In two years' time, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Ada Cambridge

CHAPTER X.

MY INTRODUCTION TO MRS. GRUNDY.

For a few days I got on in London in the most delightful manner. I enjoyed a prestige and popularity in my aunt’s circle—whether on account of my reputed heiress-ship, or my French dresses, or my personal attractions, or because I was a surprising colonial curiosity, I cannot say—which would have charmed and gratified the least vain of girls, and I was on the way to becoming anything but that. I was taken to the park, and the opera, and the Royal Academy, and the Albert Hall, and Westminster Abbey, driven in an open carriage through the enchanted streets and the lovely summer weather, in a state of rapturous enjoyment of the novelty of everything and the fulness and brightness of my new life, that no words can adequately describe. I went to Madame Tussaud’s and the Zoological Gardens too, surreptitiously, with daddy, at an abnormal hour, and I could have gone on sight-seeing all night, if any one would have taken me. For, thanks to the vigour of my constitution, I never knew what it was to be tired.

But after a few days I got into trouble, and this is how it was:—

One morning—it was either a Friday or a saint’s day—Eleanor, who would have lived in a church if she could, came to ask me if I would go to service with her, and I readily complied, though I had never done such a thing on such a day before, except on Good Fridays and Christmas Days, in all my life. As we walked unattended through the quiet streets and squares, I (naturally) thought of Tom going to College Chapel, and I asked Eleanor to tell me about Christchurch, and whether she ever went to see Bertie when he was there. She would have been sure to go to the cathedral, of course, and perhaps she had met Tom, who had had a slight acquaintance with his younger fellow-student. But Eleanor drifted off into reminiscences of an Oxford sisterhood, of which she had some thoughts of becoming a humble associate, if her father would allow her, and told me how the sisters spent their noble lives in teaching the young, and nursing the sick, and reclaiming the fallen, until her face flushed and glowed with enthusiasm.

I became interested in the subject, though it was not the one I looked for, and especially in the picturesque sketches that she gave of their many little services in their tiny chapel, and their meals in the great bare refectory, and their little white-washed black-floored dormitories, with the crucifix on the wall over each narrow truckle bed. My heart was stirred to hear how many of them had given up wealth and high position for this lowly but sacred work, and how gentle ladies scrubbed the floors and cooked the dinners for the families of the poor wretched men and women whom they went to nurse in the filthy slums and alleys. My fancy was attracted also by her description of the lovely needlework that they did for the church, in those scanty hours when their severe rules of self-discipline allowed them to sit down and rest together. But, after all, it was not a thing that I could realize—women doing without fathers and mothers and the tenderness of home life, and not wishing to be married; and this was a side of the subject that I could not for a moment approve of. “They must just be like old children,” I ventured to remark, thinking what hard restrictions they put upon the development of that human nature which should be (perhaps above everything) sacred, but which suffers so many indignities always at the hands of good people. “Life must seem very small to them, poor things.”

“Small!” echoed Eleanor. “Oh, Kitty, it is the very greatest and highest life, to give up yourself entirely to the work of God.”

“It seems to me they only want to teach God a better way of doing things, and I think His own way is quite good enough, for my part.”

“What way?”

“The common way, making things better as you go along, and enjoying yourself all the while.”

“That is a very low view of life,” said Eleanor, shaking her head.

“I don’t care. I can’t help what I think; and it is against sense and reason to suppose that He made us to want husbands and children and happy homes, and all the other pleasant things, and then wished us to do without them.”

“Sense and reason are not the things to go by.”

“Oh, Eleanor! Do you mean to say God doesn’t speak in our sense and reason as well as in the Bible. If you do, I can only tell you I think you are a very irreverent person.”

“Kitty,” said Eleanor, looking pale and shocked, “it’s really dreadful to hear you talk. If I did not know you had been brought up in a country where the tone of Church teaching——”

“Oh, there, you needn’t go on,” I interrupted rather warmly, feeling a little like a wrestler who has been hit below the belt. “I know what you were going to say. I’ll candidly admit that I am a savage and a Hottentot, and save you the trouble. Is this the church? What a queer hole they have put it in!”

“Darling,” pleaded Eleanor, with tears in her soft eyes, as we paused on the threshold of the porch, and she laid her hand on my arm, “don’t be so impatient, for we must try to understand one another.”

I stooped suddenly and kissed her, and asked her pardon for my hastiness; and then we passed together into the church, where, to my surprise, quite a large congregation was assembled, and where my little companion was speedily on her knees, with her ungloved hands folded on the top rail of a rush-bottomed chair, absorbed in her devotions. I am free to confess that I did not attend to mine as I ought to have done. The splendour of the building, the exquisiteness of the music, the strange vestments of the clergy, the attitudes of awe and reverence all around me, particularly the appearance of several sisters of mercy in their black robes, the first I had ever seen, distracted my attention, in spite of me. It was not at all like what I had been used to.

