‘We applied the leeches to his throat. He resisted at first; but Sophy, God bless her! put the agony of her grief on one side, and thought only of him, and began to sing the little songs he loved. We were all still. The gardener had gone to fetch the Vicar; but he was twelve miles off and we doubted if he would come in time. I don’t know if they had any hope; but, the first moment Mr. Morgan’s eyes met mine, I saw that he, like me, had none. The ticking of the house clock sounded through the dark quiet house. Walter was sleeping now, with the black leeches yet hanging to his fair, white throat. Still Sophy went on singing little lullabies, which she had sung under far different and happier circumstances. I remember one verse, because it struck me at the time as strangely applicable.
‘“Sleep, baby, sleep!
Thy rest shall angels keep;
While on the grass the lamb shall feed,
And never suffer want or need,
Sleep, baby sleep.”
The tears were in Mr. Morgan’s eyes. I do not think either he or I could have spoken in our natural tones; but the brave girl went on clear though low. She stopped at last, and looked up.
‘“He is better, is he not, Mr. Morgan?”
‘“No, my dear. He is - ahem” - he could not speak all at once. Then he said - “My dear! he will be better soon. Think of your mamma, my dear Miss Sophy. She will be very thankful to have one of her darlings safe with her, where she is.”
‘Still she did not cry. But she bent her head down on the little face, and kissed it long and tenderly.
‘“I will go for Helen and Lizzie. They will be sorry not to see him again.” She rose up and went for them. Poor girls, they came in, in their dressing-gowns, with eyes dilated with sudden emotion, pale with terror, stealing softly along, as if sound could disturb him. Sophy comforted them by gentle caresses. It was over soon.
‘Mr. Morgan was fairly crying like a child. But he thought it necessary to apologise to me, for what I honoured him for. “I am a little overdone by yesterday’s work, sir. I have had one or two bad nights, and they rather upset me. When I was your age I was as strong and manly as any one, and would have scorned to shed tears.”
‘Sophy came up to where we stood.
‘“Mr. Morgan! I am so sorry for papa. How shall I tell him?” She was struggling against her own grief for her father’s sake. Mr. Morgan offered to await his coming home; and she seemed thankful for the proposal. I, new friend, almost a stranger, might stay no longer. The street was as quiet as ever; not a shadow was changed; for it was not yet four o’clock. But during the night a soul had departed.
‘From all I could see, and all I could learn, the Vicar and his daughter strove which should comfort the other the most. Each thought of the other’s grief - each prayed for the other rather than for themselves. We saw them walking out, countrywards; and we heard of them in the cottages of the poor. But it was some time before I happened to meet either of them again. And then I felt, from something indescribable in their manner towards me, that I was one of the
“Peculiar people, whom Death had made dear.”
That one day at the old hall had done this. I was, perhaps, the last person who had given the poor little fellow any unusual pleasure. Poor Walter! I wish I could have done more to make his short life happy!
CHAPTER VIII
‘There was a little lull, out of respect to the Vicar’s grief, in the visiting. It gave time to Mrs. Rose to soften down the anguish of her weeds.
‘At Christmas, Miss Tomkinson sent out invitations for a party. Miss Caroline had once or twice apologised to me because such an event had not taken place before; but, as she said, “the avocations of their daily life prevented their having such little réunions except in the vacations.” And, sure enough, as soon as the holidays began, came the civil little note:
‘“The Misses Tomkinson request the pleasure of Mrs. Rose’s and Mr. Harrison’s company at tea, on the evening of Monday, the 23rd inst. Tea at five o’clock.”
‘Mrs. Rose’s spirit roused, like a war-horse at the sound of the trumpet, at this. She was not of a repining disposition, but I do think she believed the party-giving population of Duncombe had given up inviting her, as soon as she had determined to relent, and accept the invitations, in compliance with the late Mr. Rose’s wishes.
