CHAPTER XV. VARIETIES.
Leaving the guilty pair to concert their schemes and indulge theiratrocious hopes, we accompany Percival to the hovel occupied by BeckyCarruthers.
On following Beck into the room she rented, Percival was greatlysurprised to find, seated comfortably on the only chair to be seen,no less a person than the worthy Mrs. Mivers. This good lady in herspinster days had earned her own bread by hard work. She had captivatedMr. Mivers when but a simple housemaid in the service of one of hisrelations. And while this humble condition in her earlier lifemay account for much in her language and manners which is nowadaysinconsonant with the breeding and education that characterize thewives of opulent tradesmen, so perhaps the remembrance of it made herunusually susceptible to the duties of charity. For there is no class ofsociety more prone to pity and relieve the poor than females in domesticservice; and this virtue Mrs. Mivers had not laid aside, as many do, assoon as she was in a condition to practise it with effect. Mrs. Miversblushed scarlet on being detected in her visit of kindness, and hastenedto excuse herself by the information that she belonged to a society ofladies for "The Bettering the Condition of the Poor," and that havingjust been informed of Mrs. Becky's destitute state, she had looked in torecommend her--a ventilator!
"It is quite shocking to see how little the poor attends to the properwentilating their houses. No wonder there's so much typus about!" saidMrs. Mivers. "And for one-and-sixpence we can introduce a stream ofh-air that goes up the chimbly, and carries away all that it finds!".
"I 'umbly thank you, marm," said the poor bundle of rags that went bythe name of "Becky," as with some difficulty she contrived to stand inthe presence of the benevolent visitor; "but I am much afeard that theh-air will make the rheumatiz very rumpatious!"
"On the contrary, on the contrary," said Mrs. Mivers, triumphantly; andshe proceeded philosophically to explain that all the fevers, aches,pains, and physical ills that harass the poor arise from the want ofan air-trap in the chimney and a perforated network in the window-pane.Becky listened patiently; for Mrs. Mivers was only a philosopher inher talk, and she had proved herself anything but a philosopher in heractions, by the spontaneous present of five shillings, and the promiseof a basket of victuals and some good wine to keep the cold wind sheinvited to the apartment out of the stomach.
Percival imitated the silence of Becky, whose spirit was so bowed downby an existence of drudgery that not even the sight of her foster-soncould draw her attention from the respect due to a superior.
"And is this poor cranky-looking cretur your son, Mrs. Becky?" said thevisitor, struck at last by the appearance of the ex-sweeper as he stoodat the threshold, hat in hand.
"No, indeed, marm," answered Becky; "I often says, says I: 'Child, yoube the son of Sint Poll's.'"
Beck smiled proudly.
"It was agin the grit church, marm ---- But it's a long story. My poorgood man had not a long been dead,--as good a man as hever lived, marm,"and Becky dropped a courtesy; "he fell off a scaffold, and pitched righton his 'ead, or I should not have come on the parish, marm,--and that'sthe truth on it!"
"Very well, I shall call and hear all about it; a sad case, I dare say.You see, your husband should have subscribed to our Loan Society, andthen they'd have found him a 'andsome coffin, and given three pounds tohis widder. But the poor are so benighted in these parts. I'm sure, sir,I can't guess what brought you here; but that's no business of mine.And how are all at Old Brompton?" Here Mrs. Mivers bridled indignantly."There was a time when Miss Mainwaring was very glad to come and chatwith Mr. M. and myself; but now 'rum has riz,' as the saying is,--notbut what I dare say it's not her fault, poor thing! That stiff aunt ofhers,--she need not look so high; pride and poverty, forsooth!"
While delivering these conciliatory sentences, Mrs. Mivers had gatheredup her gown, and was evidently in the bustle of departure. As she nownodded to Becky, Percival stepped up, and, with his irresistible smile,offered her his arm. Much surprised and much flattered, Mrs. Miversaccepted it. As she did so, he gently detained her while he said toBecky,--"My good friend, I have brought you the poor lad to whom youhave been a mother, to tell you that good deeds find their reward sooneror later. As for him, make yourself easy; he will inform you of the newstep he has taken, and for you, good, kind-hearted creature, thank theboy you brought up if your old age shall be made easy and cheerful. Now,Beck, silly lad, go and tell all to your nurse! Take care of this step,Mrs. Mivers."