Our walk back was a silent one. She with her red-leaved Prayer-book clasped lovingly in her hand, and a far-off rapt look in her face, seemed too much impressed and surrounded by the atmosphere of worship to wish to be talked to; and I, besides having some new ideas to think of, had an odd feeling of Sunday about me. There seemed something almost sacrilegious in the bustle of the cabs and omnibuses up and down, and the squeal of the hurdy-gurdy that played its music-hall airs to us as we passed, and more particularly in the longing that presently possessed me to have a good look into the shop windows. This sensation, however, was but transient. It evaporated in the brightness and colour of the streets and the breezy freshness of the sunny air.

I did not talk, but I looked to right and left on all there was to be seen, and made mental comments to myself; and I began to wonder whether we were going to South Kensington after lunch, as mother had proposed, and why Bertha and Bella were so enthusiastic about the cooking classes, when they evidently had no intention of ever cooking anything themselves. And when at last we came in view of my aunt’s house round a corner, and I saw a pair of the loveliest little bay horses I had ever dreamed of, each with a white star on its forehead, and not another light hair anywhere, and both fidgeting restlessly before the open hall-door, I did forget entirely that I had been to church and had felt as if it were Sunday. Eleanor slipped into the hall and stole up the great staircase, as if she were all alone in the world, and I stood rooted on the pavement and thought no more about her. A small groom, very dapper and polished, stood at those pretty creatures’ heads, and to him I addressed myself eagerly—“Whose are those horses?”

“Cap’n Goodeve’s, mum,” replied the lad, touching his cockaded hat with his snow-white glove.

At that moment out came cousin Regy from the house, buttoning his own gloves leisurely. “Hallo, Kitty,” said he, “what do you think of them? A pretty good match, aren’t they?”

“They are beautiful,” I responded, rapturously. “I should like to know what you gave for them—I mean, what horses of this sort cost in England?”

“I dare not tell you, Kitty, for fear you should let it out. I gave a great deal more than I could afford, to tell the truth; but I hate to drive anything but the best.”

“Oh, of course; there is no satisfaction in that,” I coolly replied, still criticising the perfect shape and action of those two. “How I should like to drive them!” I added, with a sigh.

“I should like to see you at it,” replied Regy, laughing. “Your wrists wouldn’t be worth much to you afterwards.”

“And do you think there is nothing but wrists wanting?” I inquired, reddening. “Wrists are not everything.”

“Ladies’ wrists are not enough, at any rate, to tackle such a pair of steam-engines as these.”

“Well, now, Regy, you just let me try. You can be ready to take the reins when I can’t hold them any longer. May I try? If they are properly broken, I’ll engage to drive them from one end of London to the other, in spite of the cabs and omnibuses.”

“What will you bet?”

“I won’t bet,” I answered; “but, if I find I can’t do it, I’ll make you a smoking-cap, or embroider your monogram on a set of handkerchiefs, or anything you like.”

“Come along, then,” said Reginald; “and make haste, before the girls catch sight of you.” With which, he held back my skirt from the wheels as I jumped into the high seat of the phaeton, mounted beside me, gave the small groom two seconds to spring to his perch behind, and, while I was settling the reins properly, the horses almost tore them from my grasp, and we swept down the street like a whirlwind.

“I’d rather not go through London, if any other way will do as well,” I suggested timidly, as soon as I had got my breath, and had become aware that the bays were very nearly a match for me, and not quite, and that, though my wrists would doubtless suffer afterwards, they were able to do what they had undertaken. I did not quite like the idea of not seeing more than a dozen yards before me at the pace we were going.

“Of course, we won’t go through London, Kitty. Good gracious, what an awful idea! We’ll drive about the squares here, where it is quiet, or we’ll make for the country, if you like.”

“Oh, yes, that is what I should like! I have been longing to see the real English country ever since I came. But where were you going yourself, Regy? Don’t let me interfere with your business.”

“I’ve no business, Kitty—none that matters. I’m only too glad to be in attendance upon you. The girls have never given me a chance yet. Now, where would you like to go? Are you sure those brutes are not pulling your arms off?”

“Quite sure,” I replied, gaily. “I have a tolerable set of muscles, though I am a woman, and I hope you perceive that I can drive, Captain Goodeve. As to where I would like to go, how can I tell? You must choose a pretty road for me.”

“All right. We’ll go to Richmond; that’s the prettiest place out, that I know of, within our reach. You are not in a hurry, I suppose?”

“No,” I answered, with reckless carelessness. “Being late for lunch isn’t like being late for dinner, is it? And I don’t think we were going to do anything particular this afternoon. Mother talked about South Kensington, but it was to please me. As far as she is concerned, she is happy if I am out in the air. She hates me to be cooped up as much as I hate it myself; and this will do me more good than fifty museums.”