‘Such snippings of white love-ribbon as I found everywhere, making the carpet untidy! One day, too unluckily, a small box was brought to me by mistake. I did not look at the direction, for I never doubted it was some hyoscyamus which I was expecting from London; so I tore it open, and saw inside a piece of paper, with “No more grey hair,” in large letters, upon it. I folded it up in a hurry, and sealed it afresh, and gave it to Mrs. Rose; but I could not refrain from asking her, soon after, if she could recommend me anything to keep my hair from turning grey, adding that I thought prevention was better than cure. I think she made out the impression of my seal on the paper after that; for I learned that she had been crying, and that she talked about there being no sympathy left in the world for her since Mr. Rose’s death; and that she counted the days until she could rejoin him in the better world. I think she counted the days to Miss Tomkinson’s party, too; she talked so much about it.
‘The covers were taken off Miss Tomkinson’s chairs, and curtains, and sofas; and a great jar full of artificial flowers was placed in the centre of the table, which, as Miss Caroline told me, was all her doing, as she doted on the beautiful and artistic in life. Miss Tomkinson stood, erect as a grenadier, close to the door, receiving her friends, and heartily shaking them by the hands as they entered; she said she was truly glad to see them. And so she really was.
‘We had just finished tea, and Miss Caroline had brought out a little pack of conversation cards - sheaves of slips of cardboard, with intellectual or sentimental questions on one set, and equally intellectual and sentimental answers on the other; and, as the answers were fit to any and all the questions, you may think they were a characterless and “wersh” set of things. I had just been asked by Miss Caroline:
‘“Can you tell what those dearest to you think of you at this present time?” and had answered:
‘“How can you expect me to reveal such a secret to the present company!” when the servant announced that a gentleman, a friend of mine, wished to speak to me downstairs.
‘“Oh, show him up, Martha; show him up!” said Miss Tomkinson, in her hospitality.
‘“Any friend of our friend is welcome,” said Miss Caroline, in an insinuating tone.
‘I jumped up, however, thinking it might he some one on business; but I was so penned in by the spider-legged tables, stuck out on every side, that I could not make the haste I wished; and, before I could prevent it, Martha had shown up Jack Marshland, who was on his road home for a day or two at Christmas.
‘He came up in a hearty way, bowing to Miss Tomkinson, and explaining that he had found himself in my neighbourhood, and had come over to pass a night with me, and that my servant had directed him where I was.
‘His voice, loud at all times, sounded like Stentor’s in that little room, where we all spoke in a kind of purring way. He had no swell in his tones; they were forte from the beginning. At first it seemed like the days of my youth come back again, to hear full manly speaking; I felt proud of my friend, as he thanked Miss Tomkinson for her kindness in asking him to stay the evening. By-and-by he came up to me, and I dare say he thought he had lowered his voice, for he looked as if speaking confidentially, while in fact the whole room might have heard him.
‘“Frank, my boy, when shall we have dinner at this good old lady’s? I’m deuced hungry.”
‘“Dinner! Why, we had had tea an hour ago.” While he yet spoke, Martha came in with a little tray on which was a single cup of coffee and three slices of wafer bread-and-butter. His dismay, and his evident submission to the decrees of Fate, tickled me so much, that I thought he should have a further taste of the life I led from month’s end to month’s end, and I gave up my
plan of taking him home at once, and enjoyed the anticipation of the hearty laugh we should have together at the end of the evening. I was famously punished for my determination.
‘“Shall we continue our game?” asked Miss Caroline, who had never relinquished her sheaf of questions.
‘We went on questioning and answering, with little gain of information to either party.
‘“No such thing as heavy betting in this game, eh, Frank?” asked Jack, who had been watching us. “You don’t lose ten pounds at a sitting, I guess, as you used to do at Short’s. Playing for love, I suppose you call it?”
‘Miss Caroline simpered, and looked down. Jack was not thinking of her. He was thinking of the days we had had “at the Mermaid.” Suddenly he said, “Where were you this day last year, Frank?”
‘“I don’t remember!” said I.
‘“Then I’ll tell you. It’s the 23rd the day you were taken up for knocking down the fellow in Long Acre, and that I had to bail you out ready for Christmas Day. You are in more agreeable quarters tonight.”
‘He did not intend this reminiscence to be heard, but was not in the least put out when Miss Tomkinson, with a face of dire surprise, asked:
‘“Mr. Harrison taken up, sir?”
