CHAPTER XXXII.
SOME OF THE HUMOURS OF A LONDON MEWS.
So pursuing the course of our story, we have brought ourselves to thepresent extraordinary position. That Charles Ravenshoe, of Ravenshoe, inthe county Devonshire, Esquire, and some time of St. Paul's College,Oxford, has hired himself out as groom to Lieutenant Hornby, of the140th Hussars, and that also the above-named Charles Ravenshoe was not,and never had been Charles Ravenshoe at all, but somebody else all thetime, to wit, Charles Horton, a gamekeeper's son, if indeed he was eventhis, having been christened under a false name.
The situation is so extraordinary and so sad, that having taken thetragical view of it in the previous chapter, we must of necessity beginto look on the brighter side of it now. And this is the better art,because it is exactly what Charles began to do himself. One blowsucceeded the other so rapidly, the utter bouleversement of all that hecared about in the world. Father, friends, position, mistress, all lostin one day, had brought on a kind of light-hearted desperation, whichhad the effect of making him seek company, and talk boisterously andloud all day. It was not unnatural in so young and vigorous a man. Butif he woke in the night, there was the cold claw grasping his heart.Well, I said we would have none of this at present, and we won't.
Patient old earth, intent only on doing her duty in her set courses, andunmindful of the mites which had been set to make love or war on herbosom, and the least of whom was worth her whole well-organised mass,had rolled on, and on, until by bringing that portion of her whichcontains the island of Britain, gradually in greater proximity to thesun, she had produced that state of things on that particular part ofher which is known among mortals as spring. Now, I am very anxious toplease all parties. Some people like a little circumlocution, and forthem the above paragraph was written; others do not, and for them, Istate that it was the latter end of May, and beg them not to read theabove flight of fancy, but to consider it as never having been written.
It was spring. On the sea-coast, the watchers at the lighthouses and thepreventive stations began to walk about in their shirt-sleeves, and trimup their patches of spray-beaten garden, hedged with tree-mallow andtamarisk, and to thank God that the long howling winter nights werepast for a time. The fishermen shouted merrily one to another as theyput off from the shore, no longer dreading a twelve hours' purgatory ofsleet and freezing mist and snow; saying to one another how green theland looked, and how pleasant mackerel time was after all. Their wives,light-hearted at the thought that the wild winter was past, and thatthey were not widows, brought their work out to the doors, and gossipedpleasantly in the sun, while some of the bolder boys began to paddleabout in the surf, and try to believe that the Gulf Stream had come in,and that it was summer again, and not only spring.
In inland country places the barley was all in and springing, themeadows were all bush-harrowed, rolled, and laid up for hay; nay, inearly places, brimful of grass, spangled with purple orchises, and inmoist rich places golden with marsh marigold, over which the south-westwind passed pleasantly, bringing a sweet perfume of growing vegetation,which gave those who smelt it a tendency to lean against gates, andstiles, and such places, and think what a delicious season it was, andwish it were to last for ever. The young men began to slip away fromwork somewhat early of an evening, not (as now) to the parade ground, orthe butts, but to take their turn at the wicket on the green, where SirJohn (our young landlord) was to be found in a scarlet flannel shirt,bowling away like a catapult, at all comers, till the second bell beganto ring, and he had to dash off and dress. Now lovers walking bymoonlight in deep banked lanes began to notice how dark and broad theshadows grew, and to wait at the lane's end by the river, to listen tothe nightingale, with his breast against the thorn, ranging on fromheight to height of melodious passion, petulant at his want of art, tillhe broke into one wild jubilant burst, and ceased, leaving night silent,save for the whispering of new-born insects, and the creeping sound ofreviving vegetation.
Spring. The great renewal of the lease. The time when nature-worshippersmade good resolutions, to be very often broken before the leaves fall.The time the country becomes once more habitable and agreeable. Does itmake any difference in the hundred miles of brick and mortar calledLondon, save, in so far as it makes every reasonable Christian pack uphis portmanteau and fly to the green fields, and lover's lanesbefore-mentioned (though it takes two people for the latter sort ofbusiness)? Why, yes; it makes a difference to London certainly, bybringing somewhere about 10,000 people, who have got sick of shootingand hunting through the winter months, swarming into the west end ofit, and making it what is called full.
