41. WORKSHOPS--AN INN--THE STREET
On an extensive plot of ground, lying somewhere between the Thames andthe Kensington squares, stood the premises of Messrs. Nockett and Perch,builders and contractors. The yard with its workshops formed part of oneof those frontier lines between mangy business and garnished domesticitythat occur in what are called improving neighbourhoods. We areaccustomed to regard increase as the chief feature in a great city'sprogress, its well-known signs greeting our eyes on every outskirt. Slush-ponds may be seen turning into basement-kitchens; a broad causeway ofshattered earthenware smothers plots of budding gooseberry-bushes andvegetable trenches, foundations following so closely upon gardens thatthe householder may be expected to find cadaverous sprouts fromoverlooked potatoes rising through the chinks of his cellar floor. Butthe other great process, that of internal transmutation, is not lesscurious than this encroachment of grey upon green. Its first erectionsare often only the milk-teeth of a suburb, and as the district rises indignity they are dislodged by those which are to endure. Slightnessbecomes supplanted by comparative solidity, commonness by novelty,lowness and irregularity by symmetry and height.
An observer of the precinct which has been named as an instance in pointmight have stood under a lamp-post and heard simultaneously the peal ofthe visitor's bell from the new terrace on the right hand, and the strokeof tools from the musty workshops on the left. Waggons laden with dealscame up on this side, and landaus came down on the other--the former tolumber heavily through the old-established contractors' gates, the latterto sweep fashionably into the square.
About twelve o'clock on the day following Lord Mountclere's exhibition ofhimself to Christopher in the jeweller's shop at Melchester, and almostat the identical time when the viscount was seen to come from the officefor marriage-licences in the same place, a carriage drove nearly up tothe gates of Messrs. Nockett and Co.'s yard. A gentleman stepped out andlooked around. He was a man whose years would have been pronounced asfive-and-forty by the friendly, fifty by the candid, fifty-two or threeby the grim. He was as handsome a study in grey as could be seen intown, there being far more of the raven's plumage than of the gull's inthe mixture as yet; and he had a glance of that practised sort which canmeasure people, weigh them, repress them, encourage them to sprout andblossom as a March sun encourages crocuses, ask them questions, give themanswers--in short, a glance that could do as many things as an Americancooking-stove or a multum-in-parvo pocket-knife. But, as with most menof the world, this was mere mechanism: his actual emotions were kept sofar within his person that they were rarely heard or seen near hisfeatures.
On reading the builders' names over the gateway he entered the yard, andasked at the office if Solomon Chickerel was engaged on the premises. Theclerk was going to be very attentive, but finding the visitor had comeonly to speak to a workman, his tense attitude slackened a little, and hemerely signified the foot of a Flemish ladder on the other side of theyard, saying, 'You will find him, sir, up there in the joiner's shop.'
When the man in the black coat reached the top he found himself at theend of a long apartment as large as a chapel and as low as a malt-room,across which ran parallel carpenters' benches to the number of twenty ormore, a gangway being left at the side for access throughout. Behindevery bench there stood a man or two, planing, fitting, or chiselling, asthe case might be. The visitor paused for a moment, as if waiting forsome cessation of their violent motions and uproar till he could make hiserrand known. He waited ten seconds, he waited twenty; but, beyond thata quick look had been thrown upon him by every pair of eyes, the muscularperformances were in no way interrupted: every one seemed oblivious ofhis presence, and absolutely regardless of his wish. In truth, thetexture of that salmon-coloured skin could be seen to be aristocraticwithout a microscope, and the exceptious artizan has an offhand way whencontrasts are made painfully strong by an idler of this kind coming,gloved and brushed, into the very den where he is sweating and muddlingin his shirt-sleeves.
The gentleman from the carriage then proceeded down the workshop, wadingup to his knees in a sea of shavings, and bruising his ankles againstcorners of board and sawn-off blocks, that lay hidden like reefs beneath.At the ninth bench he made another venture.