‘“Oh, yes, ma’am; and you see it was so common an affair with him to be locked up that he can’t remember the dates of his different imprisonments.”
‘He laughed heartily; and so should I have done, but that I saw the impression it made. The thing was, in fact, simple enough, and capable of easy explanation. I had been made angry by seeing a great hulking fellow, out of mere wantonness, break the crutch from under a cripple; and I struck the man more violently than I intended, and down he went, yelling out for the police, and I had to go before the magistrate to be released. I disdained giving this explanation at the time. It was no business of theirs what I had been doing a year ago; but still Jack might have held his tongue. However, that unruly member of his was set a-going, and he told me afterwards he was resolved to let the old ladies into a little of life; and accordingly he remembered every practical joke we had ever had, and talked and laughed, and roared again. I tried to converse with Miss Caroline - Mrs. Munton - any one; but Jack was the hero of the evening, and everyone was listening to him.
‘“Then he has never sent any hoaxing letters since he came here, has he? Good boy! He has turned over a new leaf He was the deepest dog at that I ever met with. Such anonymous letters as he used to send! Do you remember that to Mrs. Walbrook, eh, Frank? That was too bad!” (the wretch was laughing all the time). “No; I won’t tell about it - don’t be afraid. Such a shameful hoax!” (laughing again).
‘“Pray do tell,” I called out; for it made it seem far worse than it was.
‘“Oh no, no; you’ve established a better character - I would not for the world nip your budding efforts. We’ll bury the past in oblivion.”
‘I tried to tell my neighbours the story to which he alluded; and they were attracted by the merriment of Jack’s manner, and did not care to hear the plain matter of fact.
‘Then came a pause; Jack was talking almost quietly to Miss Horsman. Suddenly he called across the room - “How many times have you been out with the hounds? The hedges were blind very late this year, but you have had some good mild days since.”
‘“I have never been out,” said I shortly.
‘“Never! - whew! - Why, I thought that was the great attraction to Duncombe.”
‘Now was not he provoking! He would condole with me, and fix the subject in the minds of every one present.
‘The supper trays were brought in, and there was a shuffling of situations. He and I were close together again.
‘“I say, Frank, what will you lay me that I don’t clear that tray before people are ready for their second helping? I’m as hungry as a hound.”
‘“You shall have a round of beef and a raw leg of mutton when you get home. Only do behave yourself here.”
‘“Well, for your sake; but keep me away from those trays, or I’ll not answer for myself. ‘Hould me, or I’ll fight’, as the Irishman said. I’ll go and talk to that little old lady in blue, and sit with my back to those ghosts of eatables.”
‘He sat down by Miss Caroline, who would not have liked his description of her; and began an earnest, tolerably quiet conversation. I tried to be as agreeable as I could, to do away with the impression he had given of me; but I found that every one drew up a little stiffly at my approach, and did not encourage me to make any remarks.
‘In the middle of my attempts, I heard Miss Caroline beg Jack to take a glass of wine, and I saw him help himself to what appeared to be port; but in an instant he set it down from his lips, exclaiming, “Vinegar, by Jove!” He made the most horribly wry face: and Miss Tomkinson came up in a severe hurry to investigate the affair. It turned out it was some black-currant wine, on which she particularly piqued herself; I drank two glasses of it to ingratiate myself with her, and can testify to its sourness. I don’t think she noticed my exertions, she was so much engrossed in listening to Jack’s excuses for his mal-àpropos observation. He told her, with the gravest face, that he had been a teetotaller so long that he had but a confused recollection of the distinction between wine and vinegar, particularly eschewing the latter, because it had been twice fermented; and that he had imagined Miss Caroline had asked him to take toast-and-water, or he should never have touched the decanter.
