CHAPTER IV.
Kate Jamieson, who is the independent member of The Family, and hasbeen in a situation for some years as companion to a lady at Bath, haswritten home what she calls a "joint-letter" to apprise the whole ofher family at one and the same time that she is engaged to be married.The excitement which this letter produced in the little household ishardly possible to describe. The news arrived when the Jamiesons wereat breakfast. Perhaps I should mention, before going any further, thatthe Jamiesons' only extravagance is to take in three daily papers. Oneis an evening paper, which arrives at breakfast-time, and the other twoare morning publications, which arrive at the same hour. It iscustomary for the members of this family each to read his ownparticular paper aloud during the entire meal, the rest of the partyread their letters to each other, and there are still left severalvoices to demand what you will have for breakfast, to inquire how youhave slept, and to comment upon the weather. So that from half-pasteight until nine a cross-fire of conversation is going on all thetime....
"I see Hearne has scored sixty-eight at cricket, not out. That's notbad, you know. Kent ought to be looking up. The Australians are doingwell. Yorkshire might do better. Extraordinary! Here's this chap whopromised so well bowled for a duck!" This from the eldest son of theHouse of Jamieson; while at precisely the same moment may be heard thevoice of Maud: "I must say I am rather astonished at the way boleroshave remained in. This is one of the prettiest designs I have seenthis year. How soon one gets accustomed to small sleeves. Well, Icannot say I like these Chesterfield fronts."
Mrs. Jamieson is meanwhile reading aloud the columns of births, deaths,and marriages from beginning to end. Her limited acquaintance with theoutside world might seem to preclude her from any vivid interest inthose who must necessarily only be names to her, yet she findssubject-matter for comment through the entire perusal of the column.Needless to say, Mrs. Jamieson inclines to regard only the sadderaspects of these natural occurrences, and her comments thereupon arefull of a sort of resigned melancholy. From her corner of the tablemay be heard the plaintive words: "Here's a young fellow of twenty-fourtaken," or, "Fourscore years, well, well, and then passed away!" Whilethe happier news of birth provokes her to hark back to an announcementof a similar nature in the family, perhaps only a year ago, and to talkof the responsibilities and the expense that the poor young couple willhave to undergo. Mettie, who spends the greater part of every daywriting letters, and whose chief joy in life is to receive them, readsthe whole of her correspondence aloud from beginning to end; whileMargaret Jamieson, behind the teapot, is letting off rapid volleys ofquestions respecting individual tastes about cream and sugar, and thePirate Boy offers ham-and-eggs or sausages in a deep stentorian bass.
In the midst of this confusion of noise, when only a Jamieson, whoseear is curiously trained to it, can possibly hear what is being said,Mrs. Jamieson bursts into tears and, in the strong Kentish dialect ofher youth, exclaims: "Here's our Kate going to be married!"
After the first burst of delighted surprise, there is a family feelingof apology towards Maud. That Kate should marry first is surely alittle disloyal to the beauty of Belmont, and Mrs. Jamieson goes so faras to say: "Never mind, Maud; it will be your turn next."
After that, they all, singly and severally, recall theirpreviously-expressed opinion that they knew something was up, and thatcertainly Kate could not have given them a more pleasant or moreunexpected surprise.
The letter is then read aloud, and it is so long that one is glad tothink that the absent Kate did not attempt to duplicate it, butcontented herself with the Pauline method of one general epistle. Withthe Jamieson characteristic of telling everything exhaustively, Katewrites:--
"Mr. Ward is not at all bad-looking; a little hesitating in his manner,and inclined to be untidy--you see, I am telling you everything quitecandidly--but of course I can remedy all these defects when we aremarried. He has a short brown moustache, and rather a conical-shapedhead." (This is a fault that one feels Kate will not be able toremedy, even when she has married him.) "He looks clever, though I donot think he is, very; he is well-connected, but does not know all hisbest relations. Poor, but with generous instincts"--one feels asthough a chiromancist were reading a client's palm--"well-read, butwithout power of conveying intelligence to others; hair rather thin,and (I am afraid) false teeth; very religious, but I consider this inhim more temperament than anything else. He has had a hard life, andnot always enough to eat, until his uncle died; but now he could bequite independent if he liked, but he prefers the position which aGovernment appointment gives him.
"I hope to bring him down to stay when I return; please let him havethe south bedroom, as that is the warmest, and I do not think James isvery strong. I should like him to have a fire at night--I can arrangethat with mother, as I feel quite well off now. We are to be marriedin July, and I am giving up my post here at once, so as to seesomething of you all before I go away."
At this point the letter referred once more to Mr. Ward's personalappearance, and the description was of so great length that whenMargaret Jamieson, who had run all the way from her home to ours togive it to us to read, asked me breathlessly what I thought about it, Idetermined to leave unread the remaining paragraphs, and to judge formyself of the bridegroom when he should come to Belmont and we shouldbe invited to meet him.
