LORD MAYOR'S DAY.
It was Lord Mayor's Day. Haggard and his wife sat in the little drawing-room of their bijou house in May Fair. The room was prettily furnished, and Georgie had often accused herself of extravagance. The regulation chairs and tables of the furnished house had been banished from Mrs. Haggard's drawing-room. It had been a pleasure to choose the various tasteful specimens of the upholsterer's art. The nesting faculty is perhaps even more strongly developed in young married ladies than in birds; young Mrs. Haggard was no exception to this rule. Many had been the happy pilgrimages made by Georgie and her lover, for Haggard was her lover still, to the great firm in Pall Mall and to the world-famed house in Bond Street.
"Pick up what you like, my dear, and make our drawing-room, your drawing room, as pretty as you please; nothing can be good enough in the little kingdom in which my Georgie deigns to reign."
But sugared compliments and furniture-buying cannot go on for ever. A pile of invitations attested the Haggards' popularity. Dance-giving mammas were anxious to secure the success of their entertainments by obtaining the presence of "lovely Mrs. Haggard."
A well-known professional beauty in the heyday of her charms was "sitting-out" at a great ball, the observed of all observers, in a dos-à-dos causeuse with a Royal Highness.
"And is your Royal Highness also a worshipper at the shrine of budding bucolic beauty? I mean pretty Mrs. Haggard," said the spoilt darling of society, as with a little moue she had indicated Georgie, who entered the room on her husband's arm. The good-natured prince glanced carelessly in the direction indicated; his lazy eyes sparkled as he quickly replied in a tone of reproof:
"Pretty is not the word, Mrs. Charmington; if that is the lady you allude to, she is lovely, absolutely lovely, and must count amongst her admirers every member of the human race who has had the happy privilege of beholding her." His Royal Highness rose.
Mrs. Charmington hastened to spread the report that his Royal Highness was seriously smitten.
"Royals ripen early, I suppose; naturally they age as quickly; perhaps his Royal Highness is arriving at a second childhood, and his heart turns to people of the Dolly the Dairymaid type."
But in her first rage Mrs. Charmington had been weak enough to let out that the prince had called young Mrs. Haggard "lovely." Mrs. Charmington had received her own unsigned patent as a recognized beauty from the discriminating admiration of his Royal Highness. The fiat had gone forth, and Julia Charmington had commenced her reign. The Charmington boot and the Charmington Bouquet were very freely advertised. A reproduction of Mrs. Charmington herself decorated the interior of the omnibuses.
"Why use dangerous cosmetics when Jones' soap retains youth and health for the complexion, and fosters the development of beauty?" Underneath the portrait was a facsimile of Mrs. Charmington's fashionable scrawl, "I owe you so much, so very much. I have never used any other soap than yours. Very faithfully yours, Julia Charmington."
Ill-natured people said that Mrs. Charmington owed a great deal to Messrs. Jones. That the cheque that paid for her well-known turn-out had been signed by the firm; that they had twice paid her dress-maker's bill, when that terrible person had become importunate; that they had settled the account of Monsieur Alphonse, the great coiffeur; that they had paid her husband's debts. Some of them, more imaginative, declared that Mrs. Charmington was even a sleeping partner in the saponaceous firm. But the ill-natured people were quite wrong; it was not Messrs. Jones who paid Mrs. Charmington's bills. Little Jack Charmington, her husband, had a snug four hundred a year of his own, which quite sufficed for his modest needs. Mrs. Charmington's graceful letter had been written by her in a moment of good nature, and, it may be said in confidence, at the instigation, some eight years ago, of Big Reginald Haggard, who had looked on the whole matter as a joke, and who had, at that stormy period of his career, been very much in Mrs. Charmington's confidence. The real fact was that Mrs. Charmington kept Messrs. Jones before the public, and those astute advertisers did the same kind office for the lady.
Thus it was that Georgie became "lovely Mrs. Haggard." This is what the writers of serious books pompously call "the secret history of the whole matter."
Georgie now, to her astonishment, found her movements invariably chronicled in the society journals. It rather annoyed her than otherwise, but her husband was pleased, and that was enough for Georgie.
