morning."
"I know what I wish would happen now," said Clive,--they were going
screaming through a tunnel.
"What?" said the bonnet in the darkness: and the engine was roaring so
loudly, that he was obliged to put his head quite close to say--
"I wish the tunnel would fall in and close upon us, or that we might
travel on for ever and ever."
Here there was a great jar of the carriage, and the lady's-maid, and I
think Miss Ethel, gave a shriek. The lamp above was so dim that the
carriage was almost totally dark. No wonder the lady's-maid was
frightened! but the daylight came streaming in, and all poor Clive's
wishes of rolling and rolling on for ever were put an end to by the
implacable sun in a minute.
Ah, why was it the quick train? Suppose it had been the parliamentary
train?--even that too would have come to an end. They came and said,
"Tickets, please," and Clive held out the three of their party--his, and
Ethel's, and her maid's. I think for such a ride as that he was right to
give up Greenwich. Mr. Kuhn was in waiting with a carriage for Miss
Ethel. She shook hands with Clive, returning his pressure.
"I may come and see you?" he said.
"You may come and see mamma--yes."
"And where are you staying?"
"Bless my soul--they were staying at Miss Honeyman's!" Clive burst into a
laugh. Why, he was going there too! Of course Aunt Honeyman had no room
for him, her house being quite full with the other Newcomes.
It was a most curious coincidence their meeting; but altogether Lady Anne
thought it was best to say nothing about the circumstance to grandmamma.
I myself am puzzled to say which would have been the better course to
pursue under the circumstances; there were so many courses open. As they
had gone so far, should they go on farther together? Suppose they were
going to the same house at Brighton, oughtn't they to have gone in the
same carriage, with Kuhn and the maid of course? Suppose they met by
chance at the station, ought they to have travelled in separate
carriages? I ask any gentleman and father of a family, when he was
immensely smitten with his present wife, Mrs. Brown, if he had met her
travelling with her maid, in the mail, when there was a vacant place,
what would he himself have done?
CHAPTER XLII
Injured Innocence
From Clive Newcome, Esq., to Lieut.-Col. Newcome, C.B.
"Brighton, June 12, 18--.
"My Dearest Father,--As the weather was growing very hot at Naples, and
you wished I should come to England to see Mr. Binnie, I came
accordingly, and have been here three weeks, and write to you from Aunt
Honeyman's parlour at Brighton, where you ate your last dinner before
embarking for India. I found your splendid remittance calling in Fog
Court, and have invested a part of the sum in a good horse to ride, upon
which I take my diversion with other young dandies in the Park. Florac is
in England, but he has no need of your kindness. Only think! he is Prince
de Moncontour now, the second title of the Duc d'Ivry's family; and M. le
Comte de Florac is Duc d'Ivry in consequence of the demise of t'other old
gentleman. I believe the late duke's wife shortened his life. Oh, what a
woman! She caused a duel between Lord Kew and a Frenchman, which has in
its turn occasioned all sorts of evil and division in families, as you
shall hear.
"In the first place, in consequence of the duel and of incompatibility of
temper, the match between Kew and E. N. has been broken off. I met Lord
Kew at Naples with his mother and brother, nice quiet people as you would
like them. Kew's wound and subsequent illness have altered him a good
deal. He has become much more serious than he used to be; not ludicrously
so at all, but he says he thinks his past life has been useless and even
criminal, and he wishes to change it. He has sold his horses, and sown
his wild oats. He has turned quite a sober quiet gentleman.
"At our meeting he told me of what had happened between him and Ethel, of
whom he spoke most kindly and generously, but avowing his opinion that
they never could have been happy in married life. And now I think my dear
old father will see that there may be another reason besides my desire to
see Mr. Binnie, which has brought me tumbling back to England again. If
need be to speak, I never shall have, I hope, any secrets from you. I
have not said much about one which has given me the deuce's disquiet for
ten months past, because there was no good in talking about it, or vexing
you needlessly with reports of my griefs and woes.
