by W. W. Jacobs
CHAPTER XXIV--_A Strawberry Mark_
George Early travelled a few miles up the line, then made up his mindto cut across country. Changing his plans, he took to the railway againas far as New Cross, and thought the matter out over a good breakfast.Finally he decided to return to Brunswick Terrace and make his home astronghold until he could defy his enemies. Having thus wasted severalhours, he went forward for the third time.
At Cannon Street a surprise awaited him. Hastily correcting himself ashe was about to enter the buffet, he turned to the station exit, and inpassing through ran against a lady.
"I beg your pardon," said the lady.
"Beg your--what, Ellen? Why, how did you know I was coming here?" criedGeorge.
"Really, I--" the lady gasped, hesitating.
"Who told you I was coming to Cannon Street?"
"What do you mean? I don't know you!" The lady stared at him, anduttered these words with a look of astonishment on her face.
George laughed in spite of his mood. "Well, you've been gettingyourself up in some new clothes; but I suppose you're my lawful wifejust the same," he said. "Anyway, this is no time for acting, Ellen."
"I beg your pardon," said the lady, quietly. "You've evidently made amistake. You certainly know my Christian name, but you don't know me;I've never set eyes on you in my life before."
George found refuge in sarcasm. "Go on," he said; "don't mind me.You'll say I'm not your husband presently."
"You're certainly not," said the lady, firmly, preparing to continue onher way.
"Go on," said George, exasperated; "say you're not Mrs. Early; say youwere never Miss Fairbrother; say you----"
"How do you know my name is Fairbrother?"
"Was--not is."
"I say _is_," said the lady, severely. "Do you know anybody namedFairbrother?"
"I once knew a girl named Fairbrother," said George, in a playfulspirit. "She was a very adorable creature, so I married her. The firsttime I met her was in Upper Thames Street, the last in Cannon----"
"Ah!" The lady gasped and held out her hand. "You don't mean to tell meshe's married? Then you must be her husband?"
"No, I'm her grandfather," said George. "Look here, Ellen, stop thisrot and talk sense. I can't stand here talking----"
"I'm not your wife," said the lady, sharply. "I've just arrived fromAustralia, and I'm going to visit Miss Fairbrother. We're cousins."
George opened his mouth, shut it again, and looked frightfullysheepish. Ellen's cousin! Of course, his wife had got a cousin inAustralia. He had heard of her; Tops she was called--evidently a petname. But what in the world was she doing wandering about Cannon Streetalone? and what did she mean by looking so tremendously like his ownwife? It was obvious, though, now that she was a young person with muchmore confidence than his own Ellen. But, after all, why was she here atall? What was the matter with Australia?
"I've come over post-haste," said the lady in a business-like manner."Got a cable, and went on board next day; not even time to write."
"Anybody ill?" asked George.
His cousin-in-law laughed. "No, not so bad as that; I've had a littleproperty left me. We soon leave Australia when there's property here,don't we?"
With an effort George joined in the laugh. Girls from Australiainheriting property was not a favourite topic with him at the moment.
Miss Fairbrother's modest boxes were placed on a four-wheeler, and thetwo drove off to Brunswick Terrace. On the way George heard a good dealof the childhood of his wife and of the great fun the two cousins usedto have together. No doubt these anecdotes were highly humorous, butGeorge was not in the mood for them.
Mrs. Early was just starting for Upper Thames Street when they arrivedat Brunswick Terrace, and she rushed to the hall on hearing herhusband's voice. As soon as she and her cousin set eyes on one anotherthere was a double shriek.
"Babs!"
"Tops!"
Kisses, endearing epithets, squeezes, playful pats; more kisses,questions--numberless questions. George looked on in gloomy silence.
"You darling scrumptious old Tops!"
"You precious pet! you old Babs!"
More embraces, kisses, and squeezes.
"Keep it up," said George, in a bitter aside to the hatstand; "nevermind the husband. What does it matter if I've been harried about thecountry by a lot of low ruffians, chased from one place to another,bandaged and made a madman? What does it matter, eh?" he repeated,looking hard at a barometer that pointed to "very dry."
"Very dry," said George, noticing it; "suppose I'm very dry, what ofthat? What of it? What does it matter?" raising his voice.
