CHAPTER XXVII
COUSIN MONTAGUE
Mr. Shovelin went to a corner of the room, which might be called hissignal-box, having a little row of port-holes like a toy frigate oraccordion, and there he made sounds which brought steps very promptly,one clerk carrying a mighty ledger, and the other a small strong-box.
"No plate," Major Hockin whispered to me, shaking his gray crest withsorrow; "but there may be diamonds, you know, Erema. One ounce ofdiamonds is worth a ton of plate."
"No," said Mr. Shovelin, whose ears were very keen, "I fear thatyou will find nothing of mercantile value. Thank you, Mr. Robinson;by-and-by perhaps we shall trouble you. Strictly speaking, perhaps Ishould require the presence of your father's lawyer, or of some oneproducing probate, ere I open this box, Miss Castlewood. But having youhere, and Major Hockin, and knowing what I do about the matter (which isone of personal confidence), I will dispense with formalities. We havegiven your father's solicitor notice of this deposit, and requestedhis attention, but he never has deigned to attend to it; so now we willdispense with him. You see that the seal is unbroken; you know yourfather's favorite seal, no doubt. The key is nothing; it was left to mycharge. You wish that I should open this?"
Certainly I did, and the banker split the seal with an ebony-handledpaper-knife, and very soon unlocked the steel-ribbed box, whose weightwas chiefly of itself. Some cotton-wool lay on the top to keep theall-penetrative dust away, and then a sheet of blue foolscap paper,partly covered with clear but crooked writing, and under that somelittle twists of silver paper, screwed as if there had been no timeto tie them, and a packet of letters held together by a glitteringbracelet.
"Poor fellow!" Mr. Shovelin said, softly, while I held my breath, andthe Major had the courtesy to be silent. "This is his will; of novalue, I fear, in a pecuniary point of view, but of interest to you hisdaughter. Shall I open it, Miss Castlewood, or send it to his lawyers?"
"Open it, and never think of them," said I. "Like the rest, they haveforsaken him. Please to read it to yourself, and then tell us."
"Oh, I wish I had known this before!" cried the banker, after a rapidglance or two. "Very kind, very flattering, I am sure! Yes, I will do myduty by him; I wish there was more to be done in the case. He has leftme sole executor, and trustee of all his property, for the benefit ofhis surviving child. Yet he never gave me the smallest idea of expectingme to do this for him. Otherwise, of course, I should have had this oldbox opened years ago."
"We must look at things as they are," said Major Hockin, for I could saynothing. "The question is, what do you mean to do now?"
"Nothing whatever," said the banker, crisply, being displeased at theother's tone; and then, seeing my surprise, he addressed himself tome: "Nothing at present, but congratulate myself upon my old friend'sconfidence, and, as Abernethy said, 'take advice.' A banker must neverencroach upon the province of the lawyer. But so far as a layman mayjudge, Major Hockin, I think you will have to transfer to me the care ofthis young lady."
"I shall be only too happy, I assure you," the Major answered,truthfully. "My wife has a great regard for her, and so have I--the verygreatest, the strongest regard, and warm parental feelings; as you know,Erema. But--but, I am not so young as I was; and I have to develop myproperty."
"Of which she no longer forms a part," Mr. Shovelin answered, with asmile at me, which turned into pleasure my momentary pain at the other'scalm abandonment. "You will find me prompt and proud to claim her, assoon as I am advised that this will is valid; and that I shall learnto-morrow."
In spite of pride, or by its aid, my foolish eyes were full of tears,and I gave him a look of gratitude which reminded him of my father, ashe said in so many words.
"Oh, I hope it is valid! How I hope it is!" I exclaimed, turning roundto the Major, who smiled rather grimly, and said he hoped so too.
"But surely," he continued, "as we are all here, we should not neglectthe opportunity of inspecting the other contents of this box. To meit appears that we are bound to do so; that it is our plain duty toascertain--Why, there might even be a later will. Erema, my dear, youmust be most anxious to get to the bottom of it."
So I was, but desired even more that his curiosity should be foiled. "Wemust leave that to Mr. Shovelin," I said.
"Then for the present we will seal it down again," the banker answered,quietly; "we can see that there is no other will, and a later one wouldscarcely be put under this. The other little packets, whatever they maybe, are objects of curiosity, perhaps, rather than of importance. Theywill keep till we have more leisure."
"We have taken up a great deal of your time, Sir, I am sure," said theMajor, finding that he could take no more. "We ought to be, and we are,most grateful."
"Well," the banker answered, as we began to move, "such things do nothappen every day. But there is no friend like an old friend, Erema, as Imean to call you now. I was to have been your godfather; but I fear thatyou never have been baptized."
"What!" cried the Major, staring at us both. "Is such a thing possiblein a Christian land? Oh, how I have neglected my duty to the Church!Come back with me to Bruntsea, and my son shall do it. The church thereis under my orders, I should hope; and we will have a dinner partyafterward. What a horrible neglect of duty!"