"Well, when we were at Baden in September last, and E. and I wrote those
letters in common to you, I dare say you can fancy what my feelings might
have been towards such a beautiful young creature, who has a hundred
faults, for which I love her just as much as for the good that is in her.
I became dreadfully smitten indeed, and knowing that she was engaged to
Lord Kew, I did as you told me you did once when the enemy was too strong
for you--I ran away. I had a bad time of it for two or three months. At
Rome, however, I began to take matters more easily, my naturally fine
appetite returned, and at the end of the season I found myself uncommonly
happy in the society of the Miss Baliols and the Miss Freemans; but when
Kew told me at Naples of what had happened, there was straightway a fresh
eruption in my heart, and I was fool enough to come almost without sleep
to London in order to catch a glimpse of the bright eyes of E. N.
"She is now in this very house upstairs with one aunt, whilst the other
lets lodgings to her. I have seen her but very seldom indeed since I came
to London, where Sir Brian and Lady Anne do not pass the season, and
Ethel goes about to a dozen parties every week with old Lady Kew, who
neither loves you nor me. Hearing E. say she was coming down to her
parents at Brighton, I made so bold as to waylay her at the train (though
I didn't tell her that I passed three hours in the waiting-room); and we
made the journey together, and she was very kind and beautiful; and
though I suppose I might just as well ask the Royal Princess to have me,
I can't help hoping and longing and hankering after her. And Aunt
Honeyman must have found out that I am fond of her, for the old lady has
received me with a scolding. Uncle Charles seems to be in very good
condition again. I saw him in full clerical feather--at Madame de
Moncontour's, a good-natured body who drops her h's, though Florac is not
aware of their absence. Pendennis and Warrington, I know, would send you
their regards. Pen is conceited, but much kinder in reality than he has
the air of being. Fred Bayham is doing well, and prospering in his
mysterious way.
"Mr. Binnie is not looking at all well: and Mrs. Mack--well, as I know
you never attack a lady behind her lovely back, I won't say a word of
Mrs. Mack--but she has taken possession of Uncle James, and seems to me
to weigh upon him somehow. Rosey is as pretty and good-natured as ever,
and has learned two new songs; but you s
ee, with my sentiments in another
quarter, I feel as it were guilty and awkward in company of Rosey and her
mamma. They have become the very greatest friends with Bryanstone Square,
and Mrs. Mack is always citing Aunt Hobson as the most superior of women,
in which opinion, I daresay, Aunt Hobson concurs.
"Good-bye, my dearest father; my sheet is full; I wish I could put my arm
in yours and pace up and down the pier with you, and tell you more and
more. But you know enough now, and that I am your affectionate son
always, C. N."
In fact, when Mr. Clive appeared at Steyne Gardens stepping out of the
fly, and handing Miss Ethel thence, Miss Honeyman of course was very glad
to see her nephew, and saluted him with a little embrace to show her
sense of pleasure at his visit. But the next day, being Sunday, when
Clive, with a most engaging smile on his countenance, walked over to
breakfast from his hotel, Miss Honeyman would scarcely speak to him
during the meal, looked out at him very haughtily from under her Sunday
cap, and received his stories about Italy with "Oh! ah! indeed!" in a
very unkind manner. And when breakfast was over, and she had done washing
her age chins, she fluttered up to Clive with such an agitation of
plumage, redness of craw, and anger of manner, as a maternal hen shows if
she has reason to think you menace her chickens. She fluttered up to
Clive, I say, and cried out, "Not in this house, Clive,--not in this
house, I beg you to understand that!"
Clive, looking amazed, said, "Certainly not, ma'am; I never did do it in
the house, as I know you don't like it. I was going into the Square." The
young man meaning that he was about to smoke, and conjecturing that his
aunt's anger applied to that practice.
"You know very well what I mean, sir! Don't try to turn me off in that
highty-tighty way. My dinner to-day is at half-past one. You can dine or
not as you like," and the old lady flounced out of the room.