So we “made for the country,” and a long time we were getting to it I thought, though the horses raged along as if it were a matter of life and death to be back punctually to lunch. The people on the pavements stared at us a great deal, particularly the men, two of whom, after nodding to Regy, stood quite still to survey us through their eye-glasses as we passed. I touched the horses with the whip, and nearly lost my command of them, so indignant was I at this cool impertinence. “If those are your friends, I don’t think much of their manners,” I remarked, as I tugged with main and might to keep my hands still.

“They are struck by the way you drive, Kitty,” said Regy, laughing, “and by the uncommon pretty picture you make, sitting up here, in that jolly little hat. I should stare at you myself if I were in their place.”

“Not in that rude way, I hope. If you did, I should never speak to you again,” I retorted, still indignant, but mollified.

So we went on and on; and my spirits rose in the freshness of the morning and the freedom growing around me. The horses gradually subsided to a steady pace, and my hands and arms became more used to the strain they put upon them. I was conscious that I was proving myself a good whip; and, altogether, I so enjoyed myself that I never thought how the time went. My cousin and I had a good deal of conversation, particularly in the quieter parts of the road, and became very confidential about our respective families and affairs. I was in such spirits that I must have talked to the little groom, if no one else had been there; but Regy was as ready to talk as I was, and made himself infinitely more companionable and amusing than ever his sisters had done. He asked me many questions about Australia, and particularly about my father’s property; and then he informed me that his own “governor” had been glued to the desk and stool ever since he was a lad, and had been anxious to put his (Regy’s) nose to the grindstone also, but that he “wasn’t going to touch that beastly city business, not if he knew it.” Then he waxed communicative about Bertha and Bella, the former of whom he likened to Miss Arabella Green in the “Lays of Ind,” describing her career for two or three seasons past as a systematic husband-hunt, in which she had descended in a graduated scale from seedy lords and baronets, and merchant millionaires, to curates and doctors, and poor subalterns in marching regiments, and such like, at which she had heretofore turned up her nose. “She’s after old Damer now,” said he calmly; “but he don’t see it, I fancy. If he fails her, she will take to Wiggles. I think it’s very likely Wiggles may succumb, if he doesn’t propose to Bella first, for he’s been living to a pretty tune lately, to pretend to us all that he’s a gentleman, and he is no end hard-up. They are both coming to dine to-night. If you look out, you’ll see her little game as plain as the nose on your face.”

“I shall do nothing of the kind,” I answered, indignantly; “and if you don’t know better than to talk of your own sister in that way, Regy, you ought. Now, I won’t hear any more. Turn the conversation, if you please. Don’t you think those green tints in the hedges and gardens lovely?”

“I suppose they are, Miss Chamberlayne, but they don’t strike me as remarkable. I suppose you have never seen a green tree before? Yours are grey, aren’t they?”

I set him right upon that point, and then I got telling him about Australian scenery—how it was late autumn now at Narraporwidgee, the green grass springing, and full of mushrooms, and the rivers and creeks rising; how mother would have been storing her winter pears and apples, and cherishing the last of her grapes, and tying down her batches of quince jelly and tomato sauce; and how father would have been carrying his gun on his shoulder as he went about the run, on the chance of starting a promiscuous hare. And then I paused to think of somebody else (whom I would not name to any Goodeve of them all on any consideration), and of what he would be doing. Whereupon Regy took up his parable again. He talked about autumn from his English point of view, and of the good seasons and bad seasons that he had experienced—what a nuisance it was to get shooting in Kent when the season was early and the crops were harvested in August, so that the young partridges were so scared and wild that you couldn’t get near them; and what a worse calamity it was to be invited to a jolly place in Scotland, and to find when you got there that that beastly climate had kept everything from ripening, so that the birds hid away in the standing corn, and the farmers made no end of a row if you or your dogs trampled over it after them, though it might be twenty times September, etc.

So we approached Richmond; and, as the inhabitants began to show themselves in the quiet road, I asked Regy to take the reins, not because I was tired, but because I did not like to be stared at; and he very handsomely acknowledged that I had vindicated my reputation, and that he would never doubt my ability to do anything any more.

“And now, Kitty,” said he, as we were climbing the street, for the first time at walking pace, “it is much later than I thought, and you’ll want some lunch. Shall we put up the horses for half an hour, and have something at the inn?”

“I certainly do feel hungry,” I replied. “I’d rather not go to the inn. Can’t we get something at a shop, and go and sit in the park and eat it?”