The lazy giant was sprawling on the most comfortable of the sofas; the pair were alone in the dainty little drawing-room. Young Mrs. Haggard's eyes were full of tears. "Won't you take me with you," she sobbed appealingly, "it's only for six months, Reginald?"
"I can't, my darling; it's a beast of a climate, and the mosquitos would eat you up. I shall only be away for six months; you know I have made up my mind to get rid of the whole bag of tricks. It's quite true the land can't run away, but there are always rows and revolutions and smashes going on; you can't trust anybody. Of course, Georgie, I should like you to go; but think of the risk. It won't wash at all. We'll stay over Christmas here in England. I suppose I must take you down to see the old man, and then we'll go straight off to Rome, and finish the winter there. I'm getting rather bored, you know, Georgie, with the fuss people make in town. It's deuced fine fun for you of course."
The fact was that this excellent husband hated playing second fiddle, and he found, to his astonishment, that young Mrs. Haggard's social success had far eclipsed that of Georgie Warrender. As a good-looking young bachelor, though a detrimental, he had been very popular. As a wealthy parti and a sort of lion he had been the fashion himself the previous season, and to his own knowledge his curly hair and big moustache had caused a quicker beating of the heart in many a female breast. But as Beauty's husband he felt out of his element. "You lucky beggar!" had been repeated to him so often that he hated the phrase. Of course, he still admired his wife as the handsomest woman he had ever clapped eyes upon; he wasn't even jealous of the great attention that Georgie habitually received. First, because he knew he could trust her implicitly; but secondly, and this was far the more powerful reason, because he was too much a man of the world ever to render himself ridiculous.
"You know we can have rather a jolly time of it in Rome, Georgie," he said. "You must by this time be as heartily sick of the eternal tête-à-tête as I am. I don't mean that," he said, springing to his feet as he noticed that his young wife shuddered and turned pale; "but the fact is, Georgie, I don't want to be pointed at like poor old Jack Charmington, and I confess, dear," he added with a smile, "that I should like a little more of 'lovely Mrs. Haggard's' society."
A very little crust thrown to the very hungry is always accepted with gratitude. Georgie Haggard brightened up at once. "I suppose I must make the best of it, dear," she said with a pleased smile; "at all events, I shall have you all to myself in Rome."
"Yes; it will be quite a second honey-moon; but I half promised your cousin Lucy that she should join us. It'll be beastly dull for her at The Warren, you see, poor girl; and she doesn't seem to jump at Spunyarn, though he does hang on. Is there any one else in the wind, do you think, Georgie?" he said with some interest.
"No; Lucy seems perfectly heartwhole," replied his wife.
"I often wonder you two hit it off so well," mused Haggard as he gazed into the blue flames that flickered over the little wood fire, for his wife affected a wood fire as more cheerful. "Why, Lucy has been your only serious competitor this season; I wonder you aren't jealous of each other."
"How can you talk such nonsense, Reginald?" the wife replied with a sunny laugh.
"Then you don't mind her coming with us on the Roman trip?"
It showed that Mrs. Haggard had considerable confidence in her own attractions, as she innocently replied, "If you don't mind, why should I, dear?"
"Well, then it's all settled, old girl; we'll put in the dull time in Italy. Old Pit Town knows lots of good people, and would give us letters, I suppose. In the spring I'll just rush across and polish off the Mexican affair."
His gaze again returned to the fire which smouldered on the hearth.
There was a silence.
Gradually Haggard raised his eyes; they rested on his wife, they took her in from head to foot, and seemed to appraise each of her numerous points. The husband's countenance was lighted up by a pleased expression.
"By Jove! Georgie," he said, "people are quite right; you are an uncommonly fine woman."
He kissed her.
It was the kiss of proprietorship, similar to the appreciative pat he would have given to a prize dog or a valuable horse that was his own property.
Yes, Georgie loved the man, and looked up at him with wistful, trusting eyes. She was his, body and soul.
But the door opens, and a peal of merry laughter caused Haggard and his wife to subside into seats on either side of the fireplace.
