Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  This privilege — so Mrs. D —— invariably styled it — was the solemn gathering of the household on one Sunday in each month to listen to a discourse which, her husband sitting meekly by, she read to us from the works of some Independent divine. On these occasions she delivered herself so sonorously and with so much gusto, that I do not doubt she found compensation in them for the tedium of the sermon on Passive Obedience, or on the fate of the Amalekite, to which, in compliance with the laws against Dissent, she had perforce listened earlier in the day. The master and mistress and the servant sat on one side of the room, I with the boys on the other; and hitherto I am unable to say which of us had suffered more under the infliction. But the appearance of my sweet martyr — so, when Madam’s voice rang shrillest and most angrily over the soapsuds, I had come to think of her — in a place behind her master and mistress (being the same in which the old servant had nodded and grunted every sermon evening since my coming), put a new complexion on the matter. For her, she entered, as if unconscious of my presence, and took her seat with downcast eyes and hands folded, and that dull look on her face which, when she chose, veiled three-fourths of its beauty. But my ears flamed, and the blood surged to my head; and I thought that all must read my secret in my face.

  With Mrs. D —— , however, this was the one hour in the month when the suspicions natural in one of her carping temper, slept, and she tasted a pleasure comparatively pure. Majestically arrayed in a huge pair of spectacles — which on this occasion, and in the character of the family priest, her vanity permitted and even incited her to wear — and provided with a couple of tall tallow candles, which it was her husband’s duty to snuff, she would open the dreaded quarto and prop it firmly on the table before her. Then, after giving out her text in a tone that need not have disgraced Hugh Peters or the most famous preacher of her persuasion, it was her custom to lift her eyes and look round to assure herself that all was cringing attention; and this was the trying moment; woe to the boy whose gaze wandered — his back would smart for it before he slept. These preliminaries at an end, however, and the discourse begun, the danger was over for the time; for, in the voluptuous roll of the long wordy sentences, and the elections and damnations, and free wills that plentifully bestrewed them, she speedily forgot all but the sound of her own voice; and, nothing occurring to rouse her, might be trusted to read for the hour and half with pleasure to herself and without risk to others.

  So it fell out on this occasion. As soon, therefore, as the steady droning of her voice gave me courage to look up, I had before me the same scene with which a dozen Sunday evenings had made me familiar; the dull circle of yellow light; within it Madam’s horn-rimmed glasses shining over the book, while her finger industriously followed the lines; a little behind, her husband, nodding and recovering himself by turns. Not now was this all, however: now I saw also imprimis, a dim oval face, framed in the background behind the two old people; and that, now in shadow now in light, gleamed before my fascinated eyes with unearthly beauty. Once or twice, fearing to be observed, I averted my gaze and looked elsewhere; guiltily and with hot temples. But always I returned to it again. And always, the longer I let my eyes dwell on the vision — for a vision it seemed in the halo of the candles — and the more monotonous hung the silence, broken only by Mrs. D — — ‘s even drone, the more distinctly the beautiful face stood out, and the more bewitching and alluring appeared the red lips and smiling eyes and dark clustering hair, that moment by moment drew my heart from me, and kindled my ripening brain and filled my veins with fever!

  “Seventhly, and under this head, of the sin of David!”

  So Mrs. D —— booming on, in her deep voice, to all seeming endlessly; while the air of the dingy whitewashed room grew stale, and the candles guttered and burned low, and the boys, poor little wretches, leaned on one another’s shoulders and sighed, and it was difficult to say whether Mr. D — — ‘s noddings or his recoveries went nearer to breaking his neck. At last — or was it only my fancy? — I thought I made out a small brown hand gliding within the circle of light. Then — or was I dreaming? — one of the candles began to move; but to move so little and so stealthily, that I could not swear to it; nor ever could have sworn, if Mr. D — — ‘s wig had not a moment later taken fire with a light flame, and a stench, and a frizzling sound, that in a second brought him, still half-asleep, but swearing, to his feet.

