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"You may," I answered; "you are kind, I am greatly obliged to you. I will own that I was cross for a moment – you hurt my pride; but you may do what you like in future, my pride shall not rise in a hurry again." I held out my hand, he took it and wrung it. I ran upstairs, mother was sitting before her fire. She looked sweet, and her eyes were bright, and there was a new strength in her voice.
"We have had a delightful evening," she said. "I hope you are not tired, my darling."
"I am quite fresh," I answered. "I am so pleased you enjoyed it."
"I did, dearest; did you?"
"Yes, and no," I answered; "but if you are happy I am."
"Sit down by me, Westenra. Let us talk a little of what has just happened."
I humoured her, of course. Mr. Randolph's words had rather alarmed me. Did he see more ill-health about mother than I had noticed? was he seriously anxious about her? But now as she sat there she seemed well, very well, not at all tired, quite cheerful, and like her own self. She took my hand.
Jane – dear, active, industrious Jane – had gone early to bed, but a little supper had been left ready for mother. She tasted some of the jelly, then laid the spoon down by her plate.
"You were rude to Mr. Randolph at dinner, West," she said.
"I am sorry if I vexed you," I answered.
"But what had he done to annoy you?"
"I could not bear him to send that carriage. It was so unsuitable, servants in livery and those splendid horses; and all the boarders did stare so. It seemed quite out of keeping with our present lot. But never mind, Mummy, he may bring any carriage – the Lord Mayor's, if you like – only don't look so unhappy." I felt the tears had come into my voice, but I took good care they should not reach my eyes. I bent and kissed mother on her cheek.
"You want your old life, your dear old life," I said, "and your old comforts. I am very happy, and I want you to be the same. If I have made a mistake, and you are injured by this, it will break my heart."
"I am not injured at all, I am happy," she said.
"You like Mr. Randolph?"
"I do. He belongs to the old life."
"Then he is no mystery to you?"
"I take him quite simply, as a good-natured fellow, who has plenty of money, and is attracted by our rather queer position," she answered, "that is all. I don't make mysteries where none may exist."
"Then I will do likewise," I said cheerfully.
The next morning when I awoke it seemed like a dream that we had dined at the Cecil and enjoyed the luxury of a box at the Lyceum, that we had for a brief time stepped back into our old existence.
The morning was a foggy one, one of the first bad fogs of the season. The boarders were cross – breakfast was not quite as luxurious as usual; even Jane was a little late and a little put out. The boarders were very fond of porridge, and it happened to be slightly burnt that morning. There were discontented looks, and even discontented words, from more than one uninteresting individual. Then Mr. Randolph came in, looking very fresh and neat and pleasant, and sat down boldly in the vacant seat near me, and began to talk about last night. Mother never got up until after breakfast. Mrs. Armstrong gazed at me, and Miss Armstrong tossed her food about, and the other boarders, even the Furlongs, cast curious glances in our direction; but I had determined to take him at his word, and to enjoy all the pleasures he could give us; and as to Mr. Randolph himself, I don't believe any one could upset his composure. He talked a good deal about our last night's entertainment, and said that he hoped to be able to take us to the theatre again soon.
Just at that moment a shrill voice sounded in his ears.
"Did I hear you say, Mr. Randolph," called out Mrs. Armstrong from her place at the opposite side of the board, "that you have a large connection with the theatrical managers?"
"No, you did not, Mrs. Armstrong," was his very quiet rejoinder.
"I beg your pardon, I'm sure." Mrs Armstrong flushed. Miss Armstrong touched her on her arm.
"Lor! mother, how queer of you," she said; "I am sure Mr. Randolph said nothing of the kind. Why, these play managers are quite a low sort of people; I'm ashamed of you, mother."
"I happen to know Irving very well," said Mr. Randolph, "and also Beerbohm Tree and Wilson Barrett, and I do not think any of these distinguished men of genius are a low sort of people."
"It is the exception that proves the rule," said Mrs. Armstrong, glancing at her daughter and bridling. "You should not take me up so sharp, Marion. What I was going to say was this, Mr. Randolph – can you or can you not get us tickets cheap for one of the plays. We have a great hankering to go, both me and Marion, and seeing that we are all in this house – one family, so to speak – it don't seem fair, do it, that all the favour should go to one?" – here she cast a withering glance at me.