Poor Clive stood rolling his cigar in sad perplexity of spirit, until
Mrs. Honeyman's servant Hannah entered, who, for her part, grinned and
looked particularly sly. "In the name of goodness, Hannah, what is the
row about?" cries Mr. Clive. "What is my aunt scolding at? What are you
grinning at, you old Cheshire cat?"
"Git long, Master Clive," says Hannah, patting the cloth.
"Get along! why get along, and where am I to get along to?"
"Did 'ee do ut really now, Master Clive?" cries Mrs. Honeyman's
attendant, grinning with the utmost good-humour. "Well, she be as pretty
a young lady as ever I saw; and as I told my missis, 'Miss Martha,' says
I, 'there's a pair on 'em.' Though missis was mortal angry to be sure.
She never could bear it."
"Bear what? you old goose!" cries Clive, who by these playful names had
been wont to designate Hannah these twenty years past.
"A young gentleman and a young lady a kissing of each other in the
railway coach," says Hannah, jerking up with her finger to the ceiling,
as much as to say, "There she is! Lar, she be a pretty young creature,
that she be! and so I told Miss Martha." Thus differently had the news
which had come to them on the previous night affected the old lady and
her maid.
The news was, that Miss Newcome's maid (a giddy thing from the county,
who had not even learned as yet to hold her tongue) had announced with
giggling delight to Lady Anne's maid, who was taking tea with Mrs. Hicks,
that Mr. Clive had given Miss Ethel a kiss in the tunnel, and she
supposed it was a match. This intelligence Hannah Hicks took to her
mistress, of whose angry behaviour to Clive the next morning you may now
understand the cause.
Clive did not know whether to laugh or to be in a rage. He swore that he
was as innocent of all intention of kissing Miss Ethel as of embracing
Queen Elizabeth. He was shocked to think of his cousin, walking above,
fancy-free in maiden meditation, whilst this conversation regarding her
was carried on below. How could he face her, or her mother, or even her
maid, now he had cognisance of this naughty calumny? "Of course Hannah
had contradicted it?" "Of course I have a done no such indeed," replied
Master Clive's old friend; "of course I have set 'em down a bit; for when
little Trimmer said it, and she supposed it was all settled between you,
seeing how it had been a going on in foreign parts last year, Mrs.
Pincott says, 'Hold your silly tongue, Trimmer,' she says; 'Miss Ethel
marry a painter, indeed, Trimmer!' says she, 'while she has refused to be
a Countess,' she says; 'and can be a Marchioness any day, and will be a
Marchioness. Marry a painter, indeed!' Mrs. Pincott says; 'Trimmer, I'm
surprised at your impidence.' So, my dear, I got angry at that," Clive's
champion continued, "and says I, if my young master ain't good enough for
any young lady in this world, says I, I'd like you to show her to me: and
if his dear father, the Colonel, says I, ain't as good as your old
gentleman upstairs, says I, who has gruel and dines upon doctor's stuff,
the Mrs. Pincott, says I, my name isn't what it is, says I. Those were my
very words, Master Clive, my dear; and then Mrs. Pincott says, Mrs.
Hicks, she says, you don't understand society, she says; you don't
understand society, he! he!" and the country lady, with considerable
humour, gave an imitation of the town lady's manner.
At this juncture Miss Honeyman re-entered the parlour, arrayed in her
Sunday bonnet, her stiff and spotless collar, her Cashmere shawl, and
Agra brooch, and carrying her Bible and Prayer-Book each stitched in its
neat cover of brown silk. "Don't stay chattering here, you idle woman,"
she cried to her attendant with extreme asperity. "And you, sir, if you
wish to smoke your cigar, you had best walk down to the cliff where the
Cockneys are!" she added, glowering at Clive.
"Now I understand it all," Clive said, trying to deprecate her anger. "My
dear good aunt, it's a most absurd mistake; upon my honour, Miss Ethel is
as innocent as you are."
"Innocent or not, this house is not intended for assignations, Clive! As
long as Sir Brian Newcome lodges here, you will be pleased to keep away
from it, sir; and though I don't approve of Sunday travelling, I think
the very best thing you can do is to put yourself in the train and go
back to London."
