18. NEAR SANDBOURNE--LONDON STREETS--ETHELBERTA'S
When this letter reached its destination the next morning, Picotee, inher over-anxiety, could not bring herself to read it in anybody'spresence, and put it in her pocket till she was on her walk across themoor. She still lived at the cottage out of the town, though at someinconvenience to herself, in order to teach at a small villagenight-school whilst still carrying on her larger occupation ofpupil-teacher in Sandbourne.
So she walked and read, and was soon in tears. Moreover, when shethought of what Ethelberta would have replied had that keen sister knownthe wildness of her true reason in wishing to go, she shuddered withmisery. To wish to get near a man only because he had been kind to her,and had admired her pretty face, and had given her flowers, to nourish apassion all the more because of its hopeless impracticability, werethings to dream of, not to tell. Picotee was quite an unreasoninganimal. Her sister arranged situations for her, told her how to conductherself in them, how to make up anew, in unobtrusive shapes, the valuablewearing apparel she sent from time to time--so as to provoke neitherexasperation in the little gentry, nor superciliousness in the great.Ethelberta did everything for her, in short; and Picotee obeyed orderswith the abstracted ease of mind which people show who have theirthinking done for them, and put out their troubles as they do theirwashing. She was quite willing not to be clever herself, since it wasunnecessary while she had a much-admired sister, who was clever enoughfor two people and to spare.
This arrangement, by which she gained an untroubled existence in exchangefor freedom of will, had worked very pleasantly for Picotee until theanomaly of falling in love on her own account created a jar in themachinery. Then she began to know how wearing were miserable days, andhow much more wearing were miserable nights. She pictured Christopher inLondon calling upon her dignified sister (for Ethelberta innocentlymentioned his name sometimes in writing) and imagined over and over againthe mutual signs of warm feeling between them. And now Picotee resolvedupon a noble course. Like Juliet, she had been troubled with aconsciousness that perhaps her love for Christopher was a trifle forwardand unmaidenly, even though she had determined never to let him oranybody in the whole world know of it. To set herself to pray that shemight have strength to see him without a pang the lover of her sister,who deserved him so much more than herself, would be a grand penance andcorrective.
After uttering petitions to this effect for several days, she still feltvery bad; indeed, in the psychological difficulty of striving for what inher soul she did not desire, rather worse, if anything. At last, wearyof walking the old road and never meeting him, and blank in a generalpowerlessness, she wrote the letter to Ethelberta, which was only thelast one of a series that had previously been written and torn up.
Now this hope had been whirled away like thistledown, and the case wasgrievous enough to distract a greater stoic than Picotee. The end of itwas that she left the school on insufficient notice, gave up her cottagehome on the plea--true in the letter--that she was going to join arelative in London, and went off thither by a morning train, leaving herthings packed ready to be sent on when she should write for them.
Picotee arrived in town late on a cold February afternoon, bearing asmall bag in her hand. She crossed Westminster Bridge on foot, justafter dusk, and saw a luminous haze hanging over each well-lighted streetas it withdrew into distance behind the nearer houses, showing itsdirection as a train of morning mist shows the course of a distant streamwhen the stream itself is hidden. The lights along the riverside towardsCharing Cross sent an inverted palisade of gleaming swords down into theshaking water, and the pavement ticked to the touch of pedestrians' feet,most of whom tripped along as if walking only to practise a favouritequick step, and held handkerchiefs to their mouths to strain off theriver mist from their lungs. She inquired her way to Exonbury Crescent,and between five and six o'clock reached her sister's door.
Two or three minutes were passed in accumulating resolution sufficient toring the bell, which when at last she did, was not performed in a way atall calculated to make the young man Joey hasten to the door. After thelapse of a certain time he did, however, find leisure to stroll and seewhat the caller might want, out of curiosity to know who there could bein London afraid to ring a bell twice.
