Between the Dark and the Daylight

by Richard Marsh

  BETWEEN THE DARK AND THE DAYLIGHT

  * * *

  RICHARD MARSH

  *

  Between the Dark and the Daylight

  First published in 1902

  ISBN 978-1-62012-695-0

  Duke Classics

  © 2012 Duke Classics and its licensors. All rights reserved.

  While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in this edition, Duke Classics does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. Duke Classics does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book.

  Contents

  *

  My Aunt's Excursion

  The Irregularity of the Juryman

  Mitwaterstraand - The Story of a Shock

  Exchange is Robbery

  The Haunted Chair

  Nelly

  La Haute Finance - A Tale of the Biggest Coup on Record

  Mrs. Riddle's Daughter

  Miss Donne's Great Gamble

  "Skittles"

  "Em"

  A Relic of the Borgias

  My Aunt's Excursion

  *

  "Thomas," observed my aunt, as she entered the room, "I have taken you by surprise."

  She had. Hamlet could scarcely have been more surprised at the appearance of the ghost of his father. I had supposed that she was in the wilds of Cornwall. She glanced at the table at which I had been seated.

  "What are you doing?—having your breakfast?"

  I perceived, from the way in which she used her glasses, and the marked manner in which she paused, that she considered the hour an uncanonical one for such a meal. I retained some fragments of my presence of mind.

  "The fact is, my dear aunt, that I was at work a little late last night, and this morning I find myself with a trifling headache."

  "Then a holiday will do you good."

  I agreed with her. I never knew an occasion on which I felt that it would not.

  "I shall be only too happy to avail myself of the opportunity afforded by your unexpected presence to relax for a time, the strain of my curriculum of studies. May I hope, my dear aunt, that you propose to stay with me at least a month?"

  "I return to-night."

  "To-night! When did you come?"

  "This morning."

  "From Cornwall?"

  "From Lostwithiel. An excursion left Lostwithiel shortly after midnight, and returns again at midnight to-day, thus giving fourteen hours in London for ten shillings. I resolved to take advantage of the occasion, and to give some of my poorer neighbours, who had never even been as far as Plymouth in their lives, a glimpse of some of the sights of the Great City. Here they are—I filled a compartment with them. There are nine."

  There were nine—and they were about the most miscellaneous-looking nine I ever saw. I had wondered what they meant by coming with my aunt into my sitting-room. Now, if anything, I wondered rather more. She proceeded to introduce them individually—not by any means by name only.

  "This is John Eva. He is eighty-two and slightly deaf. Good gracious, man! don't stand there shuffling, with your back against the wall: sit down somewhere, do. This is Mrs. Penna, sixty-seven, and a little lame. I believe you're eating peppermints again. I told you, Mrs. Penna, that I can't stand the odour, and I can't. This is her grandson, Stephen Treen, aged nine. He cried in the train."

  My aunt shook her finger at Stephen Treen, in an admonitory fashion, which bade fair, from the look of him, to cause an immediate renewal of his sorrows.

  "This is Matthew Holman, a converted drunkard who has been the worst character in the parish. But we are hoping better things of him now." Matthew Holman grinned, as if he were not certain that the hope was mutual, "This is Jane, and this is Ellen, two maids of mine. They are good girls, in their way, but stupid. You will have to keep your eye on them, or they will lose themselves the first chance they get." I was not amazed, as I glanced in their direction, to perceive that Jane and Ellen blushed.

  "This," went on my aunt, and into her voice there came a sort of awful dignity, "is Daniel Dyer, I believe that he kissed Ellen in a tunnel."

  "Please ma'am," cried Ellen, and her manner bore the hall-mark of truth, "it wasn't me, that I'm sure."

  "Then it was Jane—which does not alter the case in the least." In saying this, it seemed to me that, from Ellen's point of view, my aunt was illogical. "I am not certain that I ought to have brought him with us; but, since I have, we must make the best of it. I only hope that he will not kiss young women when he is in the streets with me."

