I shall count the minutes till I get an answer to this, and shall envy the postman who will have your letter before it will reach me. Do write at once. If I do not hear by Monday morning I shall think that something is the matter. Even though you are among your dear old friends, surely you can find a moment to write to your own Amelia.
Mother is very unhappy about this affair of the Lupexes. She says that if you were here to advise her she should not mind it so much. It is very hard upon her, for she does strive to make the house respectable and comfortable for everybody. I would send my duty and love to your dear mamma, if I only knew her, as I hope I shall do one day, and to your sister, and to L.D. also, if you like to tell her how we are situated together. So, now, no more from you
Always affectionate sweetheart,
AMELIA ROPER
Poor Eames did not feel the least gratified by any part of this fond letter; but the last paragraph of it was the worst. Was it to be endured by him that this woman should send her love to his mother and to his sister, and even to Lily Dale! He felt that there was a pollution in the very mention of Lily’s name by such a one as Amelia Roper. And yet Amelia Roper was, as she had assured him – his own. Much as he disliked her at the present moment, he did believe that he was – her own. He did feel that she had obtained a certain property in him, and that his destiny in life would tie him to her. He had said very few words of love to her at any time – very few, at least, that were themselves of any moment; but among those few there had undoubtedly been one or two in which he had told her that he loved her. And he had written to her that fatal note! Upon the whole, would it not be as well for him to go out to the great reservoir behind Guestwick, by which the Hamersham Canal was fed with its waters, and put an end to his miserable existence?
On that same day he did write a letter to Fisher, and he wrote also to Cradell. As to those letters he felt no difficulty. To Fisher he declared his belief that Cradell was innocent as he was himself as regarded Mrs Lupex. ‘I don’t think he is the sort of man to make up to a married woman,’ he said, somewhat to Cradell’s displeasure, when the letter reached the Income-tax Office; for that gentleman was not averse to the reputation for success in love which the little adventure was, as he thought, calculated to give him among his brother clerks. At the first bursting of the shell, when the desperately jealous man was raging in the parlour, incensed by the fumes both of wine and love, Cradell and felt that the affair was disagreeably painful. But one the morning of the third day – for he had passed two nights on his friend Fisher’s sofa – he had begun to be somewhat proud of it, and did not dislike to hear Mrs Lupex’s name in the mouths of the other clerks. When, therefore, Fisher read to him the letter from Guestwick, he hardly was pleased with his friend’s tone. ‘Ha, ha, ha,’ said he, laughing. ‘That’s just what I wanted him to say. Make up to a married woman, indeed. No; I’m the last man in London to do that sort of thing.’
‘Upon my word, Caudle, I think you are,’ said Fisher; ‘the very last man.’
And then poor Cradell was not happy. On that afternoon he boldly went to Burton Crescent, and ate his dinner there. Neither Mr nor Mrs Lupex were to be seen, nor were their names mentioned to him by Mrs Roper. In the course of the evening he did pluck up courage to ask Miss Spruce where they were; but that ancient lady merely shook her head solemnly, and declared that she knew nothing about such goings no – no, not she.
But what was John Eames to do as to that letter from Amelia Roper? He felt that any answer to it would be very dangerous, and yet that he could not safely leave it unanswered. He walked off by himself across Guetwick Common, and through the woods of Guestwick Manor, up by the big avenue of elms in Lord De Guest’s park, trying to resolve how he might rescue himself from this scrape. Here, over the same ground he had wandered scores of times in his earlier years, when he knew nothing beyond the innocency of his country home, thinking of Lily Dale, and swearing to himself that she should be his wife. Here he had strung together his rhymes, and fed his ambition with high hopes, building gorgeous castles in the air, in all of which Lilian reigned as a queen; and though in those days he had known himself to be awkward, poor, uncared for by any in the world except his mother and his sister, yet he had been happy in his hopes – happy in his hopes, even though he had never taught himself really to believe that they would be realized. But now there was nothing in his hopes or thoughts to make him happy. Everything was black, and wretched, and ruinous. What would it matter, after all, even if he should marry Amelia Roper, seeing that Lily was to be given to another? But then the idea of Amelia as he had seen her that night through the chink in the door came upon his memory, and he confessed to himself that life with such a wife as that would be a living death.