Mr. Randolph turned and looked at me, and that quizzical laughing light was very bright in his eyes, then he turned towards Mrs. Armstrong, and, after a brief pause, said gently —
"What day would suit you best to go to the Lyceum?"
"Oh, Mr. Randolph!" said Marion Armstrong in a voice of rapture.
"Because if to-morrow night would be convenient to you two ladies," he continued, "I think I can promise you stalls. I will let you know at lunch-time." Here he rose, gave a slight bow in the direction of the Armstrongs, and left the room.
"Now I have done it, and I am glad," said Mrs. Armstrong.
"I do hope, ma," continued Marion, "that he means to come with us. I want to go just as Mrs. Wickham and Miss Wickham went, in the brougham with the coachman and the footman, and to have dinner at the Cecil. It must be delightful dining at the Cecil, Miss Wickham. They say that most dinners there cost five pounds, is that true?"
"I cannot tell you," I replied. "Mother and I were Mr. Randolph's guests."
Mrs. Armstrong looked me up and down. She thought it best at that moment to put on a very knowing look, and the expression of her face was most annoying.
"Don't you ask impertinent questions, Marion," she said; "you and me must be thankful for small mercies, and for those two stalls, even if we do go as lone females. But I hope to goodness Mr. Randolph won't forget about it. If he does, I'll take the liberty to remind him. Now be off with you, Marion, your h'Art awaits you. What you may become if you take pains, goodness only knows. You may be giving tickets yourself for the theatre some day – that is, if you develop your talents to the utmost."
Amongst other matters which Jane Mullins took upon her own broad shoulders was the interviewing of all strangers who came to inquire about the house. She said frankly that it would never do for me to undertake this office, and that mother was not to be worried. She was the person to do it, and she accordingly conducted this part of the business as well as – I began dimly to perceive – almost every other, for mother had next to nothing to do, and I had still less. I almost resented my position – it was not what I had dreamed about. I ought to help Jane, I ought to throw myself into the work, I ought to make things go smoothly. Dear Jane's fagged face began to appeal less to me than it had at first. Was I getting hardened? Was I getting injured? I put these questions to myself now and then, but I think without any great seriousness – I was sure that my plan was, on the whole, sensible, and I would not reproach myself for what I had done.
On the evening of the day which followed our visit to the Lyceum a new inmate appeared in the drawing-room. He was a tall man, considerably over six feet in height, very lanky and thin, with a somewhat German cast of face, pale-blue eyes, a bald forehead, hair slightly inclined to be sandy, an ugly mouth with broken teeth, and a long moustache which, with all his efforts, did not conceal this defect.
The new boarder was introduced to my mother and me by Jane Mullins as Mr. Albert Fanning. He bowed profoundly when the introduction was made, and gave me a bold glance. At dinner I found, rather to my annoyance, that he was placed next to me. Jane usually put strangers next to me at the table, as she said that it gave general satisfaction, and helped to keep the house full.
"What sort of man is Mr. Fanning?" I asked as we were going down to dinner.
"I don't know anything about him, dear," was her reply. "He pays well, generously, in fact – no less than five guineas a week. He has a room on the first floor, but not one of our largest. It is a very good thing to have him, for we don't often let the first floor rooms. It's the attics and third floors that go off so quickly. I don't know anything about him, but he seems to be somewhat of a character."
I made no reply to this, but the moment we seated ourselves at table Mr. Fanning bent towards me, and said in a low voice —
"I think myself extremely honoured to have made your acquaintance, Miss Wickham."
"Indeed," I answered in some surprise. "And why, may I ask?"
"I have often seen you in the Park. I saw you there last season and the season before. When I heard that you and Mrs. Wickham had taken this boarding-house, I made a point of securing rooms here as quickly as possible."
As he said this I felt myself shrinking away from him. I glanced in the direction of the upper part of the table, where Mr. Randolph was talking to mother. Mr. Fanning bent again towards me.
"I do not wish to say anything specially personal," he remarked, "but just for once I should like to say, if I never repeat it again, that I think you are a most enterprising, and, let me repeat, most charming young lady."