"There is one thing," said Mrs. Jamieson when, at the request of TheFamily, Palestrina went to sit with her one afternoon a few weekslater, to support her through the trying ordeal of waiting for Kate and"James," as he is now familiarly called, to arrive; "the girls havenothing to be ashamed of in their home." She looked with a certainamount of pardonable pride at the clean white curtains, and we gatheredthat we were meant to comment upon their early appearance. The whitecurtains, Palestrina says, are not usually put up at Belmont until thefirst week in May.
"They look very handsome," I said. It was a Jamieson afternoon--verywet, but clearing up about sundown, and Palestrina had suggested myescorting her as far as Belmont. But the rain came down in torrentsagain when I would have started to return home, and the good Jamiesonsbegged me to stay, to avoid the chance of a chill, and to meet James.
"It is the first break in the family," said Mrs. Jamieson tearfully,"since poor Robert died. But, as James says, he hopes I am gaining ason and not losing a daughter." From which I gathered that James was agentleman given to uttering rather a stale form of platitude.
All were waiting in a state of great trepidation the arrival of theengaged couple, and it was quite hopeless to avoid the encounter, forthe rain descended in sheets outside, and preparations for supperseemed to be going on in the dining-room at Belmont. It was decided,by universal consent, that only Mrs. Jamieson and Palestrina and Ishould be in the drawing-room at the moment when they should enter.The presence of strangers, it was thought, would make it easier forJames at the meeting where all were kinsfolk except himself. Withtheir usual consideration The Family decided that the rest of theirlarge number should afterwards drop in casually, two by two, and beintroduced to the new brother-in-law without ceremony. Mrs. Jamieson,who had not left the house that day, nor for many days previously,having been absorbed in preparations for the expected guest, wasdressed in a bonnet and her favourite jacket with the storm-collar,which, as she explained to my sister, took away from the roundness ofher face and gave her confidence.
Her habitual shyness, added to her fears of the unknown in the shape ofthe future son-in-law, had wrought her into a sort of rigid state inwhich conversation seemed impossible, and although we did our best todivert her attention I am doubtful if she heard a word we said.
"They should be here soon," I remarked presently.
Mrs. Jamieson, following some line of thought of her own, remarked thatthe first marriage in a family was almost like a death; and to thismournful analogy I gave assent.
"Kate says he is quite a gentleman," hazarded Mrs. Jamieson, stillrigid, and now white with anxiety a
nd shyness.
I found myself replying, without overdone brilliance, that that seemeda good thing.
The sands of Mrs. Jamieson's courage were running very low. "I hope heis not one of your grandees," she said apprehensively; "I would notlike to think of Kate not being up to him. But their father was agentleman--the most perfect gentleman I ever knew, and I have alwaysthat to think of. Still, a gentlemanly man is all I want for any of mygirls, with no difference between the two families."
Sometimes in this way Mrs. Jamieson gives one an unexpected insightinto the difficulties of her life, and one feels that even heradmiration for her daughters may be tinged with a slight feeling ofbeing their inferior. I have heard her say, making use of a Frenchexpression such as she hazards so courageously, that there is somethingof the "_grawn dam_ about Maud;" and perhaps the loyal admiration thusexpressed may have been mingled with another sensation not sopleasurable to the farmer's daughter.
I endeavoured to follow the intricacies of her train of thought, butthe station omnibus had stopped at the gate, and the moment of supremeexcitement had arrived.
Kate entered first. This was probably the crowning moment of her life.She came in with a little air of assurance that already suggested themarried woman, and having kissed her mother she said in a proprietarysort of way: "This is Mr. Ward, mamma."
Mr. Ward had a curious way of walking on his toes; he came into theroom as though tip-toeing across some muddy crossing on a wet day, andshook hands with a degree of nervousness that made even Mrs. Jamiesonappear bold. One can hardly be surprised at Kate for having mentionedthat he has a conical-shaped head, for it is of the most strangepear-shape, and the sparse hair hangs from a ridge behind like afringe. He sat down and locked his knees firmly together, with hisclasped hands tightly wedged between them, while Kate made inquiriesabout the rest of the family, and I plunged heavily into remarks aboutthe weather and the state of the roads. It was a great relief when twoof the sisters entered, in their best silk blouses, even although theyrepeated exactly what I had said a moment before about the weather andthe mud. Five minutes later, according to preconceived arrangement,two other sisters came in and were kissed by Kate, and introduced byher to James. We had unconsciously taken up our position in twostraight lines facing James, and it is no exaggeration to say that bythis time shyness was causing great beads of perspiration to stand outon poor James's pear-shaped head. "Surely they will spare him any moreintroductions before supper," I thought; but the door had again opened,and Mettie and the Pirate Boy entered, and some unhappy chance wascausing these last comers to comment upon the weather and the state ofthe roads, and to extend the line of chairs now facing James. We beganto make feverish little remarks to each other, as though we were allstrangers, and Palestrina asked Eliza if she were fond of dancing.George Jamieson, the eldest brother, was the last to enter the room,and Kate said: "George, I am sure James would like to unpack beforesupper;" and the unhappy James tip-toed out between the two lines ofchairs, with his eyes fixed upon the carpet.
