Horace Smith - Interludes
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Horace Smith >> Interludes
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CHAPTER V.--THE BALL.
Mrs. Porkington, attired in the white silk which we all knew so well,
reclined upon the sofa. Porkington, who was, or should be, her lord and
master, was perched upon the music stool. The Drag, in a pink muslin of
a draggled description, sat in a deep easy chair, displaying a great deal
of skinny ancle and large feet.
"It has always surprised me, my dear," said Mrs. Porkington, "how fond
you are of dancing."
"Why, what can you mean?" said he. "Why, I never danced in my life."
"Oh, of course not," replied she. "I am aware you cannot dance, nor did
I insinuate that you could, my dear, nor did I say so that I am aware.
But you enjoy these balls so much, you know you do."
"Well, yes," he said, languidly, "I like to see the young folks enjoy
themselves."
"Now, for my part," said his wife, "I am sure I am getting quite tired,
and wish the balls were at an end."
"My dear, I am sure I thought you liked them, or I would never have taken
the tickets."
"Now, my dear, my dear, I must beg, I must entreat, that you will not
endeavour to lay the expense of those tickets upon my shoulders. I am
sure I have never been asked to be taken to one of the balls this
season."
When a man tells a lie, it is with some hope, however slight, that he may
not be found out; but a woman will lie to the very person whom she knows
to be as fully acquainted with the facts as she is herself. Which is the
more deadly sin I leave to the Jesuits.
"I am sure," said the Coach, making a desperate effort, "you appeared to
enjoy them, for you danced a great many dances."
"Aunt!" exclaimed the lady, "is it true that I always dance every dance?"
"No indeed!" chimed in Miss Candlish, "far from it. No doubt you would
get partners for all if you wished."
"And is it true," she continued, "that I wish to go to these ridiculous
soirees?"
"Certainly not, indeed," said the Drag, "nor do I wish to go, I am sure!"
"In that case I can dispose of your ticket," said he. Unlucky man! In
these cases there is no _via media_. A man should either resist to the
death or submit with as good a grace as he can. Half measures are fatal.
"No, my dear, you cannot dispose of that ticket," said his wife, "and I
take it as very unkind in you to speak to Aunt in that manner. It is not
because she is poor, and dependent upon us, that she is to be sneered at
and ill-treated." At this speech the Drag burst into tears, and declared
that she always knew that Mr. Porkington hated her; that she might be
poor and old and ugly, etc., etc., but she little expected to be called
so by him; that she would not go to the ball now, if he implored her on
his knees, and so on, and so on.
Now, who could have thought it? All this fuss was occasioned by Mr. P.
having meanly backed out of giving Mrs. P. a new dress in which to
electrify the fashionable world at Babbicombe. Ah me! Let us hope that
in some far distant planet there may be some better world where all
unfortunate creatures,--dogs which have had tin kettles tied to their
tails,--cockchafers which have been spun upon pins,--poor men who have
been over-crawed by wives, aunts, mothers-in-law, and other
terrors,--donkeys which have been undeservedly belaboured by
costermongers,--and authors who have been meritoriously abused by
critics,--rest together in peace in a sort of happy family.
At this point Barton, Glenville, Thornton, and I all entered the room.
"Oh, I am so glad to see the ladies are ready," said Thornton. "This
will be our last ball, and we ought to make a happy evening of it. Are
you not sorry we are coming to the end of our gaieties, Miss Candlish?"
"Sorry!" exclaimed the Drag, ferociously. "Sorry! I never was more
pleased--pleased--pleased!" Every time she repeated the word "pleased"
she launched it at the head of the unfortunate tutor, as if she hoped her
words would turn into brickbats ere they reached him.
"I am glad to see you are going, however," said Glenville.
"There you are mistaken," said the Aunt, "for Mr. Porkington has been so
very kind as to say he had rather I did not go."
"Really, really," cried Porkington, "I can assure you it is quite the
reverse. I am so misunderstood that really I am sure I can't tell--"
"Oh, pray do not disappoint us in our last evening together, Miss
Candlish," said Glenville, coming to the rescue of the unfortunate tutor,
and speaking in his most fascinating manner, "I have hoped for the
pleasure of a quadrille and lancers and" (with an effort) "a waltz with
you this evening if you will allow me."
