Clara Vaughan, Volume 2 (of 3)
Page 14
CHAPTER XII.
But when Conrad should have learned who it was that nursed his dog,would he feel the tender gratitude and delight which he now displayed sofreely? Would he say, as in his fervour he now said every day, "MissValence, I do believe there is no one like you in the world!" Would henot rather say, "Miss Vaughan, how basely you have deceived me!Giudice, come away!" A whistle and the last sound of the foot, forwhich I listened now by the hour.
This thought was continually with me. It poisoned half the flavour andruined all the digestion of my happy moments. But what could I do? Howunmaidenly, how presumptuous of me to imagine that he was likely tobreak his heart for me! And if he did--why then he should break my ownas well. I am not one of the drawing-room young ladies, who receive amodified proposal every Sunday afternoon, and think much more about thesermon afterwards. I cannot play with the daffodils upon the brink oflove, sleepily thrusting my admirers in, and lounging with half-openbreast, which neither love-knots may secure, nor fluttering sighsunzone. No, here I am, such as I am, such as God has made me. Nousury, no auction for my heart: once for all I give it, and my life goeswith it.
So it must always be with a girl of any feeling, who has trained her ownexistence. But for my wild ignorance, I would dare to say--so it mustbe always with a girl of feeling, twist and warp her as you will. Yet Iam told, by those who know the world, that it is not so with nine girlsout of ten among the lady caste. If, beneath the roc of fashion, theyprefer the diamond to the meat, let them have it, and starve thereon.The choice is of their own young crops. No parent bird can force thebauble down. But what have I to do with this? All I know is thatneither I, nor any child of mine, will or shall be gulleted thus forlife.
After every little burst of thought, every feeble sally of imagination,came (as always is the case with me) came the slow pusillanimousreaction. All that I had any right to do was to paint, earn money, andbe off for Italy.
Little as I knew about the expense of travelling, I felt sure that itwould be vain to start with less than a hundred pounds. Enormous sum!How could I ever hope to win it, though I painted day and night, andlived on bread and water. To this diet, or what in London is quitesynonymous, bread and milk, I had already reduced myself, in my sternresolve to lay by two pounds every week. Farewell to meat, so soon asmy Devonshire "pegmate" was gone, and farewell to what I cared much moreabout, a glass of good London stout. I suppose there is somethinghorribly "vulgar" in my tastes, for I will confess that the liquidcalled "black draught" by Mr. Dawe had much charm for me. However, Iabjured it with all other luxuries, and throve no whit the worse. Thekindly little woman, whose summum bonum (next to her "sticks") wasplenty of good fare, took it much to heart that I should live soplainly.
"Why, Miss Valence, you are the queerest young lady as ever I set eyeson. All as ever I see, and I've see'd a many, they picks a little bitso dainty, like a canary cracking a hemp seed when the gentlemen is by:then off they goes when there's nobody looking, and munches like so manypigs in a potato bury. Miss Violante you know. But as for you, whybless me and keep me, you feeds that great horse of a dog with all thefat of the land, and you lives on a crust yourself. Now do come down,that's a good soul; there's a clod of beef a-biling with suet dumplings,and such lovely parsnips, you can smell it all up the stairs, galloping,galloping, my good friend, and that rogue of a Charley won't come home Iknow, he's got along with that thief Bob Ridley; and I expects the boyevery minute with a little drop of stout, and the best pewter pot foryou. Now if you won't come down, Miss Valence, my dinner will all stickin my throat, and I am so hungry."
"So am I, Mrs. Shelfer, you have made me so."
In her excitement, she slipped from the edge of the chair, whereon shealways balanced herself when I made her sit down. She thought itdisrespectful to occupy too much room, and cuddled herself in thesmallest compass possible.
Let no ill be thought of Giudice. Who thinks ill of me I care not, forI can defend myself, if it be worth while. So can Giudice with histeeth--the finest set in London--but he has no tongue, no merop tongue,I mean. It was true that Giudice had good fare, and thoroughly heenjoyed it. That dog knew a juicy bit of meat, short of staple, crisp,yet melting, quite as well as I did. True, he had a love of bones,transparent gristle, and white fibres, which I, from inferior structure,cannot quite appreciate. Yet all this was no part of his mind, muchless did it affect the greatness of his soul. He kept, as all of us dowho are good for anything, a certain alter ego, a higher voice, a purersense, a vein which fashion cannot leech, or false shame tourniquet. Sothe good dog used to come to me, before he touched his breakfast, lunch,or dinner, and entreat me to devour all I could, there would be lotsstill left for him.
In my hurry to get start of time, to spin a little faster the revolvingmoons, I did a thing which I could ill-approve to myself, even at themoment. I wrote to Sally Huxtable to obtain Mr. Dawe's permission forme to sell my gordit. Professor Ross had offered me no less than tenguineas for it. As a gentleman he should not have made the offer, afterwhat I had told him. But the love of science--falsely so called bycollectors--drives men to discern propriety "by the wire-drawn line oftheir longings."[#] However, I was not quite so blind upon right andwrong, as to mean to keep all the money. I offered Mr. Dawe half, ifthe plaything should be sold.
[#] "Exiguo fine libidinum."
I knew not why, but I could not bear the idea of a bargain and sale withConrad's father, wide apart as the two always were in my mind. I ratherhoped that Beany Dawe, though sorely tempted, would refuse.
