ever see one, but I warn't goingto tell you so, Master Morton, my lad. What did he chuck inter the sea,and what did he chuck it there for?"
Fisherman Dick sat thinking for a few minutes, and shaking his head,before saying aloud:
"No; it didn't sound like a stone."
After which he had another think, and then he got up, shouldered hisbasket, and went homeward, saying:
"I shall have to find out what that there was."
Volume One, Chapter XV.
MISS CLODE'S LIBRARY.
Miss Clode's library and fancy bazaar stood facing the sea--so near,indeed, that on stormy days she was occasionally compelled to have thegreen shutters up to protect the window-panes from the spray and shinglethat were driven across the road. But on fine days it was open to thesunshine, and plenty of cane-seated chairs were ranged about the roomyshop.
The back was formed of a glass partition, pretty well covered withbooks, but not so closely as to hide the whole shop from the occupantsof the snug parlour, where little, thin Miss Clode sat one fine morning,like a dried specimen of her niece, Annie Slade, a stout young ladynicknamed Dumpling by the bucks who made the place a sort of socialexchange.
The shop was well fitted and carpeted. Glass cases, filled withgaily-dyed wools and silks, were on the counter. Glass cases werebehind filled with knick-knacks and fancy goods, papier-mache trays andinkstands bright with mother-of-pearl, and ivory and ebony specimens ofthe turner's art. Look where you would, everything was brightlypolished, and every speck of dust had been duly hunted out. In fact,Miss Clode's establishment whispered of prosperity, and suggested thatthe little eager-eyed maiden lady must be in the circumstances known ascomfortable.
Business had not been very brisk that morning, but several customers hadcalled to make purchases or to change books, and two of these latter hadmade purchases as well. In fact, it was rather curious, but whencertain of her clients called, and Miss Clode introduced to their noticesome special novelty, they always bought it without furtherconsideration.
"You are such a clever business woman, auntie," drawled her niece. "Iwish I could sell things as fast as you."
"Perhaps you will some day, my dear."
"Lady Drelincourt bought that little Tunbridge needle-book for half aguinea, didn't she, aunt?"
"Yes, my dear," said Miss Clode, pursing up her thin lips.
"She couldn't have wanted it, auntie," drawled the girl. "I don'tbelieve she ever used a needle in her life."
"Perhaps not, my dear, but she might want it for a present."
"Oh, so she might; I never thought of that. Customers!" added the girlsharply, and rose to go into the shop.
"I'll attend to them, my dear," said Miss Clode quickly, and she enteredthe shop to smilingly confront Sir Harry Payne and Sir Matthew Bray.
"Well, Miss Clode, what's the newest and best book for a man to read?"
"Really, Sir Harry, I am very sorry," she said. "The coach has notbrought anything fresh, but I expect a parcel down some time to-day.Perhaps you'd look in again?"
"Ah, well, I will," he said. "Come along, Bray."
"Have you seen these new card-cases, Sir Matthew?" said the littlewoman, taking half a dozen from a drawer. "They are real russia, andthe gilding is of very novel design. Only a guinea, Sir Matthew, andquite new."
"Ah, yes, very handsome indeed. A guinea, did you say?" he said,turning the handsome leather case over and over.
"Yes, Sir Matthew. May I put it down to your account?"
"Well, ah, yes--I--ah, yes, I'll take this one."
"Thank you, Sir Matthew. I'll wrap it up, please, in silver paper;"and, with deft fingers, the little woman wrapped up the purchase, handedit over with a smile, and the two friends strolled out for Sir Harry togive his friend a light touch in the side with the head of his cane,accompanied by a peculiar smile, which the other refused to see.
"How very anxious Sir Harry seems to be to get that new book, auntie,"drawled Annie, coming into the shop where Miss Clode was busily makingan entry on her slate; "that makes twice he's been here to-day."
"Yes, my dear, he's a great reader. But now, Annie, the time has comewhen I think I may take you into my confidence."