The Drag became calm, and after a little while diplomatic relations were
fairly established, and away we all went to the Assembly Rooms, Glenville
whispering to me and Barton, "I have made up my mind to get rid of that
pink muslin to-night or perish in the attempt." I had no opportunity at
the moment of asking him what he meant, but I was sure he meant mischief.
However, I never gave the matter a second thought, as the business of
dancing soon commenced. Captains O'Brien and Kelly were already waltzing
with the two Misses Bankes, and whispering delightful nothings into their
curls as we entered. The artist was floundering in a persevering manner
with pretty Miss Bagshaw, and the doctor was standing in the doorway
ruminating hopefully on the probable effects of low dresses and cold
draughts. Thornton was soon engrossed in the charms of his lady love,
and Barton, Glenville, and I were doing our duty by all the young ladies.
The room was well filled, and, though not well lighted nor well
appointed, was large and cheerful enough. The German Band performed
prodigies; the row was simply deafening. There were a few seats by the
walls for those who did not dance, and there was a room for lemonade,
cakes, and bad ices for those who liked them, as well as a small room in
which the old fogies could play a rubber of whist.
Mrs. Delamere had pinned Mr. Bankes in a corner, and was enlarging to him
upon one of her favourite topics.
"The Church of England," said she, "is undoubtedly in great danger, but
why should we regret it? It has become a thing of the past, and so have
chivalry and monasteries. The mind of the nineteenth century is marching
on to its goal. The intellect of England is asserting itself. I have
ever loved the intellect of England, haven't you?"
"Oh, quite so--ah, yes, certainly, of course!" said Mr. Bankes.
"You agree with me," said Mrs. Delamere; "I was sure you would. This is
most delightful. I have seldom talked with any true thinker who does not
agree with me."
"I am sure," said Mr. Bankes gallantly, "no one would venture to cope
with such an accomplished disputant."
"Perhaps not," she said complacently, "but I should not desire to
disagree with anyone upon religious subjects. The great desideratum--you
see I understand the Latin tongue, Mr. Bankes--the great desideratum is
harmony--the harmony of the soul! How are we to arrive at harmony? that
is the pressing question."
* * * * *
"Bagshaw, you are a low cheat, sir: you are nothing better than a common
swindler, sir. I will not play with you any more. Do you call yourself
a whist player and make signs to your partner. I should be ashamed to
stay in the same room with you."
Several of the dancers hastened into the card-room. Mrs. Bagshaw was
standing up flushed and excited, and talking loudly and wildly. She had
overset her chair, and flung down her cards upon the table. Seeing
Porkington enter, she cried out, "Look to your wife, sir, look to your
wife. She received signals across the table. It has nothing to do with
the cards. Look at that man who is called my husband--that monster--that
bundle of lies and deceit, who has been the ruin of hundreds."
"By heavens, this is too bad!" exclaimed Colonel Bagshaw. "I declare
nothing has happened that I know of, except that my wife has forgotten to
count honours."
"It is a lie, sir, and you know it. You are trying to ruin a woman
before my very eyes. Oh, you man, you brute! Oh, help, help me, help!"
and in act to fall she steadied herself by clenching tightly the back of
her chair. Her daughter was luckily close to her, "Oh, mamma, mamma,"
whispered she, "how can you say such things? Come away, come away; you
are ill. Do come." She led her out into the hall, and hurriedly
adjusting the shawls, went home with her mother.
Porkington showed himself a man. He took Colonel Bagshaw by the hand. "I
am very sorry," said he, "that Mrs. Bagshaw should have made some
mistake. Some sudden vexation, and I am afraid some indisposition, must
be the cause of her excitement. Allow me to take her place and finish
the game. I am afraid you will find me a poor performer, Colonel."
"Oh, not at all. Let us begin. I will deal again, and the scoring
stands as it did."
Mrs. Porkington during this scene had turned pale and red alternately.
Her husband's dignity and presence of mind astonished her. She was so
excited as to be almost unable to play her cards, and her lips and eyes
betrayed very great emotion. The tutor's cheek showed some trace of
colour, and his manner was even graver than usual, but that was all; and
his wife felt the presence of a superior force to her own, and was
checked into silence. I had always felt sure that there was a reserve of
force in the timid nature of our Coach which seemed to peep forth at
times and then retire again. It was curious to mark on these rare
occasions how the more boisterous self-assertion of Mrs. Porkington
seemed for a time to cower before the gentler but finer will. Natures
are not changed in a day, but the effect of the singular scene which had
been enacted at that time was never effaced, and a gradual and mutual
approach was made between husband and wife towards a more cordial and
complete sympathy.
