CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
CHANGES AND MYSTERIES.
Seven years passed away. During that period London revolved in itsusual course, reproducing its annual number of events--its births,deaths, and marriages; its plans, plots, and pleasures; its business,bustle, and bungle; its successes, sentiments, and sensations; itsfacts, fancies, and failures--also its fires; which last had increasedsteadily, until they reached the imposing number of about twelve hundredin the year.
But although that time elapsed, and many changes took place, for betteror for worse, in all circles of society, there had not been much changein the relative positions of the actors in our tale; at least, not muchthat was apparent. Great alterations, however, had taken place in thephysical condition of some of them, as the sequel will show.
One bright morning in the spring-time of the year, a youth with the softdown of early manhood on his lips and cheeks, paced slowly to and fronear the margin of the pond in Kensington Gardens.
Being early, the spot was as complete a solitude as the backwoods ofNorth America, and so thick was the foliage on the noble trees, that noglimpse of the surrounding city could be obtained in any direction.Everything that greeted eye and ear was characteristic of "the woods,"even to the swans, geese, ducks, and other water-fowl which sported onthe clear surface of the pond; while the noise of traffic in the mightymetropolis was so subdued by distance as to resemble the deep-toned roarof a great cataract. A stranger, rambling there for the first timewould have found it difficult to believe that he was surrounded on allsides by London!
It was one of those soul-stirring mornings in which Nature seems tosmile. There was just enough of motion in the air to relieve the effectof what is called a dead calm. The ripple on the water caught the sun'srays, and, breaking them up, scattered them about in a shower offragmentary diamonds. Fleecy-white clouds floated in the blue sky,suggesting dreams of fairy-land, and scents of sprouting herbage filledthe nostrils, reminding one of the fast-approaching summer.
The youth who sauntered alone by the margin of the pond was broad ofshoulder and stout of limb, though not unusually tall--not much abovethe middle height. His gait was easy, free--almost reckless--as thoughhe cared not a fig for anybody, high or low, rich or poor; yet his eyewas bright and his smile kindly, as though he cared for everybody--high,low, rich, and poor. He sauntered with his hands in the pockets of hisshort coat, and whistled an operatic air in a low melodious tone. Hewas evidently waiting for someone; and, judging from his impatientgestures, someone who was resolved to keep him waiting.
Presently, a female figure appeared in the far distance, on the broadavenue that leads direct from the Serpentine. She was young andgraceful in form; but she walked with a quick step, with her eyeslooking down, like one who regarded neither youth nor grace. Curiouslyenough, this downcast look gave to her fair face a modest, captivatinggrace, which is never seen to sit upon the lofty brow, or to circleround the elevated nose, of conscious beauty.
The youth at first paid no attention to her (she was not the "someone"for whom he waited); but as she drew near, he became suddenlyinterested, and threw himself in her way. Just as she was about topass, she raised her eyes, started, blushed, and exclaimed:
"Mr Willders!"
"Good morning, Miss Ward!" said the youth, advancing with a smile, andholding out his hand; "this is indeed an unexpected pleasure; I did notknow that you were addicted to early walking."
"I am indeed fond of early walking," replied Emma, with a smile; "but Icannot say that it is so much pleasure as duty which brings me here. Iam a day-governess, and pass this pond every morning on my way toKensington, where the family in which I teach resides."
"Indeed," said Willie, with that amount of emphasis which denotesmoderate surprise and solicits information.
He paused for a single moment; but, seeing that Emma did not intend tospeak of her own affairs, he added quickly:
"I am waiting for my brother Frank. We arranged to meet here thismorning. I hope that Miss Tippet is well?"
"Quite well," replied Emma, with a blush, as she took a sudden interestin a large duck, which swam up to the edge of the pond at that moment,in the hope, no doubt, of obtaining food from her hand. Its hopes weredisappointed, however, for Emma only called it a beautiful creature; andthen, turning somewhat abruptly to Willie, said, with a slight look ofembarrassment, that she feared she should be late and must bid himgood-morning.
Willie felt a good deal puzzled, and had he been the same Willie that weintroduced at the commencement of our tale, he would have told Emma hismind candidly, and asked her what was the matter; but Willie was a mannow, so he smiled, lifted his hat politely, and wished her good-morning.
