VIII
A SAD MISADVENTURE
Arthur Vaughan was not a little relieved by the tidings which IsaacWhite had conveyed to him at Chippenham. The news freed him from aduty which did not appear the less distasteful because it was nolonger inevitable. To cast against Sir Robert the vote which he owedto Sir Robert must have exposed him to odium, whatever the matter atstake. But at this election, at which the issue was, aye or no, wasthe borough to be swept away or not, to vote "aye" was an act fromwhich the least sensitive must have shrunk, and which the most honestmust have performed with reluctance. Add the extreme exasperation ofpublic feeling, of which every day and every hour brought to light themost glaring proofs, and he had been fortunate indeed if he had notincurred some general blame as well as the utmost weight of SirRobert's displeasure.
He was spared all this, and he was thankful. Yet, when he rose on themorning after his arrival at Bristol, his heart was not as light as afeather. On the contrary, as he looked from the window of the WhiteLion into the bustle of Broad Street, he yawned dolefully; admittingthat life, and particularly the prospect before him, of an immediatereturn to London, was dull. Why go back? Why stay here? Why doanything? The Woolsack? Bah! The Cabinet? Pooh! They were but gaudybaits for the shallow and the hard-hearted. Moreover, they were sodistant, so unattainable, that pursuit of them seemed the merestmoonshine; more especially on this fine April morning, made fornothing but a coach ride through an enchanted country, by the side ofthe sweetest face, the brightest eyes, the most ravishing figure, theprettiest bonnet that ever tamed the gruffest of coachmen.
Heigh-ho! If it were all to do over again how happy would he be! Howhappy had he been, and not known it, the previous morning! It waspitiful to think of him in his ignorance, with that day, that blissfulday, before him.
Well, it was over. And he must return to town. For he would play nofoolish tricks. The girl was not in his rank in life, and he could notfollow her without injury to her. He was no preacher, and he had livedfor years among men whose lives, if not worse than the lives of theirdescendants, wore no disguise; who, if they did not sin more, sinnedmore openly. But he had a heart, and to mar an innocent life for hispleasure had shocked him; even if the girl's modesty and self-respect,disclosed by a hundred small things, had not made the notion ofwronging her abhorrent. None the less he took his breakfast in a kindof dream, whispered "Mary!" three times in different tones, and, beingsuddenly accosted by the waiter, was irritable.
With all this he was wise enough to know his own weakness, and thatthe sooner he was out of Bristol the better. He sent to the Bushoffice to book a place by the midday coach to town; and then only,when he had taken the irrevocable step, he put on his hat to kill theintervening time in Bristol.
Unfortunately, as he crossed the hall, intending to walk towardsClifton, he heard himself named; and turning, he saw that the speakerwas the lady in black, and wearing a veil, whom he had remarkedwalking up and down beside the coach, while the horses were changingat Marshfield.
"Mr. Vaughan?" she said.
He raised his hat, much surprised. "Yes," he answered. He fancied thatshe was inspecting him very closely through her veil. "I am Mr.Vaughan."
"Pardon me," she continued--her voice was refined and low--"but theygave me your name at the office. I have something which belongs to thelady who travelled with you yesterday, and I am anxious to restoreit."
He blushed; nor could he have repressed the blush if his life had hungupon it. "Indeed?" he murmured. His confusion did not permit him toadd another word.
"Doubtless it was left in the coach," the lady explained, "and wastaken to my room with my luggage. Unfortunately I am leaving Bristolat once, within a few minutes, and I cannot myself return it. I shallbe much obliged if you will see that she has it safely."
She spoke as if the thing were a matter of course. But Vaughan had nowrecovered himself. "I would with pleasure," he said; "but I am myselfleaving Bristol at midday, and I really do not know how--how I can doit."
"Then perhaps you will arrange the matter," the lady replied in a toneof displeasure. "I have sent the parcel to your room and I have nottime to regain it. I must go at once. There is my maid! Good morning!"And with a distant bow she glided from him, and disappeared throughthe nearest doorway.
He stood where she had left him, looking after her in bewilderment.For one thing he was sure that she was a stranger, and yet she hadaddressed him in the tone of one who had a right to be obeyed. Thenhow odd it was! What a coincidence! He had made up his mind to end thematter, to go and walk the Hot Wells like a good boy; and thishappened and tempted him!
Yes, tempted him.