"Oh, Georgie! I'm so sorry you missed it, it's been such fun, and Mr. Sleek has been so attentive. I really think the two girls thought I was setting my cap at their father. What with the procession outside, and the farce indoors, we've had a delightful morning," cried Lucy Warrender, as she entered the room.
"I fear it was rather a tragedy to poor little Sleek," said Lord Spunyarn, who followed her; "a tiger when a-lashing of his tail was nothing to Sleek. I shall never forget the look he gave me after lunch."
"When inflamed with love and wine, you know," said Lucy pertly. "Behold his scalp."
Lucy triumphantly extended an enormous formal bouquet. Alas, for poor little Sleek! his flowers were carelessly tossed upon the table.
"Oh, they were very confidential, you know," lisped Spunyarn; "I was quite out in the cold."
"Ungrateful man, when you had a window all to yourself, and a smiling Miss Sleek on either side of you, gazing into your eyes. You neglected your opportunities, Lord Spunyarn. Let me tell you that the daughters of my last conquest are two very pretty girls."
"Not when Miss Warrender is present."
"I rather think you forgot Miss Warrender's presence," retorted the coquette.
"Anyhow, two's company and three isn't, you'll all allow that. How happy could I have been with either were t'other dear charmer away."
"Did they both propose to you, Lord Spunyarn?" said Mrs. Haggard with a smile.
"If I were a vain man I should confess that they rather gave themselves away."
"Much as Hanibal Peter Gray did for love of the beautiful cannibal," said Lucy.
"Oh, they were quite safe in my case, not being a mangeur de cœurs," replied the discreet young nobleman. "But my attention was not sufficiently absorbed by those guileless girls that I failed to perceive the doings of the other couple."
"You are quite wrong, as usual. Mr. Sleek was merely explaining who the various people were."
"In that case, Miss Warrender, he might at least have given us all the benefit of his information, instead of conveying it in an inaudible whisper to Miss Warrender's private ear. And he needn't have blushed till he looked like a pickled cabbage."
"It's not fair, Lucy," said Mrs. Haggard reprovingly, with an attempt at matronly dignity.
"Well, you know," laughed the girl, "it wasn't my fault. Spunyarn declined to come to the rescue. There I was, practically tête-à-tête with the man; the noise of the crowd drowned my cries and remonstrances. Besides, after the scalp, and the elaborate lunch which was awaiting us in the middle of the room, I felt myself bound to listen to the voice of the charmer. I was cheered, too, by Lord Spunyarn's masterly defeat of Dabbler. Poor Dabbler!"
"'Pon my word, I didn't know it. When we came in there was a fat man messing with the things on the table. He was dressed like a waiter, and he looked like one—a regular City waiter, you know. He held out his hand. Of course, I gave him my hat and coat. He has no business to dress like a waiter and to hold out his hand."
"Lord Spunyarn, he is a common councilman, and he is going to dine with the Lord Mayor," cried Lucy.
"All the same, he has no business to be dressed like a waiter in the morning, if even he be a common councilman and going to dine with the Lord Mayor. Anyhow, he took the hat and coat, and then, thank heaven, he bolted."
"What's Dabbler to him, or he to Dabbler, that he should weep?" misquoted Georgie's husband, who had enjoyed Dabbler's discomfiture.
"It's all very well for you all to laugh, but Mr. Sleek didn't seem to like it at all. What did he mean by saying that Mr. Dabbler was a warm man?" asked Lucy.
"Oh, piles of money of course; all the common councilmen have piles of money," said Spunyarn.
"And do they all dress like waiters in the morning, and then dine with the Lord Mayor?"
"Yes. I suppose it's an old City custom, you know. Anyhow they always dine with the Lord Mayor. That's what they die of."
"And now I have something to tell you, Lucy," said Mrs. Haggard. "It's all been decided. After the Christmas festivities at the Castle we are to go to Rome, and we hope you will come too."
Lucy clapped her hands with girlish glee. "Go with you, Georgie dear? Of course I will. How good of you to ask me." The girl was evidently delighted.
"And have you the heart, Miss Warrender, to leave me, Mr. Sleek, and your other countless admirers, here in England to 'dree our weary weirds alone?'"
