well."
"Ah, he's a first-rater," observed Willie, with a look of enthusiasm;"you've no notion what a trump he is. Did you hear ever of his noomachine for makin' artificial butter?"
"No," said Mr Auberly, somewhat impatiently.
"Ah, it's a wonderful invention, that is, sir."
"Boy," said Mr Auberly, "will you be so good as to walk behind me?"
"Oh, _cer'nly_, sir," said Willie, with a profound bow, as he fell tothe rear.
They walked on in silence until they came to the vicinity of theMonument, when Mr Auberly turned round and asked Willie which way theywere to go now.
"Right back again," said Willie.
"How, boy; what do you mean?"
"We've overshot the mark about half a mile, sir. But, please, I thoughtyou must be wishin' to go somewhere else first, as you led the way."
"Lead the way, _now_, boy," said Mr Auberly, with a stern look.
Willie obeyed, and in a few minutes they were groping in the darkregions underground which Mr Cattley and his family inhabited. Withsome difficulty they found the door, and stood in the presence of "thefairy."
Thin though the fairy had been when Willie saw her last, she might havebeen called fat compared with the condition in which they now found her.She appeared like a mere shadow, with a delicate skin thrown over it.A b
ad transparency would have been more substantial in appearance. Shelay alone on her lonely pallet with a farthing candle beside her, whichcast a light sufficient only to make darkness visible. Being near thepoor invalid, it caused her large dark eyes to glitter in an awfulmanner.
Willie at once forgot his companion, and running up to the fairy, seizedher hand, and asked her how she did.
"Pretty well, Willie. It's kind of you to come and see me so often."
"Not a bit, Ziza; you know I like it; besides, I've only come to-day toshow a gentleman the way."
He pointed to Mr Auberly, who had stopped short in the doorway, but whonow advanced and sat down beside the invalid, and put to her severalformal questions in a very stately and stiff manner, with a greatassumption of patronage. But it was evident that he was not accustomedto the duty of visiting the sick, and, like little boys and girls whenthey sit down to write a letter, was very much at a loss what to say!He began by asking the fairy about her complaint, and exhausted everypoint that entered into his imagination in reference to that. Then hequestioned her as to her circumstances; after which he told her that hehad been sent to see her by his daughter Louisa, who was herself veryill, owing to the effects of a fire in his own house.
At this point the child became interested, and came to his relief byasking a great many eager and earnest questions about Loo. She knewabout the fire in Beverly Square and its incidents, Willie having oftenrelated them to her during his visits; and she knew Mr Auberly by name,and was interested in him, but his frigid manner had repelled her, untilhe spoke of Loo having sent him to see her.
"Oh, I've been so sorry about Miss Loo, sir," said Ziza, raising herlarge eyes full in Mr Auberly's face; "I've heard of her, you know,from Willie, and when I've been lying all alone here for hours and hourstogether, I have wondered how she spent her time, and if there were kindpeople about her to keep up her spirits. It's so strange that she and Ishould have been both hurt by a fire, an' both of us so different everyway. I _do_ hope she'll get better, sir."
Mr Auberly became suddenly much interested in the fairy, for just as"love begets love," so does interest beget interest. His feelingshaving been roused, his tongue was loosed, and forthwith he enjoyed adelightful conversation with the intelligent child; not that there wasany remarkable change as to the matter of what was spoken, but there wasa vast change in the manner of speaking it.
Willie also chimed in now and then, and volunteered his opinions in away that would have called forth a sharp rebuke from his patron half anhour before; but he was permitted to speak, even encouraged, now, forMr Auberly was being tickled pleasantly; he was having his feelings andaffections roused in a way that he had never thought of or tried before;he was gathering golden experiences that he had never stooped to touchbefore, although the mine had been under his feet all his life, and hispath had been strewn with neglected nuggets from the cradle--fortunatelynot, as yet, to the grave! Ziza's Bible lay on the counterpane close toher wasted little hand. While she was talking of Loo, with deepsympathy beaming out of her eyes and trembling in her tones, Mr Auberlylaid his hand inadvertently on it. She observed the action, and said--
"Are you going to read and pray with me, sir?"
Mr Auberly was taken very much aback indeed by this question.
"Well--no," said he, "that is--if--fact, I have not brought myprayer-book with me; but--but--I will read to you if you wish it."
Sympathy was gone now; the fairy felt that, and, not clearlyunderstanding why, wondered at it. She thanked her visitor, however,and shut her eyes, while Mr Auberly opened the Bible and cleared hisvoice. His confusion was only momentary; still the idea that he couldbe confused at all by two mere children in such a wretched cellar sonettled the worthy man, that he not only recovered his self-possession,but read a chapter with all the solemn dignity of tone and manner thathe would have assumed had he been officiating in Saint Paul's orWestminster Abbey. This was such a successful essay, and overawed hislittle congregation so terribly, that for a moment he thought ofconcluding with the benediction; but, being uncertain whether he couldgo correctly through it, he wisely refrained.
Thereafter he rose, and bade the fairy good-night.
"Your father does not return till late, I suppose?" he said, while heheld her hand.
"No; it is morning generally before he gets away. The pantomimes arehurting him, I fear, for he's not so active as he once was, and he sayshe feels the falls very bad."
"Poor man! It's very sad; but I suppose it's the usual way with thatclass of men. Well, goodnight again."
"Good-night, sir!" responded the fairy, with a bright smile, "and thankyou very much for your visit. Good-night, Willie."
Willie said good-night in such a sulky tone, and followed Mr Auberly tothe door with such a reckless swagger, that the fairy gazed after him inunutterable surprise. After shutting the door with a bang, he suddenlyopened it again, and said in a loud voice--
"I say, I'll get my wages day arter to-morrow. I'll bring you a coupleo' bobs then. It's all I can afford just now, for cigars are dear. Ifyou're hard up for wittles in the meantime, just grin and bear it;you'll not die, you know, you'll only get thinner. I _have_ heard thata bit o' boiled shoe-leather ain't a bad thing to keep one easy tillrelief comes."
"Dear me!" exclaimed Mr Auberly in the distance, and bustling back aslie spoke; "I quite forgot; how stupid of me! I was directed by mydaughter to give you this."
He took a ten-pound note from his purse, and put it into the fairy'shand.
"This is from Louisa," he continued, "and I may add that it is thesavings from her pocket-money. I did not wish the dear child to partwith it, and said I would give it to you from myself; but she was sourgent, and seemed so distressed when I refused my consent, that I gavein; so you have to thank my daughter, not me."
Mr Auberly smiled and nodded as he turned to go, and there was reallyvery little grimness in the smile on this occasion--very little indeed!Willie also nodded with great violence and frequency; he likewise winkedwith one eye, and otherwise sought to indicate that there were withinhim sundry deep and not easily expressed thoughts and feelings, whichwere, upon the whole, of a satisfactory nature.
As for the fairy, she never once smiled or thanked Mr Auberly, butsimply stared at him with her lustrous eyes open to their very widest,and she continued to stare at the door, as though she saw him throughit, for some time after they were gone. Then she turned suddenly to thewall, thanked God, and burst into tears--glad tears, such as only thosecan weep who have unexpectedly found relief when their extremity wasgreatest.
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