The music had not ceased playing during the disturbance, and the dancers,
with great presence of mind, quickly returned to their places, and the
usual frivolities of the evening continued to the accustomed hour of
midnight, when the party began to break up. I could not find Glenville
or Barton. Where could they be? Once or twice in the pauses of the
dance I had noticed them talking earnestly together, and occasionally
with suppressed laughter. "Now, what joke are these fellows up to, I
wonder?" However, it was not my business to inquire, though I had a kind
of fear that the combination of gunpowder with lucifer matches in a high
temperature could hardly be more dangerous than the meeting of Glenville
and Barton in a mischievous mood. Before the last dance had commenced
they had left the hall, and, as soon as they got outside, they found Miss
Candlish's sedan chair in the custody of the two men who usually carried
her to and fro when she attended the balls. Two other sedan chairs,
several bath chairs and donkey chairs, and a couple of flys were in
attendance. Aided by the magical influence of a small "tip," Glenville
easily persuaded the men in charge that the dance would not be over for a
few minutes, and that they had time to go and get a glass of beer, which,
he said, Miss Candlish wished them to have in return for the care and
trouble they had several times taken in carrying her home. As soon as
they had gone, he and Barton came back into the ball-room; and, as the
last dance was coming to an end, and the band was beginning to scramble
through "God save the Queen," in a most disloyal manner, he came up to
Miss Candlish, and said, "May I have the pleasure of seeing you to your
chair, and thanking you for that very delightful dance?"
"My dear Mr. Glenville," said the Drag, "your politeness is quite
overpowering. Ah, if all young men were like you, what a very different
world it would be."
"You must not flatter me," said Glenville, "for I am very soft hearted,
especially where the fair sex is concerned."
"Ah, how I wish I had a son like you!" sighed the Drag.
"And how I wish you were my m--m--mother!" replied that villain
Glenville, as he adjusted her cloak, and led her out to her chair. It
was pitchy dark outside (only a couple of candle lanterns to see by), and
the usual confusion upon the breaking up of a large party was taking
place. Miss Candlish stepped into her chair, and the door was closed.
Glenville and Barton took up the chair, and, going as smoothly as they
could (which was not as smoothly as the usual carriers), they turned
aside from the main stream of the visitors, and made at once for the
harbour. Here they had intended to deposit the chair, and leave the rest
to fate; but, as luck would have it, in setting down the chair in the
darkness, one side of it projected over a sort of landing-place. It
toppled over and fell sideways with a splash into the muddy water. Scream
upon scream followed rapidly. "Murder! thieves! help!" Shriek after
shriek, and at last a female form, wildly flinging her arms into the air,
could be seen emerging from the half buried chair. Glenville and Barton
had run away before the chair fell, but, hearing the fall, looked back,
and were at first spellbound with terror at what had happened. When,
however, they saw the Drag emerge, they fairly fled for their lives by a
circuitous way little frequented by night, and reached home just before
the rest of us arrived. There was some alarm when Miss Candlish did not
arrive for about twenty minutes or half an hour. Glenville and Barton
told Thornton and myself what had happened, and wanted to know what they
should do. Of course, we advised that they should say and do nothing,
but wait upon the will of the Fates. They were in a great fright, and
when Miss Candlish arrived in charge of two policemen their terror became
wild. And yet they both said afterwards that they could hardly help
laughing out loud. The pink muslin was draggled and besmeared with
harbour mud, and torn half out of the gathers. Its owner was in a state
of rage, terror, and hysterics. The commotion was fearful. It was very
strange she did not seem to have the faintest suspicion of any of our
party. She was sure the men were drunk because they carried her so
unsteadily. She was positive they meant to rob her or something worse.
She saw them as they were running away. They were the very same men who
always carried her. She never could bear those men. They looked more
like demons than men. She would leave the place next day. She had been
disgraced. Everybody hated her, nobody had any pity. She would go to
bed. Don't speak to her--go away--go away, do! Brandy and water,
certainly not! and so on. Till at last Mrs. Porkington prevailed on her
to go to bed. We had all vanished as quickly as we could and smoked a
pipe, discussing in low tones the lowering appearance of the skies above
us, and the consequences which might ensue upon those inquiries which we
foresaw must inevitably take place.
