The Hand of Ethelberta: A Comedy in Chapters

  27. MRS. BELMAINE'S--CRIPPLEGATE CHURCH

  Neigh's remark that he believed he should see Ethelberta again the nextday referred to a contemplated pilgrimage of an unusual sort which hadbeen arranged for that day by Mrs. Belmaine upon the ground of anincidental suggestion of Ethelberta's. One afternoon in the weekprevious they had been chatting over tea at the house of the former lady,Neigh being present as a casual caller, when the conversation wasdirected upon Milton by somebody opening a volume of the poet's worksthat lay on a table near.

  'Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee--'

  said Mrs. Belmaine with the degree of flippancy which is consideredcorrect for immortal verse, the Bible, God, etc., in these days. AndEthelberta replied, lit up by a quick remembrance, 'It is a good time totalk of Milton; for I have been much impressed by reading the "Life;" andI have decided to go and see his tomb. Could we not all go? We ought toquicken our memories of the great, and of where they lie, by such a visitoccasionally.'

  'We ought,' said Mrs. Belmaine.

  'And why shouldn't we?' continued Ethelberta, with interest.

  'To Westminster Abbey?' said Mr. Belmaine, a common man of thirty,younger than his wife, who had lately come into the room.

  'No; to where he lies comparatively alone--Cripplegate Church.'

  'I always thought that Milton was buried in Poet's Corner,' said Mr.Belmaine.

  'So did I,' said Neigh; 'but I have such an indifferent head for placesthat my thinking goes for nothing.'

  'Well, it would be a pretty thing to do,' said Mrs. Belmaine, 'andinstructive to all of us. If Mrs. Petherwin would like to go, I should.We can take you in the carriage and call round for Mrs. Doncastle on ourway, and set you both down again coming back.'

  'That would be excellent,' said Ethelberta. 'There is nowhere I likegoing to so much as the depths of the city. The absurd narrowness ofworld-renowned streets is so surprising--so crooked and shady as they aretoo, and full of the quaint smells of old cupboards and cellars. Walkingthrough one of them reminds me of being at the bottom of some crevasse orgorge, the proper surface of the globe being the tops of the houses.'

  'You will come to take care of us, John? And you, Mr. Neigh, would liketo come? We will tell Mr. Ladywell that he may join us if he cares to,'said Mrs. Belmaine.

  'O yes,' said her husband quietly; and Neigh said he should like nothingbetter, after a faint aspect of apprehension at the remoteness of theidea from the daily track of his thoughts. Mr. Belmaine observing this,and mistaking it for an indication that Neigh had been dragged into theparty against his will by his over-hasty wife, arranged that Neigh shouldgo independently and meet them there at the hour named if he chose to doso, to give him an opportunity of staying away. Ethelberta also was bythis time doubting if she had not been too eager with her proposal. Togo on such a sentimental errand might be thought by her friends to besimply troublesome, their adherence having been given only in the regularcourse of complaisance. She was still comparatively an outsider here,her life with Lady Petherwin having been passed chiefly in alternationsbetween English watering-places and continental towns. However, it wastoo late now to muse on this, and it may be added that from first to lastEthelberta never discovered from the Belmaines whether her proposal hadbeen an infliction or a charm, so perfectly were they practised insustaining that complete divorce between thinking and saying which is thehall-mark of high civilization.

  But, however she might doubt the Belmaines, she had no doubt as toNeigh's true sentiments: the time had come when he, notwithstanding hisair of being oppressed by almost every lively invention of town andcountry for charming griefs to rest, would not be at all oppressed by aquiet visit to the purlieus of St Giles's, Cripplegate, since she was theoriginator, and was going herself.

  It was a bright hope-inspiring afternoon in this mid-May time when thecarriage containing Mr. and Mrs. Belmaine, Mrs. Doncastle, andEthelberta, crept along the encumbered streets towards Barbican; tillturning out of that thoroughfare into Redcross Street they beheld thebold shape of the old tower they sought, clothed in every neutral shade,standing clear against the sky, dusky and grim in its upper stage, andhoary grey below, where every corner of every stone was completelyrounded off by the waves of wind and storm.

  All people were busy here: our visitors seemed to be the only idlepersons the city contained; and there was no dissonance--there neveris--between antiquity and such beehive industry; for pure industry, infailing to observe its own existence and aspect, partakes of theunobtrusive nature of material things. This intra-mural stir was aflywheel transparent by excessive motion, through which Milton and hisday could be seen as if nothing intervened. Had there been ostensiblyharmonious accessories, a crowd of observing people in search of thepoetical, conscious of the place and the scene, what a discord would havearisen there! But everybody passed by Milton's grave except Ethelbertaand her friends, and for the moment the city's less invidious conductappeared to her more respectful as a practice than her own.