As soon as he was in the street, Percival, who, if amused at theventilator, had seen the five shillings gleam on Becky's palm, and feltthat he had found under the puce-coloured gown a good woman's heart tounderstand him, gave Mrs. Mivers a short sketch of poor Becky's historyand misfortunes, and so contrived to interest her in behalf of the nursethat she willingly promised to become Percival's almoner, to executehis commission, to improve the interior of Becky's abode, and distributeweekly the liberal stipend he proposed to settle on the old widow. Theyhad grown, indeed, quite friendly and intimate by the time he reachedthe smart plate-glazed mahogany-coloured facade within which theflourishing business of Mr. Mivers was carried on; and when, knocking atthe private door, promptly opened by a lemon-coloured page, she invitedhim upstairs, it so chanced that the conversation had slid off to Helen,and Percival was sufficiently interested to bow assent and to enter.
Though all the way up the stairs Mrs. Mivers, turning back at everyother step, did her best to impress upon her young visitor's mind theimportant fact that they kept their household establishment at their"willer," and that their apartments in Fleet Street were only a"conwenience," the store set by the worthy housewife upon her goodsand chattels was sufficiently visible in the drugget that threaded itsnarrow way up the gay Brussels stair-carpet, and in certain layersof paper which protected from the profanation of immediate touchthe mahogany hand-rail. And nothing could exceed the fostering careexhibited in the drawing-room, when the door thrown open admitted aview of its damask moreen curtains, pinned back from such impertinentsunbeams as could force their way through the foggy air of the east intothe windows, and the ells of yellow muslin that guarded the frames, atleast, of a collection of coloured prints and two kit-kat portraituresof Mr. Mivers and his lady from the perambulations of the flies.
But Percival's view of this interior was somewhat impeded by his portlyguide, who, uttering a little exclamation of surprise, stood motionlesson the threshold as she perceived Mr. Mivers seated by the hearth inclose conference with a gentleman whom she had never seen before. Atthat hour it was so rare an event in the life of Mr. Mivers to be foundin the drawing-room, and that he should have an acquaintance unknown tohis helpmate was a circumstance so much rarer still, that Mrs. Miversmay well be forgiven for keeping St. John standing at the door till shehad recovered her amaze.
Meanwhile Mr. Mivers rose in some confusion, and was apparently about tointroduce his guest, when that gentleman coughed, and pinched thehost's arm significantly. Mr. Mivers coughed also, and stammered out: "Agentleman, Mrs. M.,--a friend; stay with us a day or two. Much honoured,hum!"
Mrs. Mivers stared and courtesied, and stared again. But there was anopen, good-humoured smile in the face of the visitor, as he advanced andtook her hand, that attracted a heart very easily conciliated. Seeingthat that was no moment for further explanation, she plumped herselfinto a seat and said,--
"But bless us and save us, I am keeping you standing, Mr. St. John!"
"St. John!" repeated the visitor, with a vehemence that startled Mrs.Mivers. "Your name is St. John, sir,--related to the St. Johns ofLaughton?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Percival, with his shy, arch smile. "Laughton atpresent has no worthier owner than myself."
The gentleman made two strides to Percival and shook him heartily by thehand.
"This is pleasant indeed!" he exclaimed. "You must excuse my freedom;but I knew well poor old Sir Miles, and my heart warms at the sight ofhis representative."
Percival glanced at his new acquaintance,
and on the whole wasprepossessed in his favour. He seemed somewhere on the sunnier side offifty, with that superb yellow bronze of complexion which betokens longresidence under Eastern skies. Deep wrinkles near the eyes, and a darkcircle round them, spoke of cares and fatigue, and perhaps dissipation.But he had evidently a vigour of constitution that had borne himpassably through all; his frame was wiry and nervous; his eye brightand full of life; and there was that abrupt, unsteady, mercurialrestlessness in his movements and manner which usually accompanies theman whose sanguine temperament prompts him to concede to the impulse,and who is blessed or cursed with a superabundance of energy, accordingas circumstance may favour or judgment correct that equivocal gift ofconstitution.