The servant was helping me just then to some bread. I turned my face away from Mr. Fanning, but when I looked round again he must have seen my flushed cheeks.
"I am a publisher," he said, lowering his voice, which was one of his most trying characteristics whenever he addressed me. "Most girls like to hear about publishers and about books. Has the writing mania seized you yet, Miss Wickham?"
"No," I replied, "I have not the slightest taste for writing. I am not the least bit imaginative."
"Now, what a pity that is; but there is a great deal of writing besides the imaginative type. What I was going to say was this, that if at any time a small manuscript of yours were put in my way, it would receive the most prompt and business-like attention. I am a very business-like person. I have an enormous connection. My place of business is in Paternoster Row. The Row is devoted to books, as you know. All my books are of a go-ahead stamp; they sell by thousands. Did you ever see a publisher's office, Miss Wickham?"
"No," I said.
"I should be most pleased to conduct you over mine, if you liked to call some day at the Row. I could take you there immediately after luncheon, and show you the premises any day you liked. Eh! Did you speak?"
"I am very much occupied with my mother, and seldom or never go anywhere without her," was my reply to this audacious proposal. I then turned my shoulder upon my aggressive neighbour, and began to talk frantically to a lady at my other side. She was a dull little woman, and I could scarcely get a word out of her. Her name was Mrs. Sampson; she was slightly deaf, and said "Eh, eh!" to each remark of mine. But she was a refuge from the intolerable Mr. Fanning, and I roused myself to be most polite to her during the remainder of the meal.
CHAPTER XII
TWO EXTREMES
Mr. Fanning followed us upstairs after dinner. I greatly hoped that he was the sort of man who would not often frequent the drawing-room, but I soon perceived my mistake. He not only entered that apartment, but attached himself as soon as possible to my side. He was beyond doubt the most disagreeable boarder we had yet secured. Indeed, Mrs. and Miss Armstrong were delightful compared to him. I now saw Miss Armstrong glance two or three times both at him and me, and rising deliberately, I crossed the room, and with a motion of my hand, asked him to accompany me. I then introduced him to that young lady. She blushed when I did so, and bridled a little. She did not evidently think him at all objectionable. I went back immediately to my seat near mother, and could scarcely suppress a feeling of pleasure at Mr. Fanning's too evident discomfiture.
I generally sang a couple of songs in the evening, and I was asked, as usual, to do so to-night. My voice was a rather sweet mezzo soprano, and I had been well taught. I sat down before the piano, as usual. When Mr. Randolph was in the room he always came and turned the pages of my music for me, but he was not present this evening, although he had dined with us; he had evidently gone out immediately afterwards. Now a voice sounded in my ears. I turned, and saw the objectionable and irrepressible Mr. Fanning.
"Why did you play me that trick?" he said.
"What trick?" I asked. "I do not play tricks; I do not understand you."
"You do understand me perfectly well. Oh, pray do sing this song; I am sure it is charming. It is an old English ditty, is it not? – 'Begone, Dull Care, You and I will Never Agree.' Now, that is just my way of thinking. I hate dismal people, and as to care, I never bother with it. To hear such a sprightly song from your lips will be indeed what I may call a pick-me-up."
I almost rose from the piano, but knowing that such a proceeding would call public attention to Mr. Fanning's most unpleasant remarks, I said in a low, emphatic voice —
"I will not play for you, nor allow you to turn my music, if you talk to me as you are now doing. You must address me as you would any other lady, and I will not permit what you consider compliments."
"Oh, I am sure I have no wish to offend. Sorry I spoke," he said. He did not blush – I do not think he could – but he passed his hand across his rather ugly mouth, and gave me a peculiar glance out of his queer blue eyes. He then said in a low voice —
"Believe me, it will be my utmost endeavour to make myself agreeable. I quite see what you mean. You do not want folks to remark; that's it, and I absolutely understand. But you must not play me those sort of tricks again, you know. I really cannot be introduced to ladies of the sort you just gave me an introduction to."
"Miss Armstrong is an excellent girl," I said, "and I shall ask her to sing when I leave the piano. She is very talented, and has a love both for music and art."