  But she was brought out of this rumination by the halt at the churchdoor, and completely reminded of the present by finding the church open,and Neigh--the, till yesterday, unimpassioned Neigh--waiting in thevestibule to receive them, just as if he lived there. Ladywell had notarrived. It was a long time before Ethelberta could get back to Miltonagain, for Neigh was continuing to impend over her future more and morevisibly. The objects along the journey had distracted her mind from him;but the moment now was as a direct renewal and prolongation of thedeclaration-time yesterday, and as if in furtherance of the conclusion ofthe episode.

  They all alighted and went in, the coachman being told to take thecarriage to a quiet nook further on, and return in half-an-hour. Mrs.Belmaine and her carriage some years before had accidentally got jammedcrosswise in Cheapside through the clumsiness of the man in turning up aside street, blocking that great artery of the civilized world for thespace of a minute and a half, when they were pounced upon by half-a-dozenpolicemen and forced to back ignominiously up a little slit between thehouses where they did not mean to go, amid the shouts of the hindereddrivers; and it was her nervous recollection of that event which causedMrs. Belmaine to be so precise in her directions now.

  By the time that they were grouped around the tomb the visit had assumeda much more solemn complexion than any one among them had anticipated.Ashamed of the influence that she discovered Neigh to be exercising overher, and opposing it steadily, Ethelberta drew from her pocket a smalledition of Milton, and proposed that she should read a few lines from'Paradise Lost.' The responsibility of producing a successful afternoonwas upon her shoulders; she was, moreover, the only one present who couldproperly manage blank verse, and this was sufficient to justify theproposal.

  She stood with her head against the marble slab just below the bust, andbegan a selected piece, Neigh standing a few yards off on her rightlooking into his hat in order to listen accurately, Mr. and Mrs. Belmaineand Mrs. Doncastle seating themselves in a pew directly facing themonument. The ripe warm colours of afternoon came in upon them from thewest, upon the sallow piers and arches, and the infinitely deep brownpews beneath, the aisle over Ethelberta's head being in misty shadethrough which glowed a lurid light from a dark-stained window behind. Thesentences fell from her lips in a rhythmical cadence one by one, and shecould be fancied a priestess of him before whose image she stood, whenwith a vivid suggestiveness she delivered here, not many yards from thecentral money-mill of the world, yet out from the very tomb of theirauthor, the passage containing the words:

  'Mammon led them on; Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From heaven.'

  When she finished reading Ethelberta left the monument, and then each onepresent strayed independently about the building, Ethelberta turning tothe left along the passage to the south door. Neigh--from whose usuallyapathetic face and eyes there had proceeded a secret smouldering light ashe listened and regarded her--followed in the same
direction and vanishedat her heels into the churchyard, whither she had now gone. Mr. and Mrs.Belmaine exchanged glances, and instead of following the pair they wentwith Mrs. Doncastle into the vestry to inquire of the person in chargefor the register of the marriage of Oliver Cromwell, which was solemnizedhere. The church was now quite empty, and its stillness was as a vacuuminto which an occasional noise from the street overflowed and becamerarefied away to nothing.

  Something like five minutes had passed when a hansom stopped outside thedoor, and Ladywell entered the porch. He stood still, and, lookinginquiringly round for a minute or two, sat down in one of the high pews,as if under the impression that the others had not yet arrived.

  While he sat here Neigh reappeared at the south door opposite, and cameslowly in. Ladywell, in rising to go to him, saw that Neigh's attentionwas engrossed by something he held in his hand. It was his pocket-book,and Neigh was looking at a few loose flower-petals which had been placedbetween the pages. When Ladywell came forward Neigh looked up, started,and closed the book quickly, so that some of the petals fluttered to theground between the two men. They were striped, red and white, andappeared to be leaves of the Harlequin rose.

  'Ah! here you are, Ladywell,' he said, recovering himself. 'We had givenyou up: my aunt said that you would not care to come. They are all inthe vestry.' How it came to pass that Neigh designated those in thevestry as 'all,' when there was one in the churchyard, was a thing thathe himself could hardly have explained, so much more had it to do withinstinct than with calculation.

  'Never mind them--don't interrupt them,' said Ladywell. 'The plain truthis that I have been very greatly disturbed in mind; and I could notappear earlier by reason of it. I had some doubt about coming at all.'

  'I am sorry to hear that.'

  'Neigh--I may as well tell you and have done with it. I have found thata lady of my acquaintance has two strings to her bow, or I am very muchin error.'

  'What--Mrs. Petherwin?' said Neigh uneasily. 'But I thought that--thatfancy was over with you long ago. Even your acquaintance with her was atan end, I thought.'