"La, auntie, do you?"
"I do, and mind this, child: if ever you are foolish or weak, or doanything to betray it, you leave me directly, and that will be a veryserious thing."
Miss Slade's jaw fell, and her mouth opened widely, as did her eyes.
"Ah, I see you understand, so now come here with me."
Miss Slade obeyed, and followed her aunt into the middle room at theback, where, by means of a match dipped into a bottle of phosphorus.Miss Clode obtained a light and ignited a little roll of wax taper, andthen, as her niece watched her with open eyes as they sat at the table,the lady took a small letter from her pocket and laid it with its sealedside uppermost on the table.
"Why, I saw Sir Harry Payne give you that letter this morning, auntie,when he came first."
"Oh, you saw that, did you?" said Miss Clode.
"Yes, auntie, and I thought first he had given it to you to post, andthen as you didn't send me with it, I wondered why he had written toyou."
"He did give it to me to post, my dear," said Miss Clode with a curioussmile, "and before I post it I am bound to see that he has not writtenanything that is not good for the la--person it is for."
"Oh, yes, auntie, I see," said Miss Slade, resting her fat cheeks on herfat fingers, and watching attentively as her aunt took out a seal from atin box, one that looked as if it were made of putty, and compared itwith the sealing-wax on the letter.
This being satisfactory, she cleverly held the wax to the little tapertill it began to bubble and boil, when it parted easily, the paper beingdrawn open and only some silky threads of wax securing it, these beingat once brushed aside.
"Oh, you have got it open lovely, auntie," said the girl.
"Yes, my dear; and now I am going to read it," said Miss Clode, suitingthe deed to the word, skimming through the note rapidly, and thenrefolding it.
"Oh, I say, auntie, what does he say?" said the girl with her eyessparkling. "Is it about love?"
"Don't ask questions, and you will not get strange answers," said MissClode austerely, as she deftly melted the wax once more, and applied thewell-made bread seal, after which there was nothing to show that theletter had been opened. "I see, though, that it was quite time I didtrust you, my dear, and I hope I shall have no cause to repent."
Just then a customer entered the shop, and again Miss Clode went toattend.
"I know it was a love-letter," said Annie quickly; "and it was Sir HarryPayne wrote it. I wonder who it was to. I wish he'd make love to me."
Miss Clode came back directly with a volume of poems in her hand--a newcopy, and looking significantly at her niece she said:
"I'm going to post that letter, my dear. Don't you touch it, mind."
As she spoke she thrust the note between the leaves, and then walkedinto the shop with her niece, and placed the book upon a shelf.
"There, if you behave yourself you shall see who buys those poems; but,once more, never a word to a soul."
"Oh, no, auntie, never," said the girl, with her big eyes rolling. "Butoh, I say, auntie, isn't it fun?"
"Isn't what fun?"
"I know," giggled the girl; "there was a letter in that card-case yousold. I saw you put it there."
"Well, well, perhaps there was, my dear. I must oblige customers, andthe profits on things are so small, and rents so high. We must live,you see. And now mind this: if Mrs Frank Burnett comes, you call me."
"Couldn't I sell her that volume of poems, auntie?" said the girleagerly.
"No, certainly not; and now look here, miss. Don't you ever pretend tobe simple any more."
"No, auntie," said the girl, "I won't;" and she drew her breath thicklyand gave a smack with her lips, as if she were tasting something verynice.
Loungers dropped in, and lo
ungers dropped out, coming for the most partto meet other loungers, and, like the Athenians of old, to ask whetherthere was anything new. Sometimes Miss Clode was consulted, and whenthis was the case, her way was soft, deprecating, and diffident. Shethought she had heard this; she believed that she had heard that; shewould endeavour to find out; or, yes, to be sure, her ladyship wasright: it was so, she remembered now. While when not invited to giveopinions, she was busy in the extreme over some item connected with herbusiness, and hearing and seeing nothing, with that bended head sointent upon arranging, or booking, or tying up.