  Mrs. D —— , her mouth open, and the volume lifted, halted in the middle of a word, and glared as if she had been shot; her surprise at the interruption so great — and no wonder — that she could not for a while find words. But the stream of her indignation, so checked, only gathered volume; and in a few seconds broke forth.

  “Mr. D —— !” she cried, slamming the book down on the table. “You disgusting beast! Do you know that the boys are here?”

  “My wig is on fire!” he cried for answer. He had taken it off, and now held it at arm’s length, looking at it so ruefully that the boys, though they knew the danger, could scarcely restrain their laughter.

  “And serve you right for a weak-kneed member!” his wife answered in a voice that made us quake. “If you had not guzzled at dinner, sir, and swilled small beer you would have remained awake instead of spoiling a good wig, and staining your soul! Ay, and causing these little ones — —”

  “I never closed my eyes!” he declared, roundly.

  “Rubbish!” she answered in a tone that would brook no denial. And then, “Give the wig to Jennie, sir!” she continued, peremptorily. “And put your handkerchief on your head. It is well that good Mr. Nesbit does not know what language has been used during his discourse; it would cut that excellent man to the heart. Do you hear, sir, give the wig to Jennie!” she screamed. “A handkerchief is good enough for profane swearers and filthy talkers! And too good! Too good, sir!”

  He went reluctantly to obey, seeing nothing for it; but between his anger and Jennie’s clumsiness, the wig, in passing from one to the other, fell under the table. This caused Mrs. D —— , who was at the end of her patience, to spring up in a rage, and down went a candle. Nor was this the worst; for the grease in its fall cast a trail of hot drops on her Sunday gown, and in a flash she was on the maid and had smacked her face till the room rang.

  “Take that, and that, you clumsy baggage!” she cried in a fury, her face crimson. “And that! And the next time you offer to take a gentleman’s wig have better manners. This will cost you a year’s wages, my fine madam! and let me hear of your stepping over the doorstep until it is earned, and I will have you jailed and whipped. Do you hear? And you,” she continued, turning ferociously on her husband, “swearing on the Lord’s day like a drunken, raffling, God-forsaken Tantivy! You are not much better!”

  It only remains in my memory now as a coarse outburst of vixenish temper, made prominent by after events. But what I felt at the moment I should in vain try to describe. At one time I was on the point of springing on the woman, and at another all but caught the sobbing girl in my arms and challenged the world to touch her.

  Fortunately, Mr. D —— , now fully awakened, and the more inclined to remember decency in proportion as his wife forgot it, recalled me to myself by sternly bidding me see the boys to their beds.

  Glad to escape, they needed no second order, but flocked to the door, and I with them. In our retreat, it was necessary for me to pass close to the shrinking girl, whom Mrs. D —— was still abusing with all the cruelty imaginable; as I did so I heard, or dreamed that I heard, three words, breathed in the faintest possible whisper. I say, dreamed I heard, for the girl neither looked at me nor removed the apron from her face, nor by abating her sobs or any other sign betrayed that she spoke or that she was conscious of my neighbourhood.

  Yet the three words, “Garden, ten minutes,” so gently breathed, that I doubted while I heard, could only have come from her; and assured of that, it will be believed that I found the ten minutes I spent seeing the boys to bed by the light of one scanty rushlight th
e longest and most tumultuous I ever passed. If she had not spoken I should have found it a sorry time, indeed; since the moment the door was closed behind me I discerned a hundred reasons to be dissatisfied with my conduct, thought of a hundred things I should have said, and saw a hundred things I should have done; and stood a coward convicted. Now, however, all was not over; I might explain. I was about to see her, to speak with her, to pour out my indignation and pity, perhaps to touch her hand; and in the delicious throb of fear and hope and excitement with which these anticipations filled my breast, I speedily forgot to regret what was past.

