CHAPTER XXI.—THE EVENING OF THE SAME DAY.
Luncheon—a dreadful hot luncheon—luncheon enough for four hungry men, at least; and Alice had a headache. Of course she could not touch a bit, so she listlessly nibbled a biscuit, and sipped half a glass of wine, and felt very lonely and uncomfortable, and sat down to think—which was just the very worst thing she could have done under the circumstances, for it brought on a second attack of the “neglected wife” state of feeling; and she had actually proceeded so far, that she was about mentally to convict Harry (that matrimonial phoenix) of positive selfishness, when the enormity of the idea horrified her, and produced an instantaneous re-action, and she told herself, roundly and sharply, that she was ungrateful in the extreme, and weak, and childish and vacillating, and altogether unworthy of such a blessing of a husband as Harry Coverdale. And thus, having taken herself severely to task, and repented and confessed, and promising amendment for the future, yet refused herself absolution, she recovered sufficiently to determine that she would do something energetic to dissipate reflection, though of what nature the deed was to be, she had not the smallest conception. Should she order the carriage, and pay visits?—no, impossible! they were all first visits to a set of total strangers, and she could no more call upon them alone than she could fly: besides she would be lost in that great carriage all by herself, and the horses would be sure to avail themselves of the opportunity to shy and run away, if Harry were not there to protect her. She knew the white-legged horse had a spite against her, for when she wanted to pat his nose one day, he tried to bite her—what a wonderful thing instinct was, to be sure! No, she would go and take a brisk walk, that would rouse her, and do her headache good; besides, she could have the dear dogs for company—oh, yes! a walk by all means. Where should she go?—why, across the fields to visit Mrs. Markum, and see how the little stranger looked in his gorgeous apparel, and learn whether mother or son wanted for anything. Harry would like her to do that, he was so fond of Markum. Ah, Alice! had you no mental reservation?—did not a hope lurk in the bottom of your heart that at the gamekeeper’s cottage you might possibly catch a glimpse of his master, calling in for dry shoes, or a relay of powder and shot? Poor, loving little Alice, ashamed to confess, even to herself, the depth and strength of her affection!—silly little Alice, jealous even of her involuntary rivals, the partridges, who would gladly have dispensed with the attentions her husband was paying them!—weak, foolish, little Alice!—and yet more truly wise in such loving folly, stronger in the weakness of such tender womanly devotion, nearer the Divine ideal, whence God who made man in his own image formed woman as a help meet for him, than the most self-engrossed esprit fort who ever confused herself and others by prating of things above her comprehension.
So Alice set out for her solitary ramble, taking with her Pepper and Ginger, which (although the former was often found in a pretty pickle, and would have been wholly inappropriate in a bream tart; and the latter, judging by the appearance of a very red tongue, was decidedly “hot i’ the mouth”) were not a couple of spicy condiments, but a brace of Skye terriers. The dogs were in charming spirits, which they displayed by running after and barking at respectable blackbirds seeking their frugal “diet of worms;” coming back in eccentric and violent circles, to twitch the ends of Alice’s boa and the corners of her shawl, only to dash away again and lose themselves, by forcing burglarious entrances into forbidden rabbit-burrows, with the vicious intention of worrying the timid inmates, in their little brown coats with practical jokes of tails. And here be it observed parenthetically, that of all the freaks of nature, the unexpected way in which she has seen fit to turn up rabbits’ tails, and to line them with white, to the great disfigurement and personal hazard of the owners, has always appeared to us one of the strangest, and only to be accounted for by the hypothesis of a chronic practical joke. Whether this idea enhanced the fun Pepper and Ginger had with the rabbits during that expedition, or whether it never occurred to them, is more than we can tell; but the extent to which those dogs persisted in burying themselves alive, and harassing their mistress by a succession of these amateur extramural interments, almost justifies us in supposing it must have done so.
Having at last succeeded in reducing her four-footed torments to such a measure of obedience that, when thoroughly tired of scampering and scratching, they condescended to follow her, Alice entered a grass field, and had walked half across it ere she discovered the alarming fact that there were some cows grazing in it; one of which she, to her intense discomposure, immediately decided to be a bull, because, as she afterwards graphically described it, “it moo’d so low down its throat that it almost growled at her.” Of course all bulls being mad, and a mad bull being enough to frighten anybody, Alice began to run; which feat of activity (or activity of feet, if any reader should prefer the phrase so transposed) charmed the dogs—who thought she did it for their express delectation—to such an extent, that they began to bark furiously, which frightened the cow (for despite her base voice, she was a “very” cow after all, and fortunately a quiet one into the bargain), so that, exalting her tail, and twisting it like a corkscrew for the greater effect, she also set off running, thereby adding to Alice’s terror to such a degree, that, if a providential stile had not mercifully rescued her, the consequences might have been serious. This last “spirt,” however, brought her to Markum’s cottage, where she found the baby in a great state of slobbering splendour—very red, ugly, and promising, and altogether (as an assistant old lady, not to say hag, rather the worse for something that had dropped into her tea out of the gin-bottle, and who, from the accident, was in an extensive condition of maudlin and inappropriate Christianity, piously observed), a “little crowing mercy.” Having done her duty by this young child—that is, having said it was very pretty, which, to speak mildly, was untrue—and a very fine child, which, as far as regarded its dress, it certainly was—and exactly like its father, which was an awful——well, never mind, pious fraud we’ll call it,—Alice tipped the inappropriate Christian half-a-crown (in exchange for which she received a tipsy blessing), and took leave, having obtained geographical instructions by which she might, on her homeward route, avoid the proximity of the basso profundo cow.
