London's Heart: A Novel

CHAPTER XXVIII

LIZZIE IN HER NEW HOME

There is no telling nowadays where London ends and the country commences. It is difficult to realize that quite recently in our history, within the last three hundred years indeed, the Strand was bush and garden, and that Westminster and Islington were made pleasant by green woods and fields. Then, houses were few and far between; now, they are so thickly clustered that (animated, perhaps, by the spirit of their inhabitants) they seem to be poking their elbows into each other's ribs, and to be jealous of one another. So, for rest and quiet, we must away from these busy thoroughfares.

The course of our story, however, does not carry us very far from London's centre; and although the house at which we stop is in a pretty and quiet neighbourhood, and is old-fashioned and delightfully irregular in its outlines, the shriek of the iron horse is heard within its walls a dozen times an hour. It is a small house in one of the suburbs, with garden all round it, just such a house (or at least she says it is) as Lizzie saw among the flowers when Muzzy proposed that they should live together. Lizzie is bustling about the house now, singing as she runs up and down-stairs, and old Muzzy-henceforth to be dignified by the name of Musgrave-looks up from the table, upon which are a number of letters and circulars, and listens to her blithe voice. He has discovered already that Lizzie is a capital little housewife; that she can cook and market without the slightest fuss, and without taking any particular merit to herself for those accomplishments. Lizzie, indeed, is fond of work; she is busy all day long, and it is evident that her sewing-machine is not allowed to rust.

It is the day after the excursion to Hampton Court. It was quite eleven o'clock of the previous night when Mr. Musgrave, sitting in the parlour waiting anxiously for Lizzie's return, heard voices at the garden gate in front of the house. He went to the street-door, and stood quietly with the handle in his hand. "Good-night," he heard Lizzie cry; "and don't forget-on Thursday!" A low voice replied in words that Mr. Musgrave did not hear, and then there was pleasant laughter, and "Good-night!" "Good-night!" a dozen times repeated. After that Mr. Musgrave, opening the street-door, saw Lizzie standing by the gate waving her handkerchief. When they were in the house, Lizzie declared that she was too tired to tell him the day's adventures; that she had spent a very happy day, and that she was sleepy, and wanted to go to bed and think.

"I will tell you all about it to-morrow, daddy," she said, and kissed him and wished him good-night.

Now, sitting in what may be termed the back parlour, he is waiting to hear Lizzie's account of her adventures the previous day. The window in this room looks out on the garden at the rear of the house. At the end of the garden is a cozy little summer-house, with just sufficient room for four persons to sit embowered "in mossy shade."

Lizzie, coming into the room, tells him what there is for dinner and that it will soon be ready, and asks him for the twentieth time if all this isn't delightful.

"But," she adds, "do you think it will last, daddy?"

"Why shouldn't it, Lizzie?" he asks in return.

"I don't know," she replies, with somewhat of a serious look in her face. "It seems strange when you come to think of it. I couldn't help wondering about it last night in bed."

"Wondering in what way, Lizzie?"

"Just tell me if I am wrong in something you once said to me. You said you hadn't known Mr. Sheldrake very long."

"I might have told you so, Lizzie."

"But it is true, isn't it, daddy?"

"Yes, it is true."

"Then I remember you once said that nobody in the world does anything without a motive."

"Go on."

"So I put this and that together. Mr. Sheldrake hasn't known you very long. What motive can he have in being so kind to you?"

"He is my master, Lizzie."

"That's no motive. So I think to myself, I wonder if it will last! You see, daddy, I am inquisitive, as all girls are, and I want to find out. And I mean to-for reasons."

He laughs at this, and says that she is an inquisitive girl indeed. What makes her so inquisitive about Mr. Sheldrake when she has never seen him?

"O, then you don't know!" she exclaims.

"Don't know what, Lizzie? You talk in riddles."

"Don't know that Mr. Sheldrake met me at a little distance from here yesterday, and went down with me to Hampton Court?"

"Lizzie!" he exclaims in a tone of alarm, which sets Lizzie's sharp eyes at work studying his face, while the serious look on hers deepens in intensity.