Joey's delight exceeded even his surprise, the ruling maxim of his lifebeing the more the merrier, under all circumstances. The beaming youngman was about to run off and announce her upstairs and downstairs, leftand right, when Picotee called him hastily to her. In the hall her quickyoung eye had caught sight of an umbrella with a peculiar horn handle--anumbrella she had been accustomed to meet on Sandbourne Moor on many happyafternoons. Christopher was evidently in the house.
'Joey,' she said, as if she were ready to faint, 'don't tell Berta I amcome. She has company, has she not?'
'O no--only Mr. Julian!' said the brother. 'He's quite one of thefamily!'
'Never mind--can't I go down into the kitchen with you?' she inquired.There had been bliss and misery mingled in those tidings, and shescarcely knew for a moment which way they affected her. What she didknow was that she had run her dear fox to earth, and a sense ofsatisfaction at that feat prevented her just now from counting the costof the performance.
'Does Mr. Julian come to see her very often?' said she.
'O yes--he's always a-coming--a regular bore to me.'
'A regular what?'
'Bore!--Ah, I forgot, you don't know our town words. However, comealong.'
They passed by the doors on tiptoe, and their mother upstairs being,according to Joey's account, in the midst of a nap, Picotee was unwillingto disturb her; so they went down at once to the kitchen, when forwardrushed Gwendoline the cook, flourishing her floury hands, and Corneliathe housemaid, dancing over her brush; and these having welcomed and madePicotee comfortable, who should ring the area-bell, and be admitted downthe steps, but Sol and Dan. The workman-brothers, their day's dutiesbeing over, had called to see their relations, first, as usual, goinghome to their lodgings in Marylebone and making themselves as spruce asbridegrooms, according to the rules of their newly-acquired townexperience. For the London mechanic is only nine hours a mechanic,though the country mechanic works, eats, drinks, and sleeps a mechanicthroughout the whole twenty-four.
'God bless my soul--Picotee!' said Dan, standing fixed. 'Well--I say,this is splendid! ha-ha!'
'Picotee--what brought you here?' said Sol, expanding the circumferenceof his face in satisfaction. 'Well, come along--never mind so long asyou be here.'
Picotee explained circumstances as well as she could without statingthem, and, after a general conversation of a few minutes, Sol interruptedwith--'Anybody upstairs with Mrs. Petherwin?'
'Mr. Julian was there just now,' said Joey; 'but he may be gone. Bertaalways lets him slip out how he can, the form of ringing me up not beingnecessary with him. Wait a minute--I'll see.'
Joseph vanished up the stairs; and, the question whether Christopher weregone or not being an uninteresting one to the majority, the talking wenton upon other matters. When Joey crept down again a minute later,Picotee was sitting aloof and silent, and he accordingly singled her outto speak to.
'Such a lark, Picotee!' he whispered. 'Berta's a-courting of her youngman. Would you like to see how they carries on a bit?'
'Dearly I should!' said Picotee, the pupils of her eyes dilating.
Joey conducted her to the top of the basement stairs, and told her tolisten. Within a few yards of them was the morning-room door, nowstanding ajar; and an intermittent flirtation in soft male and femaletones could be heard going on inside. Picotee's lips parted at thuslearning the condition of things, and she leant against the stair-newel.
'My? What's the matter?' said Joey.
'If this is London, I don't like it at all!' moaned Picotee.
'Well--I never see such a girl--fainting all over the stairs for nothingin the world.'
'O--it will soon be gone--i
t is--it is only indigestion.'
'Indigestion? Much you simple country people can know about that! Youshould see what devils of indigestions we get in high life--eating'normous great dinners and suppers that require clever physicians tocarry 'em off, or else they'd carry us off with gout next day; and wakingin the morning with such a splitting headache, and dry throat, and inwardcusses about human nature, that you feel all the world like some greatlord. However, now let's go down again.'
'No, no, no!' said the unhappy maiden imploringly. 'Hark!'
They listened again. The voices of the musician and poetess had changed:there was a decided frigidity in their tone--then came a louderexpression--then a silence.