He would---- But he could not tell what he would do until he had seenif the parcel were really in his room. The parcel! The mere thoughtthat it was hers sent a foolish thrill through him. He would go andsee, and then----
But he was interrupted. There were people standing or sitting roundthe hall, a low-ceiled, dark wainscoted room, with sheaves ofway-bills hung against the square pillars, and theatre noticesflanking the bar window. As he turned to seek his rooms a hand grippedhis arm and twitched him round, and he met the grinning face of a manin his old regiment, Bob Flixton, commonly called the Honourable Bob.
"So I've caught you, my lad," said he. "This is mighty fine. Veiledladies, eh? Oh, fie! fie!"
Vaughan, innocent as he was, was a little put out. But he answeredgood-humouredly, "What brought you here, Flixton?"
"Ay, just so! Very unlucky, ain't it?" grinning. "Fear I'll cut youout, eh? You're a neat artist, I must say."
"I don't know the good lady from Eve!"
"Tell that to---- But here, let me make you known to Brereton,"hauling him towards a gentleman who was seated in one of the windowrecesses. "Old West Indian man, in charge of the recruiting district,and a good fellow, but a bit of a saint! Colonel," he rattled on, asthey joined the gentleman, "here's Vaughan, once of ours, become acounsellor, and going to be Lord Chancellor. As to the veiled lady,mum, sir, mum!" with an exaggerated wink.
Vaughan laughed. It was impossible to resist Bob's impudentgood-humour. He was a fair young man, short, stout, and inclining tobaldness, with a loud, hearty voice, and a manner which made those whodid not know him for a peer's son, think of a domestic fowl with ahigh opinion of itself. He was for ever damning this and praising thatwith unflagging decision; a man with whom it was impossible to bedispleased, and in whom it was next to impossible not to believe. Yetat the mess-table it was whispered that he did not play his best whenthe pool was large; nor had he ever seen service, save in the lists oflove, where his reputation stood high.
His companion, Vaughan saw, was of a different stamp. He was tall andlean, with the air and carriage of a soldier, but with features of arefined and melancholy cast, and with a brooding sadness in his eyeswhich could not escape the most casual observer. He was somewhatsallow, the result of the West Indian climate, and counted twentyyears more than Flixton, for whom his gentle and quiet manner formedan admirable foil. He greeted Vaughan courteously, and the HonourableBob forced our hero into a seat beside them.
"That's snug!" he said. "And now mum's the word, Vaughan. We'll notask you what you're doing here among the nigger-nabobs. It's clearenough."
Vaughan explained that the veiled lady was a stranger who had comedown in the coach with him, and that, for himself, it was electionbusiness which had brought him.
"Old Vermuyden?" returned the Honourable Bob. "To be sure! Man you'veexpectations from! Good old fellow, too. I know him. Go and see himone of these days. Gad, Colonel, if old Sir Robert heard your viewshe'd die on the spot! D----n the Bill, he'd say! And I say it too!"
"But afterwards?" Brereton returned, drawing Vaughan into the argumentby a courteous gesture. "Consider the consequences, my dear fellow, ifthe Bill does not pass."
"Oh, hang the consequences!"
"You can't," drily. "You can hang men--we've been too fond of hang
ingthem--but not consequences! Look at the state of the country;everywhere you will find excitement, and dangerous excitement.Cobbett's writings have roused the South; the papers are full ofrioters and special commission to try them! Not a farmer can sleep forthinking of his stacks, nor a farmer's wife for thinking of herhusband. Then for the North; look at Birmingham and Manchester andGlasgow, with their Political Unions preaching no taxation withoutrepresentation. Or, nearer home, look at Bristol here, ready to drownthe Corporation, and Wetherell in particular, in the Float! Then, ifthat is the state of things while they still expect the Bill to pass,what will be the position if they learn it is not to pass? No, no! Youmay shrug your shoulders, but the three days in Paris will be nothingto it."
"What I say is, shoot!" Flixton answered hotly. "Shoot! Shoot! Put 'emdown! Put an end to it! Show 'em their places! What do a lot of d----dshopkeepers and peasants know about the Bill? Ride 'em down! Give 'ema taste of the Float themselves! I'll answer for it a troop of the14th would soon bring the Bristol rabble to their senses!"
"I should be sorry to see it tried," Brereton answered, shaking hishead. "They took that line in France last July, and you know theresult. You'll agree with me, Mr. Vaughan, that where Marmont failedwe are not likely to succeed. The more as his failure is known. Thethree days of July are known."
"Ay, by the Lord," the Honourable Bob cried. "The revolution in Francebred the whole of this trouble!"
"The mob there won, and the mob here know it. In my opinion," Breretoncontinued, "conciliation is our only card, if we do not want to see arevolution."
"Hang your conciliation! Shoot, I say!"