"_Well?_" said Kate. And as The Family was The Family of Jamieson,that of course was a signal for each member of it to say the kindestthing that could possibly be said for the new arrival. Margaret foundthat he had kind eyes. And Eliza said: "Not intellectual, but a goodman." Eliza, it must be remarked in passing, is the intellectualsister, with a passion for accurate information, and for looking upfacts in the "Encyclopedia Britannica." Maud found that even hisshyness was in his favour, and disliked men who made themselves at homeat once. Mettie remarked that marriage was a great risk. This is oneof poor little Mettie's platitudes, which she makes with faithfulregularity upon all occasions. The Pirate Boy preferred, perhaps, amore robust development, and throwing out his own chest, he beat itwith a good deal of violence, and said he would like to put on thegloves with Mr. Ward. Mrs. Jamieson could be got to say nothing but"Poor fellow, poor fellow!" at intervals. But Gracie, the youngestdaughter, remarked that she was sure that they would all get to likehim immensely in time.
Kate looked grateful, and spoke with her usual fine common sense."What I say is," she remarked, "that of course no one sees James'sfaults more clearly than I do, but then I don't see why any of usshould expect perfection. We haven't much to offer: I am sure I haveneither looks, nor money, nor anything. And, after all, it's nice tothink of one of us getting married--and I was no bother about it," saidthe independent Kate. "I mean, The Family had not to help, or chaperonme, or ask James down to stay."
The sisters assented to this in a very hearty, congratulatory sort ofway; and then, as the rain had ceased, I took my leave, but Palestrinawas persuaded to stay and have supper. Kennie offered, in a doughtyfashion, to see me home. The boy's kindness of heart constitutes himmy defender upon many occasions, and he always looks disappointed if Ido not take his arm. I do not think that the peaceful country road inthe waning twilight could be considered a dangerous one, even to acripple like myself; but Kennie, armed with a large stick and wearing acurious felt hat turned up at one side, appeared a most truculentdefender, and regarded with suspicion all the pedestrians whom we met.Did but a country cart pass us, Kennie made a movement to ward off thedanger of a collision with his arm. There is something in my helplesscondition which, quite unconsciously I believe, produces a veryvalorous frame of mind in the Pirate, and he beguiled the whole of theway home with stories of his own prowess, and of the hair-breadthescapes which he had had.
"I only once," he said, "had to take a human life in self-defence.Curiously enough"--Kennie's voice deepened, and he spoke with the airof a man who will spare a weak fellow-mortal all he can in the tellingof his tale, and he enunciated all his words with a measured calm whichwas very impressive--"curiously enough, it was on the ThamesEmbankment!" Kennie cleared his throat, and dropping the deep bassvoice of reminiscence, he began the history in a high-pitched tone ofnarrative. "I was walking home alone one night from the City, when avery strange, low fellow accosted me, and asked me for some money. Theman's destitute appearance appealed to me, and unfortunately I gave himthreepence. I suppose the action was about as dangerous a thing as Icould have done. It showed that I had money, and I was practicallydefenceless while feeling in my pockets. The Embankment at that timeof the evening was almost deserted; I could see the shipping in theriver and the lights, and even passing cabs, but I was strangely alone,and still the man followed me. At last, in desperation, I raised mystick to drive him from me, and the next moment he had grappled withme! Instantly my blood was up!" The Pirate Boy stood still in themiddle of the highroad, and went through a series of very forciblepantomimic gestures, and with awful facial contortions, indicative ofviolent exertion, he raised some imaginary object above his head andflung it from him. "The next moment," said Kennie, "I heard a splash.I had vanquished the man, and flung him far from me, straight from theThames Embankment into the river."
I was prepared to make an exclamation, but was prevented by Kennie, whosaid in a dramatic sort of way, "Wait!" and went on with his story."My instinct was to plunge after him, but I heard no sound, no cry, andfrom that day to this that struggle by the water's edge remains as oneof the most vivid experiences of my life--in England, at least. Butthe man's end remains a mystery: I can tell you nothing more of him."
"I think I would have fished the poor wretch out," I said, and movedonwards on our walk, our pause in the public highway having lasted aconsiderable time.
"One learns rough justice out there," said Kennie.
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