"But how could I help it?" I exclaimed, with some terror at MajorHockin's bristling hair. "I can not remember--I am sure I can not say.It may have been done in France, or somewhere, if there was no time inEngland. At any rate, my father is not to be blamed."
"Papistical baptism is worse than none," the Major said, impressively."Never mind, my dear, we will make that all right. You shall not be asavage always. We will take the opportunity to change your name. Eremais popish and outlandish; one scarcely knows how to pronounce it. Youshall have a good English Christian name--Jemima, Jane, or Sophy. Trustme to know a good name. Trust me."
"Jemima!" I cried. "Oh, Mr. Shovelin, save me from ever being calledJemima! Rather would I never be baptized at all."
"I am no judge of names," he answered, smiling, as he shook hands withus; "but, unless I am a very bad judge of faces, you will be called justwhat you please."
"And I please to be called what my father called me. It may be unlucky,as a gentleman told me, who did not know how to pronounce it. However,it will do very well for me. You wish to see me, then, to-morrow, Mr.Shovelin?"
"If you please; but later in the day, when I am more at leisure. I donot run away very early. Come at half past four to this door, andknock. I hear every sound at this door in my room; and the place will begrowing quiet then."
He showed us out into a narrow alley through a heavy door sheathed withiron, and soon we recovered the fair light of day, and the brawl androar of a London street.
"Now where shall we go?" the Major asked, as soon as he had found a cabagain; for he was very polite in that way. "You kept early hours withyour 'uncle Sam,' as you call Colonel Gundry, a slow-witted man, butmost amusing when he likes, as slow-witted men very often are. Now willyou come and dine with me? I can generally dine, as you, with virtuousindignation, found out at Southampton. But we are better friends now,Miss Heathen."
"Yes, I have more than I can ever thank you for," I answered, verygravely, for I never could become jocose to order, and sadness still wasuppermost. "I will go where you like. I am quite at your orders, becauseBetsy Bowen is busy now. She will not have done her work till sixo'clock."
"Well done!" he cried. "Bravo, Young America! Frankness is the finest ofall good manners. And what a lot of clumsy deception it saves! Then letus go and dine. I will imitate your truthfulness. It was two words formyself, and one for you. The air of London always makes me hungry aftertoo much country air. It is wrong altogether, but I can not help it. Andgoing along, I smell hungry smells coming out of deep holes with aplate at the top. Hungry I mean to a man who has known what absolutestarvation is--when a man would thank God for a blue-bottle fly who hadtaken his own nip any where. When I see the young fellows at the clubspick
this, and poke that, and push away the other, may I be d----d--mydear, I beg your pardon. Cabby, to the 'Grilled Bone and ScollopedCockle,' at the bottom of St. Ventricle Lane, you know."
This place seemed, from what the Major said, to have earned repute forsomething special, something esteemed by the very clever people, andonly to be found in true virtue here. And he told me that luxury andself-indulgence were the greatest sins of the present age, and how headmired a man who came here to protest against Epicureans, by dining(liquors not included) for the sum of three and sixpence.
All this, no doubt, was wise and right; but I could not attend to itproperly now, and he might take me where he would, and have all thetalking to himself, according to his practice. And I might not even havebeen able to say what this temple of bones and cockles was like, exceptfor a little thing which happened there. The room, at the head ofa twisting staircase, was low and dark, and furnished almost like afarmhouse kitchen. It had no carpet, nor even a mat, but a floor ofblack timber, and a ceiling colored blue, with stars and comets, and afull moon near the fire-place. On either side of the room stood narrowtables endwise to the walls, inclosed with high-backed seats likesettles, forming thus a double set of little stalls or boxes, withscarcely space enough between for waiters, more urgent than New Yorkfiremen, to push their steaming and breathless way.
"Square or round, miss?" said one of them to me as soon as the Major hadset me on a bench, and before my mind had time to rally toward criticismof the knives and forks, which deprecated any such ordeal; and hecleverly whipped a stand for something dirty, over something stilldirtier, on the cloth.
"I don't understand what you mean," I replied to his highly zealousaspect, while the Major sat smiling dryly at my ignorance, which vexedme. "I have never received such a question before. Major Hockin, willyou kindly answer him?"
"Square," said the Major; "square for both." And the waiter, with aglance of pity at me, hurried off to carry out his order.
"Erema, your mind is all up in the sky," my companion began toremonstrate. "You ought to know better after all your travels."
"Then the sky should not fall and confuse me so," I said, pointing tothe Milky Way, not more than a yard above me; "but do tell me what hemeant, if you can. Is it about the formation of the soup?"
"Hush, my dear. Soup is high treason here until night, when they make itof the leavings. His honest desire was to know whether you would have agrilled bone of mutton, which is naturally round, you know, or of beef,which, by the same law of nature, seems always to be square, you know."