'You needn't be afeard,' said Joey. 'They won't fight; bless you, theybusts out quarrelling like this times and times when they've been over-friendly, but it soon gets straight with 'em again.'
There was now a quick walk across the room, and Joey and his sister drewdown their heads out of sight. Then the room door was slammed, quickfootsteps went along the hall, the front door closed just as loudly, andChristopher's tread passed into nothing along the pavement.
'That's rather a wuss one than they mostly have; but Lord, 'tis nothingat all.'
'I don't much like biding here listening!' said Picotee.
'O, 'tis how we do all over the West End,' said Joey. ''Tis yerignorance of town life that makes it seem a good deal to 'ee.'
'You can't make much boast about town life; for you haven't left offtalking just as they do down in Wessex.'
'Well, I own to that--what's fair is fair, and 'tis a true charge; but ifI talk the Wessex way 'tisn't for want of knowing better; 'tis because mystaunch nater makes me bide faithful to our old ancient institutions.You'd soon own 'twasn't ignorance in me, if you knowed what largequantities of noblemen I gets mixed up with every day. In fact 'tisthoughted here and there that I shall do very well in the world.'
'Well, let us go down,' said Picotee. 'Everything seems so overpoweringhere.'
'O, you'll get broke in soon enough. I felt just the same when I firstentered into society.'
'Do you think Berta will be angry with me? How does she treat you?'
'Well, I can't complain. You see she's my own flesh and blood, and whatcan I say? But, in secret truth, the wages is terrible low, and barelypays for the tobacco I consooms.'
'O Joey, you wicked boy! If mother only knew that you smoked!'
'I don't mind the wickedness so much as the smell. And Mrs. Petherwinhas got such a nose for a fellow's clothes. 'Tis one of the greatestknots in service--the smoke question. 'Tis thoughted that we shall makea great stir about it in the mansions of the nobility soon.'
'How much more you know of life than I do--you only fourteen and meseventeen!'
'Yes, that's true. You see, age is nothing--'tis opportunity. And evenI can't boast, for many a younger man knows more.'
'But don't smoke, Joey--there's a dear!'
'What can I do? Society hev its rules, and if a person wishes to keephimself up, he must do as the world do. We be all Fashion's slave--asmuch a slave as the meanest in the land!'
They got downstairs again; and when the dinner of the French lady andgentleman had been sent up and cleared away, and also Ethelberta'sevening tea (which she formed into a genuine meal, making a dinner ofluncheon, when nobody was there, to give less trouble to herservant-sisters), they all sat round the fire. Then the rustle of adress was heard on the staircase, and squirrel-haired Ethelberta appearedin person. It was her custom thus to come down every spare evening, toteach Joey and her sisters something or other--mostly French, which shespoke fluently; but the cook and housemaid showed more ambition thanintelligence in acquiring that tongue, though Joey learnt it readilyenough.
There was consternation in the camp for a moment or two, on account ofpoor Picotee, Ethelberta being not without firmness in matters ofdiscipline. Her eye instantly lighted upon her disobedient sister, nowlooking twice as disobedient as she really was.
'O, you are here, Picotee? I am glad to see you,' said the mistress ofthe house quietly.
This was altogether to Picotee's surprise, for she had expected a roundrating at least, in her freshness hardly being aware that this reserve offeeling was an acquired habit of Ethelberta's, and that civility stood intown for as much vexation as a tantrum represented in Wessex.
Picotee lamely explained her outward reasons for coming, and soon beganto find that Ethelberta's opinions on the matter would not be known bythe tones of her voice. But innocent Picotee was as wily as areligionist in sly elusions of the letter whilst infringing the spirit ofa dictum; and by talking very softly and earnestly about the wondrousgood she could do by remaining in the house as governess to the children,and playing the part of lady's-maid to her sister at show times, she sofar coaxed Ethelberta out of her intentions that she almost accepted theplan as a good one. It was agreed that for the present, at any rate,Picotee should remain. Then a visit was made to Mrs. Chickerel's room,where the remainder of the evening was passed; and harmony reigned in thehousehold.