And so the idle talk ran on. The Italian trip was discussed, and considerable ignorance of geography was, as is usual, manifested by all present. Lucy expressed her disappointment, on being informed that there were now no brigands in Italy, save those behind the shop counters, or in the choruses of the opera.
A trim maid then brought in the tea equipage, and Georgie did the honours with her usual unaffected grace.
And now Parson Dodd and his sister were announced. The Dodds presented a rather dishevelled appearance. They, too, had seen the Lord Mayor's Show. But the vicar, in a moment of weakness, had yielded to Anastatia's wish to see something of the real Londoner, whom "dear Dickens has described so well," as she had put it.
Great had been her indignation at the want of respect shown to the Reverend John Dodd's cloth. With horror she had heard her brother addressed by a disreputable costermonger in a mangy fur cap, as "Old pal." And though the Reverend John stood all unmoved in the surging crowd, muscular pillar of the Church that he was, it was only by clutching him very tightly that poor Anastatia preserved herself from annihilation. She had seen the Lord Mayor's Show indeed, but at what a price! The long grey cloak which she wore, a sort of semi-religious garb which Miss Dodd, as a clergyman's sister, affected, had been splashed with mud and creased into a thousand wrinkles. Her maiden feet, which had never felt the sacrilegious touch of the toe of obtrusive appreciation, had been trampled on by an exhilarated London mob. And after several hours of agony, just as the Lord Mayor was actually passing, she had heard and felt a horrid rending, crackling sound, and had almost shrieked into her awe-stricken brother's ear, "Oh, Jack, I'm gone at the gathers!" What she meant neither the Reverend John Dodd, or any other male person, could ever truly know. But evidently something dreadful had occurred. "Take me back, Jack; take me back to Mrs. Haggard's at once," the poor little woman had pleaded to the parson. He got her into a cab at last, and they had reached the Haggards' house in May Fair, at which, they were stopping for the night. But Georgie Haggard came to the poor lady's rescue; she and her cousin bore her off to her hostess's own quarters, where she detailed her sufferings to their sympathizing ears. Eau de Cologne was duly dabbed upon her temples, strong tea was administered, but at length the wounded feelings of the vicar's sister found vent in a little gentle fit of sobbing, and she was accordingly put to bed.
"What possessed me I can't imagine," said the Reverend Jack to his two male friends; "we were quite comfortable at first, you know," said poor Jumbo, warm with the remembrance of his numerous humiliations. "I had put Anastatia on a bench; the man made an exceedingly moderate charge of threepence. I gave him sixpence, and strange to say he had no change. I didn't like to be done; the man urged me to occupy one place that was yet vacant; my evil genius prompted me to do so. Alas! I had no sooner stepped upon the frail structure when it suddenly and unaccountably gave way in the middle. I was precipitated to the ground in a sitting posture. Anastatia was fortunately unhurt, but she was much frightened. Those who had paid for the use of the bench demanded their money from me; while the miserable proprietor, who had previously been most respectful, in a truculent manner, and with horrible menaces, claimed a sovereign, and on my declining to comply with his extortionate demand, he actually offered to fight me, me a clergyman of the Church of England. From a sense of justice, I hastened to remunerate those who had been deprived of their coign of vantage, but, alas! the claimants were innumerable; every man and boy in my vicinity declared that he had paid for a place. The mob cheered me with derisive epithets. The climax was reached when a most offensive policeman in a dictatorial manner ordered me to 'Move on.' The Church of England, in my person, was ordered to 'move on.' I attempted to remonstrate, but I and the proprietor of the broken bench were both suddenly propelled by the Jack in-office into a bye street, and I discovered, to my horror, that I had lost Anastatia. Of course I had to satisfy the ruffian's insolent demands, but I did so under protest. The officer, however, now became more civil, and I, fortunately, with his assistance, was able to rescue my sister from the mob. I will take another cup of tea, if you please. Thank you, three lumps. I have seen the Lord Mayor's Show, never again will I assist at that degrading spectacle."
In vain did Haggard and Lord Spunyarn attempt to reassure the indignant vicar. Only on the return of Mrs. Haggard and Lucy did the Reverend John Dodd become comparatively tranquil. Under the soothing influence of beauty, however, the vicar forgot his woes.