  'In a measure it is at an end. But let me tell you that what you call afancy has been anything but a fancy with me, to be over like a springshower. To speak plainly, Neigh, I consider myself badly used by thatwoman; damn badly used.'

  'Badly used?' said Neigh mechanically, and wondering all the time ifLadywell had been informed that Ethelberta was to be one of the party to-day.

  'Well, I ought not to talk like that,' said Ladywell, adopting a lightertone. 'All is fair in courtship, I suppose, now as ever. Indeed, I meanto put a good face upon it: if I am beaten, I am. But it is veryprovoking, after supposing matters to be going on smoothly, to find outthat you are quite mistaken.'

  'I told you you were quite mistaken in supposing she cared for you.'

  'That is just the point I was not mistaken in,' said Ladywell warmly.'She did care for me, and I stood as well with her as any man could standuntil this fellow came, whoever he is. I sometimes feel so disturbedabout it that I have a good mind to call upon her and ask his name.Wouldn't you, Neigh? Will you accompany me?'

  'I would in a moment, but, but-- I strongly advise you not to go,' saidNeigh earnestly. 'It would be rash, you know, and rather unmannerly; andwould only hurt your feelings.'

  'Well, I am always ready to yield to a friend's arguments. . . . Asneaking scamp, that's what he is. Why does he not show himself?'

  'Don't you really know who he is?' said Neigh, in a pronounced andexceptional tone, on purpose to give Ladywell a chance of suspecting, forthe position was getting awkward. But Ladywell was blind as Bartimeus inthat direction, so well had indifference to Ethelberta's charms beenfeigned by Neigh until he thought seriously of marrying her. Yet,unfortunately for the interests of calmness, Ladywell was less blind withhis outward eye. In his reflections his glance had lingered again uponthe pocket-book which Neigh still held in his hand, and upon the two orthree rose-leaves on the floor, until he said idly, superimposinghumorousness upon misery, as men in love can:

  'Rose-leaves, Neigh? I thought you did not care for flowers. What makesyou amuse yourself with such sentimental objects as those, only fit forwomen, or painters like me? If I had not observed you with my own eyes Ishould have said that you were about the last man in the world to carefor things of that sort. Whatever makes you keep rose-leaves in yourpocket-book?'

  'The best reason on earth,' said Neigh. 'A woman gave them to me.'

  'That proves nothing unless she is a great deal to you,' said Ladywell,with the experienced air of a man who, whatever his inferiority in yearsto Neigh, was far beyond him in knowledge of that sort, by virtue of hisrecent trials.

  'She is a great deal to me.'

  'If I did not know you to be such a confirmed misogynist I should saythat this is a serious matter.'

  'It is serious,' said Neigh quietly. 'The probability is that I shallmarry the woman who gave me these. Anyhow I have asked her the question,and she has not altogether said no.'

  'I am glad to hear it, Neigh,' said Ladywell heartily. 'I am glad tohear that your star is higher than mine.'

  Before Neigh could make further reply Ladywell was attracted by the glowof green sunlight reflected through the south door by the grass of thechurchyard, now in all its spring freshness and luxuriance. He bent hissteps thither, followed anxiously by Neigh.

  'I had no idea there was such a lovely green spot in the city,' Ladywellcontinued, passing out. 'Trees too, planted in the manner of an orchard.What a charming place!'

  The place was truly charming just at that date. The untainted leaves ofthe lime and plane trees and the newly-sprung grass had in the sun abrilliancy of beauty that was brought into extraordinary prominence bythe sable soil showing here and there, and the charcoaled stems andtrunks out of which the leaves budded: they seemed an importation, not aproduce, and their delicacy such as would perish in a day.

  'What is this round tower?' Ladywell said again, walking towards the iron-grey bastion, partly covered with ivy and Virginia creeper, which stoodobtruding into the enclosure.

  'O, didn't you know that was here? That's a piece of the old city wall,'said Neigh, looking furtively around at the same time. Behind thebastion the churchyard ran into a long narrow strip, grassed like theother part, but completely hidden from it by the cylinder of raggedmasonry. On rounding this projection, Ladywell beheld within a few feetof him a lady whom he knew too well.

  'Mrs. Petherwin here!' exclaimed he, proving how ignorant he had been ofthe composition of the party he was to meet, and accounting at the sametime for his laxity in attending it.

  'I forgot to tell you,' said Neigh awkwardly, behind him, 'that Mrs.Petherwin was to come with us.'

  Ethelberta's look was somewhat blushful and agitated, as if from somelate transaction: she appeared to have been secluding herself there tillshe should have recovered her equanimity. However, she came up to himand said, 'I did not see you before this moment: we had been thinking youwould not come.'