At one moment he thought that he would tell his mother everything, and leave her to write an answer to Amelia’s letter. Should the worst come to the worst, the Ropers could not absolutely destroy him. That they could bring an action against him, and have him locked up for a term of years, and dismissed from his office, and exposed in all the newspapers, he seemed to know. That might all, however, be endured, if only the gauntlet could be thrown down for him by someone else. The one thing which he felt that he could not do was, to write to a girl whom he had professed to love, and tell her that he did not love her. He knew that he could not himself form such words upon the paper; nor, as he was well aware, could he himself find the courage to tell her to her face that he had changed his mind. He knew that he must become the victim of his Amelia, unless he could find some friendly knight to do battle in his favour; and then again the thought of his mother.
But when he returned home he was as far as ever from any resolve to tell her how he was situated. I may say that his walk had done him no good, and that he had not made up his mind to anything. He had been building those pernicious castles in the air during more than half the time; not castles in the building of which he could make himself happy, as he had done in the old days, but black castles, with cruel dungeons, into which hardly a ray of life could find its way. If all these edifices his imagination pictured to him Lily as the wife of Mr Crosbie. He accepted that as a fact, and then went to work in his misery, making her as wretched as himself, through the misconduct and harshness of her husband. He tried to think, and to resolve what he would do; but there is no task so hard as that of thinking, when the mind has an objection to the matter brought before it. The mind, under such circumstances, is like a horse that is brought to the water, but refuses to drink. So Johnny returned to his home, still doubting whether or no he would answer Amelia’s letter. And if he did not answer it, how would he conduct himself on his return to Burton Crescent?
I need hardly say that Miss Roper, in writing her letter, had been aware of all this, and that Johnny’s position had been carefully prepared for him by – his affectionate sweetheart.
CHAPTER 11
SOCIAL LIFE
MR AND Mrs Lupex had eaten a sweetbread together in much connubial bliss on that day which had seen Cradell returning to Mrs Roper’s hospitable board. They had together eaten a sweetbread, with some other delicacies of the season, in the neighbourhood of the theatre, and had washed down all unkindness with bitter beer and brandy-and-water. But of this reconciliation Cradell had not heard; and when he saw them come together into the drawing-room, a few minutes after the question he had addressed to Miss Spruce, he was certainly surprised.
Lupex was not an ill-natured man, nor one naturally savage by disposition. He was a man fond of sweetbread and little dinners, and one to whom hot brandy-and-water was too dear. Had the wife of his bosom been a good helpmate to him, he might have gone through the world, if not respectably, at any rate without open disgrace. But she was a woman who left a man no solace except that to be found in brandy-and-water. For eight years they had been man and wife; and sometimes – I grieve to say it – he had been driven almost to hope that she would commit a married woman’s last sin, and leave him. In his misery, any mode of esca
pe would have been welcome to him. Had his energy been sufficient he would have taken his scene-painting capabilities off to Australia – or to the farthest shifting of scenes known on the world’s stage. But he was an easy, listless, self-indulgent man; and at any moment, let his misery by as keen as might be, a little dinner, a few soft words, and a glass of brandy-and-water would bring him round. The second glass would make him the fondest husband living; but the third would restore to him the memory of all his wrongs, and give him courage against his wife or all the world – even to the detriment of the furniture around him, should a stray poker chance to meet his hand. All these peculiarities of his character were not, however, known to Cradell; and when our friend saw him enter the drawing-room with his wife on his arm, he was astonished.
‘Mr Cradell, your hand,’ said Lupex, who had advanced as far as the second glass of brandy-and-water, but had not been allowed to go beyond it. ‘There has been a misunderstanding between us; let it be forgotten.’
‘Mr Cradell, if I know him,’ said the lady, ‘is too much the gentleman to bear any anger when a gentleman has offered him his hand.’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ said Cradell, ‘I’m quite – indeed, I’m delighted to find there’s nothing wrong after all.’ And then he shook hands with both of them; whereupon Miss Spruce got up, curtseyed low, and also shook hands with the husband and wife.
