She and I, Volume 1, Page 2

  CHAPTER TWO.

  EXPECTATION.

  "With what a leaden and retarding weight, Does expectation load the wing of time!"

  When, after a few minutes, I got outside the church, she haddisappeared, although I had endeavoured to follow as close as I could onher footsteps, without, of course, appearing to be intrusively watchingher.

  I had managed too cleverly. She was gone. I had been so long, to mygreat vexation, painfully pacing after the slowly-moving, out-shufflingmass of ex-worshippers--dexterously essaying the while to avoid treadingon the trailing trains of the ladies, or incurring the anathemas, "notloud, but deep," of gouty old gentlemen with tender feet, which they_would_ put in one's way--that, on my succeeding at length in arrivingat the outer porch, and being enabled to don my hat once more, there wasnot a single trace of either her mother or herself to be seen anywherein sight.

  Here was a disappointment! While getting-out, I had made up my mind totrack them home, and find out where they lived; and now, they might bebeyond my ken for ever.

  I had noted them both so keenly, as to their appearance and the mannerin which each was dressed, for, in spite of mother and daughter beingalike "in mourning," there were still distinctive features in theirtoilets, that I could not have failed to distinguish them from the restof the congregation.

  But now, my plans were entirely overthrown. What should I do in theemergency? Stop, there was Horner; I would ask him if he had seen them.There, dressed a merveille and with his inseparable eye-glass stuckaskew in the corner of his left eye, he stood listlessly criticising thepeople as they came forth from prayer, in his usual impertinently-inoffensive way. He was just as likely as not to have seen them, andcould naturally give me the information I sought about the direction inwhich they had gone.

  "Jack Horner," as he was familiarly styled by those having the honour ofhis acquaintance, was a clerk in Downing Street languishing on ahundred-and-fifty pounds per annum, which paltry income he received froman ungrateful country in consideration of his valuable services onbehalf of the state. How he contrived merely to dress himself andfollow the ever-changing fashions on that sum, paid quarterly though itwas, appeared a puzzle to many; but he did, and well, too. It wascurrently believed, besides, by his congeners, that he never got intodebt, happy fellow that he was! notwithstanding that, in addition to hishopes of promotion at "the office," he had considerable "expectations"from a bachelor uncle, reported to be enormously wealthy and with nonear kindred to leave his money to save our friend Horner, whocultivated him accordingly.

  No, Horner never got into debt. He was said to be in the habit ofpromptly discharging all his tailor's claims punctually every year, asthe gay and festive season of Christmas--and bills!--came round.

  Truth to say, however, there need not have been any great astonishmentconcerning Horner in this respect. The surprise would have been that hehad _not_ discharged his just obligations to his tailor and others; forhis habits were regular, and he was guiltless of the faintest soupcon ofextravagance. He never played billiards, did not smoke, did not careabout "little dinners" at Richmond or elsewhere, never betted, neverwent to the Derby, seldom, if ever, patronised the theatre, unlessadmitted through the medium of orders; consequently, he had noexpenditure, with the exception of that required for his toilet, as heeschewed all those many and various ways mentioned for running throughmoney, which more excitable but less conscientious mortals than himselffind thrown in their way.

  His neatly-clad form and constant eye-glass were in great request at alltea-parties and carpet dances that took place in the social circle towhich he belonged; but, beyond such slight beguilements of "life's dullweary round," his existence was uneventful. His character altogethermight be said to have been a negative one, as the only speciality forwhich he was particularly distinguished was for the variety ofintonation and meaning which he could give to his two favouriteexclamations, "Yaas," and "Bai-ey Je-ove!"--thus economising hisconversational powers to a considerable extent, which was a greatadvantage for him--and others, too, as he might, you know, have hadlittle more to say.

  Horner's principal amusement when at home on a Sunday, was to go tochurch; that is, if he had not to go to town, which was sometimes thecase even on the great day of rest, through his diplomatic skill beingrequired in Downing Street. This was what he said, pleading his havingto adjust some nice and knotty point of difference between the valiantKing of Congo and the neighbouring and pugnacious Ja Ja, or else toremonstrate, in firm and equable language, as Officialdom knows so wellhow to do, against the repeated unjustifiable homicides of the despot ofDahomey, in sacrifice to his gods, beneath the sheltering shade of thetum-tum tree.