There was very little, though, that Miss Clode did not hear, especiallywhen some one of a group said, "Oh, fie!" or "No, really, now!" or "Howshocking!" and there was a little burst of giggles.
In due time, just as Miss Clode was instructing her niece in the art oftying up a packet of wools, so that one end was left open and the dealercould see at a glance what colours it contained, Annie's jaw dropped,and seemed to draw down the lower lids of her eyes, so that they wereopened to the fullest extent, for Frank Burnett's handsome britzka drewup at the door, the steps were rattled down, _flip, flop, flap_, with avigorous action that would bring people to the windows to see, and, allsweetness in appearance and odour, like the blossom she was, the MC'sidol stepped daintily rustling down, the very model of all that was_naive_ and girlish.
"Who'd ever think she was a wife?" said Miss Clode to herself.
"Oh my! isn't she pretty?" said Annie.
"Go on tying up those packets, and don't take any notice," said MissClode; and then, with the greatest of deference, wished her visitorgood-morning, and begged to know how she was.
"Not very well, Miss Clode: so tired. Society is so exacting. Can yourecommend me any book that will distract me a little?"
"Let me see, ma'am," said Miss Clode, turning her head on one side in avery bird-like way, and bending forward as if she were going to peck aseed off the counter.
"Something that will really take me out of myself."
"The last romance might be too exciting, ma'am?"
"Do you think it would?"
"Ye-e-e-es. Oh, yes, decidedly so in your case, ma'am," said MissClode, in quite the tone of a female physician. "Poems--soft, dreamy,soothing poems, now, would I think be most suited."
"Oh, do you think so?" said Mrs Burnett half pettishly.
"Yes, ma'am, I have a volume here, not included in the library, but forsale--`Lays of the Heart-strings'--by a gentleman of quality. I shouldrecommend it strongly."
"Oh, dear no," exclaimed the visitor, as Miss Clode took the work fromthe shelf. "I don't think a--well, I will look at it," she said,blushing vividly, as she saw that the book did not thoroughly close inone part. "Perhaps you are right, Miss Clode. I will take it. What isthe price?"
"Half a guinea, ma'am, to subscribers, and I will call you a subscriber.Shall I do it up in paper?"
"Yes, by all means. What delightful weather we are having!"
"Delightful, indeed, ma'am," said Miss Clode, whose face was simplybusiness-like. There was not a nerve-twitch, not a peculiar glance toindicate that she was playing a double part; and it was wonderfullyconvenient. Visitors both ladies and gentlemen, liked it immensely, andpatronised her accordingly, for no Artesian well was ever so deep anddark as Miss Clode, or as silent. She knew absolutely nothing. MrsFrank Burnett had bought a volume of poems at her establishment, thatwas all. Anybody might have slipped the note inside. While as toseeking a client's confidence, or alluding in the mildest way to anylittle transaction that had taken place for the sake of obtainingfurther fee or reward, any client would have told you that with thepurchase of book, album, card-case, or needle-housewife, everytransaction was at an end; and so Miss Clode's business throve, and LordCarboro' called her the Saltinville sphinx.
"Is there any particular news stirring, Miss Clode?"
"Really, no, ma'am," said that lady, pausing in the act of cutting thetwine that confined the book. "A new family has come to the George;and, by the way, I have to send their cards to Mr Denville."
"Oh, of course, I don't want to know anything about that," said MrsBurnett hastily.
"The officers are talking of getting up a ball before long, and they saythat a certain person will be there."
"Indeed!" said the visitor, flushing.
"Yes, ma'am, I was told so, and--ahem!--here is Lord Carboro'. Half aguinea, ma'am, if you please."
Surely there was no occasion for a lady to look so flushed in the act ofextricating a little gold coin from her purse; but somehow the ordinarysweet ingenuous look would not come back to May Burnett's face, any morethan the coin would consent to come out of the little, long net pursewith gold tassels and slides; and the colour deepened as the keen littleeyes of the old man settled for a moment on the tied-up book, and thenon Miss Clode's face.