‘You’re not a married man, Mr Cradell,’ said Lupex, ‘and, therefore, you cannot understand the workings of a husband’s heart. There have been moments when my regard for that woman has been too much for me.’
‘Now, Lupex, don’t,’ said she, playfully tapping him with an old parasol which she still held.
‘And I do not hesitate to say that my regard for her was too much for me on that night when I sent for you to the dining-room.’
‘I’m glad it’s all put right now,’ said Cradell.
‘Very glad, indeed,’ said Miss Spruce.
‘And, therefore, we need not say any more about it,’ said Mrs Lupex.
‘One word,’ said Lupex, waving his hand. ‘Mr Cradell, I greatly rejoice that you did not obey my summons on that night. Had you done so – I confess it now – had you done so, blood would have been the consequence. I was mistaken. I acknowledge my mistake – but blood would have been the consequence.’
‘Dear, dear, dear,’ said Miss Spruce.
‘Miss Spruce,’ continued Lupex, ‘there are moments when the heart becomes too strong for a man.’
‘I dare say,’ said Miss Spruce.
‘Now, Lupex, that will do,’ said his wife.
‘Yes; that will do. But I think it right to tell Mr Cradell that I am glad he did not come to me. Your friend, Mr Cradell, did me the honour of calling on me at the theatre yesterday, at half-past four; but I was in the slings then, and could not very well come down to him. I shall be happy to see you both any day at five, and to bury all unkindness with a chop and glass at the Pot and Poker, in Bow Street.’.
‘I’m sure you’re very kind,’ said Cradell.
‘And Mrs Lupex will join us. There’s delightful little snuggery upstairs at the Pot and Poker; and if Miss Spruce will condescend to –’
‘Oh, I’m an old woman, sir.’
‘No – no – no,’ said Lupex, ‘I deny that. Come, Cradell, what do you say? – just a snug little dinner for four, you know.’
It was, no doubt, pleasant to see Mr Lupex in his present mood – much pleasanter than in that other mood of which blood would have been the consequence; but pleasant as he now was, it was, nevertheless, apparent that he was not quite sober. Cradell, therefore, did not settle the day for the little dinner; but merely remarked that he should be very happy at some future day.
‘And now, Lupex, suppose you get off to bed,’ said his wife. ‘You’ve had a very trying day, you know.’
‘And you, ducky?’
‘I shall come presently. Now don’t be making a fool of yourself, but get yourself off. Come–’ and she stood close up against the open door, waiting for him to pass.
‘I rather think I shall remain where I am, and have a glass of something hot,’ said he.
‘Lupex, do you want to aggravate me again?’ said the lady, and she looked at him with a glance of her eye which he thoroughly understood. He was not in a humour for fighting, nor was he at present desirous of blood; so he resolved to go. But as he went he prepared himself for new battled. ‘I shall do something desperate, I am sure; I know I shall,’ he said, as he pulled off his boots.
‘Oh, Mr Cradell,’ said Mrs Lupex as soon as she had closed the door behind her retreating husband, ‘how am I ever to look you in the face again after the events of these last memorable days?’ And then she seated herself on the sofa, and hid her face in a cambric1 handkerchief.
‘As for that,’ said Cradell, ‘what does it signify – among friends like us, you know?’
‘But that it should be known at your office – as of course it is, because of the gentleman that went down to him at the theatre! – I don’t think I shall ever survive it.’
‘You see I see obliged to send somebody, Mrs Lupex.’
‘I’m not finding fault, Mr Cradell. I know very well that in my melancholy position I have no right to find fault, and I don’t pretend to understand gentlemen’s feelings towards each other. But to have had my name mentioned up with yours in that way is – Oh! Mr Cradell, I don’t know how I’m ever to look you in the face again.’ And again she buried hers in her pocket-handkerchief.
‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ said Miss Spruce; and there was that in her tone of voice which seemed to convey much hidden meaning.