  Well, what of that--you may pertinently remark--a most praiseworthyproceeding, surely, on his part to go to church whenever he possiblycould? Granted; but then, Horner was prone to indulge in anotherpractice which might not be held quite so praiseworthy in some people'sview.

  Quite contrary to his abnormal mode of progression, he would hasten outof the sacred edifice immediately after the doxology; and, plantinghimself easily and gracefully in a studied attitude some short distancefrom the doors, would from that commanding position proceed to stare atand minutely observe the congregation, collectively and severally, asthey came tripping forth from the porch after him. This was, really,very indefensible; and yet, I do not think that Horner meant to commitany deliberate wrong in so doing.

  Be the motive what it may, such was his general habit.

  He would always courteously acknowledge the passing salutations of men-folk with an almost imperceptible nod, so as not to disarrange thecareful adjustment of his eye-glass, or disturb the poise of his beaver:to ladies, on the contrary, he was all "effusion," as the French say,dashing off his hat as if he metaphorically flung it at their feet for agage d'amour, not of battle--just like an Ethiopian minstrel strikingthe gay tambourine on his knee in a sudden flight of enthusiasm. All inall, Horner was essentially a ladies' man, his points lying in that way;and, although what is popularly known as "harmless," he was not by anymeans a bad sort of fellow on the whole, when judged by the moreexacting masculine standard, being very good-natured and obliging, likemost of us, when you did not put him out of his way or expect too muchfrom him.

  To me at this crisis of my fate, he appeared for the nonce an angel inhuman form. He would be just the person who could tell me in whatdirection my unknown enchantress went. I would ask him.

  Fiat.

  "Hullo, Horner!" I said, tapping him at once on the shoulder, andarresting him from the abstracted contemplation of two stylish girls inpink, who were just turning the corner of the churchyard out of sight.

  "Yaas, 'do?" he replied, moving his head round slowly, as if it workedon a pivot which, wanted greasing, so as to confront me. He was as mildand imperturbable as usual. An earthquake, I believe, would not havequickened his movements.

  "How d'ye do?" responded I to his mono-syllabical greeting. "I say, oldfellow," I continued, "did you chance to see which way two ladies wentwho came out a minute or so before myself? One was middle-aged, orthereabouts; the other young; both were dressed in half-mourning. Theylooked strangers to the parish, I think: you must have seen them, I'msure, eh?"

  "Bai-ey Je-ove! Two middle-aged ladies; one dwessed in hawf-mawning?--"

  "Nonsense, Horner!" said I, interrupting him; "what a mess you aremaking of it! I said _one_ lady was middle-aged; and _both_ dressed inhalf-mourning."

  "Weally, now? No, Lorton, 'pon honah; didn't see 'em, I asshaw you.Was it Baby Blake and her moth-ah, now, ah?" and he smiled complacently,as if he had given me a fund of information.

  "Baby Blake!" I ejaculated in disgust--"why, Horner, you're quiteabsurd. Do you take me for a fool? I think I ought to know Baby Blakeas well as yourself by this time, my Solon!"

  "Yaas; but, my deah fellah, I don't know who you know, you know. Bai-eyJe-ove! there's _Lizzie_ Dangler. Who's that man she's got in tow, ah?"

&nbs
p; "Hang Lizzie Dangler!" I exclaimed, impatiently. "Can't you answer aquestion for once in your life--did you see them, or not?"

  "Weally, Lorton," said he, in quite an imploring way, "you needn't getangwy with a fellah, because he can't tell you what you want to know,you know! It's weally too hot for that sawt of thing. I didn't seethem, I tell you. I can't say mo-ah than that, can I? You mustn'texpect a fellah to see evwybody. Why, it's seem-plee impawsible!"

  His languid drawl exasperated me.

  "Oh, bother!" I muttered, sotto voce, but loud enough for him to hear;and turned away from him angrily, leaving him still standing in his petattitude, taking mental stock of all the fast-looking fair ones whomight come under his notice. "Oh, bother?" I am not prepared to assertpositively that I did not use a much stronger expletive. He _ought_ tohave seen them! What the deuce was the use of his sticking star-gazingthere, unless to observe people, I should like to know?