"Oh, I see," I replied, with some confusion, not at his osteology, butat the gaze of a pair of living and lively eyes fastened upon me. Agentleman, waiting for his bill, had risen in the next low box, andstood calmly (as if he had done all his duty to himself) gazing over thewooden back at me, who thus sat facing him. And Major Hockin, followingmy glance, stood up and turned round to see to it.
"What! Cousin Montague! Bless my heart, who could have dreamed oflighting on you here? Come in, my dear follow; there is plenty ofroom. Let me introduce you to my new ward, Miss Erema Castlewood. MissCastlewood, this is Sir Montague Hockin, the son of my lamented firstcousin Sir Rufus, of whom you have heard so much. Well, to be sure! Ihave not seen you for an age. My dear fellow, now how are you?"
"Miss Castlewood, please not to move; I sit any where. Major, I am mostdelighted to see you. Over and over again I have been at the point ofstarting for Bruntsea Island--it is an island now, isn't it? My fatherwould never believe that it was till I proved it from the number ofrabbits that came up. However, not a desolate island now, if it containsyou and all your energies, and Miss Castlewood, as well as Mrs. Hockin."
"It is not an island, and it never shall be," the Major cried, knockinga blue plate over, and spilling the salt inauspiciously. "It neverwas an island, and it never shall be. My intention is to reclaim italtogether. Oh, here come the squares. Well done! well done! I quiteforget the proper thing to have to drink. Are the cockles in the pan,Mr. Waiter? Quite right, then; ten minutes is the proper time; but theyknow that better than I do. I am very sorry, Montague, that you havedined."
"Surely you would not call this a dinner; I take my true luncheonafterward. But lately my appetite has been so bad that it must be fed upat short intervals. You can understand that, perhaps, Miss Castlewood.It makes the confectioners' fortunes, you know. The ladies once cameonly twice to feed, but now they come three times, I am assured by ayoung man who knows all about it. And cherry brandy is the mildest formof tipple."
"Shocking scandal! abominable talk!" cried the Major, who took everything at its word. "I have heard all that sort of stuff ever since I wasas high as this table. Waiter, show me this gentleman's bill. Oh well,oh well! you have not done so very badly. Two squares and a round, witha jug of Steinberg, and a pint of British stout with your Stilton. Ifthis is your ante-lunch, what will you do when you come to your realluncheon? But I must not talk now; you may have it as you please."
"The truth of it is, Miss Castlewood," said the young man, while Ilooked with some curiosity at my frizzling bone, with the cover justwhisked off, and drops of its juice (like the rays of a lustre) shakingwith soft inner wealth--"the truth of it is just this, and no more:we fix our minds and our thoughts, and all the rest of our higherintelligence, a great deal too much upon our mere food."
"No doubt we do," I was obliged to answer. "It is very sad to think of,as soon as one has dined. But does that reflection occur, as it should,at the proper time to be useful--I mean when we are hungry?"
"I fear not; I fear that it is rather praeterite than practical."
"No big words now, my dear fellow," cried the Major. "You have had yourturn; let us have ours. But, Erema, you are eating nothing. Take a knifeand fork, Montague, and help her. The beauty of these things consistsentirely, absolutely, essentially, I may say, in their having the smokerushing out of them. A gush of steam like this should follow every turnof the knife. But there! I am spoiling every bit by talking so."
"Is that any fault of mine?" asked Sir Montague, in a tone which made melook at him. The voice was not harsh, nor rough, nor unpleasant, yet itgave me the idea that it could be all three, and worse than all three,upon occasion. So I looked at him, which I had refrained from doing, tosee whether his face confirmed that idea. To the best of my perception,it did not. Sir Montague Hockin was rather good-looking, so far asform and color go, having regular features, and clear blue eyes, verybeautiful teeth, and a golden beard. His appearance was grave, butnot morose, as if he were always examining things and people withoutcondemning them. It was evident that he expected to take the upper handin general, to play the first fiddle, to hold the top saw, to "be helpedto all the stuffing of the pumpkin," as dear Uncle Sam was fond ofsaying. Of moderate stature, almost of middle age, and dressed nicely,without any gewgaws, which look so common upon a gentleman's front, hewas likely to please more people than he displeased at first on-sight.
The Major was now in the flush of goodwill, having found his dinnergenial; and being a good man, he yielded to a little sympathetic angerwith those who had done less justice to themselves. And in this stateof mind he begged us to take note of one thing--that his ward shouldbe christened in Bruntsea Church, as sure as all the bells were his,according to their inscriptions, no later than next Thursday week, thatbeing the day for a good sirloin; and if Sir Montague failed to come tosee how they could manage things under proper administration, he mightbe sure of one thing, if no more--that Major Hockin would never speak tohim again.