And now, young people, who read my moral pages, you will see how highly
imprudent it is to sit with your cousins in railway carriages; and how,
though you may not mean the slightest harm in the world, a great deal may
be attributed to you; and how, when you think you are managing your
little absurd love-affairs ever so quietly, Jeames and Betsy in the
servants'-hall are very likely talking about them, and you are putting
yourself in the power of those menials. If the perusal of these lines has
rendered one single young couple uncomfortable, surely my amiable end is
answered, and I have written not altogether in vain.
Clive was going away, innocent though he was, yet quivering
under his
aunt's reproof, and so put out of countenance that he had not even
thought of lighting the great cigar which he stuck into his foolish
mouth; when a shout of "Clive! Clive!" from half a dozen little voices
roused him, and presently as many little Newcomes came toddling down the
stairs, and this one clung round his knees, and that at the skirts of his
coat, and another took his hand and said, he must come and walk with them
on the beach.
So away went Clive to walk with his cousins, and then to see his old
friend Miss Cann, with whom and the elder children he walked to church,
and issuing thence greeted Lady Anne and Ethel (who had also attended the
service) in the most natural way in the world.
While engaged in talking with these, Miss Honeyman came out of the sacred
edifice, crisp and stately in the famous Agra brooch and Cashmere shawls.
The good-natured Lady Anne had a smile and a kind word for her as for
everybody. Clive went up to his maternal aunt to offer his arm. "You must
give him up to us for dinner, Miss Honeyman, if you please to be so very
kind. He was so good-natured in escorting Ethel down," Lady Anne said.
"Hm! my lady," says Miss Honeyman, perking her head up in her collar.
Clive did not know whether to laugh or not, but a fine blush illuminated
his countenance. As for Ethel, she was and looked perfectly unconscious.
So, rustling in her stiff black silk, Martha Honeyman walked with her
nephew silent by the shore of the much-sounding sea. The idea of
courtship, of osculatory processes, of marrying and giving in marriage,
made this elderly virgin chafe and fume, she never having, at any period
of her life, indulged in any such ideas or practices, and being angry
against them, as childless wives will sometimes be angry and testy
against matrons with their prattle about their nurseries. Now, Miss Cann
was a different sort of spinster, and loved a bit of sentiment with all
her heart from which I am led to conclude--but, pray, is this the history
of Miss Cann or of the Newcomes?
All these Newcomes then entered into Miss Honeyman's house, where a
number of little knives and forks were laid for them. Ethel was cold and
thoughtful; Lady Anne was perfectly good-natured as her wont was. Sir
Brian came in on the arm of his valet presently, wearing that look of
extra neatness which invalids have, who have just been shaved and combed,
and made ready by their attendants to receive company. He was voluble:
though there was a perceptible change in his voice: he talked chiefly of
matters which had occurred forty years ago, and especially of Clive's own
father, when he was a boy, in a manner which interested the young man and
Ethel. "He threw me down in a chaise--sad chap--always reading Orme's
History of India--wanted marry Frenchwoman. He wondered Mrs. Newcome
didn't leave Tom anything--'pon my word, quite s'prise." The events of
to-day, the House of Commons, the City, had little interest for him. All
the children went up and shook him by the hand, with awe in their looks,
and he patted their yellow heads vacantly and kindly. He asked Clive
(several times) where he had been? and said he himself had had a slight
'tack--vay slight--was getting well ev'y day--strong as a horse--go back
to Parliament d'rectly. And then he became a little peevish with Parker,
his man, about his broth. The man retired, and came back presently, with
profound bows and gravity, to tell Sir Brian dinner was ready, and he
went away quite briskly at this news, giving a couple of fingers to Clive
before he disappeared into the upper apartments. Good-natured Lady Anne
was as easy about this as about the other events of this world. In later
days, with what a strange feeling we remember that last sight we have of
the old friend; that nod of farewell, and shake of the hand, that last