  Just fancy, too, his comparing my last madonna, the image and eidolon ofwhose witching face filled my heart, to that odious little flirt, BabyBlake, a young damsel that hawked her tender affections about at thebeck and call of every male biped who might for the moment be enthralledby her charms! It was like his cool impudence. And then, again, hisasking me his stupid, inane questions, as if I cared what man, and howmany. Lizzie Dangler or any other girl might have "in tow," as hecalled it. Idiot! I declare to you I positively hated Horner at thatmoment, inoffensive and harmless as he was.

  I left the precincts of the church; and, walking along the path by thefosse, directed my steps towards the Prebend's Walk, hoping to lightupon the object of my quest.

  The air was filled with the fragrance of wild flowers and the smell ofthe new-mown hay from the adjacent meadows. One heard the buzzing soundof busy insect life around, and the love-calls of song-birds from thehedge-rows; while the grateful shade of the lime-grove seemed to inviterepose and suggest peaceful meditation: but I heeded none of thesethings. I felt, like the singer of "The Banks and Braes of Bonny Doon,"out of harmony with nature and all its surroundings. My thoughts werejostling one another in a wild dance through my breast. Where on earthcould they have disappeared so very suddenly! It was quiteinexplicable. I must find them. Himmel! I must see _her_ again. Ifelt in a perfect state of frenzy. So excited was I, that, although itwas a broiling hot day in July, I walked along as if I were walking fora wager. I do not think, by the way, that a very learned anddistinguished philosopher was so very much out in his reckoning afterall, when he laid down the general dogma, that all men are more or lessmad. I know, at all events, that I felt mad enough at this moment, as Iwas careering along the Prebend's Walk. I was almost nerved up todesperation.

  I was an only child; and my parents being both elderly people, rarelymixing in society, I could not make use of home influence, as I mighthave done if I had had any kind sister to assist me in the way that kindsisters sometimes can assist their brothers when they fall victims tothe tender passion. Whom should I ask to help me in my strait? I couldnot go round everywhere, asking everybody after two ladies dressed inhalf-mourning, could I? Not exactly. People might take me for a maniacat large; and, even should I be one, still, I would naturally wish tokeep my mental derangement to myself. What could I do?

  While I was thus perplexing myself with vain imaginings, therecollection of the Dashers occurred to my mind. How was it that I hadnot thought of them before, when they were the very people for mypurpose? Why, not a soul could come into Saint Canon's parish withouttheir knowledge, and a fresh face in church would set them at once onthe qui vive. The Dashers, of course, must have seen my unknown ladies,and would be able to give me more information concerning them than Icould expect from any one else. I had often heard three to one betted,with no "takers," that they would tell you everything about anyparticular person, his, or her, antecedents, prospects, and position,who had but remained for ten consecutive minutes within a radius of onemile of their house. To the Dashers I would consequently go, by allmeans--thank Providence for the suggestion, and their existence!

  Lady Dasher, the head of this all-wise circle, was the youngest daughterof a deceased Irish peer, whom she was continually bringing on thecarpet, and causing--unhappy ghost that he was--to retrace his weary wayfrom wherever the spirits of defunct Hibernian nobles most docongregate.

  She did not do this through family pride, or with any boastfulintention, but simply from sheer morbidity. She was always scoring downgrievances in the present by looking back on the past. With her, it wasall repining and retrospect. When her poor father, the earl, was alive,she was never slighted in this way. Had her dear papa but now existed,Mistress So-and-So would have returned her call, and not insulted her byher palpable neglect. It was very Christian-like and charitable to sayotherwise; but _she_ knew better: it was on account of her being poor,and living in a small house. Oh, yes! she was very well aware of_that_; yet, although she could not keep up a grand establishment andwas poor, she was proud, and would never forget that she was an earl'sdaughter. She would not be ground down with impunity! Even the wormwill turn: and so on. You can understand her character almost withoutanother word of description.

  In spite of being a kindly-hearted soul at bottom, she was really, Ibelieve, the most morbid and melancholic person that ever breathed,--atleast, in my experience. Should you, unfortunately, be forced to remainfor any length of time in her presence, she had a most singularlydepressing influence on your spirits. Wet blanket? Bless your heart!that would be no name for her. She was a patent shower-bath, comingdown on all your cherished sentiments, hopes, and schemes, with a"whish" of heavy extinguishment. The cheeriest, sprightliest mortal inthe world could not have continued gay in her society. Mark Tapleywould have met his match in her, I'm certain.