Five minutes later, Frank appeared in the distance and hurried forward.Seven years had added a little to the breadth of his shoulders, and thefirm self-possession of his step and look; but they had made no otherperceptible impression on him. There was, indeed, a deep scar on hisright temple; but that was the result of accident, not of time. Many ahairbreadth escape had he made during these seven years of fighting withthe flames, and often had his life been in imminent danger; but he wasfortunate in having escaped, hitherto, with only a broken leg and avariety of small cuts, scalds, and bruises. The cut on his temple wasthe severest, and most recent of these. He had got it in a fall througha second floor, which gave way under him as he was attempting to rescuean old bedridden man, who lay in an inner chamber. Frank was carriedout in a state of insensibility on the broad shoulders of his friendBaxmore, while Dale rescued the old man.
"How goes it, Frank?" cried Willie, advancing and giving his brother'shand a warm shake; "the cut head mending--eh?"
"Oh, it's all right," replied Frank, with a smile, as they sauntered upand down by the margin of the pond; "the headaches have left me now, I'mthankful to say, and the-doctor tells me it won't leave much of a mark."
"You don't need to care much if it does, for it's an honourable scar,and does not spoil your beauty, old boy."
"Well, Willie," said Frank, "here I am at your request. What have yougot to tell me; nothing serious, I hope?"
The stalwart fireman looked earnestly into his brother's face, andexhibited more anxiety than there seemed to be any occasion for.
"No, nothing very serious. It may be serious enough for all I know; butas far as my knowledge goes it's not bad enough to make you look soanxious. Why, what's the matter with you?"
"Nothing, Willie. Perhaps my late accident has shaken my nerves a bit."
Willie burst into a loud laugh, and said that it was so awfully absurdto hear a man like Frank talking of nerves at all that he could not helpit.
"Well, but what _is_ the news you've got to tell me?" resumed Frank."You're not going to be married, are you?"
Frank asked this with a look and expression so peculiar that Willieagain laughed and said that really he could not understand him at all;for even suppose he had been going to be married, that was no reason whyhe should take it so much to heart, as the expression on his faceimplied he did.
"Perhaps not, Willie," said Frank with a quiet smile; "but _that_ is notwhat you want to speak about, then?"
"No, certainly not."
Frank appeared relieved, and Willie, observing the appearance, said--
"Come, now, I really don't see why you should be so very much pleased tohear that. I'm young, it is true, but I'm old enough, and I have a goodbusiness, with brilliant prospects, and there appears to me no reason onearth why I should not marry if I felt so disposed."
"None in the world, Willie," said Frank, with some haste, "but you tellme you are not thinking of that just now; so pray let's hear what you'vegot to say."
"Oh! it's all very well in you, old Blazes, to change the subject inthat way, but I'm nettled at your implied objection to my gettingmarried if I choose. However, we won't quarrel over it, so here goesfor the point."
Willie's bantering manner instantly left him. He walked in silence for
a few seconds, as if he pondered what he had to say.
"There are two points which trouble me just now, Frank, and I want youropinion in regard to them. The first is, Miss Tippet. She is a smallpoint, no doubt, whether we regard her physically or mentally, but sheis by no means a small point if we regard her socially, for the goodthat that little woman does in a quiet, unobtrusive way is almostincredible. D'ye know, Frank, I have a sort of triumphant feeling inregard to the sour, cynical folk of this world--whom it is so impossibleto answer in their fallacious and sophistical arguments--when I reflectthat there is a day coming when the meek and lowly and unknown workersfor the sake of our Lord shall be singled out from the multitude, andtheir true place and position assigned them. Miss Tippet will standhigher, I believe, in the next world than she does in this. Well, MissTippet has been much out of sorts of late, mentally; and Mr Tippet, whois the kindest man alive, has been very anxious about her, and hasbegged of me to try to counsel and comfort her. Now, it is not an easymatter to comply with this request, because, in the first place, MissTippet does not want me to counsel or comfort her, so far as I know;and, in the second place, my motives for attempting to do so might bemisunderstood."
"How so?" exclaimed Frank quickly.
"Well, you know, Miss Ward lives with her," said Willie, with a modestlook.
There was again something peculiar about Frank's expression and manner,as he said, "Well, it would not signify much, I daresay, if people wereto make remarks about you and Miss Ward, for you know it would not bemisconstruction after all."
"What mean you?" asked Willie in surprise.
