Lucretia — Complete

  CHAPTER II. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

  Suddenly across the gaze of Percival St. John there flashed a face thatwoke him from his abstraction, as a light awakes the sleeper. It was asa recognition of something seen dimly before,--a truth coming out froma dream. It was not the mere beauty of that face (and beautiful itwas) that arrested his eye and made his heart beat more quickly, it wasrather that nameless and inexplicable sympathy which constitutes loveat first sight,--a sort of impulse and instinct common to the dullest asthe quickest, the hardest reason as the liveliest fancy. Plain Cobbett,seeing before the cottage-door, at her homeliest of house-work, thegirl of whom he said, "That girl should be my wife," and Dante, firstthrilled by the vision of Beatrice,--are alike true types of a commonexperience. Whatever of love sinks the deepest is felt at first sight;it streams on us abrupt from the cloud, a lightning flash,--a destinyrevealed to us face to face.

  Now, there was nothing poetical in the place or the circumstance, stillless in the companionship in which this fair creature startled thevirgin heart of that careless boy; she was leaning on the arm of astout, rosy-faced matron in a puce-coloured gown, who was flanked on theother side by a very small, very spare man, with a very wee face, thelower part of which was enveloped in an immense belcher. Besides thesetwo incumbrances, the stout lady contrived to carry in her hands anumbrella, a basket, and a pair of pattens.

  In the midst of the strange, unfamiliar emotion which his eye conveyedto his heart, Percival's ear was displeasingly jarred by the loud,bluff, hearty voice of the girl's female companion--

  "Gracious me! if that is not John Ardworth. Who'd have thought it? Why,John,--I say, John!" and lifting her umbrella horizontally, she pokedaside two city clerks in front of her, wheeled round the little man onher left, upon whom the clerks simultaneously bestowed the appellationof "feller," and driving him, as being the sharpest and thinnest wedgeat hand, through a dense knot of some half-a-dozen gapers, while,following his involuntary progress, she looked defiance on themalcontents, she succeeded in clearing her way to the spot where stoodthe young man she had discovered. The ambitious dreamer, for it washe, thus detected and disturbed, looked embarrassed for a moment as thestout lady, touching him with the umbrella, said,--

  "Well, I declare if this is not too bad! You sent word that you shouldnot be able to come out with us to see the 'luminations, and here youare as large as life!"

  "I did not think, at the moment you wrote to me, that-"

  "Oh, stuff!" interrupted the stout woman, with a significant,good-humoured shake of her head; "I know what's what. Tell the truth,and shame the gentleman who objects to showing his feet. You are a wildfellow, John Ardworth, you are! You like looking after the pretty faces,you do, you do--ha, ha, ha! very natural! So did you once,--did not you,Mr. Mivers, did not you, eh? Men must be men,--they always are men, andit's my belief that men they always will be!"

  With this sage conjecture into the future, the lady turned to Mr.Mivers, who, thus appealed to, extricated with some difficulty his chinfrom the folds of his belcher, and putting up his small face, said, in asmall voice, "Yes, I was a wild fellow once; but you have tamed me, youhave, Mrs. M.!"

  And therewith the chin sank again into the belcher, and the small voicedied into a small sigh.

  The stout lady glanced benignly at her spouse, and then resuming heraddress, to which Ardworth listened with a half-frown and a half-smile,observed encouragingly,--

  "Yes, there's nothing like a lawful wife to break a man in, as youwill find some day. Howsomever, your time's not come for the altar, sosuppose you give Helen your arm, and come with us."

  "Do," said Helen, in a sweet, coaxing voice.

  Ardworth bent down his rough, earnest face to Helen's, and an evidentpleasure relaxed its thoughtful lines. "I cannot resist you," he began,and then he paused and frowned. "Pish!" he added, "I was talking folly;but what head would not you turn? Resist you I must, for I am on my waynow to my drudgery. Ask me anything some years hence, when I have timeto be happy, and then see if I am the bear you now call me."

  "Well," said Mrs. Mivers, emphatically, "are you coming, or are you not?Don't stand there shilly-shally."

  "Mrs. Mivers," returned Ardworth, with a kind of sly humour, "I am sureyou would be very angry with your husband's excellent shopmen ifthat was the way they spoke to your customers. If some unhappydropper-in,--some lady who came to buy a yard or so of Irish,--wassuddenly dazzled, as I am, by a luxury wholly unforeseen and eagerlycoveted,--a splendid lace veil, or a ravishing cashmere, or whateverelse you ladies desiderate,--and while she was balancing betweenprudence and temptation, your foreman exclaimed: `Don't standshilly-shally'--come, I put it to you."