"What do you think, Mr. Vaughan?"
"I think with you, Colonel Brereton," Vaughan answered, "that the onlyway to avoid such a crisis as has befallen France is to pass the Bill,and to set the Constitution on a wider basis by enlisting as large anumber as possible in its defence."
"Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!" from Flixton.
"On the other hand," Vaughan continued, "I would put down thebeginnings of disorder with a strong hand. I would allow nointimidation, no violence. The Bill should be passed by argument."
"Argument? Why, d----n me, intimidation is your argument!" theHonourable Bob struck in, with more acuteness than he commonlyevinced. "Pass the Bill or we'll loose the dog! At 'em, Mob, good dog!At 'em! That's your argument!" triumphantly. "But I'll be back in aminute." And he left them.
Vaughan laughed. Brereton, however, seemed to be unable to take thematter lightly. "Do you really mean, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "that ifthere were trouble, here, for instance, you would not hesitate to givethe order to fire?"
"Certainly, sir, if it could not be put down with the cold steel."
The Colonel shook his head despondently. "I don't think I could," hesaid. "I don't think I could. You have not seen war, and I have. Andit is a fearful thing. Bad enough abroad, infinitely worse here. Thefirst shot--think, Mr. Vaughan, of what it might be the beginning!What hundreds and thousands of lives might hang upon it! How manyscores of innocent men shot down, of daughters made fatherless!" Heshuddered. "And to give such an order on your own responsibility, whenthe first volley might be the signal for a civil war, and twenty-fourhours might see a dozen counties in a blaze! It is horrible to thinkof! Too horrible! It's too much for one man's shoulders! Flixtonwould do it--he sees no farther than his nose! But you and I, Mr.Vaughan--and on one's own judgment, which might be utterly, fatallywrong! My God, no!"
"Yet there must be a point," Vaughan replied, "at which such an orderbecomes necessary; becomes mercy!"
"Ay," Brereton answered eagerly; "but who is to say when that point isreached; and that peaceful methods can do no more? Or, granted thatthey can do no more, that provocation once given, your force issufficient to prevent a massacre! A massacre in such a place as this!"
Vaughan saw that the idea had taken possession of the other's mind,and, aware that he had distinguished himself more than once on foreignservice, he wondered. It was not his affair, however; and "Let us hopethat the occasion may not arise," he said politely.
"God grant it!" Brereton replied. And then again, to himself and morefervently, "God grant it!" he muttered. The shadow lay darker on hisface.
Vaughan might have wondered more, if Flixton had not returned at thatmoment and overwhelmed him with importunities to dine with him thenext evening. "Gage and Congreve of the 14th are coming fromGloucester," he said, "and Codrington and two or three yeomanry chaps.You must come. If you don't, I'll quarrel with you and call you out!It'll do you good after the musty, fusty, goody-goody life you've beenleading. Brereton's coming, and we'll drink King Billy till we'reblind!"
Vaughan hesitated. He had taken his place on the coach, but--but afterall there was that parcel. He must do something about it. It seemed tobe his fate to be tempted, yet--what nonsense that was! Why should henot stay in Bristol if he pleased?
"You're very good," he said at last. "I'll stay."
Yet on his way to his room he paused, half-minded to go. But he wasashamed to change his mind again, and he strode on, opened his door,and saw the parcel, a neat little affair, laid on the table.
It bore in a clear handwriting the address which he had seen on thebasket at Mary Smith's feet. But, possibly because an hour of theHonourable Bob's company had brushed the bloom from his fancy, itmoved him little. He looked at it with something like indifference,felt no inclination to kiss it, and smiled at his past folly as hetook it up and set off to return it to its owner. He had exaggeratedthe affair and his feelings; he had made much out of little, and aromance out of a chance encounter. He could smile now at that whichhad moved him yesterday. Certainly:
_Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence; man may range The Court, camp, Church, the vessel and the mart, Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition to fill up his heart_.
And the Honourable Bob, with his breezy self-assertion, had broughtthis home to him and, with a puff of everyday life, had blown thefantasy away.
He was still under this impression when he reached Queen's Square,once the pride of Bristol, and still, in 1831, a place handsome andwell inhabited. Uniformly and substantially built, on a sitesurrounded on three sides by deep water, it lay, indeed, ratherover-near the quays, of which, and of the basins, it enjoyed a viewthrough several openings. But in the reign of William IV. merchantswere less averse from living beside their work than they are now. Themaster's eye was still in repute, and though many of the richestcitizens had migrated to Clifton, and the neighbouring Assembly Roomsin Prince's Street had been turned into a theatre, the spacioussquare, with its wide lawn, its lofty and umbrageous elms, its colonyof rooks, and, last of all, its fine statue of the Glorious andImmortal Memory, was still the abode of many respectable people. Inone corner stood the Mansion House; a little further along the sameside the Custom House; and a third public department, the Excise, alsohad offices here.