I don't know that they are wrong after all, for London is a mightypleasant place in the season (we don't call it spring on thepaving-stones). At this time the windows of the great houses in thesquares begin to be brilliant with flowers; and, under the awnings ofthe balconies, one sees women moving about in the shadow. Now, allthrough the short night, one hears the ceaseless low rolling thunder ofbeautiful carriages, and in the daytime also the noise ceases not. Allthrough the west end of the town there is a smell of flowers, offresh-watered roads, and Macassar oil; while at Covent Garden, the scentof the peaches and pine-apples begins to prevail over that of rottencabbage-stalks. The fiddlers are all fiddling away at concert pitch fortheir lives, the actors are all acting their very hardest, and the menwho look after the horses have never a minute to call their own, day ornight.
It is neither to dukes nor duchesses, to actors nor fiddlers, that wemust turn our attention just now, but to a man who was sitting in awheelbarrow, watching a tame jackdaw.
The place was a London mews, behind one of the great squares--the timewas afternoon. The weather was warm and sunny. All the proprietors ofthe horses were out riding or driving, and so the stables were empty,and the mews were quiet.
This was about a week after Charles's degradation, almost the first hourhe had to himself in the daytime, and so he sat pondering on his unhappylot.
Lord Ballyroundtower's coachman's wife was hanging out the clothes. Shewas an Irishwoman off the estate (his lordship's Irish residences, Isee, on referring to the peerage, are, "The Grove," Blarney, and"Swatewathers," near Avoca). When I say that she was hanging out theclothes, I am hardly correct, for she was only fixing the lines up to doso, and being of short stature, and having to reach was naturallyshowing her heels, and the jackdaw, perceiving this, began to hopstealthily across the yard. Charles saw what was coming, and becamedeeply interested. He would not have spoken for his life. The jackdawsidled up to her, and began digging into her tendon Achilles with hishard bill with a force and rapidity which showed that he was fully awareof the fact, that the amusement, like most pleasant things, could notlast long, and must therefore be made the most of. Some women would havescreamed and faced round at the first assault. Not so our Irish friend.She endured the anguish until she had succeeded in fastening theclothes-line round the post, and then she turned round on the jackdaw,who had fluttered away to a safe distance, and denounced him.
"Bad cess to ye, ye impident divvle, sure it's Sathan's own sister'sson, ye are, ye dirty prothestant, pecking at the hales of an honestwoman, daughter of my lord's own man, Corny O'Brine, as was a dalebether nor them as sits on whalebarrows, and sets ye on too't--" (thiswas levelled at Charles, so he politely took off his cap, and bowed).
"Though, God forgive me, there's some sitting on whalebarrows as shouldbe sitting in drawing-rooms, may be (here the jackdaw raised one foot,and said 'Jark'). Get out, ye baste; don't ye hear me blessed lady's ownbird swearing at ye, like a gentleman's bird as he is. A pretty dear."
This was strictly true. Lord Ballyroundtower's brother, the HonourableFrederick Mulligan, was a lieutenant in the navy. A short time beforethis, being on the Australian station, and wishing to make hissister-in-law a handsome present, he had commissioned a Sydney Jewbird-dealer to get him a sulphur-crested cockatoo, price no object, butthe best talker in the colony. The Jew faithfully performed his behest;he got
him the best talking cockatoo in the colony, and the Hon. Fredbrought it home in triumph to his sister-in-law's drawing-room inBelgrave Square.
The bird was a beautiful talker. There was no doubt about that. It hadsuch an amazingly distinct enunciation. But then the bird was not alwaysdiscreet. Nay, to go further, the bird never _was_ discreet. He had beeneducated by a convict bullock-driver, and finished off by the sailors onboard H.M.S. _Actaeon_; and really, you know, sometimes he did say thingshe ought not to have said. It was all very well pretending that youcouldn't hear him, but it rendered conversation impossible. You werealways in agony at what was to come next. One afternoon, a great manypeople were there, calling. Old Lady Hainault was there. The bird wasworse than ever. Everybody tried to avoid a silence, but it cameinexorably. That awful old woman, Lady Hainault, broke it by saying thatshe thought Fred Mulligan must have been giving the bird private lessonshimself. After that, you know, it wouldn't do. Fred might be angry, butthe bird must go to the mews.
So there the bird was, swearing dreadfully at the jackdaw. At last, herladyship's pug-dog, who was staying with the coachman for medicaltreatment, got excited, bundled out of the house, and attacked thejackdaw. The jackdaw formed square to resist cavalry, and sent the doghowling into the house again quicker than he came out. After which thebird barked, and came and sat on the dunghill by Charles.
