"But, Mrs. Harrington! surely! what can the poor young man do?"
"He will pay it, my lady."
"But how, Mrs. Harrington?"
"There is his father"s business, my lady."
His father"s business! Then must the young man become a tradesman in order to show respect for his father? Preposterous! That was the lady"s natural inward exclamation. She said, rather shrewdly, for one who knew nothing of such things: "But a business which produces debts so enormous, Mrs. Harrington!"
The widow replied: "My son will have to conduct it in a different way.
It would be a very good business, conducted properly, my lady."
"But if he has no taste for it, Mrs. Harrington? If he is altogether superior to it?"
For the first time during the interview, the widow"s inflexible countenance was mildly moved, though not to any mild expression.
"My son will have not to consult his tastes," she observed: and seeing the lady, after a short silence, quit her seat, she rose likewise, and touched the fingers of the hand held forth to her, bowing.
"You will pardon the interest I take in your son," said Lady Racial. "I hope, indeed, that his relatives and friends will procure him the means of satisfying the demands made upon him."
"He would still have to pay them, my lady," was the widow"s answer.
"Poor young man! indeed I pity him!" sighed her visitor. "You have hitherto used no efforts to persuade him to take such a step,--Mrs.
Harrington?"
"I have written to Mr. Goren, who was my husband"s fellow-apprentice in London, my lady; and he is willing to instruct him in cutting, and measuring, and keeping accounts."
Certain words in this speech were obnoxious to the fine ear of Lady Racial, and she relinquished the subject.
"Your husband, Mrs. Harrington--I should so much have wished!--he did not pa.s.s away in--in pain!"
"He died very calmly, my lady."
"It is so terrible, so disfiguring, sometimes. One dreads to see!--one can hardly distinguish! I have known cases where death was dreadful!
But a peaceful death is very beautiful! There is nothing shocking to the mind. It suggests heaven! It seems a fulfilment of our prayers!"
"Would your ladyship like to look upon him?" said the widow.
Lady Racial betrayed a sudden gleam at having her desire thus intuitively fathomed.
"For one moment, Mrs. Harrington! We esteemed him so much! May I?"
The widow responded by opening the door, and leading her into the chamber where the dead man lay.
At that period, when threats of invasion had formerly stirred up the military fire of us Islanders, the great Mel, as if to show the great Napoleon what character of being a British shopkeeper really was, had, by remarkable favour, obtained a lieutenancy of militia dragoons: in the uniform of which he had revelled, and perhaps, for the only time in his life, felt that circ.u.mstances had suited him with a perfect fit. However that may be, his solemn final commands to his wife, Henrietta Maria, on whom he could count for absolute obedience in such matters, had been, that as soon as the breath had left his body, he should be taken from his bed, washed, perfumed, powdered, and in that uniform dressed and laid out; with directions that he should be so buried at the expiration of three days, that havoc in his features might be hidden from men. In this array Lady Racial beheld him. The curtains of the bed were drawn aside. The beams of evening fell soft through the blinds of the room, and cast a subdued light on the figure of the vanquished warrior.
The Presence, dumb now for evermore, was sadly illumined for its last exhibition. But one who looked closely might have seen that Time had somewhat spoiled that perfect fit which had aforetime been his pride; and now that the lofty spirit had departed, there had been extreme difficulty in persuading the sullen excess of clay to conform to the dimensions of those garments. The upper part of the chest alone would bear its b.u.t.tons, and across one portion of the lower limbs an ancient seam had started; recalling an incident to them who had known him in his brief hour of glory. For one night, as he was riding home from Fallow field, and just entering the gates of the town, a mounted trooper spurred furiously past, and slashing out at him, gashed his thigh. Mrs.
Melchisedec found him lying at his door in a not unwonted way; carried him up-stairs in her arms, as she had done many a time before, and did not perceive his condition till she saw the blood on her gown. The cowardly a.s.sailant was never discovered; but Mel was both gallant and had, in his military career, the reputation of being a martinet. Hence, divers causes were suspected. The wound failed not to mend, the trousers were repaired: Peace about the same time was made, and the affair pa.s.sed over.
Looking on the fine head and face, Lady Racial saw nothing of this.
She had not looked long before she found covert employment for her handkerchief. The widow standing beside her did not weep, or reply to her whispered excuses at emotion; gazing down on his mortal length with a sort of benignant friendliness; aloof, as one whose duties to that form of flesh were well-nigh done. At the feet of his master, Jacko, the monkey, had jumped up, and was there squatted, with his legs crossed, very like a tailor! The imitative wretch had got a towel, and as often as Lady Racial"s handkerchief travelled to her eyes, Jacko"s peery face was hidden, and you saw his lithe skinny body doing grief"s convulsions till, tired of this amus.e.m.e.nt, he obtained possession of the warrior"s helmet, from a small round table on one side of the bed; a calque of the barbarous military-Georgian form, with a huge k.n.o.b of horse-hair projecting over the peak; and under this, trying to adapt it to his rogue"s head, the tricksy image of Death extinguished himself.