  CHAPTER III

  Doubtless there have been men able to boast, and with truth, that they carried to their first assignation with a woman an even pulse. But as I do not presume to rank myself among these, who have been commonly men of high station (of whom my late Lord Rochester was, I believe, the chief in my time), neither — the unhappy occurrence which I am in the way to relate, notwithstanding — have I, if I may say so without disrespect, so little heart as to crave the reputation. In truth, I experienced that evening, as I crept out of the back door of Mr. D — — ‘s house, and stole into the gloom of the whispering garden, a full share of the guilty feeling that goes with secrecy; and more than my share of the agitation of spirit natural in one who knows (and is new to the thought) that under cover of the darkness a woman stands trembling and waiting for him. A few paces from the house — which I could leave without difficulty, though at the risk of detection — I glanced back to assure myself that all was still: then shivering, as much with excitement as at the chill greeting the night air gave me, I hastened to the gap in the fence, through which I had before seen my mistress.

  I felt for the gap with my hand and peered through it, and called her name softly— “Jennie! Jennie!” and listened; and after an interval called again, more boldly. Still hearing nothing, I discovered by the sinking at my heart — which was such that, for all my eighteen years, I could have sat down and cried — how much I had built on her coming. And I called again and again; and still got no answer.

  Yet I did not despair. Mrs. D —— might have kept her, or one of a hundred things might have happened to delay her; from one cause or another she might not have been able to slip out as quickly as she had thought. She might come yet; and so, though the more prolonged my absence, the greater risk of detection I ran, I composed myself to wait with what patience I might. The town was quiet; human noise at an end for the day; but Mr. D — — ‘s school stood on the outskirts, with its back to the open country, and between the sighing of the wind among the poplars, and the murmur of a neighbouring brook, and those far-off noises that seem inseparable from the night, I had stood a minute or more before another sound, differing from all these, and having its origin at a spot much nearer to me, caught my ear, and set my heart beating. It was the noise of a woman weeping; and to this day I do not know precisely what I did on hearing it — when I made out what it was, I mean — or how I found courage to do it; only, that in an instant, as it seemed to me, I was on the other side of the fence, and had taken the girl in my arms, with her head on my shoulder, and her wet eyes looking into mine, while I rained kisses on her face.

  IN AN INSTANT I WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

  Doubtless the darkness and her grief and my passion gave me boldness to do this; and to do a hundred other mad things in my ecstasy. For, as I had never spoken to her before, any more than I had ever held a woman in my arms before, so I had not thought, I had not dreamed of this! of her hand, perhaps, but no more. Therefore, and though since Adam’s time the stars have looked down on many a lover’s raptures, never, I verily believe, have they gazed on transports so perfect, so unlooked for, as were mine at that moment! And all the time not a word passed between us; but after a while she pushed me from her, with a kind of force that would not be resisted, and holding me at arm’s length, looked at me strangely; and then thrusting me altogether from her, she bade me, almost roughly, go back.

  “What? And leave you?” I cried, astonished and heart-broken.

  “No, sir, but go to the other side of the fence,” she answered firmly, drying her eyes and recovering something of her usual calmness. “And more, if you love me as you say you do — —”

  I protested. “If?” I cried. “If! And what then — if I do?”

  “You will learn to obey,” she answered, coolly, yet with an archness that transported me anew. “I am not one of your boys.”

  For that word, I would have caught her in my arms again, but with a power that I presently came to know, and whereof that was the first exercise, she waved me back. “Go!” she said, masterfully. “For this time, go. Do you hear me?”

  My boldness of a minute before, notwithstanding, I stood in awe of her, and was easily cowed; and I crossed the fence. When I was on my side, she came to the gap, and rewarded me by giving me her hand to kiss. “Understand me,” she said. “You are to come to this side, sir, only when I give you leave.”

  “Oh,” I cried. “Can you be so cruel?”

  “Or not at all, if you prefer it,” she continued, drily. “More, you must go in, now, or I shall be missed and beaten. You do not want that to happen, I suppose?”

  “If that hag touches you again!” I cried, boiling with rage at the thought, “I will — I will — —”

  “What?” she said softly, and her fingers closed on mine, and sent a thrill to my heart.

  “I will strangle her!” I cried.

  She laughed, a little cruelly. “Fine words,” she said.

  “But I mean them!” I answered, passionately. And I swore it — I swore it; what will not a boy in love promise?