The mews itself, as I said, was very quiet, with a smell of stable,subdued by a fresh scent of sprinkled water; but at the upper end itjoined a street leading from Belgrave Square towards the Park, which wasby no means quiet, and which smelt of geraniums and heliotropes.Carriage after carriage went blazing past the end of the mews, alongthis street, like figures across the disk of a magic lanthorn. Some hadscarlet breeches, and some blue; and there were pink bonnets, and yellowbonnets, and Magenta bonnets; and Charles sat on the wheelbarrow by thedunghill, and looked at it all, perfectly contented.
A stray dog lounged in out of the street. It was a cur dog--that any onemight see. It was a dog which had bit its rope and run away, for therope was round its neck now; and it was a thirsty dog, for it went up tothe pump and licked the stones. Charles went and pumped for it, and itdrank. Then, evidently considering that Charles, by his act of goodnature, had acquired authority over its person, and having tried to dowithout a master already, and having found it wouldn't do, it sat downbeside Charles, and declined to proceed any further.
There was a public-house at the corner of the mews, where it joined thestreet; and on the other side of the street you could see one house, No.16. The footman of No. 16 was in the area, looking through the railings.A thirsty man came to the public-house on horseback, and drank a pot ofbeer at a draught, turning the pot upside down. It was too much for thefootman, who disappeared.
Next came a butcher with a tray of meat, who turned into the area of No.16, and left the gate open. After him came a blind man, led by a dog.The dog, instead of going straight on, turned down the area steps afterthe butcher. The blind man thought he was going round the corner.Charles saw what would happen; but, before he had time to cry out, theblind man had plunged headlong down the area steps and disappeared,while from the bottom, as from the pit, arose the curses of the butcher.
Charles and others assisted the blind man up, gave him some beer, andsent him on his way. Charles watched him. After he had gone a littleway, he began striking spitefully at where he thought his dog was, withhis stick. The dog was evidently used to this amusement, and dexterouslyavoided the blows. Finding vertical blows of no avail, the blind mantried horizontal ones, and caught an old gentleman across the shins,making him drop his umbrella and catch up his leg. The blind manpromptly asked an alms from him, and, not getting one, turned thecorner; and Charles saw him no more.
The hot street and, beyond, the square, the dusty lilacs and laburnums,and the crimson hawthorns. What a day for a bathe! outside the gentlesurf, with the sunny headlands right and left, and the moor sleepingquietly in the afternoon sunlight, and Lundy, like a faint blue cloud onthe Atlantic horizon, and the old house----He was away at Ravenshoe on aMay afternoon.
They say poets are never sane; but are they ever mad? Never. Even oldCowper saved himself from actual madness by using his imagination.Charles was no poet; but he was a good day-dreamer, and so now, insteadof maddening himself in his squalid brick prison, he was away in the oldbay, bathing and fishing, and wandering up the old stream, breast highamong king-fern under the shadowy oaks.
Bricks and mortar, carriages and footmen, wheelbarrows and dunghills,all came back in one moment, and settled on his outward senses with ajar. For there was a rattle of horse's feet on the stones, and the clankof a sabre, and Lieutenant Hornby, of the 140th Hussars (Prince Arthur'sOwn), came branking into the yard, with two hundred pounds' worth oftrappings on him, looking out for his servant. He was certainly asplendid fellow, and Charles looked at him with a certain kind of pride,as on something that he had a share in.
"Come round to the front door, Horton, and take my horse up to thebarracks" (the Queen had been to the station that morning, and his guardwas over).
Charles walked beside him round into Grosvenor Place. He could not avoidstealing a glance up at the magnificent apparition beside him; and, ashe did so, he met a pair of kind grey eyes looking down on him.
"You mustn't sit and mope there, Horton," said the lieutenant; "it neverdoes to mope. I know it is infernally hard to help it, and of course youcan't associate with servants, and that sort of thing, at first; but youwill get used to it. If you think I don't know you are a gentleman, youare mistaken. I don't know who you are, and shall not try to find out.I'll lend you books or anything of that sort; but you mustn't brood overit. I can't stand seeing my fellows wretched, more especially a fellowlike you."
If it had been to save his life, Charles couldn't say a word. He lookedup at the lieutenant and nodded his head. The lieutenant understood himwell enough, and said to himself--
"Poor fellow!"
So there arose between these two a feeling which lightened Charles'sservitude, and which, before the end came, had grown into a liking.Charles's vengeance was not for Hornby, for the injury did not come fromhim. His vengeance was reserved for another, and we shall see how hetook it.