The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XLII.

  "CAN YOU BE READY IN TEN MINUTES?"

  After leaving Melmotte's house on Sunday morning Paul Montague wentto Roger Carbury's hotel and found his friend just returning fromchurch. He was bound to go to Islington on that day, but had made uphis mind that he would defer his visit till the evening. He woulddine early and be with Mrs. Hurtle about seven o'clock. But it wasnecessary that Roger should hear the news about Ruby Ruggles. "It'snot so bad as you thought," said he, "as she is living with heraunt."

  "I never heard of such an aunt."

  "She says her grandfather knows where she is, and that he doesn'twant her back again."

  "Does she see Felix Carbury?"

  "I think she does," said Paul.

  "Then it doesn't matter whether the woman's her aunt or not. I'll goand see her and try to get her back to Bungay."

  "Why not send for John Crumb?"

  Roger hesitated for a moment, and then answered, "He'd give Felixsuch a thrashing as no man ever had before. My cousin deserves it aswell as any man ever deserved a thrashing; but there are reasons whyI should not like it. And he could not force her back with him. Idon't suppose the girl is all bad,--if she could see the truth."

  "I don't think she's bad at all."

  "At any rate I'll go and see her," said Roger. "Perhaps I shall seeyour widow at the same time." Paul sighed, but said nothing moreabout his widow at that moment. "I'll walk up to Welbeck Street now,"said Roger, taking his hat. "Perhaps I shall see you to-morrow." Paulfelt that he could not go to Welbeck Street with his friend.

  He dined in solitude at the Beargarden, and then again made thatjourney to Islington in a cab. As he went he thought of the proposalthat had been made to him by Melmotte. If he could do it with a clearconscience, if he could really make himself believe in the railway,such an expedition would not be displeasing to him. He had saidalready more than he had intended to say to Hetta Carbury; and thoughhe was by no means disposed to flatter himself, yet he almost thoughtthat what he had said had been well received. At the moment they hadbeen disturbed, but she, as she heard the sound of her mother coming,had at any rate expressed no anger. He had almost been betrayed intobreaking a promise. Were he to start now on this journey, the periodof the promise would have passed by before his return. Of coursehe would take care that she should know that he had gone in theperformance of a duty. And then he would escape from Mrs. Hurtle,and would be able to make those inquiries which had been suggestedto him. It was possible that Mrs. Hurtle should offer to go withhim,--an arrangement which would not at all suit him. That at anyrate must be avoided. But then how could he do this without a beliefin the railway generally? And how was it possible that he should havesuch belief? Mr. Ramsbottom did not believe in it, nor did RogerCarbury. He himself did not in the least believe in Fisker, andFisker had originated the railway. Then, would it not be best that heshould take the Chairman's offer as to his own money? If he could gethis L6,000 back and have done with the railway, he would certainlythink himself a lucky man. But he did not know how far he could withhonesty lay aside his responsibility; and then he doubted whether hecould put implicit trust in Melmotte's personal guarantee for theamount. This at any rate was clear to him,--that Melmotte was veryanxious to secure his absence from the meetings of the Board.

  Now he was again at Mrs. Pipkin's door, and again it was openedby Ruby Ruggles. His heart was in his mouth as he thought of thethings he had to say. "The ladies have come back from Southend, MissRuggles?"

  "Oh yes, sir, and Mrs. Hurtle is expecting you all the day." Then sheput in a whisper on her own account. "You didn't tell him as you'dseen me, Mr. Montague?"

  "Indeed I did, Miss Ruggles."

  "Then you might as well have left it alone, and not have beenill-natured,--that's all," said Ruby as she opened the door of Mrs.Hurtle's room.

  Mrs. Hurtle got up to receive him with her sweetest smile,--and hersmile could be very sweet. She was a witch of a woman, and, as likemost witches she could be terrible, so like most witches she couldcharm. "Only fancy," she said, "that you should have come the onlyday I have been two hundred yards from the house, except that eveningwhen you took me to the play. I was so sorry."

  "Why should you be sorry? It is easy to come again."

  "Because I don't like to miss you, even for a day. But I wasn't well,and I fancied that the house was stuffy, and Mrs. Pipkin took abright idea and proposed to carry me off to Southend. She was dyingto go herself. She declared that Southend was Paradise."

  "A cockney Paradise."

  "Oh, what a place it is! Do your people really go to Southend andfancy that that is the sea?"

  "I believe they do. I never went to Southend myself,--so that youknow more about it than I do."

  "How very English it is,--a little yellow river,--and you call it thesea! Ah;--you never were at Newport!"