Mrs. Early suddenly tore herself from the embrace of her cousin, andthrew her arms about her husband's neck.
"Oh, you dear old Georgy-Porgy! What a shame to leave him all alone!What a naughty bad old girl!"
Somewhat mollified by this display of affection, George at last wasprevailed upon to smile, and to give a brief account of his adventures,without moving from the spot. His wife assured him that everythingwould come right, and declared that his pursuers were the worst andhorridest men in the world. She then gave him three special kisses forfinding Tops, and bade him take a good look at that young lady from adistance of six feet, and say if she wasn't the dearest, sweetest, andprettiest girl in the world.
George did so, and diplomatically gave it as his opinion that she wasthe "second prettiest."
Mrs. Early dimpled, and, after vowing that her husband was a dear oldstupid, warned him to prepare for a special favour.
"What is it?" asked the young man.
Mrs. Early looked first at her husband, then at her cousin, and thenplacing her hands behind her, and looking as regal and magnanimous aspossible, she said--
"George, you may kiss Tops."
Like a dutiful husband, George obeyed, but not before Mrs. Early hadreceived a scolding from her cousin, who received the salute underprotest.
At dinner that evening George almost forgot his woes in the unceasingflow of conversation. Miss Fairbrother's legacy was the chief topic. Inspite of the urgent cable presaging "a valuable property," thisappeared to be nothing more than "a freehold house at Brixton with along garden."
"It'll be nice to live in without rent," said Miss Fairbrother; "but ofcourse I shall have to work for my bread-and-butter. Anyhow, I shall benear Babs, so it's worth having on that account."
Aunt Phoebe gave her reminiscences of the sailing of the two cousinsfor Australia at the age of two years each, with a graphic descriptionof the scene at the docks.
"Your papa was in the height of his success then," she said to Mrs.Early, "and his brother was doing well. The strangest thing was thatthey both married when nearly fifty, and both were left widowers withinthree years with a baby-girl each. I offered to take care of the two ofyou, but as your Aunt Mary was going a voyage to Australia, and thechange was thought good for you, away you both went with her. Of coursewe never dreamt of her staying there and you two staying with her."
"If papa was doing well when I went away, what became of his fortune?"asked Miss Fairbrother.
"He married again," said Aunt Phoebe, "and lost the greater part ofit through the extravagance of his wife. I'm glad he managed to keep ahouse out of it for you; it was little enough to do."
"Poor papa!"
"Yes, I suppose he deserves to be pitied," said Aunt Phoebe. "ButJohn never had the good sense of Joseph. They were both J.Fairbrother's, but the one J. was very different from the other inbusiness ability. I always thought it absurd that John should imitateJoseph in calling his baby-girl by the same name. You were born withina week of each other, and both named Ellen."
"What a funny thing," said Mrs. Early, laughing, "that we never gotmixed up!"
"Yes, indeed," said Aunt Phoebe. "I remember your poor father tellingyour Aunt Mary, with a smile, to be sure to keep you separate."
"'They're separate enough!' said John, laughing. 'One's got astrawberry mark, Mary, and remember the st
rawberry mark's mine.' Thenyour father----"
"Aunt," said Miss Fairbrother, in a queer voice, "did you say thestrawberry mark was on John's baby or on----"
"John Fairbrother's baby-girl had a strawberry mark," said AuntPhoebe; "that's how we knew the difference, you were so much alike."
Mrs. Early and her cousin looked at each other. George put down theglass he was raising to his lips and looked at them both. Aunt Phoeberose from her seat suddenly and said--
"What is it? You don't mean to say----"
Mrs. Early drew up the sleeve of her gown and exposed the bare, prettyarm, with its significant birth-mark.
"John's girl!" gasped her aunt.
There was a deathly silence. The clock on the mantelshelf ticked awayin regular monotonous beats, every sound in the street could be hearddistinctly, and of the four people at the table three were looking inwonderment at the birthmark on Mrs. Early's arm.
George, on whom the significance of the whole thing had dawned withgreat rapidity, sat with his mouth open until he had thoroughly graspedthe situation. Then he said in a feeble whisper--
"Would somebody mind passing the brandy?"