  I also hoped, in the privacy of my own breast, that he would not kiss young women while he was in the streets with me—at least, when it remained broad day.

  "This," continued my aunt, leaving Daniel Dyer buried in the depths of confusion, and Jane on the verge of tears, "is Sammy Trevenna, the parish idiot. I brought him, trusting that the visit would tend to sharpen his wits, and at the same time, teach him the difference between right and wrong. You will have, also, to keep an eye upon Sammy. I regret to say that he is addicted to picking and stealing. Sammy, where is the address card which I gave you?"

  Sammy—who looked his character, every inch of it!—was a lanky, shambling youth, apparently eighteen or nineteen years old. He fumbled in his pockets.

  "I've lost it," he sniggered.

  "I thought so. That is the third you have lost since we started. Here is another. I will pin it to your coat; then when you are lost, someone will be able to understand who you are. Last, but not least, Thomas, this is Mr. Poltifen. Although this is his first visit to London, he has read a great deal about the Great Metropolis. He has brought a few books with him, from which he proposes to read selections, at various points in our peregrinations, bearing upon the sights we are seeing, in order that instruction may be blended with our entertainment."

  Mr. Poltifen was a short, thick-set individual, with that in his appearance which was suggestive of pugnacity, an iron-grey, scrubby beard, and a pair of spectacles—probably something superior in the cobbling line. He had about a dozen books fastened together in a leather strap, among them being—as, before the day was finished, I had good reason to be aware—a "History of London," in seven volumes.

  "Mr. Poltifen," observed my aunt, waving her hand towards the gentleman referred to, "represents, in our party, the quality of intelligent interest."

  Mr. Poltifen settled his glasses on his nose and glared at me as if he dared me to deny it. Nothing could have been further from my mind.

  "Sammy," exclaimed my aunt, "sit still. How many times have I to request you not to shuffle?"

  Sammy was rubbing his knees together in a fashion the like of which I had never seen before. When he was addressed, he drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and he sniggered. I felt that he was the sort of youth anyone would have been glad to show round town.

  My aunt took a sheet of paper from her hand-bag.

  "This is the outline programme we have drawn up. We have, of course, the whole day in front of us, and I have jotted down the names of some of the more prominent places of interest which we wish to see." She began to read: "The Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, Woolwich Arsenal, the National Gallery, British Museum, South Kensington Museum, the Natural History Museum, the Zoological Gardens, Kew Gardens, Greenwich Hospital, Westminster Abbey, the Albert Memorial, the Houses of Parliament, the Monument, the Marble Arch, the Bank of England, the Thames Embankment, Billingsgate Fish Market, Covent Garden Market, the Meat Market, some of the birthplaces of famous persons, some of the scenes mentioned in Charles Dicke
ns's novels—during the winter we had a lecture in the schoolroom on Charles Dickens's London; it aroused great interest—and the Courts of Justice. And we should like to finish up at the Crystal Palace. We should like to hear any suggestions you would care to make which would tend to alteration or improvement—only, I may observe, that we are desirous of reaching the Crystal Palace as early in the day as possible, as it is there we propose to have our midday meal." I had always been aware that my aunt's practical knowledge of London was but slight, but I had never realised how slight until that moment. "Our provisions we have brought with us. Each person has a meat pasty, a potato pasty, a jam pasty, and an apple pasty, so that all we shall require will be water."

  This explained the small brown-paper parcel which each member of the party was dangling by a string.

  "And you propose to consume this—little provision at the Crystal Palace, after visiting these other places?" My aunt inclined her head. I took the sheet of paper from which she had been reading. "May I ask how you propose to get from place to place?"

  "Well, Thomas, that is the point. I have made myself responsible for the entire charge, so I would wish to keep down expenses. We should like to walk as much as possible."

  "If you walk from Woolwich Arsenal to the Zoological Gardens, and from the Zoological Gardens to Kew Gardens, you will walk as far as possible—and rather more."