I then sang my one song, enduring the odious proximity of this most unpleasant man. I fancied I saw a conscious expression on the faces of several of our guests, and resolved that whatever happened, Mr. Fanning must leave on the following day. Such a man could not be permitted to remain in the place.
Later on, as I was going to bed, there came a tap at my door. I opened it, half hoping, half fearing, that Jane herself might have come to see me. On the contrary, somewhat to my surprise, I saw Mrs. Furlong. She asked me if she might come in. I eagerly begged of her to do so, and drew a comfortable chair forward for her acceptance.
"What is the matter?" I said. "Do you want to say anything special?"
"I do, my dear Miss Wickham," replied the lady. "I have come for the purpose."
"Yes?" I said in a slight tone of query.
"How did that objectionable man, Mr. Fanning, get here?"
"I suppose he came because he wanted to," I replied. "The house is open to any one who will pay, and who bears a respectable character."
"The house ought only to be open to those who bear agreeable characters, and know how to act as gentlemen," replied Mrs. Furlong stoutly. "Now my husband and I dislike that person extremely, but after all the fact of whether we like him or not matters but little; it is because he tries to annoy you that we are really concerned. Would you not rather at dinner come and sit at our end of the table? It always seems very hard to us that you should sit with your housekeeper, Miss Mullins, and amongst the least nice members of the establishment."
"But you must please remember," I said, "that Jane is not a housekeeper, she is one of the partners in this concern. It is kind of you to think of me, but I cannot do what you propose. I must help Jane in every way in my power. You do not know how good and true she is, and how little I really do for her. If I sat with you we should have a regular clique in the place, and by degrees the boarders would go, at least those boarders who were not included in our set."
"I see," answered Mrs. Furlong. "It is all most unsuitable," she added, and she stared straight before her. After a moment's pause she looked at me again.
"It is the queerest arrangement I ever heard of in all my life. Don't you think you are peculiarly unsuited to your present life?"
"I don't know; I hope not."
"You are a lady."
"That is my birthright. The boarding-house cannot deprive me of it," I answered.
"Oh, I know all that, but the life is not suitable. You will find it less and less suitable as time goes on. At present you have got your mother to protect you, but – "
"What do you mean by at present I have got my mother?" I cried. "My mother is young, comparatively young; she is not more than three and forty. What do you mean, Mrs. Furlong?"
"Oh nothing, dear," she said, colouring, "nothing at all. One always has, you know, in this uncertain world to contemplate the possibility of loss, but don't think again of what I have said. The fact is the life is quite as unsuitable for her as for you. You are put in a position which you cannot possibly maintain, my dear Miss Wickham. That awful man felt to-night that he had a right to pay you disagreeable attentions. Now is this thing to go on? I assure you Captain Furlong and I were quite distressed when we saw how he behaved to you when you were at the piano."
The tears rushed to my eyes.
"It is kind of you to sympathise with me," I said. "I am going to speak to Jane Mullins to-morrow. If possible Mr. Fanning must go."
"But there is another thing," began Mrs. Furlong. She paused, and I saw that she was about to say something, even more disagreeable than anything she had yet uttered.
"You have your mother, of course," she continued slowly, "but you yourself are very young, and – now I don't want to compliment you – but you are much nicer looking than many girls; you have quite a different air and appearance from any other girl in this house. Oh, I hate interfering, but your mother, Miss Wickham, must be a particularly innocent woman."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean Mr. Randolph," she answered, and she raised her eyes and fixed them on my face.
"Mr. Randolph?" I said. "Surely you must admit that he at least is a gentleman?"
"He is not only a gentleman, but he is more highly born and has more money than any one else in the house; he does not belong to the set who fill this house at all. Why does he come? This is no place for him. In one way it is quite as unsuitable to have him here as it is to have a man like Mr. Fanning here. Those two men represent opposite extremes. People will talk."
"What about?" I asked.
"About you, dear."
"They cannot. I will not permit it." Then I said abruptly, standing up in my excitement, "After all, I don't care whether they talk or not; I was prepared for misunderstandings when I came here. Mother likes Mr. Randolph; he at least shall stay."