The thought which prompts his alarm is this: Is Mr. Sheldrake playing him false? He remembers, when Mr. Sheldrake proposed that he should turn over a new leaf, asking his master if he meant any harm to Lizzie. To that question Mr. Sheldrake had returned a scornful reply. But Lizzie's statement revives his suspicion. Her honour is as dear to him as a daughter's would have been. But how to warn her? Her high spirit would not permit of plain speaking; and besides, the subject is a delicate one, and the mere mention of it by him might be construed into a suspicion of Lizzie. She sees his trouble and perplexity, and divines the cause of it.

"Don't be frightened, daddy," she says; "Mr. Sheldrake did not make love to me. I am not his motive. A girl can soon tell, you know."

"Tell me all about your meeting with him, Lizzie-how it came about."

"He wrote me a note, telling me he wanted to give Some One-Alfred, you know-a pleasant surprise, and proposing that I should meet him and go down to Hampton Court with him. We were to keep the matter to ourselves, and I wasn't even to tell you. Well, I hesitated a little at first, thinking it wasn't quite right; but then I thought of the noble character you gave him, and I was curious to see him. And you mustn't think, daddy, that I can't take care of myself. So I told you what was the truth when I said I was going to Hampton Court to meet Some One, but I didn't tell you how it was to come about. You mustn't think ill, or have any suspicions, of Mr. Sheldrake because of what I say, for everything turned out exactly as he proposed. We went down to Hampton Court, and he left me and went for Alfred: and altogether it was one of the very happiest days I have ever spent."

"I am glad of that, Lizzie. But this doesn't bring us any nearer to Mr. Sheldrake's motive."

"Alfred's sister was there. Such a dear girl, daddy! If she wasn't Alfred's sister, I should be jealous of her, because I am sure that everybody must prefer her to me. You will fall in love with her directly you see her. Lily and I are going to be great friends; she is coming to spend the day here on Thursday. Mr. Sheldrake was very attentive to her." This with a shrewd look at Mr. Musgrave's face. But it seems as if he has not heard the last words.

"What name did you say?" he asks.

"Lily. Pretty names are they not, daddy, for brother and sister? Lily and Alfred."

"What is she like?" He does not ask the question immediately. He pauses for a little while before he speaks.

"She is about my height, but a little slighter, with such beautiful brown eyes! I can't describe her face, there is such a dreamy look upon it sometimes. You must wait until Thursday and see for yourself. But I tell you what she is; she is good."

"Does Mr. Sheldrake know she is coming?"

"Yes; he proposed it, I think."

Then he asks her to let him see Alfred's portrait which she has in her locket, and he gazes at it long and earnestly. The subject drops, and is not renewed again that day.

Ivy Cottage is the name of the house, and it has been taken furnished, at a low rent, in consequence of its having been tenantless for some time. It is understood in the neighbourhood that an old gentleman and his daughter have come to live there, and Lizzie's bright face has already attracted attention and admiration. That Mr. Sheldrake, through his friend Con Staveley, intends to make Ivy Cottage a profitable speculation is evident. Operations have been already commenced in the sporting papers, and intending speculators are implored, before investing in the two great races which are soon to take place, the Cambridgeshire and the Cesarewitch, to send twelve stamps to a certain gentleman who, according to the advertisement, might be reasonably supposed to live in a letter-box at a post-office not a mile distant from Ivy Cottage. Mr. Musgrave, going to that post-office twice a day, never comes away empty-handed. The letter-box is his Tom Tiddler's ground, where he picks up gold and silver as represented by postage-stamps. And it is not the only Tom Tiddler's ground which has been discovered by the persevering explorers. A mile from Ivy Cottage, in another direction, is another post-office, whereto sportsmen are invited to send more postage stamps to the cousin of the most successful jockey of the day, and receive in return the "straight tip" for the above mentioned races, "the greatest moral ever known." The cousin of the most successful jockey of the day is, of course, in all the stable secrets, knows the intentions of the owners of all the most celebrated horses, and offers to forfeit one thousand pounds if the horse he sends fails to win; and as his honour is unimpeachable (he says to himself), there can be no doubt that the money would be forthcoming in case of a failure. And all for a paltry eighteen penny stamps! A third Tom Tiddler's ground lies in another direction, and a fourth in another; so that Con Staveley may be said to levy contributions north, south, east, and west: it is certain that the winds that blew from every quarter blew postage stamps into Ivy Cottage.