  Something in my tone seemed to cause a shadow to come over my aunt's face.

  "How far is it?"

  "About fourteen or fifteen miles. I have never walked it myself, you understand, so the estimate is a rough one."

  I felt that this was not an occasion on which it was necessary to be over-particular as to a yard or so.

  "So much as that? I had no idea it was so far. Of course, walking is out of the question. How would a van do?"

  "A what?"

  "A van. One of those vans in which, I understand, children go for treats. How much would they charge, now, for one which would hold the whole of us?"

  "I haven't the faintest notion, aunt. Would you propose to go in a van to all these places?" I motioned towards the sheet of paper. She nodded. "I have never, you understand, done this sort of thing in a van, but I imagine that the kind of vehicle you suggest, with one pair of horses, to do the entire round would take about three weeks."

  "Three weeks? Thomas!"

  "I don't pretend to literal accuracy, but I don't believe that I'm far wrong. No means of locomotion with which I am acquainted will enable you to do it in a day, of that I'm certain. I've been in London since my childhood, but I've never yet had time to see one-half the things you've got down upon this sheet of paper."

  "Is it possible?"

  "It's not only possible, it's fact. You country folk have no notion of London's vastness."

  "Stupendous!"

  "It is stupendous. Now, when would you like to reach the Crystal Palace?"

  "Well, not later than four. By then we shall be hungry."

  I surveyed the nine.

  "It strikes me that some of you look hungry now. Aren't you hungry?"

  I spoke to Sammy. His face was eloquent.

  "I be famished."

  I do not attempt to reproduce the dialect: I am no dialectician. I merely reproduce the sense; that is enough for me. The lady whom my aunt had spoken of as "Mrs. Penna, sixty-seven, and a little lame," agreed with Sammy.

  "So be I. I be fit to drop, I be."

  On this subject there was a general consensus of opinion—they all seemed fit to drop. I was not surprised. My aunt was surprised instead.

  "You each of you had a treacle pasty in the train!"

  "What be a treacle pasty?"

  I was disposed to echo Mrs. Penna's query, "What be a treacle pasty?" My aunt struck me as really cutting the thing a little too fine.

  "You finish your pasties now—when we get to the Palace I'll see that you have something to take their place. That shall be my part of the treat."

  My aunt's manner was distinctly severe, especially considering that it was a party of pleasure.

  "Before we started it was arranged exactly what provisions would have to be sufficient. I do not wish to encroach upon your generosity, Thomas—nothing of the kind."

  "Never mind, aunt, that'll be all right. You tuck into your pasties."

  They tucked into their pasties with a will. Aunt had some breakfast with me—poor soul! she stood in need of it—and we discussed the arrangements for the day.

  "Of course, my dear aunt, this programme of yours is out of the question, altogether. We'll just do a round on a 'bus, and then it'll be time to start for the Palace."

  "But, Thomas, they will be so disappointed—and, considering how much it will cost me, we shall seem to be getting so little for the money."

  "My dear aunt, you will have had enough by the time you get back, I promise you."

  My promise was more than fulfilled—they had had good measure, pressed down and running over.

  The first part of our programme took the form, as I had suggested, of a ride on a 'bus. Our advent in the Strand—my rooms are in the Adelphi—created a sensation. I fancy the general impression was that we were a party of lunatics, whom I was personally conducting. That my aunt was one of them I do not think that anyone doubted. The way in which she worried and scurried and fussed and flurried was sufficient to convey that idea.