The walk back (with the trifling exception of an episode wherein Ginger disturbed the tenants of a wasps’-nest) proved singularly uneventful, and Alice, in her secret soul, pronounced the whole expedition a failure—which, as it had cured her headache, was very ungrateful of her; but she was so engrossed by a little pain about the heart, which nothing but her husband’s return could cure, that she had entirely forgotten her headache.
The hall clock struck four as its mistress entered—four o’clock, two long hours to dinner-time! the time when Harry would, that is, ought to, return; for she daresay’d he would be late, and that they should not sit down to table till half-past six, at the very earliest. What should she do to fill up this unharmonious interval? Why, as she had worked so hard all the morning, surely she had a right to amuse herself now. She would read some entertaining book, which would make her laugh and raise her spirits; for, despite her best endeavours, she was getting decidedly miserable. So to this end she opened a parcel of books from the library, and began upon a new novel, by that very talented lady, Mrs. Bluedeville, and read how a “fair and gentle girl,” brought up by a select coterie of fiendish relations, and subjected from infancy to a series of tortures, sufficient to have expended the stoutest negro, developed, under these favourable circumstances, into a perfect Houri of Paradise, with the “additional attraction” of possessing the mind, manners, erudition, and phraseology of an old Divine of the Church of England. This interesting young martyr, released from her educational Bastile, and turned out to grass for a brief space in a pleasant meadow, wherein pastured a gallant, but very moral, officer of dragoons, naturally falls in love with the same, who fortunately does not resent the liberty. Angelica, taken up from her month’s run and put to work much too heavy for her, becomes better and better, until, as might have been expected, she overdoes the thing, and getting too good to live, has nothing left for it but to die, which she accordingly does on the arrival of the post which brings an account of the bold dragoon (in whom, from a fancied resemblance to Harry, Alice had taken the deepest interest) having fallen a victim to his dauntless courage, which, leading him to kill sixteen mounted Sikhs in single combat, had failed to preserve him from the vindictive fury of the seventeenth evil-disposed survivor. Strange to say this talented work, delightful as it was, failed to render Alice much more cheerful; but it succeeded in occupying her till it was time to go and dress for dinner, and for this she was grateful to the genius of Mrs. Bluedeville.
By six o’clock Alice, ready for dinner in more senses than one, betook herself to the drawing-room, where she waited patiently for half-an-hour, reading up sundry parts of Mrs. Bluedeville, which, in her rapid flight through that lady’s instructive romance, she had failed to peruse. At seven o’clock she rang the bell, and inquired of the butler whether his master had come in, or whether, if not, anything definite was known of his whereabouts. The reply was unsatisfactory in the extreme.
Master had not returned, he (Wilkins) could form no idea where he was likely to be; but, as a general maxim, considered shooting to be a highly dangerous amusement. Would Mrs. Coverdale obligingly condescend to ring the bell when she wished the dinner to be brought up?
Shooting a dangerous amusement! Yes, of course, so it was—guns constantly went off of their own accord, and shot those who were carrying them. How was it she had never thought of this before? and she had been blaming Harry, when, perhaps——the idea was too horrible to clothe in words, but it had occurred to her, and for Alice now there was no peace.
Mrs. Bluedeville was thrown aside with no more ceremony than if she had been a penny-a-liner; and with flushed cheeks and a beating heart the anxious young wife began to pace up and down the apartment. As the minutes crept by (so slowly!) Alice’s fear increased, until, at half-past seven, the suspense grew intolerable; and, ringing the bell, she was just giving incoherent orders for two mounted grooms to set off in utterly useless directions, when bang! bang! went a double-barrelled gun in the stable-yard, and Wilkins (an amiable but timid London servant) and his mistress nearly jumped into each other’s arms.
Still haunted by the conviction that something untoward must have happened, Alice hastened to meet her husband as he entered the hall. “Oh, Harry dearest, how glad I am you are safe!” she exclaimed; “but tell me,” she continued, referring to the mysterious cause of his prolonged absence, “tell me—what is it?”
“Sixteen brace of birds, three hares, two couple of rabbits, a landrail, and a woodpigeon; and a very fair bag I call it for one gun,” was the unexpected reply.
Relieved, yet slightly provoked, Alice resumed: “But what has made you so late? I have been dreadfully frightened about you—”
“Frightened! what at? oh, you silly child! But come, let us have dinner; I shall be ready in less than ten minutes. The idea of being frightened!” and with a smile of compassionate derision, Harry marched off to dress, humming—
“A southerly wind and a cloudy sky
Proclaim it a hunting morning.”
And this was Alice’s recompense for a lonely day spent in looking forward to, and longing for, her husband’s return, ending in half-an-hour of breathless anxiety for his safety! She felt decidedly cross, and we think she had a right to be so. During dinner she was silent and dignified on principle—her husband should see that she felt his neglect. But Harry didn’t see it one bit, bless him! He was very hungry, so for some time kept strictly to business, and he was very happy, so when his appetite was appeased, he rattled on about anything and everything, and was so pleasant and cheerful that Alice felt dignity would be quite out of place, had a little struggle with her feelings, and then mentally forgave him.
To prove that she did so, she laid herself out to entertain and amuse him, and with this view, when the servant had left the room, she treated him to a comic account of her day’s adventures, and having talked herself into a great state of communicativeness and sociability, had just reached the bass cow episode, when a slight sound, not very unlike the voice of the cow itself, reached her ear—Harry had fallen fast asleep!