"What an old sphinx it is," he thought to himself. "The day growsbrighter every hour, Mrs Burnett," he said gallantly. "It hasculminated in the sight of you."
"Your lordship's compliments are overpowering," said the lady, with aprofound curtsey; and then she secured her book and would have fled, buthis lordship insisted upon escorting her to her carriage, hat in hand,and he cursed that new pomade in a way that was silent but not divine,for it lifted one side of his hair as if he were being scalped when heraised his hat.
"Good-morning, good-morning!" he said, as the carriage drove off."Little wretch," he muttered as he watched the equipage out of sight,but with his hat on now. "I hate scandal, but if we don't have atoothsome bit before long over that little woman, I'm no man. It'svexatious, too," he said angrily, "doosid vexatious. I don't like it.So different to the other, and our sweet Christians here will throw dirtat both. Can't help it; can't help it. Well, Miss Clode, anything youwant to recommend to me?"
"Yes, my lord, I have a very charming little tortoise-shell-coveredengagement-book or two. Most elegant and very cheap."
"I don't want cheap things, my dear little woman. Let me see, let mesee. Oh, yes, very nice indeed," he said, opening the case, and lettinga scented note drop out on the counter. "Same make, I see, as thecigar-case I bought last week."
"No, my lord, it is French."
"No, no--no, no; don't tell me--English, English. People have stucktheir advertisement in. Send it back to 'em. Do for some one else."
"Then your lordship does not like the case?"
"My dear little woman, but I do, doosidly, but don't offer me any morewith that person's circular inside. There, there, there; take the priceout of that five-pound note. Two guineas? And very cheap too. Doosidpretty little piece of art, Miss Clode. Doosid pretty little piece ofart."
"Wouldn't he have old Mrs Dean's pink note, auntie?" said Annie, assoon as his lordship had gone.
"My dear child, this will never do. You see and hear far too much."
"Please auntie, I can't help it," drawled the girl. "I shouldn't speaklike that to anyone else."
"Ah, well, I suppose not; and I have done right, I see. No; he wouldnot have the pink note. This is the second he has refused. Old MrsDean will be furious, but she must have known that it would not lastlong."
"I know why it is," said Annie eagerly. "I know, auntie."
"You know, child?"
"Yes, auntie; old Lord--"
"Hush! don't call people old."
"Lord Carboro' has taken a fancy to some one else."
"Well, perhaps so," said Miss Clode, tapping her niece's fat cheek, andsmiling. "People do take fancies, even when they are growing older,"she added with a sigh. "Well, he hasn't taken a fancy to you."
"Ugh! Oh, gracious, auntie, don't," said the girl with a shudder."He's such a horrid old man. I can't think how it was that beautifulMiss Cora Dean could like him."
"I can," said Miss Clode shortly. "Now go and see about the dinner, anddon't talk so much."
Volume One, Chapter XVI.
MRS DEAN'S DRIVE.
May Burnett, with h
er little palpitating heart full of trouble, prettybutterfly of fashion that she was, was flitting through the sunshine oneafternoon for the second time to confide her troublesome secret to hersister and obtain her help, but her heart failed her again. The rightroad was so steep and hard, so she turned down the wrong one once more,laughed at Claire, and left her with saddened face, as in response tothe again-repeated question, "Why did you come?" she replied:
"Oh, I don't know. Just to try and make people forget what a horriblehouse this has been. I almost wonder, though, that I dare to call."
She gave her sister a childlike kiss, and away she went full sail, andwith no more ballast than she possessed two years before, at the timeshe was so severely taken to task for flirting with Louis Gravani, whenthe handsome young artist painted her portrait and that of her father,hers to hang in the drawing-room, that of the Master of the Ceremoniesin the ante-room at the Assembly Rooms.
Claire went to the window
The Master of the Ceremonies Page 18