  "Stuff!" said Mrs. Mivers.

  "Alas! unlike your imaginary customer (I hope so, at least, for the sakeof your till), prudence gets the better of me; unless," added Ardworth,irresolutely, and glancing at Helen,--"unless, indeed, you are notsufficiently protected, and--"

  "Purtected!" exclaimed Mrs. Mivers, in an indignant tone ofastonishment, and agitating the formidable umbrella; "as if I was notenough, with the help of this here domestic commodity, to purtect adozen such. Purtected, indeed!"

  "John is right, Mrs. M.,--business is business," said Mr. Mivers. "Letus move on; we stop the way, and those idle lads are listening to us,and sniggering."

  "Sniggering!" exclaimed the gentle helpmate. "I should like to seethose who presume for to snigger;" and as she spoke, she threw a lookof defiance around her. Then, having thus satisfied her resentment,she prepared to obey, as no doubt she always did, her lord and master.Suddenly, with a practised movement, she wheeled round Mr. Mivers, andtaking care to protrude before him the sharp point of the umbrella, cuther way through the crowd like the scythed car of the Ancient Britons,and was soon lost amidst the throng, although her way might be guessedby a slight ripple of peculiar agitation along the general stream,accompanied by a prolonged murmur of reproach or expostulation whichgradually died in the distance.

  Ardworth gazed after the fair form of Helen with a look of regret; andwhen it vanished, with a slight start and a suppressed sigh he turnedaway, and with the long, steady stride of a strong man, cleared his paththrough the Strand towards the printing-office of a journal on which hewas responsibly engaged.

  But Percival, who had caught much of the conversation that took place sonear him,--Percival, happy child of idleness and whim,--had no motiveof labour and occupation to stay the free impulse of his heart, and hisheart drew him on, with magnetic attraction, in the track of the firstbeing that had ever touched the sweet instincts of youth.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Mivers was destined to learn--though perhaps the lessonlittle availed her--that to get smoothly through this world it isnecessary to be supple as well as strong; and though, up to a certainpoint, man or woman may force the way by poking umbrellas into people'sribs and treading mercilessly upon people's toes, yet the endurance ofribs and toes has its appointed limits.

  Helen, half terrified, also half amused by her companion's robustresolution of purpose, had in Mrs. Mivers's general courage and successthat confidence which the weak repose in the strong; and though whenevershe turned her eyes from the illuminations, she besought Mrs. Mivers tobe more gentle, yet, seeing that they had gone safely from St. Paul'sto St. James's, she had no distinct apprehension of any practically illresults from the energies she was unable to mitigate. But now, havingjust gained the end of St. James's Street, Mrs. Mivers at last found hermatch. The crowd here halted, thick and serried, to gaze in peace uponthe brilliant vista which the shops and clubs of that street presented.Coaches and carriages had paused in their line, and immediately beforeMrs. Mivers stood three very thin, small women, whose dress bespoke themto be of the humblest class.

  "Make way, there; make way, my good women, make way!" cried Mrs. Mivers,equally disdainful of the size and the rank of the obstructing parties.

  "Arrah, and what shall we make way for the like of you, you oldbusybody?" said one of the dames, tur
ning round, and presenting a veryformidable squint to the broad optics of Mrs. Mivers.

  Without deigning a reply, Mrs. Mivers had recourse to her usualtactics. Umbrella and husband went right between two of the feminineobstructives; and to the inconceivable astonishment and horror of theassailant, husband and umbrella instantly vanished. The three smallfuries had pounced upon both. They were torn from their natural owner;they were hurried away; the stream behind, long fretted at the path soabruptly made amidst it, closed in, joyous, with a thousand waves. Mrs.Mivers and Helen were borne forward in one way, the umbrella and thehusband in the other; in the distance a small voice was heard: "Don'tyou! don't! Be quiet! Mrs.--Mrs. M.! Oh, oh, Mrs. M.!" At that lastrepetition of the beloved and familiar initial, uttered in a toneof almost superhuman anguish, the conjugal heart of Mrs. Mivers wasafflicted beyond control.

  "Wait here a moment, my dear; I'll just give it them, that's all!" Andin another moment Mrs. Mivers was heard bustling, scolding, till alltrace of her whereabout was gone from the eyes of Helen. Thus leftalone, in exceeding shame and dismay, the poor girl cast a glancearound. The glance was caught by two young men, whose station, in thesedays when dress is an equivocal designator of rank, could not be guessedby their exterior. They might be dandies from the west,--they might beclerks from the east.