Percival said something appropriate in reply to so much cordialitypaid to the account of the Sir Miles whom he had never seen, and seatedhimself, colouring slightly under the influence of the fixed, pleased,and earnest look still bent upon him.
Searching for something else to say, Percival asked Mrs. Mivers if shehad lately seen John Ardworth.
The guest, who had just reseated himself, turned his chair round at thatquestion with such vivacity that Mrs. Mivers heard it crack. Her chairswere not meant for such usage. A shade fell over her rosy countenance asshe replied,--
"No, indeed (please, sir, them chairs is brittle)! No, he is like Madameat Brompton, and seldom condescends to favour us now. It was but lastSunday we asked him to dinner. I am sure he need not turn up his nose atour roast beef and pudding!"
Here Mr. Mivers was taken with a violent fit of coughing, which drew offhis wife's attention. She was afraid he had taken cold.
The stranger took out a large snuff-box, inhaled a long pinch of snuff,and said to St. John,--
"This Mr. John Ardworth, a pert enough jackanapes, I suppose,--a limb ofthe law, eh?"
"Sir," said Percival, gravely, "John Ardworth is my particular friend.It is clear that you know very little of him."
"That's true," said the stranger,--"'pon my life, that's very true.But I suppose he's like all lawyers,--cunning and tricky, conceited andsupercilious, full of prejudice and cant, and a red-hot Tory into thebargain. I know them, sir; I know them!"
"Well," answered St. John, half gayly, half angrily, "your generalexperience serves you very little here; for Ardworth is exactly theopposite of all you have described."
"Even in politics?"
"Why, I fear he is half a Radical,--certainly more than a Whig,"answered St. John, rather mournfully; for his own theories were all theother way, notwithstanding his unpatriotic forgetfulness of them in hisoffer to assist Ardworth's entrance into parliament.
"I am very glad to hear it," cried the stranger, again taking snuff."And this Madame at Brompton--perhaps I know her a little better thanI do young Mr. Ardworth--Mrs. Brad--I mean Madame Dalibard!" and thestranger glanced at Mr. Mivers, who was slowly recovering from somevigorous slaps on the back administered to him by his wife as acounter-irritant to the cough. "Is it true that she has lost the use ofher limbs?"
Percival shook his head.
"And takes care of poor Helen Mainwaring the orphan? Well, well, thatlooks amiable enough. I must see; I must see!"
"Who shall I say inquired after her, when I see Madame Dalibard?" askedPercival, with some curiosity.
"Who? Oh, Mr. Tomkins. She will not recollect him, though,"--and thestranger laughed, and Mr. Mivers laughed too; and Mrs. Mivers, who,indeed, always laughed when other people laughed, laughed also. SoPercival thought he ought to laugh for the sake of good company, and alllaughed together as he arose and took leave.
He had not, however, got far from the house, on his way to hiscabriolet, which he had left by Temple Bar, when, somewhat to hissurprise, he found Mr. Tomkins at his elbow.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. St. John, but I have only just returned toEngland, and on such occasions a man is apt to seem curious. This younglawyer ---- You see the elder Ardworth, a good-for-nothing scamp, wasa sort of friend of mine,--not exactly friend, indeed, for, by Jove, Ithink he was a worse friend to me than he was to anybody else; stillI had a foolish interest for him, and should be glad to hear somethingmore about any one bearing his name than I can coax out of that drolllittle linen draper. You are really intimate with young Ardworth, eh?"
"Intimate! poor fellow, he will not let any one be that; he works toohard to be social. But I love him sincerely, and I admire him beyondmeasure."
"The dog has industry, then;--that's good. And does he make debts, likethat rascal, Ardworth senior?"