I never quite knew how it was managed, but two policemen came the next
morning and actually examined our boots and trousers, and then had a long
interview with Mr. Porkington; and finally we, who were waiting in terror
in the dining-room, saw the pair of them go out of the front door,
touching their hats to Porkington. I thought at the time that he must
have bribed them; but afterwards, on thinking it over, I came to the
conclusion that there was no evidence of the complicity of our party. Of
course, the sedan men did not know what had happened. Porkington stoutly
refused to let the policemen come into our study, and told them he should
regard them as trespassers if they ventured to go into any other room.
The Drag, although she declared she knew the two men, had no desire to
bring the matter before the public. Porkington never said a word to any
of us upon the subject, though he looked cross and nervous. As soon as
the aunt had taken her departure (which she did the next day) he quite
recovered his good humour, and, I believe, even chuckled inwardly at the
episode. The _Babbicombe Independent_ had an amusing paragraph upon the
incident, and opined that some drunken sailors from one of the
neighbouring ports were the perpetrators of the coarse practical joke;
but we found that the general opinion among the visitors was not so wide
of the truth. However, as no one cared for the lady it took less than
nine days to get rid of the wonder.
CHAPTER VI.--THE SHORE.
"Barton," said Glenville, "I want to speak to you, old chap. You won't
mind me speaking to you, will you?"
Barton's brow clouded at once. He knew what was coming. "I don't know
what you mean," said he.
"Well, I want to talk to you about that girl."
"What right have you to interfere? That's my business, not yours."
"If you are going to be angry, I'll shut up. But I tell you plainly,
it's a beastly shame; and if you dare to do any harm to her I'll kick you
out of the place."
"Out of what place?"
"Why, out of this or any other place I find you in. You've no right to
go meeting her as you do."
"And you've no right to speak of her like that. She is as pure as any
child in the world, and you ought to know I would do her no harm. You
are trying to insult both me and her."
"Well, I'm very glad to hear you say so. But, see what folly it all is.
You know you don't intend to marry her. Do you?"
"Why, as to that I don't know. I'm not obliged to tell you what I mean
to do."
"No; but you ought to think about what you mean to do. You know she is
engaged to be married to Hawkstone."
"Yes; but I don't think she cares for him a bit--only to tease him."
"Do just think what you are doing as a man and a gentleman--I won't say
as a Christian, for you tell me you mean nothing bad. But is it manly,
is it fair to play these sort of tricks? I must tell you we must give up
being chums any longer if this goes on."
"I tell you what, Glenville, I think you are giving yourself mighty fine
airs, and all about nothing; but just because you have an uncle who is a
lord you think you may preach as much as you like."
"Oh, come now, that's all nonsense!" said Glenville. "If you are
determined to shut me up, I've done. _Liberavi animam meam_. I am sorry
if I have offended you. I say it's quite time we went to join the other
fellows. They want us to go with some of the ladies over the cliffs."
"Thanks, I can't come. I've a lot more work to do, and--and I've hurt my
heel a bit and don't care to go a stiff climb to-day."
Glenville looked at him, and saw a red glow rising in his neck as he
turned away his face and sat down to a book on the table, pretending to
read, as Glenville left the room.
The sky was dark, and ominous of storm. It had a torn and ragged
appearance, as if it had already had a fight with worse weather and was
trying to escape. The sea-gulls showed like white breakers upon the dark
sky. The waves roared and grumbled, lashing themselves into a fury as
they burst in white, wrathful foam against the black rocks, and then drew
back, torn and mangled, to mingle with the crowd of waves rushing on to
their doom. The visitors, dressed for squally weather, in waterproofs or
rough suits, walked up and down the parade, enjoying the exhilarating
breeze, or stood watching with eager excitement the entry of a fishing
smack into the harbour. Far away out at sea in the mist of distant spray
and rain two or three brigantines or schooners could be dimly descried
labouring with the storm;--mysterious and awful sight as it always seems
to me. Will she get safe to port? What is her cargo? What her human
freight? What are they doing or thinking? What language do they speak?
Are there women or children aboard? Who knows? Ah, gentle reader, what
do you and I know of each other, and what do we know of even our nearest
friends; to what port are they struggling through the mists which envelop
them, and who will meet them on the shore?