  Next to the demise of her lamented parent--which was indeed an afterconsideration--Lady Dasher's marriage was the source and well-spring ofall her woes. She had espoused, as soon as she had a will of her own, ahandsome young gin distiller, who "ran" a large manufactory in Essex.People said it was entirely a love match; but, whether that was the caseor no, all _I_ know is, that on changing the honoured name ofPlanetree--the first Earl had been boot-black to the conquering Cromwellin Ireland--for the base-born patronymic Dasher, all her troubles began.Her noble relatives cut her dead in the first instance, as Dasher,aspiring though he was, aspired a trifle too high. The connection wasnever acknowledged; and his papa-in-law, utterly ignoring his entity,never gave him the honour of an invitation to Ballybrogue Castle, theancestral seat of the Planetrees in Tipperary.

  This was not the worst of it, either. Dasher, forgetting thatsimplicity of his forefathers which had promoted his fortunes, learnt onhis marriage to launch out into unheard-of extravagances, spending hishardly-gained substance in riotous living. He kept open house in townand country, getting laughed at, en parenthese, by the toadies whospunged upon him; failed; got into "the Gazette;" and?--died of a brokenheart. Poor Dasher!

  On the death of her other half--it is problematical which half he was,whether better or worse--Lady Dasher found herself left with a couple ofdaughters and a few thousands, which her husband had taken care tosettle on her so as to be beyond the reach of his creditors. Theprovision was ample to have enabled her to live in comfort, if she hadpractised the slightest economy; but, never having learnt that speciesof common sense, called "savoir faire," which is useful in every-daylife, Lady Dasher soon outran the constable. She then had to appeal toher father, Earl Planetree, who, now that poor Dasher disgraced thefamily escutcheon no longer by living, acknowledged her once more,relieving her necessities; and when he, too, died, he bequeathed her afair income, on which, by dint of hard struggling, she contrived tosupport existence and repine at her bitter lot.

  She was in the habit of telling people--who, between ourselves, werehopelessly ignorant that such a person as the late earl had everbreathed, and cared less, probably, about the fact--that had her poorpapa been yet ali
ve, things would have been "very different with her;"an assertion of questionable accuracy.

  There are some persons in this world who can never by any possibilitytake a rose-coloured view of life. No matter what vivid touches thegreat painter puts in on the canvas of their every-day being, theyalways remain mentally colour-blind, and perceive but one monotonousneutral tint--as they will continue to do until the end, when,perchance, their proper sight may be restored.

  Lady Dasher was one of these. She persisted in taking a despondent viewof everything around her--her past, her future, her position, herprospects; nay, even the circumstances and surroundings of her friendsand few intimates came to be regarded in the same unsatisfactory light.She was unacquainted with the healthy tone of wisdom contained in theold quatrain,--

  "That man, I trow, is doubly blest, Who of the worst can make the best; And he, I'm sure, is doubly curst, Who of the best doth make the worst!"

  Morbid and melancholic had been her disposition at the commencement ofthe chapter:--morbid and melancholic she would naturally remain to itsclose.

  With all her morbidity, however, she took a wonderful, albeitlachrymose, interest in the temporal matters of the parish; and wasacquainted with most of the contemporary facts and incidents with whichher neighbours were mixed up, being mostly indebted for her information,as she seldom went out herself, to her daughters Bessie and Seraphine--the latter commonly known amongst audacious young men as "the Seraph,"on account of her petite figure, her blue eyes, and her musical voice,the latter having just a suspicion of Irish brogue and blarney about it.

  They were nice lively girls and much liked, as they were quite acontrast to their mother. Indeed, it was surprising, considering herdisposition and their bringing up, that they were what they were. Hadit not been for them, Lady Dasher's existence would have beenconsiderably more monotonous and dreary than it was; but, thanks totheir assistance, she was kept thoroughly "posted up" in all the sociallife going on in her midst, in which, through her own lache, she wasunable to take part.