  "But I've been at San Francisco."

  "Yes; you've been at San Francisco, and heard the seals howling.Well; that's better than Southend."

  "I suppose we do have the sea here in England. It's generallysupposed we're an island."

  "Of course;--but things are so small. If you choose to go to the westof Ireland, I suppose you'd find the Atlantic. But nobody ever doesgo there for fear of being murdered." Paul thought of the gentlemanin Oregon, but said nothing;--thought, perhaps, of his own condition,and remembered that a man might be murdered without going either toOregon or the west of Ireland. "But we went to Southend, I, and Mrs.Pipkin and the baby, and upon my word I enjoyed it. She was so afraidthat the baby would annoy me, and I thought the baby was so much thebest of it. And then we ate shrimps, and she was so humble. You mustacknowledge that with us nobody would be so humble. Of course I paid.She has got all her children, and nothing but what she can make outof these lodgings. People are just as poor with us;--and other peoplewho happen to be a little better off, pay for them. But nobody ishumble to another, as you are here. Of course we like to have moneyas well as you do, but it doesn't make so much difference."

  "He who wants to receive, all the world over, will make himself asagreeable as he can to him who can give."

  "But Mrs. Pipkin was so humble. However we got back all rightyesterday evening, and then I found that you had been here,--atlast."

  "You knew that I had to go to Liverpool."

  "I'm not going to scold. Did you get your business done atLiverpool?"

  "Yes;--one generally gets something done, but never anything verysatisfactorily. Of course it's about this railway."

  "I should have thought that that was satisfactory. Everybody talksof it as being the greatest thing ever invented. I wish I was a manthat I might be concerned with a really great thing like that. I hatelittle peddling things. I should like to manage the greatest bankin the world, or to be Captain of the biggest fleet, or to make thelargest railway. It would be better even than being President of aRepublic, because one would have more of one's own way. What is itthat you do in it, Paul?"

  "They want me now to go out to Mexico about it," said he slowly.

  "Shall you go?" said she, throwing herself forward and asking thequestion with manifest anxiety.

  "I think not."

  "Why not? Do go. Oh, Paul, I would go with you. Why should you notgo? It is just the thing for such a one as you to do. The railwaywill make Mexico a new country, and then you would be the man who haddone it. Why should you throw away such a chance as that? It willnever come again. Emperors and kings have tried their hands at Mexicoand have been able to do nothing. Emperors and kings never can doanything. Think what it would be to be the regenerator of Mexico!"

  "Think what it would be to find one's self there without the means ofdoing anything, and to feel that one had been sent there merely thatone might be out of the way."

  "I would make the means of doing something."

  "Means are money. How can I make that?"

  "There is money going. There must be money where there is all thisbuying and selling of shares. Where
does your uncle get the moneywith which he is living like a prince at San Francisco? Where doesFisker get the money with which he is speculating in New York? Wheredoes Melmotte get the money which makes him the richest man in theworld? Why should not you get it as well as the others?"

  "If I were anxious to rob on my own account perhaps I might do it."

  "Why should it be robbery? I do not want you to live in a palaceand spend millions of dollars on yourself. But I want you to haveambition. Go to Mexico, and chance it. Take San Francisco in yourway, and get across the country. I will go every yard with you. Makepeople there believe that you are in earnest, and there will be nodifficulty about the money."

  He felt that he was taking no steps to approach the subject which heshould have to discuss before he left her,--or rather the statementwhich he had resolved that he would make. Indeed every word whichhe allowed her to say respecting this Mexican project carried himfarther away from it. He was giving reasons why the journey shouldnot be made; but was tacitly admitting that if it were to be made shemight be one of the travellers. The very offer on her part impliedan understanding that his former abnegation of his engagement hadbeen withdrawn, and yet he shrunk from the cruelty of telling her,in a side-way fashion, that he would not submit to her companionshipeither for the purpose of such a journey or for any other purpose.The thing must be said in a solemn manner, and must be introduced onits own basis. But such preliminary conversation as this made theintroduction of it infinitely more difficult.

  "You are not in a hurry?" she said.

  "Oh no."

  "You're going to spend the evening with me like a good man? Then I'llask them to let us have tea." She rang the bell and Ruby came in, andthe tea was ordered. "That young lady tells me that you are an oldfriend of hers."

  "I've known about her down in the country, and was astonished to findher here yesterday."

  "There's some lover, isn't there;--some would-be husband whom shedoes not like?"

  "And some won't-be husband, I fear, whom she does like."