"You remember what you once said to me about your bosom being on fire,"pursued Frank. "I suppose the fire has not been got under yet, has it?"
Willie burst into a loud laugh.
"Why, Blazes, do you not know--? But, no matter; we came here to talkof business; after that is done we can diverge to love."
Willie paused here again for a few seconds and then resumed:
"You must know, Frank, that the cause of Miss Tippet's disturbance justnow is the strange conduct of her landlord, David Boone, who has beengoing on of late in a way that would justify his friends putting him inan asylum. His business affairs are, I fear, in a bad way, and he notonly comes with excessive punctuality for Miss Tippet's rent, but heasks her for loans of money in a wild incoherent fashion, and favoursher with cautions and warnings of a kind that are utterlyincomprehensible. Only the other night he came to her and asked if shedid not intend soon to visit some of her friends; and on being informedthat she did not, he went further and advised her to do so, saying thatshe was looking very ill, and he feared she would certainly get into badhealth if she did not. In fact, he even said that he feared she woulddie if she did not go to the country for a few weeks. Now, all thiswould be laughable, as being the eccentricity of a half-cracked fellow,if it were not that he exhibits such a desperate anxiety that his adviceshould be followed, and even begged of the poor lady, with tears in hiseyes, to go to visit her friends. What d'ye think of it, Frank? Iconfess myself utterly nonplussed."
"I don't know what to think," said Frank after a pause. "Either the manmust be mad, or he wishes to rob Miss Tippet's house in her absence."
Willie admitted that the first supposition might be true, but he heldstoutly that the second was impossible, for Boone was too honest forthat. They conversed for some time on this point, and both cameultimately to the conclusion that the thing was incomprehensible andmysterious, and that it ought to be watched and inquired into. Willie,moreover, said he would go and consult his friend Barret about it.
"You know Barret, Frank?"
"No; but I have heard of him."
"Ah, he's a first-rate fellow--in one of the insurance offices--I forgetwhich. I came to know him when I first went to Mr Tippet's. He livedthen in the floor below us with a drunken companion whom he was anxiousto reclaim; but he found him so hard to manage that he at last left him,and went to live in Hampstead. He and I became great friends when helived under our workshop. He got married two years ago, and I have notseen much of him since, but he's a sharp fellow, and knows a good dealmore of the Tippets than I was aware of. I'll go and see if he canthrow any light on this subject."
"The next point," pursued Willie, "is Cattley the clown. Have you seenor heard of him lately?"
Frank said he had not.
"Well, I am greatly troubled about him. He has become a regulardrunkard, and leads his poor daughter a terrible life. He is so brokendown with dissipation that he can scarcely procure employment anywhere.His son is fortunately a pretty decent fellow, though somewhat wild, andhelps in a small way to support his father, having obtained a situationas clown at one of the minor theatres. The daughter, Ziza, has long agogiven up the profession, and has been struggling to maintain herself andher father by painting fire-screens, and making artificial flowers; butthe work is severe and ill paid, and I see quite well that if the poorgirl is not relieved in some way she will not be able to bear up."
"I grieve to hear this, Willie," said Frank, "but how comes it that youtake so great an interest in these people?"
"Frank," said Willie, assuming a tone of deep seriousness, while a glowsuffused his cheeks, "can you keep a secret?"
"I think so, lad; at least I promise to try."
"Well, then," said Willie, "I love Ziza Cattley. I knew her first as afairy, I know her now as a woman who is worthy of a place among theangels, for none but those who know her well and have seen her fightingthe battle of life can have the least idea of the self-denial, theperseverance under difficulties, the sweetness of temper, and thedeep-seated love of that devoted girl. She goes every night, after thetoil of each day, to the door of the theatre, where she waits to conducther father safely past the gin-palaces, into which, but for her, hewould infallibly stray, and she spends all she has in making himcomfortable, but I see well enough that this is killing her. She can'tstand it long, and I won't stand it at all! I've made up my mind tothat. Now, Frank, I want your advice."
To say that Frank was hearty in his assurances that he would do what hecould to help his brother, would be a faint way of stating the truth.Frank shook Willie by the hand and congratulated him on having gainedthe affections of one whom he knew to be a good girl, and then condoledwith him on that girl's unfortunate circumstances; but Willie stoppedhim short at this point by asking him in a tone of surprise what couldbe the matter with him, for at first he had been apparently annoyed atthe notion of his (Willie's) being in love, and now he seemed quitepleased about it. In short, his conduct was unaccountable!