"Really, sir, I must say this tone with respect to Mr. Ardworth'sfather--"
"What the devil, sir! Do you take the father's part as well as theson's?"
"I don't know anything about Mr. Ardworth senior," said Percival,pouting; "but I do know that my friend would not allow any one to speakill of his father in his presence; and I beg you, sir, to consider thatwhatever would offend him must offend me."
"Gad's my life! He's the luckiest young rogue to have such a friend.Sir, I wish you a very good-day."
Mr. Tomkins took off his hat, bowed, and passing St. John with a rapidstep, was soon lost to his eye amongst the crowd hurrying westward.
But our business being now rather with him than Percival, we leavethe latter to mount his cabriolet, and we proceed with Mr. Mivers'smercurial guest on his eccentric way through the throng. There wasan odd mixture of thoughtful abstraction and quick observation in thesoliloquy in which this gentleman indulged, as he walked briskly on.
"A pretty young spark that St. John! A look of his father, buthandsomer, and less affected. I like him. Fine shop that, very! Londonwonderfully improved. A hookah in that window,--God bless me!--a realhookah! This is all very good news about that poor boy, very. After all,he is not to blame if his mother was such a damnable--I must contrive tosee and judge of him myself as soon as possible. Can't trust to others;too sharp for that. What an ugly dog that is, looking after me! It iscertainly a bailiff. Hang it, what do I care for bailiffs? Hem, hem!"And the gentleman thrust his hands into his pockets, and laughed, as thejingle of coin reached his ear through the din without. "Well, I mustmake haste to decide; for really there is a very troublesome piece ofbusiness before me. Plague take her, what can have become of the woman?I shall have to hunt out a sharp lawyer. But John's a lawyer himself.No, attorneys, I suppose, are the men. Gad! they were sharp enough whenthey had to hunt me. What's that great bill on the wall about? 'Downwith the Lords!' Pooh, pooh! Master John Bull, you love lords a greatdeal too much for that. A prettyish girl! English women are verygood-looking, certainly. That Lucretia, what shall I do, if ---- Ah,time enough to think of her when I have got over that mighty stiff if!"
In such cogitations and mental remarks our traveller whiled away thetime till he found himself in Piccadilly. There, a publisher's shop (andhe had that keen eye for shops which betrays the stranger in London),with its new publications exposed at the window, attracted his notice.Conspicuous amongst the rest was the open title-page of a book, at thefoot of which was placed a placard with the enticing words, "FOURTHEDITION; JUST OUT," in red capitals. The title of the work struck hisirritable, curious fancy; he walked into the shop, asked for the volume,and while looking over the contents with muttered ejaculations, "Good!capital! Why, this reminds one of Horne Tooke! What's the price? Verydear; must have it though,--must. Ha, ha! home-thrust there!"--whilethus turning over the leaves, and rending them asunder with hisforefinger, regardless of the paper cutter extended to him by theshopman, a gentleman, pushing by him, asked if the publisher was athome; and as the shopman, bowing very low, answered "Yes," the new-comerdarted into a little recess behind the shop. Mr. Tomkins, who had lookedup very angrily on being jostled so unceremoniously, started and changedcolour when he saw the face of the offender. "Saints in heaven!" hemurmured almost audibly, "what a look of that woman; and yet--no--it isgone!"
"Who is that gentleman?" he asked abruptly, as he paid for his book.
The shopman smiled, but answered, "I don't
know, sir."
"That's a lie! You would never bow so low to a man you did not know!"
The shopman smiled again. "Why, sir, there are many who come to thishouse who don't wish us to know them."
"Ah, I understand; you are political publishers,--afraid of libels, Idare say. Always the same thing in this cursed country; and then theytell us we are 'free!' So I suppose that gentleman has written somethingWilliam Pitt does not like. But William Pitt--ha--he's dead! Very true,so he is! Sir, this little book seems most excellent; but in my time, aman would have been sent to Newgate for printing it." While thus runningon, Mr. Tomkins had edged himself pretty close to the recess withinwhich the last-comer had disappeared; and there, seated on a high stool,he contrived to read and to talk at the same time, but his eye and hisear were both turned every instant towards the recess.