  "By Jove," exclaimed one, "that's a sweet pretty girl!" and, by a suddenmovement of the crowd, they both found themselves close to Helen.

  "Are you alone, my dear?" said a voice rudely familiar. Helen made noreply; the tone of the voice frightened her. A gap in the mob showedthe space towards Cleveland Row, which, leading to no illuminations, wasvacant and solitary. She instantly made towards this spot; the two menfollowed her, the bolder and elder one occasionally trying to catch holdof her arm. At last, as she passed the last house to the left, a housethen owned by one who, at once far-sighted and impetuous, affable andhaughty, characterized alike by solid virtues and brilliant faults,would, but for hollow friends, have triumphed over countless foes,and enjoyed at last that brief day of stormy power for which statesmenresign the health of manhood and the hope of age,--as she passed thatmemorable mansion, she suddenly perceived that the space before her hadno thoroughfare; and, while she paused in dismay, her pursuers blockadedher escape.

  One of them now fairly seized her hand. "Nay, pretty one, why so cruel?But one kiss,--only one!" He endeavoured to pass his arm round her waistwhile he spoke. Helen eluded him, and darted forward, to find her waystopped by her persecutor's companion, when, to her astonishment,a third person gently pushed aside the form that impeded her path,approached, and looking mute defiance at the unchivalric molesters,offered her his arm. Helen gave but one timid, hurrying glance toher unexpected protector; something in his face, his air, his youth,appealed at once to her confidence. Mechanically, and scarce knowingwhat she did, she laid her trembling hand on the arm held out to her.

  The two Lotharios looked foolish. One pulled up his shirt-collar, andthe other turned, with a forced laugh, on his heel. Boy as Percivalseemed, and little more than boy as he was, there was a dangerous firein his eye, and an expression of spirit and ready courage in his wholecountenance, which, if it did not awe his tall rivals, made them atleast unwilling to have a scene and provoke the interference of apoliceman; one of whom was now seen walking slowly up to the spot. Theytherefore preserved a discomfited silence; and Percival St. John, withhis heart going ten knots a beat, sailed triumphantly off with hisprize.

  Scarcely knowing whither he went, certainly forgetful of Mr. Mivers, inhis anxiety to escape at least from the crowd, Percival walked on tillhe found himself with his fair charge under the trees of St. James'sPark.

  Then Helen, recovering herself, paused, and said, alarmed: "But this isnot my way; I must go back to the street!"

  "How foolish I am! That is true," said Percival, looking confused. "I--Ifelt so happy to be with you, feel your hand on my arm, and thinkthat we were all by ourselves, that--that---But you have dropped yourflowers!"

  And as a bouquet Helen wore, dislodged somehow or other, fell to theground, both stooped to pick it up, and their hands met. At that touch,Percival felt a strange tremble, which perhaps communicated itself (forsuch things are contagious) to his fair companion. Percival had gotthe nosegay, and seemed willing to detain it; for he bent his facelingeringly over the flowers. At length he turned his bright, ingenuouseyes to Helen, and singling one rose from the rest, said beseechingly:"May I keep this? See, it is not so fresh as the others."

  "I am sure, sir," said Helen, colouring, and looking down, "I owe you somuch that I should be glad if a poor flower could repay it."

  "A poor flower! You don't know what a prize this is to me!" Percivalplaced the rose reverently in his bosom, and the two moved back slowly,as if reluctant both, through the old palace-court into the street.

  "Is that lady related to you?" asked Percival, looking another way, anddreading the reply,--"not your mother, surely!"

  "Oh, no! I have no mother!"

  "Forgive me!" said Percival; for the tone of Helen's voice told him thathe had touched the spring of a household sorrow. "And," he added, witha jealousy that he could scarcely restrain from making itself evidentin his accent, "that gentleman who spoke to you under the Colonnade,--Ihave seen him before, but where I cannot remember. In fact, you have puteverything but yourself out of my head. Is he related to you?"

  "He is my cousin."

  "Cousin!" repeated Percival, pouting a little; and again there wassilence.

  "I don't know how it is," said Percival at last, and very gravely, as ifmuch perplexed by some abstruse thought, "but I feel as if I had knownyou all my life. I never felt this for any one before."

  There was something so irresistibly innocent in the boy's serious,wondering tone as he said these words that a smile, in spite of herself,broke out amongst the thousand dimples round Helen's charming lips.Perhaps the little witch felt a touch of coquetry for the first time.