  “Well,” she answered, whispering and leaning forward until her breath fanned my cheek, and the intoxicating scent of her hair stole away my senses, “perhaps some day I shall try you. Are you sure that you will not fail me then?”

  I swore it, panting, and tried to draw her towards me by her arm; but she held back, laughing softly and as one well pleased; and then, in a moment, snatching her hand from me, she vanished in the darkness of the garden, leaving me in a seventh heaven of delight, my blood fired by her kisses, my fancy dwelling on her beauty; and without one afterthought.

  Doubtless had I been less deep in love (wherein I was far over-head), or deeper in experience, I might have noted it for a curious thing that she should be so quickly comforted; and should be able to rise in a few moments, and at the touch of my lips, from passionate despair to perfect control, both of herself and of me. And starting thence, I might have gone on to suspect that she possessed her full share of the finesse, which is always a woman’s shield and sometimes her sword. But as such suspicions are foreign to youth, so are they especially foreign to youthful love, which takes nothing lower than perfection for its idol. And this I can say for certain, that they no more entered my brain than did the consequences which were to flow from my passion.

  For the time, indeed, I was in an ecstasy, a rapture. Walking a-tip-toe, and troubled by none of the things that trouble common folk; so that to this day — though long married — I look back to that period of innocent folly with a yearning and a regret, the sorer for this, that when I try to analyse the happiness I enjoyed, I fail, and make nothing of it. That all things should be changed for me, and I be changed in my own eyes — so that I walked a head taller and esteemed myself ridiculously — by the fact that a kitchen wench in a drugget petticoat and clogs had let me kiss her, and left me to believe that she loved me, seems incredible now; as incredible as that a daily glimpse of her figure flitting among the water-butts and powdering-tubs had power to transform that miserable back garden into a paradise, and Mr. D — — ‘s school, with its dumplings, and bread and dripping, and inky fingers, into a mansion of tremulous joy!

  Yet it was so. Nor did it matter anything to me, so great is the power of love when one is young, that my mistress went in rags, and had coarse hands, and spoke rustically. Touching this last, indeed, I must do her
the justice to say that from the first she was as quick to note differences of speech and manner as she was apt to imitate good exemplars; and, moreover, possessed under her rags a species of refinement that matched the witchery of her face, and proved her to be, as she presently showed herself, no common girl.

  Of course I, in the state of happy delirium on which I had now entered, and wherein even Mr. D —— and the boys wore an amiable air, and only Mrs. D —— , because she persecuted my love, had the semblance of a female Satan, needed no proof of this; or I had had it when my Dorinda — so I christened her, feeling Jennie too low a name for so much beauty and kindness — proposed at our second rendezvous that I should teach her to read. At the first flush of the proposal I found reading a poor thing because she did not possess it; at the second I adored her for the humility that condescended to learn; but at the third I saw the convenience, as well as sense, of a proposal which was as much above the mind of an ordinary maid in love as Dorinda appeared superior to such a creature in all the qualities that render sense amiable.

  Yet this much granted, how to teach her, seeing that we seldom met or conversed, and never, save under the kindly shelter of darkness? The obstacle for a time taxed all my ingenuity, but in the end I surmounted it by boldly asking Mr. D — — ‘s leave to hold the afternoon classes in the playground. This, the approach of warm weather giving colour to the petition, was allowed; after which, as Dorinda was engaged in the back premises at that hour, and could listen while she drudged, the rest was easy. Calling up the lowest class, I would find fault with their reading, and after flying out at them in a simulated passion, would remit them again and again to the elements; so that for a fortnight or more, and, indeed, until the noise of the lads repeating the lesson annoyed Mrs. D — — ‘s ears, the playground rang with a-b, ab; e-b, eb; c-a-t, cat; d-o-g, dog, and the like, with the alphabet and the rest of the horn-book. And all this so frequently repeated, that with this assistance, and the help of a spelling-book which I gave her, and which she studied before others awoke, my mistress at the end of two months could read tolerably, and was beginning to essay easy round-hand.