  While these words were being prettily spoken, Ladywell's face became paleas death. On Ethelberta's bosom were the stem and green calyx of a rose,almost all its flower having disappeared. It had been a Harlequin rose,for two or three of its striped leaves remained to tell the tale.

  She could not help noticing his fixed gaze, and she said quickly, 'Yes, Ihave lost my pretty rose: this may as well go now,' and she plucked thestem from its fastening in her dress and flung it away.

  Poor Ladywell turned round to meet Mr. and Mrs. Belmaine, whose voiceswere beginning to be heard just within the church door, leaving Neigh andEthelberta together. It was a graceful act of young Ladywell's that, inthe midst of his own pain at the strange tale the rose-leavessuggested--Neigh's rivalry, Ethelberta's mutability, his own defeat--hewas not regardless of the intense embarrassment which might have beencaused had he remained.

  The two were silent at first, and it was evident that Ethelberta
's moodwas one of anger at something that had gone before. She turned asidefrom him to follow the others, when Neigh spoke in a tone somewhat bitterand somewhat stern.

  'What--going like that! After being compromised together, why don't youclose with me? Ladywell knows all: I had already told him that the rose-leaves were given me by my intended wife. We seem to him to bepractising deceptions all of a piece, and what folly it is to play offso! As to what I did, that I ask your forgiveness for.'

  Ethelberta looked upon the ground and maintained a compressed lip. Neighresumed: 'If I showed more feeling than you care for, I insist that itwas not more than was natural under the circumstances, if not quiteproper. Opinions may differ, but my experience goes to prove thatconventional squeamishness at such times as these is more talked andwritten about than practised. Plain behaviour must be expected whenmarriage is the question. Nevertheless, I do say--and I cannot saymore--that I am sincerely sorry to have offended you by exceeding myprivileges. I will never do so again.'

  'Don't say privileges. You have none.'

  'I am sorry that I thought otherwise, and that others will think so too.Ladywell is, at any rate, bent on thinking so. . . . It might have beenmade known to him in a gentle way--but God disposes.'

  'There is nothing to make known--I don't understand,' said Ethelberta,going from him.

  By this time Ladywell had walked round the gravel walks with the twoother ladies and Mr. Belmaine, and they were all turning to come backagain. The young painter had deputed his voice to reply to theirremarks, but his understanding continued poring upon other things. Whenhe came up to Ethelberta, his agitation had left him: she too was freefrom constraint; while Neigh was some distance off, carefully examiningnothing in particular in an old fragment of wall.

  The little party was now united again as to its persons; though in spiritfar otherwise. They went through the church in general talk, Ladywellsad but serene, and Ethelberta keeping far-removed both from him and fromNeigh. She had at this juncture entered upon that Sphinx-like stage ofexistence in which, contrary to her earlier manner, she signified to noone of her ways, plans, or sensations, and spoke little on any subject atall. There were occasional smiles now which came only from the face, andspeeches from the lips merely.

  The journey home was performed as they had come, Ladywell not acceptingthe seat in Neigh's cab which was phlegmatically offered him. Mrs.Doncastle's acquaintance with Ethelberta had been slight until this day;but the afternoon's proceeding had much impressed the matron with heryounger friend. Before they parted she said, with the sort of affabilitywhich is meant to signify the beginning of permanent friendship: 'Afriend of my husband's, Lord Mountclere, has been anxious for some timeto meet you. He is a great admirer of the poems, and more still of thestory-telling invention, and your power in it. He has been present manytimes at the Mayfair Hall to hear you. When will you dine with us tomeet him? I know you will like him. Will Thursday be convenient?'

  Ethelberta stood for a moment reflecting, and reflecting hoped that Mrs.Doncastle had not noticed her momentary perplexity. Crises were becomingas common with her as blackberries; and she had foreseen this one a longtime. It was not that she was to meet Lord Mountclere, for he was only aname and a distant profile to her: it was that her father wouldnecessarily be present at the meeting, in the most anomalous positionthat human nature could endure.

  However, having often proved in her disjointed experience that theshortest way out of a difficulty lies straight through it, Ethelbertadecided to dine at the Doncastles', and, as she murmured that she shouldhave great pleasure in meeting any friend of theirs, set about contrivinghow the encounter with her dearest relative might be made safe andunsuspected. She bade them adieu blithely; but the thoughts engenderedby the invitation stood before her as sorrowful and rayless ghosts whichcould not be laid. Often at such conjunctures as these, when thefutility of her great undertaking was more than usually manifest, didEthelberta long like a tired child for the conclusion of the wholematter; when her work should be over, and the evening come; when shemight draw her boat upon the shore, and in some thymy nook await eternalnight with a placid mind.