  Percival, who was looking sidelong into her face, saw the smile, andsaid, drawing up his head, and shaking back his jetty curls: "I dare sayyou are laughing at me as a mere boy; but I am older than I look. Iam sure I am much older than you are. Let me see, you are seventeen, Isuppose?"

  Helen, getting more and more at her ease, nodded playful assent.

  "And I am not far from twenty-one. Ah, you may well look surprised, butso it is. An hour ago I felt a mere boy; now I shall never feel a boyagain!"

  Once more there was a long pause, and before it was broken, they hadgained the very spot in which Helen had lost her friend.

  "Why, bless us and save us!" exclaimed a voice "loud as a trumpet," butnot "with a silver sound," "there you are, after all;" and Mrs. Mivers(husband and umbrella both regained) planted herself full before them.

  "Oh, a pretty fright I have been in! And now to see you coming along ascool as if nothing had happened; as if the humbrella had not lost itshivory 'andle,--it's quite purvoking. Dear, dear, what we have gonethrough! And who is this young gentleman, pray?"

  Helen whispered some hesitating explanation, which Mrs. Mivers did notseem to receive as graciously as Percival, poor fellow, had a right toexpect. She stared him full in the face, and shook her head suspiciouslywhen she saw him a little confused by the survey. Then, tucking Helentightly under her arm, she walked back towards the Haymarket, merelysaying to Percival,--

  "Much obligated, and good-night. I have a long journey to take to setdown this here young lady; and the best thing we can all do is to gethome as fast as we can, and have a refreshing cup of tea--that's mymind, sir. Excuse me!"

  Thus abruptly dismissed, poor Percival gazed wistfully on his Helen asshe was borne along, and was somewhat comforted at seeing her lookback with (as he thought) a touch of regret in her parting smile. Thensuddenly it flashed across him how sadly he had wasted his time. Novicethat he was, he had not even learned the name and address of his newacquaintance. At that thought he hurried on through the crowd, but onlyreached the o
bject of his pursuit just in time to see her placed in acoach, and to catch a full view of the luxuriant proportions of Mrs.Mivers as she followed her into the vehicle.

  As the lumbering conveyance (the only coach on the stand) heaved itselfinto motion, Percival's eye fell on the sweeper, who was stillleaning on his broom, and who, in grateful recognition of the unwontedgenerosity that had repaid his service, touched his ragged hat, andsmiled drowsily on his young customer. Love sharpens the wit andanimates the timid; a thought worthy of the most experienced inspiredPercival St. John; he hurried to the sweeper, laid his hand on hispatchwork coat, and said breathlessly,--

  "You see that coach turning into the square? Follow it,--find out whereit sets down. There's a sovereign for you; another if you succeed. Calland tell me your success. Number ---- Curzon Street! Off, like a shot!"

  The sweeper nodded and grinned; it was possibly not his first commissionof a similar kind. He darted down the street; and Percival, followinghim with equal speed, had the satisfaction to see him, as the coachtraversed St. James's Square, comfortably seated on the footboard.

  Beck, dull clod, knew nothing, cared nothing, felt nothing as to themotives or purpose of his employer. Honest love or selfish vice, it wasthe same to him. He saw only the one sovereign which, with astoundedeyes, he still gazed at on his palm, and the vision of the sovereignthat was yet to come.

  "Scandit aeratas vitiosa naves Cura; nee turmas equitum relinquit."

  It was the Selfishness of London, calm and stolid, whether on the trackof innocence or at the command of guile.

  At half-past ten o'clock Percival St. John was seated in his room, andthe sweeper stood at the threshold. Wealth and penury seemed broughtinto visible contact in the persons of the visitor and the host. Thedwelling is held by some to give an index to the character of the owner;if so, Percival's apartments differed much from those generally favouredby young men of rank and fortune. On the one hand, it had none of thataffectation of superior taste evinced in marqueterie and gilding, orthe more picturesque discomfort of high-backed chairs and mediaevalcuriosities which prevails in the daintier abodes of fastidiousbachelors; nor, on the other hand, had it the sporting character whichindividualizes the ruder juveniles qui gaudent equis, betrayed byengravings of racers and celebrated fox-hunts, relieved, perhaps, ifthe Nimrod condescend to a cross of the Lovelace, with portraits offigurantes, and ideals of French sentiment entitled, "Le Soir," or "LaReveillee," "L'Espoir," or "L'Abandon." But the rooms had a physiognomyof their own, from their exquisite neatness and cheerful simplicity.The chintz draperies were lively with gay flowers; books filled up theniches; here and there were small pictures, chiefly sea-pieces,--wellchosen, well placed.