The Cathedral and the Bishop's Palace, on College Green, stood, as thecrow flies, scarce a bow-shot from the Square; on which they lookeddown from the westward, as the heights of Redcliffe looked down on itfrom the east. But marsh as well as water divided the Square fromthese respectable neighbours; nor, it must be owned, was this the onlydrawback. The centre of the city's life, but isolated on three sidesby water, the Square was as easily reached from the worse as from thebetter quarters, and owing to the proximity of the Welsh Back, acoasting quay frequented by the roughest class, it was liable in timesof excitement to abrupt and boisterous inroads.
Vaughan entered the Square by Queen Charlotte Street, and hadtraversed one half of its width when his nonchalance failed him. Underthe elms, in the corner which he was approaching, were a dozenchildren. They were at play, and overlooking them from a bench, withtheir backs to him, sat two young persons, the one in that mid-stagebetween childhood and womanhood when the eyes are at their sharpestand the waist at its thickest, the other, Mary Smith.
The colour rose to his brow, and to his surprise he found that he wasnot indifferent. Nor was the discovery that the back of her head andan inch of the nape of her neck had this effect upon him the worst. Hehad to ask himself what, if he was not indifferent, he was doingthere, sneaking on the skirts of a ladies' school. What were hisintentions, and what his aim? For to healthy minds there is somethingdistasteful in the notion of an intrigue connected, ever so remotely,with a girls' school. Nor are conquests gained on that scene laurelsof which even a Lothario is over-proud. If Flixton saw him, or someothers of the gallant Fourteenth!
And yet, in the teeth of all this, and under the eyes of all Queen'sSquare, he must do his errand. And sheepish within, brazen without, headvanced and stood beside her. She heard his step, and, unsuspiciousas the youngest of her flock, looked up to see who came--looked, andsaw him standing within a yard of her, with the sunshine fallingthrough the leaves on his wavy, fair hair. For the twentieth part of asecond he fancied a glint of glad surprise in her eyes. Then, ifanything could have punished him, it was the sight of her confusion;it was the blush of distress which covered her face as she rose to herfeet.
Oh, cruel! He had pursued her, when to pursue was an insult! He hadfollowed her when he should have known that in her position a breathof scandal was ruin! And oh, the round eyes of the round-faced childbeside her!
"I must apologise," he murmured humbly, "but I am not trespassing uponyou without a cause. I--I think that this is yours." And ratherlamely, for the distress in her face troubled him, he held out theparcel.
She put her hand behind her, and as stiffly as Miss Sibson--of theQueen's Square Academy for Young Ladies of the Genteel andProfessional Classes--could have desired. "I do not understand, sir,"she said. She was pale and red by turns, as the round eyes saw.
"You left this in the coach."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You left this in the coach," he repeated, turning very red himself.Was it possible that she meant to repudiate her own property becausehe brought it? "It is yours, is it not?"
"No."
"It is not!" in incredulous astonishment.
"No."
"But I am sure it is," he persisted. Confound it, this was a littleoverdoing modesty! He had no desire to eat the girl! "You left itinside the coach, and it has your address upon it. See!" And he triedto place it in her hands.
But she drew back with a look of reprobation of which he would nothave believed her eyes capable. "It is not mine, sir," she said. "Begood enough to leave us!" And then, drawing herself up, mild creatureas she was, "You are intruding, sir," she said.
Now, if Vaughan had really been guilty of approaching her upon afeigned pretext, he had certainly retired on that with his tailbetween his legs. But being innocent, and both incredulous and angry,he stood his ground, and his eyes gave back some of the reproach whichhers darted.
"I am either mad or it is yours," he said stubbornly, heedless of thering of staring children who, ceasing to play, had gathered roundthem. "It bears your name and address, and it was left in the coach bywhich you travelled yesterday. I think, Miss Smith, you will be sorryafterwards if you do not take it."
She fancied that his words imported a bribe; and in despair of riddingherself of him, or in terror of the tale which the children wouldtell, she took her courage in both hands. "You say that it is mine?"she said, trembling visibly.
"Certainly I do," he answered. And again he held it out to her.
But she did not take it. Instead, "Then be good enough to followme," she replied, with something of the prim dignity of theschool-mistress. "Miss Cooke, will you collect the children and bringthem into the house?"