And now the time was almost come for news from Tossil's Barton. DearSally must have filled the twelve copybooks, at the rate of one a week.Ere I quite expected it, the letter came; but before its tidings areimparted, I must in few words describe the visit of Inspector Cutting'sson. George Cutting came one evening to see his good Aunt Patty, for sohe called Mrs. Shelfer, who was in truth his cousin. Though I had beenso assured that my enemy could not escape, I was not equally convinced,and at times a deep anxiety and despair possessed me.
Therefore I went to the kitchen to see the Inspector's son, andrequested Mrs. Shelfer to allow me five minutes of conversation withhim. He stood all the while, and seemed rather shy and confused. Hehad not heard from his father, since the ship sailed; but he had seen inthe papers that she had been spoken somewhere. "The party as I knew of"was still safe in London--my blood ran like lava at the thought--or Ishould have heard of it. He, George Cutting, had his eye upon him, andso had two of the detective force; but what were they in comparison withhis father? This he asked, despite his shyness, with so large acontempt, that I began to think the Cutting family admired the Cuttingsonly.
Upon me, who am no Cutting, he left the simple impression that thequalities, so lauded by his father, lay as yet beneath a bushel.However, his Aunt Patty declared that he could eat three times as muchas Charley. Not unlikely, if he only drank one-third of Charley'sallowance.
Mrs. Shelfer, who knew that I was laying by a fixed sum every week,began to look upon me as a fine young miser. Of course she quite fellin with what she supposed to be my ideas, for she never contradicted anyone, unless it was a cabman.
"Oh, I do love money, my good friend; gold, gold, it is so bootiful.Did you ever hear tell of the marrow bone I had? Oh dear!"
"What marrow bone, Mrs. Shelfer?"
"Why a big beef marrow bone, that long, full of sovereigns and guineasafter dear Miss Minto. I stopped it with a bung and a piece of bladder,and for better than a twelvemonth, while they was executing her will, Islept with that beneath my pillow for fear the priest should get it.Lord, how they did fight over the poor old lady's rags and bones, thatleathery priest and three yellow kites of cousins, they said they was,as come from Portugal. At last they got a ministration[#] with thetestament and text, and they robbed me shameful, shameful, my goodfriend. Never catch me going to mass again, or you may tell me of it."
[#] ?
Letters of Administration cum testamento annexo.
"And what became of the marrow bone, Mrs. Shelfer?"
At this inquiry, she winked both eyes rapidly, and screwed up her littlemouth.
"Oh what a thief that Father Banger was, to be sure! You see, Miss, Ihad strict orders to shut him out, when Miss Minto was near her end,because he had kicked her dear cat Filippina from the top of the stairsto the bottom, after he had gived her unction. What a pretty sight itwas to see them seven dear cats, all sitting round the fire, each one onhis proper stool with his name done on it in different coloured worsted.I had so much a year left me on the Bank of England, honourable to theday, for each one of those cats, and change of diet every week, and nowthere's only one of them left, and that is my dear old Tom."
"But, Mrs. Shelfer, about the marrow bone--"
"Well, my good friend, I was going to tell you. The way that FatherBanger got into the house again to steal the poor old lady's money, forbuilding a school or some such villany. He knowed how fond the poorsoul was of cats, so he borrowed a cat somewhere, and he got two boys tolet it down the area with a whipcord round its stomach, and to jerk,jerk, jerk away at it, and the poor thing did squeal sure enough.'Pain, Patty,' says my poor mistress, and she could hardly speak--'Oh,Patty, there's some cruel Englishman torturing a cat again.' So out Iruns into the area, and in pops Father Banger, who had his back to thewall, with a great sheet of paper; and he begins to make a list of allthe things in the house. I took the cat to dear Miss Minto, and howpleased she was! 'Please God,' says she, 'to let me live a few daysmore till I make a Catholic of this poor heretic'--she always convertedher cats the first thing--'and then it shall have a stool and a goodannuity.' But next day the poor thing went."
Little Mrs. Shelfer had so great a fear of death, that like some ancientnations she shunned all mention of his name, by euphemistic periphrase.She had never known real illness, and even a stitch or a spasm wouldfrighten her for days. When I spoke calmly, as I sometimes did, of ourgreat inevitable friend, whom we so labour to estrange, up would jumpMrs. Shelfer with a shudder and a little scream.
"Oh don't, my good soul, oh don't! How can you? Let us live, MissValence, let us live while we can, and not think of such dreadfulthings. You make my blood run cold."
"But, Mrs. Shelfer, surely you know that we all must die."
"Of course, my good friend, of course. But then you needn't remind oneof it. I met Doctor Franks to-day, and he said, 'Why, Mrs. Shelfer, Ido declare, you look younger than ever,' and a very clever man he is,yes, yes; and not a gray hair in my head, and my father lived toeighty-eight."
"And how old are you, Mrs. Shelfer, now?"
"Oh I am sure I don't know, Miss Valence, I don't keep no account. Letus talk of something else. Did you hear what Tom did to your Judyto-day?"
Ah, poor little thing! But I am not going to moralise. Shall I everknow the history of that marrow bone?[#]
[#] I have now ascertained that a roving dog popped in and away with themarrow bone, sovereigns, guineas, and all.--C.V. 1864.