The shopman, little suspecting that in so very eccentric, garrulousa person he was permitting a spy to encroach upon the secrets of thehouse, continued to make up sundry parcels of the new publication whichhad so enchanted his customer, while he expatiated on the prodigioussensation the book had created, and while the customer himself hadalready caught enough of the low conversation within the recess to beaware that the author of the book was the very person who had so rousedhis curiosity.
Not till that gentleman, followed to the door by the polite publisher,had quitted the shop, did Mr. Tomkins put this volume in his pocket,and, with a familiar nod at the shopman, take himself off.
He was scarcely in the street when he saw Percival St. John leaning outof his cabriolet and conversing with the author he had discovered.He halted a moment irresolute; but the young man, in whom our readerrecognizes John Ardworth, declining St. John's invitation to accompanyhim to Brompton, resumed his way through the throng; the cabriolet droveon; and Mr. Tomkins, though with a graver mien and a steadier step,continued his desultory rambles. Meanwhile, John Ardworth strodegloomily back to his lonely chamber.
There, throwing himself on the well-worn chair before the crowded desk,he buried his face in his hands, and for some minutes he felt all thatprofound despondency peculiar to those who have won fame, to add to thedark volume of experience the conviction of fame's nothingness. For someminutes he felt an illiberal and ungrateful envy of St. John, so fair,so light-hearted, so favoured by fortune, so rich in friends,--in amother's love, and in Helen's half-plighted troth. And he, from his verybirth, cut off from the social ties of blood; no mother's kiss to rewardthe toils or gladden the sports of childhood; no father's cheering wordup the steep hill of man! And Helen, for whose sake he had so often,when his heart grew weary, nerved himself again to labour, saying, "Letme be rich, let me be great, and then I will dare to tell Helen that Ilove her!"--Helen smiling upon another, unconscious of his pangs! Whatcould fame bestow in compensation? What matter that strangers praised,and the babble of the world's running stream lingered its brief momentround the pebble in its way. In the bitterness of his mood, he wasunjust to his rival. All that exquisite but half-concealed treasureof imagination and thought which lay beneath the surface of Helen'schildlike smile he believed that he alone--he, soul of power and son ofgenius--was worthy to discover and to prize. In the pride not unfrequentwith that kingliest of all aristocracies, the Chiefs of Intellect, heforgot the grandeur which invests the attributes of the heart; forgotthat, in the lists of love, the heart is at least the equal of the mind.In the reaction that follows great excitement, Ardworth had morbidlyfelt, that day, his utter solitude,--felt it in the streets throughwhich he had passed; in the home to which he had returned; the burningtears, shed for the first time since childhood, forced themselvesthrough his clasped fingers. At length he rose, with a strong effortat self-mastery, some contempt of his weakness, and much remorse at hisungrateful envy. He gathered together the soiled manuscript and dingyproofs of his book, and thrust them through the grimy bars of his grate;then, opening his desk, he drew out a small packet, with tremulousfingers unfolding paper after paper, and gazed, with eyes stillmoistened, on the relics kept till then in the devotion of the onlysentiment inspired by Eros that had ever, perhaps, softened his ironnature. These were two notes from Helen, some violets she had once givenhim, and a little purse she had knitted for him (with a playful prophecyof future fortunes) when he had last left the vicarage. Nor blame him,ye who, with more habitual romance of temper, and richer fertility ofimagination, can reconcile the tenderest memories with the sternestduties, if he, with all his strength, felt that the associationsconnected with those tokens would but enervate his resolves and embitterhis resignation. You can guess not the extent of the sacrifice, thebitterness of the pang, when, averting his head, he dropped those relicson the hearth. The evidence of the desultory ambition, the tokens of thevisionary love,--the same flame leaped up to devour both! It was as thefuneral pyre of his youth!
"So," he said to himself, "let all that can divert me from the true endsof my life consume! Labour, take back your son."
An hour afterwards, and his clerk, returning home, found Ardworthemployed as calmly as usual on his Law Reports.