And, avoiding his eyes, she led the way across the road to the door ofone of the houses. He followed, but reluctantly, and after a moment ofhesitation. He detested the scene which he now foresaw, and bitterlyregretted that he had ever set foot inside Queen's Square. To besuspected of thrusting an intrigue upon a little schoolmistress, to bedragged, with a pack of staring, chattering children in his train,before some grim-faced duenna--he, a man of years and affairs, withwhom the Chancellor of England did not scorn to speak on equal terms!It was hateful; it was an intolerable position. Yet to turn back, tosay that he would not go, was to acknowledge himself guilty. Hewished--he wished to heaven that he had never seen the girl. Or atleast that he had had the courage, when she first denied the thing, tothrow the parcel on the seat and go.
It was not an heroic frame of mind; but neither was the positionheroic. And something may be forgiven him in the circumstances.
Fortunately the trial was short. She opened the door of the house, andon the threshold he found himself face to face with a tall, bulkywoman, with a double chin, and an absurdly powdered nose, who wore acameo of the late Queen Charlotte on her ample bosom. Miss Sibson hadviewed the encounter from an upper window, and her face was a pictureof displeasure, slightly tempered by powder.
"What is this?" she asked, in an intimidating voice. "Miss Smith, whatis this, if you please?"
Perhaps Mary, aware that her place was at stake, was desperate. At anyrate she behaved with a dignity which astonished Vaughan. "Thisgentleman, Madam," she explained, speaking with firmness though herface was on fire, "travelled with me on the coach yesterday. A fewminutes ago he appeared and addressed me, and insisted that the--theparcel he carries is mine, and that I left it in the coach. It is notmine, and I have not seen it before."
Miss Sibson folded her arms upon her ample person. The position wasnot altogether new to her.
"Sir," she said, eying the offender majestically, "have you anyexplanation to offer--of this extraordinary conduct?"
He had, indeed. As clearly as his temper permitted he told his tale,his tone half ironical, half furious.
When he paused, "Who do you say gave it to you?" Miss Sibson asked ina deep voice.
"I do not know her name. A lady who travelled in the coach."
Miss Sibson's frown grew even deeper. "Thank you," she replied, "thatwill do. I have heard enough, and I understand. I understand, sir. Begood enough to leave the house."
"But, Madam----"
"Be good enough to leave the house," she repeated. "That is the door,"pointing to it. "That is the door, sir! Any apology you may wish tomake, you can make by letter to me. To me, you understand! I think onewere not ill-fitting!"
He lost his temper altogether at that, and he flung the parcel withviolence, and with a violent word, on a chair. "Then at any rate Ishall not take that, for it's not mine!" he cried. "You may keep it,Madam!"
And he flung out, his retreat hampered and made humiliating by theentrance of the pupils, who, marshalled by the round-eyed one, and allround-eyed themselves, blocked the doorway at that unlucky moment. Hebroke through them without ceremony, though they represented the mostrespectable families in Bristol, and with his head bent he strodewrathfully across the Square.
To be turned out of a girls' boarding-school! To be shown the doorlike some wretched philandering schoolboy, or a subaltern in his firstfolly! He, the man of the world, of experience, of ambition! The manwith a career! He was furious.
"The little cat!" he cried as he went. "I wish I had never seen herface! What a fool, what a fool I was to come!"
Unheroic words and an unheroic mood. But though there were heroesbefore Agamemnon, it is not certain that there were any after Georgethe Fourth. At any rate, any who, like that great man, were heroicalways and in all circumstances.
Probably Vaughan would have forgiven the little cat had he known thatshe was at that moment weeping very bitterly, with her face plungedinto the pillow of her not over-luxurious bed. For she was young, anda woman. And because, in her position, the name of love was taboo;because to her the admiring look, which to a more fortunate sister washomage, was an insult; because the _petits soins_, the flower, thenote, the trifle that to another were more precious than jewels, werenot for her, it did not follow that she was not flesh and blood, thatshe had not feeling, affection, p
assion. True, the pang was soondeadened, for habit is strong. True, the bitter tears were soon dried,for employers like not gloomy looks. True, she soon cried shame on herown discontent, for she was good as gold. And yet to be debarred, inthe tender springtime, from the sweet scents, the budding blooms, thegay carols, to have but one April coach-ride in a desert of days, ishard--is very hard. Mary Smith, weeping on her hopeless pillow--notwithout thought of the cruel arch stooping to crush her, the cruelfate from which he had snatched her, not without thought of her owningratitude, her black ingratitude--felt that it was hard, very hard.