All was very silent in the room. Then the widow quietly disengaged Jacko, and taking him up, went to the door, and deposited him outside.
During her momentary absence, Lady Racial had time to touch the dead man"s forehead with her lips, unseen.
CHAPTER III. THE DAUGHTERS OF THE SHEARS
Three daughters and a son were left to the world by Mr. Melchisedec.
Love, well endowed, had already claimed to provide for the daughters: first in the shape of a lean Marine subaltern, whose days of obscuration had now pa.s.sed, and who had come to be a major of that corps: secondly, presenting his addresses as a brewer of distinction: thirdly, and for a climax, as a Portuguese Count: no other than the Senor Silva Diaz, Conde de Saldar: and this match did seem a far more resplendent one than that of the two elder sisters with Major Strike and Mr. Andrew Cogglesby.
But the rays of neither fell visibly on Lymport. These escaped Eurydices never reappeared, after being once fairly caught away from the gloomy realms of Dis, otherwise Trade. All three persons of singular beauty, a certain refinement, some Port, and some Presence, hereditarily combined, they feared the clutch of that fell king, and performed the widest possible circles around him. Not one of them ever approached the house of her parents. They were dutiful and loving children, and wrote frequently; but of course they had to consider their new position, and their husbands, and their husbands" families, and the world, and what it would say, if to it the dreaded rumour should penetrate! Lymport gossips, as numerous as in other parts, declared that the foreign n.o.bleman would rave in an extraordinary manner, and do things after the outlandish fashion of his country: for from him, there was no doubt, the shop had been most successfully veiled, and he knew not of Pluto"s close relationship to his lovely spouse.
The marriages had happened in this way. b.a.l.l.s are given in country towns, where the graces of tradesmen"s daughters may be witnessed and admired at leisure by other than tradesmen: by occasional country gentlemen of the neighbourhood, with light minds: and also by small officers: subalterns wishing to do tender execution upon man"s fair enemy, and to find a distraction for their legs. The cla.s.ses of our social fabric have, here and there, slight connecting links, and provincial public b.a.l.l.s are one of these. They are dangerous, for Cupid is no respecter of cla.s.s-prejudice; and if you are the son of a retired tea-merchant, or of a village doctor, or of a half-pay captain, or of anything superior, and visit one of them, you are as likely to receive his shot as any s...o...b..y. Even masquerading lords at such places, have been known to be slain outright; and although Society allows to its highest and dearest to save the honour of their families, and heal their anguish, by indecorous compromise, you, if you are a trifle below that mark, must not expect it. You must absolutely give yourself for what you hope to get. Dreadful as it sounds to philosophic ears, you must marry.
This, having danced with Caroline Harrington, the gallant Lieutenant Strike determined to do. Nor, when he became aware of her father"s occupation, did he shrink from his resolve. After a month"s hard courtship, he married her straight out of her father"s house. That he may have all the credit due to him, it must be admitted that he did not once compare, or possibly permit himself to reflect on, the dissimilarity in their respective ranks, and the step he had taken downward, till they were man and wife: and then not in any great degree, before Fortune had given him his majority; an advance the good soldier frankly told his wife he did not owe to her. If we may be permitted to suppose the colonel of a regiment on friendly terms with one of his corporals, we have an estimate of the domestic life of Major and Mrs. Strike. Among the garrison males, his comrades, he pa.s.sed for a disgustingly jealous brute.
The ladies, in their pretty language, signalized him as a "finick."
Now, having achieved so capital a marriage, Caroline, worthy creature, was anxious that her sisters should not be less happy, and would have them to visit her, in spite of her husband"s protests.