  Bessie and Seraphine did not attend parties, although sprightly, takinggirls like themselves would have been welcomed in almost any circle.The fact was, people would have been glad enough to invite them, hadtheir mother not been jealous of any attention paid to her daughtersthat was not extended to herself; and, hospitable as their friends mightbe, it was but reasonable that a monument of grief and picture of woeunutterable should not be earnestly sought after for the centre-piece ofa social gathering. It was owing to the same reason, also, that neitherof the girls had yet got married; for Lady Dasher would certainly haveexpected any matrimonial proposal to have been made to herself in thefirst instance, when, after declining the honour, she could have passedthe handkerchief to her daughters. Besides, the mere dread of havingthe infliction of such a mother-in-law would have sufficed to frightenoff the most ardent wooer or rabid aspirant for connubial felicity.

  Notwithstanding this, the girls went about to some extent in their ownways; and, on their return home, naturally gossiped with their motherover all they had seen and heard abroad. Thus it was that Lady Dasherwas so well-informed in all local matters, and why I thought ofappealing to her aid. But I should have to manage cautiously. Shewould think nothing--she was such a simple-minded body--of detailing allyour inquiries to the very subject of them, in a fit of unguardedconfidence. Cross-examining her was a most diplomatic proceeding. Ifyou went the right way about it, you could get anything out of herwithout committing yourself in the slightest way; whereas, if you set towork wrongly, you might not only be foundered by a provoking reticence,which she could assume at times, but might, also, some day hear thatyour secret intentions and machiavellian conduct were the common talk ofthe parish.

  Lady Dasher, although of a strictly pious turn of mind, did not objectto Sunday callers. Good. I would go there that very afternoon afterlunch, and see how the land lay.

  I kept my resolve, and went.

  Ushered into the well-known little drawing-room of the corner house ofThe Terrace, whose windows had a commanding view of the mainthoroughfare of our suburb, I had ample leisure, before the ladiesappeared, of observing the arrangement of certain fuchsias in a monsterflower-stand that took up half the room, on the growth and excellence ofwhich Lady Dasher prided herself greatly. Praise her fuchsias, and youwere the most excellent of men; pass them by unnoticed, and you might becapable of committing the worst sin in the decalogue.

  Is it not curious, how particular scents of flowers and their appearancewill call up old scenes and circumstances to your memory? To this day,the mere sight of a fuchsia will bring back to my mind Lady Dasher'slittle drawing-room; and I can fancy myself sitting in the old easy-chair by the window, and listening to that morbid lady's chit-chat.

  Presently my lady came in, pale and melancholy, as usual, and with hernormal expression of acutest woe.

  "Dear me, Mr Lorton! how very ill you are looking, to be sure. Isthere not consumption in your family?"

  "Not that I'm aware of, Lady Dasher, thank you," I replied; "but howwell _you_ are looking, if one may judge by appearances."

  "Ah!" she sighed with deep sadness, "appearances, my young friend, arevery deceptive. I am _not_ well--far from it, in fact. I believe, MrLorton, that I am fast hastening to that bourne from whence no travellerever returns. I would not be at all surprised to wake up some morningand find that I was dead!"

  "Indeed!" I said, for the fact she hinted at would have been somewhatastonishing to a weak-minded person. I then tried to change theconversation from this sombre subject to one I had more at heart; but itwas very hard to lead her on the track I wished. "We had a goodcongregation to-day, Lady Dasher, I think," said I; "the church seemedto be quite crammed."

  "Really, now; do you think so? _I_ did not consider it at all a largegathering. When poor dear papa was alive, I've seen twice the numberthere, I am certain. _You_ may say that the falling off is due to thehot weather and people going out of town, but _I_ think it is owing tothe spread of unbelief. We are living in terrible times, Mr Lorton.It seems to me that every one is becoming more atheistic and wickedevery day. I don't know what we shall come to, unless we have anotherdeluge, or something of that sort, to recall us to our senses!"

  Fortunately at this juncture, before Lady Dasher, could get into fullswing on her favourite theological hobby-horse--the degeneracy of thepresent age--Bessie and Seraphine entered the room. The conversationthen became a trifle livelier, and we discussed the weather, thefashions, and various items of clerical gossip.

  I discreetly asked if they had seen any new faces in church. But no;neither of them had, it was evident, seen my ladies in half-mourning,about whom I was diffident of inquiring directly.