An hour had not elapsed since Glenville had left Barton before the latter
had reached the first promontory of rocks which shut in the little bay of
Babbicombe, and on turning the corner found, as he had expected and
appointed, the young woman who had been the subject of their angry
conversation. She rose from a rock on which she had been sitting, and
came to meet him with a frank smile, saying, "Good afternoon, Mr. Henry."
Somehow the slightly coarse intonation struck him as it had never done
before, and the freedom of manner which a few hours ago would have
delighted him now sent a chilling sensation to his heart. "Good
afternoon," he replied, and, drawing his arm round her waist, he kissed
her several times, and held her so firmly that at last she said, "Oh,
sir, you'll hurt me. Let me go!" Then holding him away from her, and
looking him full in the face, she said, "Oh, Mr. Henry, whatever can be
the matter!" "Come and sit down, darling," he said, "I want to say
something to you." He led her to a seat upon the rocks, and they both
sat down. "Darling," he said, "I am afraid I must go away at once and
leave you for ever." "Oh, no, no, no! not that!" she cried, starting up.
In a moment her manner changed from fear to anger. "I know what it is!"
she exclaimed, "Hawkstone has been rude to you. There now, I will never
forgive him. I will never be friends with him again--never!"
"No, darling, it is nothing about Hawkstone at all. I haven't seen him.
But come here, you must be quiet and listen to what I have to say."
She sat down again beside him. Her lips quivered. Her blue eyes were
staring into the cliff in front of her, but she saw nothing, felt
nothing, except that a dreadful moment had come which she had for some
time dimly expected, but never distinctly foreseen.
"I hardly know how to tell you," he began. "You know I love you very
dearly, and if I could--if it was possible, I would ask you to marry me.
But I cannot. It is impossible. It would bring misery upon all, upon my
father and mother, and upon you. How can I make you understand? My
people are rich, all their friends are rich, and all very proud."
The tears were streaming down her face, and she sat motionless.
"But I don't want to know your friends," she said, in a choking voice.
"I know, I know," he said, "and I could be quite happy with you if they
were all dead and out of the way, and if the world was different from
what it is. But I have thought it all out, and I am sure I ought to go
away at once, and never come back again."
There was a long pause, but at last she rose and said, "Mr. Barton, I
have felt that something of this sort might happen, but I have never
thought it out, as you say you have. I am confused now it has come, just
as if I had never feared it beforehand. I was very, very happy, and I
would not think of what might come of it. I might have known that a
grand gentleman like you would never live with the like of me; but then I
thought I loved you very, very dearly; you seemed so bright, and grand,
and tender, that I loved you in spite of all I was afraid of, and I
thought if you loved me you might perhaps be--" Here she broke down
altogether, and burst into sobs, and seemed as though she would fall. He
rose and threw his arms round her, led her back to the rock, called her
all the sweet names he could think of, kissed her again and again, and
tried to soothe her; while she, poor thing, could do nothing but sob,
with her head upon his shoulder.
A loud shout aroused them. They both rose suddenly, and turned their
faces towards the place whence the sound proceeded. Hawkstone was just
emerging from the surf, which was lashing furiously against the corner of
the cliff, round which they had come dry-shod a short time before, They
at once guessed their fate, and glanced in dismay at one another and then
at the sea, and again at Hawkstone, who rapidly approached them, drenched
through and through, and in a fierce state of wrath and terror, added to
the excitement of his struggle with the waves.
"What are you doing here?" he cried, and in the same breath, "Don't
answer--don't dare to answer, but listen. You are caught by the tide. I
have sent a boy back to Babbicombe for help. No help can come by sea in
such a storm. They will bring a basket and ropes by the cliff. It will
be a race between them and the tide. If all goes well, they will be here
in time. If not, we shall all be drowned."
"Is there no way up the cliff?" said Barton.
"None. The cliff overhangs. There is a place where I have just come
through, but I doubt if I could reach it again; and I am sure neither of
you could stand the surf. You must wait." He then turned from them, and
sat himself down on a fallen piece of the cliff, and buried his face in
his hands. Nellie sank down on the rock where she and Barton had been
sitting, and he stood by her, helplessly gazing alternately with a pale
face and bewildered mind at his two companions. Two or three minutes
passed without any motion or sound from the living occupants of the bay;
but the roaring of the sea grew louder and louder, and the terror of it
sank into the hearts of all three. At last Hawkstone raised his head,
and immediately Barton approached him.
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