But a more ambitious scheme than any of these is afoot-a scheme which deals in pounds instead of shillings, in post-office orders and cheques instead of penny postage stamps. This scheme comes under the head of "Discretionary Investments," which, notwithstanding that they are as distinct frauds as can be found in the criminal record, are allowed to take root and to flourish without check or hindrance. The large sums of money that are paid for long advertisements in the front pages of certain sporting newspapers by the rogues who undertake these "discretionary investments," testify to the profitable nature of their undertaking. It is amazing that such swindling systems should be allowed to flourish in the very eye of the law, which virtually protects the swindler, and laughs at the dupe.

Lizzie is in a great state of excitement until Thursday morning arrives.

"I don't exactly know what I feel like," she says on that morning; "having a house to look after is so strange and new. This is just such a house as I should like if I was settled. You know what I mean," she adds, with a sharp nod of her head at "daddy," who has looked up at the word.

"Married," he says.

"Yes; I can't imagine anything better. Home is very beautiful."

"Is Some One-Alfred-in a good position, Lizzie?"

"I don't think so; he's in a lawyer's office. But he will be very rich one day."

"Rich relations? Rich parents?"

"He has no parents. He and Lily are orphans. Father and mother both dead. And I've never heard him speak of rich relations. No; not rich that way. But he's sure to have plenty of money some day. He is very clever. Lily says so too; she is very fond of him, and would do anything for him. She told me so. Come up-stairs, daddy; I want to show you something."

He goes up-stairs with her, and she takes him into her bedroom. Everything in it is clean and fresh; there are flowers on the table, and, the window being open, a grateful perfume steals in from the garden.

"Now, look here," she says, and she opens the door of a room which leads into hers. But that is smaller, it is the very counterpart of hers.

"Now, you see what I have been so busy about, daddy. I shall call this Lily's room; although, when she comes to stop with us for a few days now and then, I shall give her my room, because it is larger."

"Is she coming to stop with us, Lizzie?"

"I hope so; some time or other. Mr. Sheldrake said what a pleasant thing it would be for me, and Alfred said so too. You don't mind, daddy?"

"Anything pleases me that is for your pleasure and happiness, my dear."

"Mind!" she exclaims, kissing him, "you must like Lily very, very much; and you must like Alfred too."

"I will try to, my dear."

"She will be here in a couple of hours, and Alfred is coming in the afternoon."

"It is unfortunate that I am not able to stop at home to see her, Lizzie; but I will try to get back in time."

"Why, daddy!" cries Lizzie, in a tone of disappointment, "you are not going away!"

"I must, my dear. Read this letter. I only received it this morning."

It is a letter from Con Staveley, desiring him to be at the office in London by a certain time, to talk over the new scheme of discretionary investments.

"How provoking!" exclaims Lizzie. "But it can't be helped, I suppose. You don't think it strange, do you?"

"I see nothing strange in it, my dear; it is a matter of business."

Lizzie gives him a queer look, and says again she supposes it can't be helped.

"Be home as soon as you can, daddy," she calls after him, as he goes out of the house.

Whatever reflections Lizzie indulges in after his departure are lost for the time in the pleasure she feels in Lily's arrival. Lily is not alone; Pollypod accompanies her.

"Grandfather did not like me to come by myself," she says to Lizzie, "so I thought I would bring little Polly with me, Polly and I are great friends."

Pollypod nods solemnly, and, after her usual fashion with new acquaintances, gazes in silence at Lizzie for a few seconds, and then, having made up her mind, raises her face to be kissed, and says, with the air of an oracle,

"I like you!"

This simple statement being received in good faith by Lizzie, they become friends instantly, and Pollypod being made free of the house wanders about it and the garden in a state of great delight, coming to the girls every now and then, "wanting to know" something or other. As for Lizzie and Lily they desire nothing better than to be left by themselves; girls, when they get together have so many important items of information to impart to each other, and so many confidences to exchange. The first thing to be done is, of course, to show Lily all over the house; and then there is a long chat in the bedroom.