  Were any fresh people coming to reside in the neighbourhood that theyhad heard of?

  "No," said Lady Dasher, with a melancholy shake of her head. "No; howshould they? It is not very likely that any new residents would come_here_! The place may suit poor people like _me_, but would not takethe fancy of persons having plenty of money to spend, who can select ahouse where they like. Ah! the miseries of poverty, Mr Lorton, and tobe poor but proud! I hope _you_ will never have my bitter experience,I'm sure!"--with another sad shake of her head, and an expression on herface that she was pretty certain that I _would_ one day arrive at thesame hollow estimate of life as herself. "No," she continued, "no newpeople are at all likely to come here. I saw Mr Shuffler yesterday,and asked if that house which he has to let in The Terrace were yettaken, but he said, `not that he knew of;' he had `heard of nobodycoming'--had I? I assure you he was quite impertinent about it. Hewould not have spoken to me so uncivilly had poor dear papa been alive,I know! But it is always the way with that class of people:--they onlylook upon you in the light of how much you are worth!"

  "Oh, ma!" said Bessie Dasher, "I think Mr Shuffler very civil andpolite. He always makes me quite a low bow whenever he sees me."

  "Ah! my dear," said her moth
er, "that's because you are young andpretty, as I was once. He never bows to me as he used to do when yourgrandpapa lived."

  After a little more harping on the same string, the conversationdrooped; and, as none of them could give me any further informationtowards assisting my quest, I took my leave of Lady Dasher and herdaughters, in a much less buoyant frame of mind than when I had firstthought of my visit an hour or so previously.

  I had made certain that they would know something of the mysteriousladies in half-mourning; consequently, I was all the more disappointed.However, they had given me one hint; I would ask Shuffler himself, onthe morrow, whether any new residents were expected in the suburb.

  Shuffler was a house-agent who had to do with all the letting andtaking, overhauling and repairing, of most of the habitations in ourneighbourhood. He was a portly, oily personage; one who clipped hisEnglish royally, and walked, through the effects of bunions, I believe--although some mistook it for gout, and gave him the credit of beingafflicted with that painful but aristocratic malady--as if he werecontinuously on pattens, or wore those clumsy wooden sabots which theNormandy peasantry use. He was also one-eyed, like Cyclops, the placeof the missing organ being temporarily filled with a round glass orb,whose nature could be detected at a glance; this seemed to stare at youwith a dull, searching look and take mental and disparaging stock ofyour person, while the sound eye was winking and blinking at you asjovially as you please.

  Shuffler was affable enough to me, as usual, in despite of Lady Dasherhaving such a bad opinion of his manners; but, he could give me noinformation such as I wanted to hear. Everybody, really, appeared to beas cautious as "Non mi recordo" was on Queen Caroline's trial. Nobodyhad heard of anybody coming to our neighbourhood. Nobody had seen anystrange faces about. Nobody knew anything!

  It was quite vexatious.

  I haunted the Prebend's Walk. I went to church three times everySunday, but did not meet her. The only thing I had to assure me that itwas not all a dream, and that I had really seen her, was the littlespray of mignonette, which I carried next my heart.

  It was now July.

  Sultry August came and passed; dull September followed suit; drearyOctober ensued, in the natural cycle of the seasons; foggy, suicidalNovember came; and yet, _she_ came not!

  I felt almost weary of waiting and looking out and longing,notwithstanding the inward assurance I had, and the fact of my wholenature being imbued with the belief that we should meet again. We_must_ meet. I knew _that_, I felt firmly convinced of it.

  Thus the year wore on. Weeks and months elapsed since our meeting inchurch, which I should never, never forget.

  Dreary, dreary expectation! I lost interest regarding things in which Ihad formerly been interested. The society of people which I hadpreviously coveted became distasteful to me.

  Lady Dasher, you may be sure, I never went nigh; _she_ would havealtogether overwhelmed me.

  As for that insufferable ass, Horner, he was always asking me wheneverwe met, which was much oftener than I cared about, with a provokingsimper and his unmeaning, eye-glass stare and drawling voice--coupledwith a tone of would-be-facetious irony--"Bai-ey Je-ove! I say, oldfellah, seen those ladies in hawf-mawning yet, ah?"

  Brute! I could have kicked him; and I wonder now that I didn't!