"But, my child, it is not nice to be talked about; it is never nice for a young girl. People like my husband and myself quite understand. We know well that you and your mother are at present out of your right position, but others will not be so considerate. Mr. Randolph is always here."
"You think," I said, stammering, "that he comes because – "
She smiled, got up and kissed me.
"What else could he come for, Westenra?" she said softly.
"He comes because – because of mother," I answered. "He likes her; he told me so. He is anxious about her, for he thinks she misses her old life very much; he wants to make things easier for her. He is a very good man, and I respect him. I don't mind what any one says, I know in my heart he comes here because – "
"No, you do not," said Mrs. Furlong, and she looked me full in the eyes, and I found myself colouring and stammering.
"Believe me I have not intruded upon you this evening without cause," said the little woman. "I talked the matter over with my husband. I would rather Mr. Fanning were here than Mr. Randolph. Mr. Fanning is impossible, Mr. Randolph is not. He does not come here on account of your mother, he comes here because he likes you. I am very sorry; I felt I must speak; my husband agrees with me."
"Do not say another word now," I said. "I am sure you mean all this kindly, but please do not say any more now. I will think over what you have said."
"I will leave you then, dear," she said.
She went as far as the door; she was a very kindly little woman, she was a real lady, and she meant well, but she had hurt me so indescribably that at that moment I almost hated her. When she reached the door she turned and said —
"If ever my husband and I can help you, Miss Wickham (but we are poor people), if ever we can help you, we will be glad to do so. I know you are angry with me now, but your anger won't remain, you will see who are your true friends by-and-by."
She closed the door softly, and I heard her gentle steps going downstairs. I will frankly say that I did not go to bed for some time, that I paced indignantly up and down my room. I hated Jane, I hated Mr. Fanning, I still more cordially hated Mr. Randolph at that moment. Mr. Fanning must go, Mr. Randolph must go. I could not allow myself to be spoken about. How intolerable of Mr. Randolph to have come as he had done, to have forced himself upon us, to have invited us to go out with him, to have – and then I stopped, and a great lump rose in my throat, and I burst into tears, for in my heart of hearts I knew well that I did not think what he did intolerable at all, that I respected him, and – but I did not dare to allow my thoughts to go any further.
I even hated myself for being good-looking, until I suddenly remembered that I had the same features as my father had. He had conquered in all the battles in which he had borne part through his life. My face must be a good one if it was like his. I would try to live up to the character which my face seemed to express, and I would immediately endeavour to get things on a different footing.
Accordingly, the next day at breakfast I studiously avoided Mr. Randolph, and I equally studiously avoided Mr. Fanning. The consequence was that, being as it were between two fires, I had a most uncomfortable time, for Mr. Randolph showed me by certain glances which he threw in my direction that he was most anxious to consult me about something, and Mr. Fanning seemed to intercept these glances, and to make his own most unpleasant comments about them; and if Mr. Fanning intercepted them, so did Mrs. and Miss Armstrong.
Miss Armstrong had now given up Mr. Randolph as almost hopeless with regard to a flirtation, and was turning her attention in the direction of Mr. Fanning. She talked Art at Mr. Fanning assiduously all during breakfast, and having learned by some accident that he was a publisher, boldly demanded from him if he would not like her to illustrate some of his books. In reply to this he gave a profound bow, and told her, with a certain awkward jerk of his body, that he never gave orders in advance, that he never gave orders on the score of friendliness, that when it came to the relations between publisher and artist he was brutal.
"That's the word for it, Miss Armstrong," he said, "I am brutal when it comes to a bargain. I try to make the very best I can for myself. I never think of the artist at all. I want all the £ s d to go into my own pocket" – and here he slapped his waistcoat loudly, and uttered a harsh laugh, which showed all his broken teeth in a most disagreeable manner. Miss Armstrong and her mother seemed to think he was excellent fun, and Mrs. Armstrong said, with a quick glance first at Mr. Randolph and then at me, that it was refreshing to hear any man so frank, and that for her part she respected people who gave themselves no h'airs.
Breakfast came to an end, and I sought Jane in her sanctum.
"Now, Jane," I said, "you must put away your accounts, you must cease to think of housekeeping. You must listen to me."