“Hardly,” he said, laughing in gentle derision. And at that moment we passed by the trees of the terrace, under which nursemaids and children were sitting and playing, and I saw for the first time that enchanting picture of the valley of the Thames, in its morning beauty and all its early summer colours, and for a few seconds I felt as if my breath had been taken away.

“Oh, Regy,” I burst out, clasping my hands together, “was there ever, ever anything like that?”

“Yes, isn’t it pretty?” said he, smiling at my enthusiasm. “I don’t think it any great shakes myself, because I’ve seen the Mississippi, and Niagara, and the Rhine, and all those places; but most people go into raptures over it. Aunt Kate thinks, like you, that it beats everything. I suppose the old Thames is as fine a river as many, after all.”

“A river!” I echoed, thinking of that little watercourse between Narraporwidgee and Booloomooloo, over which the gum-trees shook hands, and which was crossed by fallen logs in all directions. “Oh Regy, what a river!” I wondered if Tom had ever seen it from this point; and I mentally determined that, when the time came for him to ask me where I would like to spend my honeymoon, I would propose a sojourn in Richmond, that we might come and sit on the terrace every day.

I gazed and gazed, until Regy and his horses got fidgety together, and the former reverted to the previous question. “You’d better let me take you to the Star and Garter, Kitty, and get you some lunch. It won’t take any time, and these poor little beggars”—indicating the horses—“will be glad of a mouthful, too.”

When he mentioned the horses I had nothing more to say, for I had been brought up to a sense of the sacred duty of taking care of those valuable commodities, and they were his, and I was, in a manner, his guest. But it was with great reluctance that I dismounted from my seat and allowed him to lead me into the hotel, feeling instinctively that the nature of the excursion was changed.

“Sit down and rest yourself, Kitty,” said he, brightly, coming towards me down the long room, after a short conference with a waiter at the door.

“No, thank you,” I replied, nervously; “I’m not tired. I suppose we shall not wait more than a few minutes?”

“Oh, no—they are very quick, these people. Lunch will be on the table in a moment. But you may as well make yourself comfortable; take off your hat, won’t you?”

“Oh dear no, thank you. Regy, you are not going to have a sit-down lunch for me, I hope? A glass of wine and a biscuit is all I care for—really.”

“A biscuit—nonsense!” said Regy; “you just now said you were hungry.” And then a waiter came in and cut short my protest. The table was laid—very quickly, it is true, but with all the appointments of a formal meal. Regy stood on the hearthrug and put his hands in his pockets, and meanwhile surveying me with such an aggravating smile under his little silky moustache that, though I was angry to feel myself at a disadvantage, I scorned to let him suppose I thought the matter of the least consequence. I turned to look out of the window on that lovely, lovely valley, and I asked him some questions as to the various objects in the landscape, but somehow I had not the same heart to admire it now, for I kept saying to myself, “Mother would not like me to be here alone with Regy—I am sure she would not like it.” However, I could not help it now, and I did not know how much it really mattered. The dishes were placed on the table, and our chairs handed for us; I was ravenously hungry, and some fish was uncovered just under my nose, smoking hot in its white napkin, that was more delicious than anything I had ever tasted. Though I was not quite easy in my mind I made an excellent meal, and felt all the better for it.

“Have some pâté, Kitty,” urged Regy, as I rose and took my gloves from my pocket.

“No, thank you, Regy.”

“Well, have some fruit. These are early nectarines—the first of the season.”

“No, I have finished, thank you; and I do think, Regy, we ought to be going. Mother will be getting very anxious about me,” I pleaded earnestly. “I am sorry I came now I see how long we have been.”

“Oh, don’t say that, Kitty; it has been the very jolliest morning I ever spent. But I’ll have the horses round at once.”

He had them round, and we left the room together. On our way out we passed a group of gentlemen; and one of them, moving backwards, brushed against me, and apologised. Something in his voice was familiar to me, but I was too much preoccupied with my hurry to get out of doors to think about it until afterwards. When I found myself once more in the open air, I was easy in my mind again. I enjoyed the drive home, though the afternoon was warm and bright and I had no sunshade to soften the glare on my head. I did not drive now; I sat at my ease, and looked at the people we passed, and at the carriages, which, as we drew nearer London, seemed to be setting in the direction of Richmond like a tide. Regy was rather silent, and took out his watch now and then.

“I hope you won’t get into disgrace, Kitty,” he said, at last, when we were once more in the neighbourhood of his paternal roof.

“Why should I?” I asked; and I thought he took rather a liberty when he made the suggestion.

“If I were you,” he went on, “I wouldn’t say anything about the Star and Garter, Kitty; we’ll keep that dark, shall we?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, proudly, lifting my head in the air. But I felt that I was one tingling blush to the very soles of my feet.

“Oh, all right—I didn’t mean anything. Only I thought your mother would be vexed, perhaps,” he said, a little tartly.