Cynthia / With an Introduction by Maurice Hewlett

by Leonard Merrick

"Ah, three hours ago!... Look, it is a beautiful day, monsieur!"

Then, when the waiter had let in the sunshine and gone, Kent would rise, and find Cynthia either busily stirring more food over the fire, or preparing the boy's bath. Afterwards she would carry him into the little enclosure opposite, and, what with her unfamiliarity with a nurse's duties and the makeshifts that she was put to, it often seemed to her that this was the only time during the day that she was free to sit down.

Their meals were all served in Kent's bedroom; but just as the luncheon appeared, the baby, who was feverish and fretful, would surely cry, and she would be obliged to call out that Kent was not to wait for her. "Begin!" For dinner, she made desperate efforts. By this time the child, bathed once more, was supposed to be already asleep; and more oatmeal had to be stirred and carefully watched for five-and-twenty minutes, an operation that entailed burning cheeks and occasionally despair, since the saucepan had a habit of boiling over without warning and requiring to be filled and stirred for twenty-five minutes again. When the task was achieved, there followed a hurried attempt to make herself look cool and nice before the soup arrived—Kent was apt to be irritable if she was not ready—and providing the baby did not wake at the last moment and prevent her going in after all, the dinner-hour was very agreeable.

Thanks to the chambermaid, they had been able to dispense with the tallow candles at sixpence each, and had obtained a lamp, which was much more cheerful. The vin compris had turned out to be rather good, too, and after the appalling meals at the Garins' the cuisine struck them as quite first-rate. Not infrequently, when the coffee was brought in, they sent down for liqueurs, and their evenings, despite the worry of the day, and their ignorance where the money was coming from to pay the bill, were very jolly.

Beaufort's expectations were still unrealised. On Tuesday he was certain "Things would be right on Thursday," and on Thursday, with undiminished confidence, he repeated, "Early in the week." The proprietress of the hotel was a huge red woman, who had been a low-class domestic servant. The "gracious service unexpressed" by which she had attained her present prosperity, the squinting chambermaid did not know, and she added, with a grin and a grimace, that it was really very difficult to conjecture it. The flaming countenance and belligerent eye of the proprietress would, in the circumstances, have scared Kent from the door, had she been visible when he came there to arrange, and on Friday night he slept uneasily. She presented the bill next morning at nine o'clock, and at twelve sent him a message that she wished it to be settled at once. His interview with her was eminently unpleasant, and on Monday, when the fire for the child was not laid and Cynthia inquired the reason, she learnt that the woman had forbidden the servant to take up any fuel.

But for Nanette, their position would now have been untenable. She smuggled wood to the room; pacified her mistress by the recital of imaginary telegrams picked up on monsieur Kent's floor; and finally, squeezing Cynthia's hand one afternoon, offered to bring down some money that she had saved out of her wages. This was the last straw. Cynthia put her arms round her neck and kissed her; and when Humphrey came home and she told him what had happened, they both felt that to have to decline such a loan and wish that it could be accepted, was about the deepest humiliation to which it was possible for people to sink.

They were mistaken, but it was the lowest point that they themselves were called upon to touch. The day following, Beaufort telegraphed, asking Humphrey to meet him at the Cabaret Lyonnais, where, at a moderate price, he ordered a little dinner of supreme excellence. Billy had not had his loan made yet—that, he said buoyantly, was "certain for next week"—but he had had a lucky night at baccarat. And after the benedictine he pulled out a bundle of notes on to the table of the shabby restaurant and, beaming with rectitude, paid his debt in full.

With a cigar in his mouth and delight bubbling in his veins, Kent jumped into a cab, and, having rattled to the rue des Soeurs Filandières, threw their receipt and the remainder of the money into Cynthia's lap. She nearly dropped the baby with astonishment, and though they were unable to go out anywhere, it was perhaps the liveliest night that they had spent in Paris. After adding the Garins' account, and the cost of their return, and a present to Nanette, it was momentarily disconcerting to perceive how few of the notes would be left; but the relief was so enormous that their spirits speedily arose again, and, extravagant as it was, they ordered champagne, and invited Nanette to share it.

Kent recovered their luggage the next morning, and the morning after that they departed for London. They had heard in the meanwhile that the Walfords could easily put them up until No. 64 was ready for them. The journey without a nurse was awkward, and though it had been essential to go to the Walfords', Kent was chagrined to reflect that her absence would have to be explained. Compared with the crossing from Newhaven, this passage was, to Cynthia, who had to remain below all the time, a long voyage; when they reached Victoria at last, she felt that she would have given a good deal to be going to the Grosvenor Hotel. Strawberry Hill was gained about nine o'clock, and Kent found the house a pathetic descent from The Hawthorns. Mr. and Mrs. Walford, however, were not unamiable, and as they did not refer to the absence of the nurse otherwise than by inquiring how soon he expected to replace her; he concluded that his wife had anticipated their surprise and discounted it more or less dexterously in her letters.

"So the paper was a failure?" said Walford, when the excitement of the entrance had subsided. "Oh, well, you will be able to get something to do here, I dare say, before long. What do you think of the house? Not so bad, eh?"