  "That's quite of course, if the other is true. Miss Ruby isn'tthe girl to have come to her time of life without a preference.The natural liking of a young woman for a man in a station aboveher, because he is softer and cleaner and has better parts ofspeech,--just as we keep a pretty dog if we keep a dog at all,--isone of the evils of the inequality of mankind. The girl is contentwith the love without having the love justified, because the objectis more desirable. She can only have her love justified with anobject less desirable. If all men wore coats of the same fabric, andhad to share the soil of the work of the world equally between them,that evil would come to an end. A woman here and there might go wrongfrom fantasy and diseased passions, but the ever-existing temptationto go wrong would be at an end."

  "If men were equal to-morrow and all wore the same coats, they wouldwear different coats the next day."

  "Slightly different. But there would be no more purple and finelinen, and no more blue woad. It isn't to be done in a day of course,nor yet in a century,--nor in a decade of centuries; but every humanbeing who looks into it honestly will see that his efforts should bemade in that direction. I remember; you never take sugar; give methat."

  Neither had he come here to discuss the deeply interesting questionsof women's difficulties and immediate or progressive equality. Buthaving got on to these rocks,--having, as the reader may perceive,been taken on to them wilfully by the skill of the woman,--he did notknow how to get his bark out again into clear waters. But having hisown subject before him, with all its dangers, the wild-cat's claws,and the possible fate of the gentleman in Oregon, he could not talkfreely on the subjects which she introduced, as had been his wontin former years. "Thanks," he said, changing his cup. "How well youremember!"

  "Do you think I shall ever forget your preferences and dislikings? Doyou recollect telling me about that blue scarf of mine, that I shouldnever wear blue?"

  She stretched herself out towards him, waiting for an answer,so that he was obliged to speak. "Of course I do. Black is yourcolour;--black and grey; or white,--and perhaps yellow when youchoose to be gorgeous; crimson possibly. But not blue or green."

  "I never thought much of it before, but I have taken your word forgospel. It is very good to have an eye for such things,--as you have,Paul. But I fancy that taste comes with, or at any rate forbodes, aneffete civilisation."

  "I am sorry that mine should be effete," he said smiling.

  "You know what I mean, Paul. I speak of nations, not individuals.Civilisation was becoming effete, or at any rate men were, inthe time of the great painters; but Savanarola and Galileo wereindividuals. You should throw your lot in with a new people. Thisrailway to Mexico gives you the chance."

  "Are the Mexicans a new people?"

  "They who will rule the Mexicans are. All American women I dare sayhave bad taste in gowns,--and so the vain ones and rich ones send toParis for their finery; but I think our taste in men is generallygood. We like our philosophers; we like our poets; we like ourgenuine workmen;--but we love our heroes. I would have you a hero,Paul." He got up from his chair and walked about the room in anagony of despair. To be told that he was expected to be a heroat the very moment in his life in which he felt more devoid ofheroism, more thoroughly given up to cowardice than he had ever beenbefore, was not to be endured! And yet, with what utmost stretch ofcourage,--even though he were willing to devote himself certainly andinstantly to the worst fate that he had pictured to himself,--couldhe immediately rush away from these abstract speculations, encumberedas they were with personal flattery, into his own most unpleasant,most tragic matter! It was the unfitness that deterred him andnot the possible tragedy. Nevertheless, through it all, he wassure,--nearly sure,--that she was playing her game, and playing itin direct antagonism to the game which she knew that he wanted toplay. Would it not be better that he should go away and write anotherletter? In a letter he could at any rate say what he had to say;--andhaving said it he would then strengthen himself to adhere to it."What makes you so uneasy?" she asked; still speaking in her mostwinning way, caressing him with the tones of her voice. "Do you notlike me to say that I would have you be a hero?"

  "Winifrid," he said, "I came here with a purpose, and I had bettercarry it out."

  "What purpose?" She still leaned forward, but now supported her faceon her two hands with her elbows resting on her knees, looking at himintently. But one would have said that there was only love in hereyes;--love which might be disappointed, but still love. The wildcat, if there, was all within, still hidden from sight. Paul stoodwith his hands on the back of a chair, propping himself up and tryingto find fitting words for the occasion. "Stop, my dear," she said."Must the purpose be told to-night?"

  "Why not to-night?"