‘Exactly so, Miss Spruce,’ said Mrs Lupex; ‘and that’s my only comfort at the present moment. Mr Cradell is a gentleman who would scorn to take advantage – I’m quite sure of that.’ And then she did contrive to look at him over the edge of the hand which held the handkerchief.
‘That I wouldn’t, I’m sure,’ said Cradell. ‘That is to say –’ And then he paused. He did not wish to get into a scrape about Mrs Lupex. He was by no means anxious to encounter her husband in one of his fits of jealousy. But he did like the idea of being talked of as the admirer of a married woman, and he did like the brightness of the lady’s eyes. When the unfortunate moth in his semi-blindness whisks himself and his wings within the flame of the candle, and finds himself mutilated and tortured, he even then will not take the lesson, but returns again and again till he is destroyed. Such a moth was poor Cradell. There was no warmth to be got by him from that flame. There was no beauty in the light – not even the false brilliance of unhallowed love. Injury might come to him – a pernicious clipping of the wings, which might destroy all power of future flight; injury, and not imporbably destruction, if he should persevere. But one may say that no single hour of happiness could accrue to him from his intimacy with Mrs Lupex. He felt for her no love. He was afraid of her, and, in many respects, disliked. But to him, in his moth-like weakness, ignorance, and blindness, it seemed to be a great thing he should be allowed to fly near the candle. Oh! my friends, if you will but think of it, how many of you have been moths, and are now going about ungracefully with wings more or less burnt off, and with bodies sadly scorched!
But before Mr Cradell could make up his mind whether or no he would take advantage of the present opportunity for another dip into the flame of the candle – in regard to which proceeding, however, he could not but feel that the presence of Miss Spruce was objectionable – the door of the room was opened, and Amelia Roper joined the party.
‘Oh, indeed; Mrs Lupex,’ she said. ‘And Mr Cradell!’
‘And Miss Spruce, my dear,’ said Mrs Lupex, pointing to the ancient lady.
‘I’m only an old woman,’ said Miss Spruce.
‘Oh, yes; I see Miss Spruce,’ said Amelia. ‘I was not hinting at anything, I can assure you.’
‘I should think not, my dear,’ said Mrs Lupex.
‘Only I didn’t know that you two
were quite – That is, when last I heard about it, I fancied – But if the quarrel’s made up, there’s nobody more rejoiced than I am.’
‘The quarrel is made up,’ said Cradell.
‘Mr Lupex is satisfied,’ said Mrs Lupex, ‘and let me tell you, my dear, seeing that you are expecting to get married yourself –’
‘Mrs Lupex, I’m not expecting to get married – not particularly, by any means.’
‘Oh, I though you were. And let me tell you, that when you’ve got a husband of your own, you won’t find it so easy to keep everything straight. That’s the worst of these lodgings, if there is any little thing, everybody knows it. Don’t they, Miss Spruce?’
‘Lodgings is so much more comfortable than housekeeping,’ said Miss Spruce, who lived rather in fear of her relatives, the Ropers.
‘Everybody knows it; does he?’ said Amelia. ‘Why, if a gentleman will come home at night tipsy and threaten to murder another gentleman in the same house; and if a lady –’ And then Amelia paused, for she knew that the line-of-battle ship which she was preparing to encounter had within her much power of fighting.
‘Well, miss,’ said Mrs Lupex, getting on her feet, ‘and what of the lady?’
Now we may say that the battle had begun, and that the two ships were pledged by the general laws of courage and naval warfare to maintain the contest till one of them should be absolutely disabled, if not blown up or sunk. And at this moment it might be difficult for a bystander to say with which of the combatants rested the better chance of permanent success. Mrs Lupex had doubtless on her side more matured power, a habit of fighting which had given her infinite skill, a courage which deadened her to the feeling of all wounds while the heat of the battle should last, and a recklessness which made her almost indifferent whether she sank or swam. But then Amelia carried the greater guns, and was able to pour in heavier metal than her enemy could use; and she, too, swam in her own waters. Should they absolutely come to grappling and boarding, Amelia would no doubt have the best of it; but Mrs Lupex would probably be too crafty to permit such a proceeding as that. She was, however, ready for the occasion, and greedy for the fight.
The Small House at Allington Page 17