  There might, indeed, have been something almost effeminate in a certaininexpressible purity of taste, and a cleanliness of detail that seemedactually brilliant, had not the folding-doors allowed a glimpse of aplainer apartment, with fencing-foils and boxing-gloves ranged on thewall, and a cricket-bat resting carelessly in the corner. These gave aredeeming air of manliness to the rooms; but it was the manliness of aboy,--half-girl, if you please, in the purity of thought that pervadedone room, all boy in the playful pursuits that were made manifest in theother. Simple, however, as this abode really was, poor Beck had neverbeen admitted to the sight of anything half so fine. He stood at thedoor for a moment, and stared about him, bewildered and dazzled. But hisnatural torpor to things that concerned him not soon brought to himthe same stoicism that philosophy gives the strong; and after the firstsurprise, his eye quietly settled on his employer. St. John rose eagerlyfrom the sofa, on which he had been contemplating the starlit treetopsof Chesterfield Gardens,--

  "Well, well?" said Percival.

  "Hold Brompton," said Beck, with a brevity of word and clearness ofperception worthy a Spartan.

  "Old Brompton?" repeated Percival, thinking the reply the most naturalin the world.

  "In a big 'ous by hisself," continued Beck, "with a 'igh vall in front."

  "You would know it again?"

  "In course; he's so wery peculiar."

  "He,--who?"

  "Vy, the 'ous. The young lady got out, and the hold folks driv back. Idid not go arter them!" and Beck looked sly.

  "So! I must find out the name."

  "I axed at the public," said Beck, proud of his diplomacy. "They keepsa sarvant vot takes half a pint at her meals. The young lady's mabe aforiner."

  "A foreigner! Then she lives there with her mother?"

  "So they s'pose at the public."

  "And the name?"

  Beck shook his head. "'T is a French 'un, your honour; but the sarvant'sis Martha."

  "You must meet me at Brompton, near the turnpike, tomorrow, and show methe house."

  "Vy, I's in bizness all day, please your honour."

  "In business?"'

  "I's the place of the crossing," said Beck, with much dignity; "butarter eight I goes vere I likes."

  "To-morrow evening, then, at half-past eight, by the turnpike."

  Beck pulled his forelock assentingly.

  "There's the sovereign I promised you, my poor fellow; much good mayit do you. Perhaps you have some father or mother whose heart it willglad."

  "I never had no such thing," replied Beck, turning the coin in his hand.

  "Well, don't spend it in drink."

  "I never drinks nothing but svipes."

  "Then," said Percival, laughingly, "what, my good friend, will you everdo with your money?"

  Beck put his finger to his nose, sunk his voice into a whisper, andreplied solemnly: "I 'as a mattris."

  "A mistress," said Percival. "Oh, a sweetheart. Well, but if she's agood girl, and loves you, she'll not let you spend your money on her."

  "I haint such a ninny as that," said Beck, with majestic contempt. "I'spises the flat that is done brown by the blowens. I 'as a mattris."

  "A mattress! a mattress! Well, what has that to do with the money?"

  "Vy, I lines it."

  Percival looked puzzled. "Oh," said he, after a thoughtful pause, and ina tone of considerable compassion, "I understand: you sew your money inyour mattress. My poor, poor lad, you can do better than that! There arethe savings banks."

  Beck looked frightened. "I 'opes your honour von't tell no vun. I 'opesno vun von't go for to put my tin vere I shall know nothing vatsomeverabout it. Now, I knows vere it is, and I lays on it."

  "Do you sleep more soundly when you lie on your treasure?"

  "No. It's hodd," said Beck, musingly, "but the more I lines it, thevorse I sleeps."

  Percival laughed, but there was melancholy in his laughter; somethingin the forlorn, benighted, fatherless, squalid miser went to the core ofhis open, generous heart.

  "Do you ever read your Bible," said he, after a pause, "or even thenewspaper?"

  "I does not read nothing; cos vy? I haint been made a scholard, likeswell Tim, as was lagged for a forgery."

  "You go to church on a Sunday?"

  "Yes; I 'as a weekly hingagement at the New Road."

  "What do you mean?"

  "To see arter the gig of a gemman vot comes from 'Igate."

  Percival lifted his brilliant eyes, and they were moistened with aheavenly dew, on the dull face of his fellow-creature. Beck made ascrape, looked round, shambled back to the door, and ran home, throughthe lamp-lit streets of the great mart of the Christian universe, to sewthe gold in his mattress.