Frank laughed, but said eagerly--
"Why. Willie, did you not tell me long ago that there was a fire inyour bosom, lit up by a certain young friend of Miss Tippet's--"
"Oh," interrupted Willie, "Emma Ward; ah, yes, I confess that I did feelspooney once in that direction when I was a boy, but the fairy displacedher long ago. No, no, Frank, I'm not accountable for boyish fancies.By the way, I have just parted from the fair Emma. We had a_tete-a-tete_ here not half an hour before you arrived."
"Here!" exclaimed Frank in surprise.
"Ay, here," repeated Willie; "she passes this pond every morning, shetold me, on her way to teach a family in Kensington; by the way, Ididn't think of asking whether the father, mother, and servants wereincluded among her pupils. Why, Frank, what an absent frame of mind youare in this morning! I declare it is not worth a man's while consultingyou about anything."
"I beg pardon," cried Frank quickly, "your words caused my mind towander a bit. Come, what do you think of doing?"
"What do you think I should do? that is the question."
"You can offer to assist them," suggested Frank. "I've done so," saidthe other, "but Ziza won't accept of assistance."
"Could we not manage to get her a situation of some sort with light workand good pay?"
"Ah! a fireman's, for instance," cried Willie, with a sarcastic laugh;"did you ever hear of a s
ituation with light work and good pay exceptunder Government? _I_ never did; but we might perhaps find _steady_work and good pay. It would only be required for a time, because I meanto--ah, well, no matter--but how and where is it to be got? Good MrTippet is of no use, because he is mad."
"Mad, Willie!"
"Ay, mad as a March hare. For years back I have suspected it, but now,I am sure of it; in fact I feel that I have gradually come to be hiskeeper--but more of that anon. Meanwhile, what is to be done for theCattleys?"
"Could nothing be done with Mr Auberly?"
Willie shook his head.
"No, I fear not. He was in a soft state once--long ago--six or sevenyears now, I think--when the dear fairy was ill and he seemed as if hewere going to become a man; but his daughter Loo had just begun to beill at that time. She's been so long ill now that he has got used toit, and has relapsed again into an oyster."
"He might be reached through Loo yet," said Frank.
"Perhaps," replied Willie, "but I doubt it, for he's a blunt old fellowin his feelings, however sharp he may be in his business; besides, Loois so weak now that very few are allowed to see her except Ziza, andMiss Tippet, and Emma Ward."
The brothers remained silent after this for some time, for neither ofthem could see his way out of their difficulties; at last Franksuggested that Willie should go home and consult his mother.
"She is wise, Willie, and has never given us bad advice yet."
"I know what her first advice will be," said Willie.
"What?" asked Frank.
"To go and pray about it," answered Willie.
"Well, she might give worse advice than that," said Frank, with muchearnestness. "In fact, I doubt if she could give better."
"True," assented Willie, "and now, old fellow, I'm off. Mr Tippetlikes punctuality. I'll look in at the station in passing if anythingturns up to clear my mind on these matters; meanwhile good-bye."
It is a remarkable fact that Frank Willders took an early walk, asfrequently as possible, in Kensington Gardens, near the pond, after thisconversation with his brother, and it is a still more remarkable fact,that he always felt like a guilty man on these occasions, as if he weretaking some mean advantage of some one; yet it was certain that he tookadvantage of no one, for nobody ever met him there by any chancewhatever! A fact even more remarkable still was, that never, after thatday, did Emma Ward go to her duties through Kensington Gardens, butalways by the Bayswater Road, although the latter was dusty andunpicturesque compared with the former; and it is a circumstance worthyof note, as savouring a little of mystery, that Emma acted as if she toowere a guilty creature during her morning walks, and glanced uneasilyfrom side to side as she went along, expecting, apparently, that apoliceman or a detective would pounce upon her suddenly and bear her offto prison. But, whether guilty or not guilty, it is plain that nopoliceman or detective had the heart to do it, for Miss Ward went on hermission daily without molestation.
It is not easy to say what was the cause of these unaccountableproceedings. We might hazard an opinion, but we feel that our duty isaccomplished when we have simply recorded them. Perhaps love hadsomething to do with them--perhaps not--who knows?