  "Paul, I am not well;--I am weak now. I am a coward. You do not knowthe delight to me of having a few words of pleasant talk to an oldfriend after the desolation of the last weeks. Mrs. Pipkin is notvery charming. Even her baby cannot supply all the social wants of mylife. I had intended that everything should be sweet to-night. Oh,Paul, if it was your purpose to tell me of your love, to assure methat you are still my dear, dear friend, to speak with hope of futuredays, or with pleasure of those that are past,--then carry out yourpurpose. But if it be cruel, or harsh, or painful; if you had come tospeak daggers;--then drop your purpose for to-night. Try and thinkwhat my solitude must have been to me, and let me have one hour ofcomfort."

  Of course he was conquered for that night, and could only have thatsolace which a most injurious reprieve could give him. "I will notharass you, if you are ill," he said.

  "I am ill. It was because I was afraid that I should be really illthat I went to Southend. The weather is hot, though of course the sunhere is not as we have it. But the air is heavy,--what Mrs. Pipkincalls muggy. I was thinking if I were to go somewhere for a week, itwould do me good. Where had I better go?" Paul suggested Brighton."That is full of people; is it not?--a fashionable place?"

 
"Not at this time of the year."

  "But it is a big place. I want some little place that would bepretty. You could take me down; could you not? Not very far, youknow;--not that any place can be very far from here." Paul, in hisJohn Bull displeasure, suggested Penzance, telling her, untruly, thatit would take twenty-four hours. "Not Penzance then, which I know isyour very Ultima Thule;--not Penzance, nor yet Orkney. Is there noother place,--except Southend?"

  "There is Cromer in Norfolk,--perhaps ten hours."

  "Is Cromer by the sea?"

  "Yes;--what we call the sea."

  "I mean really the sea, Paul?"

  "If you start from Cromer right away, a hundred miles would perhapstake you across to Holland. A ditch of that kind wouldn't doperhaps."

  "Ah,--now I see you are laughing at me. Is Cromer pretty?"

  "Well, yes;--I think it is. I was there once, but I don't remembermuch. There's Ramsgate."

  "Mrs. Pipkin told me of Ramsgate. I don't think I should likeRamsgate."

  "There's the Isle of Wight. The Isle of Wight is very pretty."

  "That's the Queen's place. There would not be room for her and metoo."

  "Or Lowestoft. Lowestoft is not so far as Cromer, and there is arailway all the distance."

  "And sea?"

  "Sea enough for anything. If you can't see across it, and if thereare waves, and wind enough to knock you down, and shipwrecks everyother day, I don't see why a hundred miles isn't as good as athousand."

  "A hundred miles is just as good as a thousand. But, Paul, atSouthend it isn't a hundred miles across to the other side of theriver. You must admit that. But you will be a better guide than Mrs.Pipkin. You would not have taken me to Southend when I expressed awish for the ocean;--would you? Let it be Lowestoft. Is there anhotel?"

  "A small little place."

  "Very small? uncomfortably small? But almost any place would do forme."

  "They make up, I believe, about a hundred beds; but in the States itwould be very small."

  "Paul," said she, delighted to have brought him back to this humour,"if I were to throw the tea things at you, it would serve you right.This is all because I did not lose myself in awe at the sight of theSouthend ocean. It shall be Lowestoft." Then she rose up and came tohim, and took his arm. "You will take me down, will you not? It isdesolate for a woman to go into such a place all alone. I will notask you to stay. And I can return by myself." She had put both handson one arm, and turned herself round, and looked into his face. "Youwill do that for old acquaintance sake?" For a moment or two he madeno answer, and his face was troubled, and his brow was black. He wasendeavouring to think;--but he was only aware of his danger, andcould see no way through it. "I don't think you will let me ask invain for such a favour as that," she said.

  "No;" he replied. "I will take you down. When will you go?" He hadcockered himself up with some vain idea that the railway carriagewould be a good place for the declaration of his purpose, or perhapsthe sands at Lowestoft.

  "When will I go? when will you take me? You have Boards to attend,and shares to look to, and Mexico to regenerate. I am a poor womanwith nothing on hand but Mrs. Pipkin's baby. Can you be ready in tenminutes?--because I could." Paul shook his head and laughed. "I'venamed a time and that doesn't suit. Now, sir, you name another, andI'll promise it shall suit." Paul suggested Saturday, the 29th. Hemust attend the next Board, and had promised to see Melmotte beforethe Board day. Saturday of course would do for Mrs. Hurtle. Shouldshe meet him at the railway station? Of course he undertook to comeand fetch her.

  Then, as he took his leave, she stood close against him, and put hercheek up for him to kiss. There are moments in which a man finds itutterly impossible that he should be prudent,--as to which, whenhe thought of them afterwards, he could never forgive himself forprudence, let the danger have been what it may. Of course he took herin his arms, and kissed her lips as well as her cheeks.