  It is not every 'bus which has room for eleven passengers. We could not line up on the curbstone, it would have been to impede the traffic. And as my aunt would not hear of a division of forces, as we sauntered along the pavement we enjoyed ourselves immensely. The "parish idiot" would insist on hanging on to the front of every shop-window, necessitating his being dragged away by the collar of his jacket. Jane and Ellen glued themselves together arm in arm, sniggering at anything and everything—especially when Daniel Dyer digged them in the ribs from behind. Mrs. Penna, proving herself to be a good deal more than a little lame, had to be hauled along by my aunt on one side, and by Mr. Holman, the "converted drunkard," on the other. That Mr. Holman did not enjoy his position I felt convinced from the way in which, every now and then, he jerked the poor old soul completely off her feet. With her other hand my aunt gripped Master Treen by the hand, he keeping his mouth as wide open as he possibly could; his little trick of continually looking behind him resulting in collisions with most of the persons, and lamp-posts, he chanced to encounter. The deaf Mr. Eva brought up the rear with Mr. Poltifen and his strapful of books that gentleman favouring him with totally erroneous scraps of information, which he was, fortunately, quite unable to hear.

  We had reached Newcastle Street before we found a 'bus which contained the requisite amount of accommodation. Then, when I hailed one which was nearly empty, the party boarded it. Somewhat to my surprise, scarcely anyone wished to go outside. Mrs. Penna, of course, had to be lifted into the interior, where Jane and Ellen joined her—I fancy that they fought shy of the ladder-like staircase—followed by Daniel Dyer, in spite of my aunt's protestations. She herself went next, dragging with her Master Treen, who wanted to go outside, but was not allowed, and, in consequence, was moved to tears. Messrs. Eva, Poltifen, Holman and I were the only persons who made the ascent; and the conductor having indulged in some sarcastic comments on things in general and my aunt's protégés in particular, which nearly drove me to commit assault and battery, the 'bus was started.

  We had not gone far before I had reason to doubt the genuineness of Mr. Holman's conversion. Drawing the back of his hand across his lips, he remarked to Mr. Eva—

  "It do seem as if this were going to be a thirsty job. 'Tain't my notion of a holiday—"

  I repeat that I make no attempt to imitate the dialect. Perceiving himself addressed, Mr. Eva put his hand up to his ear.

  "Beg pardon—what were that you said?"

  "I say that I be perishing for something to drink. I be faint for want of it. What's a day's pleasure if you don't never have a chance to moisten your li
ps?"

  Although this was said in a tone of voice which caused the foot-passengers to stand and stare, the driver to start round in his seat, as if he had been struck, and the conductor to come up to inquire if anything were wrong, it failed to penetrate Mr. Eva's tympanum.

  "What be that?" the old gentleman observed.

  "It do seem as if I were more deaf than usual."

  I touched Mr. Holman on the shoulder.

  "All right—leave him alone. I'll see that you have what you want when we get down; only don't try to make him understand while we're on this 'bus."

  "Thank you kindly, sir. There's no denying that a taste of rum would do me good. John Eva, he be terrible hard of hearing—terrible; and the old girl she ain't a notion of what's fit for a man."

  How much the insides saw of London I cannot say. I doubt if any one on the roof saw much. In my anxiety to alight on one with room I had not troubled about the destination of the 'bus. As, however, it proved to be bound for London Bridge, I had an opportunity to point out St. Paul's Cathedral, the Bank of England, and similar places. I cannot say that my hearers seemed much struck by the privileges they were enjoying. When the vehicle drew up in the station-yard, Mr. Holman pointed with his thumb—

  "There be a public over there."

  I admitted that there was.

  "Here's a shilling for you—mind you're quickly back. Perhaps Mr. Poltifen would like to come with you."

  Mr. Poltifen declined.

  "I am a teetotaller. I have never touched alcohol in any form."

  I felt that Mr. Poltifen regarded both myself and my proceedings with austere displeasure. When all had alighted, my aunt, proceeding to number the party, discovered that one was missing; also, who it was.

  "Where is Matthew Holman?"

  "He's—he's gone across the road to—to see the time."

  "To see the time! There's a clock up over the station there. What do you mean?"

  "The fact is, my dear aunt, that feeling thirsty he has gone to get something to drink."

  "To drink! But he signed the pledge on Monday!"