'Sol Chickerel?' said the man addressed, as he touched his plane-ironupon the oilstone. 'He's one of them just behind.'
'Damn it all, can't one of you show me?' the visitor angrily observed,for he had been used to more attention than this. 'Here, point him out.'He handed the man a shilling.
'No trouble to do that,' said the workman; and he turned and signifiedSol by a nod without moving from his place.
The stranger entered Sol's division, and, nailing him with his eye, saidat once: 'I want to speak a few words with you in private. Is not a Mrs.Petherwin your sister?'
Sol started suspiciously. 'Has anything happened to her?' he at lengthsaid hurriedly.
'O no. It is on a business matter that I have called. You need not mindowning the relationship to me--the secret will be kept. I am the brotherof one whom you may have heard of from her--Lord Mountclere.'
'I have not. But if you will wait a minute, sir--' He went to a littleglazed box at the end of the shop, where the foreman was sitting, and,after speaking a few words to this person, Sol led Mountclere to thedoor, and down the ladder.
'I suppose we cannot very well talk here, after all?' said the gentleman,when they reached the yard, and found several men moving about therein.
'Perhaps we had better go to some room--the nearest inn will answer thepurpose, won't it?'
'Excellently.'
'There's the "Green Bushes" over the way. They have a very nice privateroom upstairs.'
'Yes, that will do.' And passing out of the yard, the man with theglance entered the inn with Sol, where they were shown to the parlour asrequested.
While the waiter was gone for some wine, which Mountclere ordered, themore ingenuous of the two resumed the conversation by saying, awkwardly:'Yes, Mrs. Petherwin is my sister, as you supposed, sir; but on heraccount I do not let it be known.'
'Indeed,' said Mountclere. 'Well, I came to see you in order to speak ofa matter which I thought you might know more about than I do, for it hastaken me quite by surprise. My brother, Lord Mountclere, is, it seems,to be privately married to Mrs. Petherwin to-morrow.'
'Is that really the fact?' said Sol, becoming quite shaken. 'I had nothought that such a thing could be possible!'
'It is imminent.'
'Father has told me that she has lately got to know some nobleman; but Inever supposed there could be any meaning in that.'
'You were altogether wrong,' said Mountclere, leaning back in his chairand looking at Sol steadily. 'Do you feel it to be a matter upon whichyou will congratulate her?'
'A very different thing!' said Sol vehemently. 'Though he is yourbrother, sir, I must say this, that I would rather she married thepoorest man I know.'
'Why?'
'From what my father has told me of him, he is not--a more desirablebrother-in-law to me than I shall be in all likelihood to him. Whatbusiness has a man of that character to marry Berta, I should like toask?'
'That's what I say,' returned Mountclere, revealing his satisfaction atSol's estimate of his noble brother: it showed that he had calculatedwell in coming here. 'My brother is getting old, and he has livedstrangely: your sister is a highly respectable young lady.'
'And he is not respectable, you mean? I know he is not. I worked nearEnckworth once.'
'I cannot say that,' returned Mountclere. Possibly a certain fraternalfeeling repressed a direct assent: and yet this was the onlyrepresentation which could be expected to prejudice the young man againstthe wedding, if he were such an one as the visitor supposed Sol to be--aman vulgar in sentiment and ambition, but pure in his anxiety for hissister's happiness. 'At any rate, we are agreed in thinking that thiswould be an unfortunate marriage for both,' added Mountclere.
'Abo
ut both I don't know. It may be a good thing for him. When do yousay it is to be, sir--to-morrow?'
'Yes.'
'I don't know what to do!' said Sol, walking up and down. 'If half whatI have heard is true, I would lose a winter's work to prevent hermarrying him. What does she want to go mixing in with people who despiseher for? Now look here, Mr. Mountclere, since you have been and calledme out to talk this over, it is only fair that you should tell me theexact truth about your brother. Is it a lie, or is it true, that he isnot fit to be the husband of a decent woman?'