CHAPTER IX
‘As we were walking home, Jack said, “Lord, Frank! I’ve had such fun with the little lady in blue. I told her you wrote to me every Saturday, telling me the events of the week. She took it all in.” He stopped to laugh; for he bubbled and chuckled so that he could not laugh and walk. “And I told her you were deeply in love” (another laugh); “and that I could not get you to tell me the name of the lady, but that she had light brown hair - in short, I drew from life, and gave her an exact description of herself; and that I was most anxious to see her, and implore her to be merciful to you, for that you were a most timid, faint-hearted fellow with women.” He laughed till I thought he would have fallen down. “I begged her, if she could guess who it was from my description - I’ll answer for it she did - I took care of that; for I said you described a mole on the left cheek, in the most poetical way, saying Venus had pinched it out of envy at seeing any one more lovely - oh, hold me up, or I shall fall - laughing and hunger make me so weak; - well, I say, I begged her, if she knew who your fair one could be, to implore her to save you. I said I knew one of your lungs had gone after a former love-affair, and that I could not answer for the other if the lady here were cruel. She spoke of a respirator; but I told her that might do very well for the odd lung; but would it minister to a heart diseased? I really did talk fine. I have found out the secret of eloquence - it’s believing what you’ve got to say; and I worked myself well up with fancying you married to the little lady in blue.”
‘I got to laughing at last, angry as I had been; his impudence was irresistible. Mrs. Rose had come home in the sedan, and gone to bed; and he and I sat up over the round of beef and brandy-and-water till two o’clock in the morning.
‘He told me I had got quite into the professional way of mousing about a room, and mewing and purring according as my patients were ill or well. He mimicked me, and made me laugh at myself. He left early the next morning.
‘Mr. Morgan came at his usual hour; he and Marshland would never have agreed, and I should have been uncomfortable to see two friends of mine disliking and despising each other.
‘Mr. Morgan was ruffled; but with his deferential manner to women, he smoothed himself down before Mrs. Rose - regretted that he had not been able to come to Miss Tomkinson’s the evening before, and consequently had not seen her in the society she was so well calculated to adorn. But when we were by ourselves, he said:
‘“I was sent for to Mrs. Munton’s this morning - the old spasms. May I ask what is this story she tells me about - about prison, i
n fact? I trust, sir, she has made some little mistake, and that you never were - that it is an unfounded report.” He could not get it out - “that you were in Newgate for three months!” I burst out laughing; the story had grown like a mushroom indeed. Mr. Morgan looked grave. I told him the truth. Still he looked grave. “I’ve no doubt, sir, that you acted rightly; but it has an awkward sound. I imagined from your hilarity just now that there was no foundation whatever for the story. Unfortunately, there is.”
‘“I was only a night at the police-station. I would go there again for the same cause, sir.”
‘“Very fine spirit, sir - quite like Don Quixote, but don’t you see you might as well have been to the hulks at once?”
‘“No, sir; I don’t.”
‘“Take my word, before long, the story will have grown to that. However, we won’t anticipate evil. Mens conscia recti, you remember, is the great thing. The part I regret is, that it may require some short time to overcome a little prejudice which the story may excite against you. However, we won’t dwell on it. Mens conscia recti! Don’t think about it, sir.”
‘It was clear he was thinking a good deal about it.
CHAPTER X
‘Two or three days before this time, I had had an invitation from the Bullocks to dine with them on Christmas Day. Mrs. Rose was going to spend the week with friends in the town where she formerly lived; and I had been pleased at the notion of being received into a family, and of being a little with Mr. Bullock, who struck me as a bluff, good-hearted fellow.
‘But this Tuesday before Christmas Day, there came an invitation from the Vicar to dine there; there were to be only their own family and Mr. Morgan. “Only their own family.” It was getting to be all the world to me. I was in a passion with myself for having been so ready to accept Mr. Bullock’s invitation - coarse and ungentlemanly as he was; with his wife’s airs of pretension and Miss Bullock’s stupidity. I turned it over in my mind. No! I could not have a bad headache, which should prevent me going to the place I did not care for, and yet leave me at liberty to go where I wished. All I could do was to join the vicarage girls after church, and walk by their side in a long country ramble. They were quiet; not sad, exactly; but it was evident that the thought of Walter was in their minds on this day. We went through a copse where there were a good number of evergreens planted as covers for game. The snow was on the ground; but the sun was clear and bright, and the sun glittered on the smooth holly-leaves. Lizzie asked me to gather her some of the very bright red berries, and she was beginning a sentence with:
Delphi Complete Works of Elizabeth Gaskell Page 319