"There can be no danger," she said, for she was in fresh quarters, far from the nest of contagion. The lieutenant himself ungrudgingly declared that, looking on the ladies, no one for an instant could suspect; and he saw many young fellows ready to be as great fools as he had been another voluntary confession he made to his wife; for the candour of which she thanked him, and pointed out that it seemed to run in the family; inasmuch as Mr. Andrew Cogglesby, his rich relative, had seen and had proposed for Harriet. The lieutenant flatly said he would never allow it. In fact he had hitherto concealed the non-presentable portion of his folly very satisfactorily from all save the mess-room, and Mr. Andrew"s pa.s.sion was a severe dilemma to him. It need scarcely be told that his wife, fortified by the fervid brewer, defeated him utterly. What was more, she induced him to be an accomplice in deception. For though the lieutenant protested that he washed his hands of it, and that it was a fraud and a snare, he certainly did not avow the condition of his wife"s parents to Mr. Andrew, but alluded to them in pa.s.sing as "the country people." He supposed "the country people" must be asked, he said. The brewer offered to go down to them. But the lieutenant drew an unpleasant picture of the country people, and his wife became so grave at the proposal, that Mr. Andrew said he wanted to marry the lady and not the "country people," and if she would have him, there he was. There he was, behaving with a particular and sagacious kindness to the raw lieutenant since Harriet"s arrival. If the lieutenant sent her away, Mr. Andrew would infallibly pursue her, and light on a discovery. Twice cursed by Love, twice the victim of tailordom, our excellent Marine gave away Harriet Harrington in marriage to Mr. Andrew Cogglesby.
Thus Joy clapped hands a second time, and Horror deepened its shadows.
From higher ground it was natural that the remaining sister should take a bolder flight. Of the loves of the fair Louisa Harrington and the foreign Count, and how she first encountered him in the brewer"s saloons, and how she, being a humorous person, laughed at his "loaf" for her, and wore the colours that pleased him, and kindled and soothed his jealousy, little is known beyond the fact that she espoused the Count, under the auspices of the affluent brewer, and engaged that her children should be brought up in the faith of the Catholic Church: which Lymport gossips called, paying the Devil for her pride.
The three sisters, gloriously rescued by their own charms, had now to think of their one young brother. How to make him a gentleman! That was their problem.
Preserve him from tailordom--from all contact with trade--they must; otherwise they would be perpetually linked to the horrid thing they hoped to outlive and bury. A cousin of Mr. Melchisedec"s had risen to be an Admiral and a knight for valiant action in the old war, when men could rise. Him they besought to take charge of the youth, and make a distinguished seaman of him. He courteously declined. They then attacked the married Marine--Navy or Army being quite indifferent to them as long as they could win for their brother the badge of one Service, "When he is a gentleman at once!" they said, like those who see the end of their labours. Strike basely pretended to second them. It would have been delightful to him, of course, to have the tailor"s son messing at the same table, and claiming him when he pleased with a familiar "Ah, brother!" and prating of their relationship everywhere. Strike had been a fool: in revenge for it he laid out for himself a masterly career of consequent wisdom. The brewer--uxorious Andrew Cogglesby--might and would have bought the commission. Strike laughed at the idea of giving money for what could be got for nothing. He told them to wait.
In the meantime Evan, a lad of seventeen, spent the hours not devoted to his positive profession--that of gentleman--in the offices of the brewery, toying with big books and balances, which he despised with the combined zeal of the sucking soldier and emanc.i.p.ated tailor.
Two years pa.s.sed in attendance on the astute brother-in-law, to whom Fortune now beckoned to come to her and gather his laurels from the pig-tails. About the same time the Countess sailed over from Lisbon on a visit to her sister Harriet (in reality, it was whispered in the Cogglesby saloons, on a diplomatic mission from the Court of Lisbon; but that could not be made ostensible). The Countess narrowly examined Evan, whose steady advance in his profession both her sisters praised.
"Yes," said the Countess, in a languid alien accent. "He has something of his father"s carriage--something. Something of his delivery--his readiness."
It was a remarkable thing that these ladies thought no man on earth like their father, and always cited him as the example of a perfect gentleman, and yet they buried him with one mind, and each mounted guard over his sepulchre, to secure his ghost from an airing.
"He can walk, my dears, certainly, and talk--a little. Tete-a-tete, I do not say. I should think there he would be--a stick! All you English are.
But what sort of a bow has he got, I ask you? How does he enter a room?
And, then his smile! his laugh! He laughs like a horse--absolutely!
There"s no music in his smile. Oh! you should see a Portuguese n.o.bleman smile. O mio Deus! honeyed, my dears! But Evan has it not. None of you English have. You go so."
The Countess pressed a thumb and finger to the sides of her mouth, and set her sisters laughing.
"I a.s.sure you, no better! not a bit! I faint in your society. I ask myself--Where am I? Among what boors have I fallen? But Evan is no worse than the rest of you; I acknowledge that. If he knew how to dress his shoulders properly, and to direct his eyes--Oh! the eyes! you should see how a Portuguese n.o.bleman can use his eyes! Soul! my dears, soul! Can any of you look the unutterable without being absurd! You look so."
And the Countess hung her jaw under heavily vacuous...o...b..ts, something as a sheep might yawn.