'That is a curious inquiry,' said Mountclere, whose manner and aspect,neutral as a winter landscape, had little in common with Sol's warm andunrestrained bearing. 'There are reasons why I think your sister willnot be happy with him.'
'Then it is true what they say,' said Sol, bringing down his fist uponthe table. 'I know your meaning well enough. What's to be done? If Icould only see her this minute, she might be kept out of it.'
'You think your presence would influence your sister--if you could seeher before the wedding?'
'I think it would. But who's to get at her?'
'I am going, so you had better come on with me--unless it would be bestfor your father to come.'
'Perhaps it might,' said the bewildered Sol. 'But he will not be able toget away; and it's no use for Dan to go. If anybody goes I must! If shehas made up her mind nothing can be done by writing to her.'
'I leave at once to see Lord Mountclere,' the other continued. 'I feelthat as my brother is evidently ignorant of the position of Mrs.Petherwin's family and connections, it is only fair in me, as his nearestrelative, to make them clear to him before it is too late.'
'You mean that if he knew her friends were working-people he would notthink of her as a wife? 'Tis a reasonable thought. But make your mindeasy: she has told him. I make a great mistake if she has for a momentthought of concealing that from him.'
'She may not have deliberately done so. But--and I say this with no ill-feeling--it is a matter known to few, and she may have taken no steps toundeceive him. I hope to bring him to see the matter clearly.Unfortunately the thing has been so secret and hurried that there isbarely time. I knew nothing until this morning--never dreamt of such apreposterous occurrence.'
'Preposterous! If it should come to pass, she would play her part as hislady as well as any other woman, and better. I wish there was no morereason for fear on my side than there is on yours! Things have come to asore head when she is not considered lady enough for such as he. Butperhaps your meaning is, that if your brother were to have a son, youwould lose your heir-presumptive title to the cor'net of Mountclere?Well, 'twould be rather hard for ye, now I come to think o't--upon mylife, 'twould.'
'The suggestion is as delicate as the --- atmosphere of this vile room.But let your ignorance be your excuse, my man. It is hardly worth whilefor us to quarrel when we both have the same object in view: do you thinkso?'
'That's true--that's true. When do you start, sir?'
'We must leave almost at once,' said Mountclere, looking at his watch.'If we cannot catch the two o'clock train, there is no getting there to-night--and to-morrow we could not possibly arrive before one.'
'I wish there was time for me to go and tidy myself a bit,' said Sol,anxiously looking down at his working clothes. 'I suppose you would notlike me to go with you like this?'
'Confound the clothes! If you cannot start in five minutes, we shall notbe able to go at all.'
'Very well, then--wait while I run across to the shop, then I am ready.How do we get to the station?'
'My carriage is at the corner waiting. When you come out I will meet youat the gates.'
Sol then hurried downstairs, and a minute or two later Mr. Mountclerefollowed, looking like a man bent on policy at any price. The carriagewas brought round by the time that Sol reappeared from the yard. Heentered and sat down beside Mountclere, not without a sense that he wasspoiling good upholstery; the coachman then allowed the lash of his whipto alight with the force of a small fly upon the horses, which set themup in an angry trot. Sol rolled on beside his new acquaintance with theshamefaced look of a man going to prison in a van, for pedestriansoccasionally gazed at him, full of what seemed to himself to be ironicalsurprise.
'I am afraid I ought to have changed my clothes after all,' he said,writhing under a perception of the contrast between them. 'Not knowinganything about this, I ain't a bit prepared. If I had got even my second-best hat, it wouldn't be so bad.'
'It makes no difference,' said Mountclere inanimately.
'Or I might have brought my portmantle, with some things.'
'It really is not important.'
On reaching the station they found there were yet a few minutes to spare,which Sol made use of in writing a note to his father, to explain whathad occurred.