CHAPTER XXIX
IN WHICH CASSANDRA VISITS DAVID THRYNG'S ANCESTORS
It was a pleasant morning in London, with as clear a sky as is everpermitted to that great city. Cassandra had placed her little son in themiddle of a huge bed which nearly filled the small room she had beengiven in a hotel, recommended to her by Betty Towers as one where "niceladies travelling alone" could stop.
The child was dressed in a fresh white coat, and Cassandra had much adoto keep him clean. She heaped him about with pillows and bedclothing tomake a nest for him, and gave him a spoon and a drinking cup forentertainment, while she arranged her own toilet before a cloudy mirrorby a slant ray of daylight that managed to sift through the heavydraperies and lace curtains that obscured the one high, narrow window ofher room.
She had tried to put them one side that she might look out when sheawoke, but she could see only chimney-pots and grimy, irregularly tiledroofs. A narrow opening at the top of the window let in a little air;still she felt smothered, and tried to raise the lower sash, but couldnot move it. She thought of the books she had read about great cities,and how some people had to live in places like this always; and herheart filled with a large pity for them. Here only a small triangle ofblue sky could be seen--not a tree, not a bit of earth--and in the smallroom all those heavy furnishings closed around her, dark red, stuffy,and greasy with London smoke. She could not touch them withoutblackening her hands, nor let her baby sit on the floor for the dirt hewiped up on his clothing as he rolled and kicked about.
The room seemed to sway and tip as the ship had done, and there was acontinuous sound as of thunder, a strange undercurrent that seemed toher strained nerves like the moaning of the lost souls of all the ages,who had lived and toiled and smothered in this monstrous and terriblecity.
Ah, she must get out of it. She must hurry--hurry and find David. Hewould be glad to see his little son. He would take him in his arms. Hewould hold them both to his heart. She would see him smile again andlook in his eyes, and all this foreboding would cease, and the wofulsounds die out of the air and become only the natural roar of theactivities and traffic of a great city. She must get used to all this,and not expect to find all the world like her own sunny mountains.
The bishop's careful little wife had tried to explain to her how to meether new experiences. She was to go nowhere alone, without taking a cab,and never start out on foot, carrying her baby in her arms, as she mightdo at home. She had given her written instructions how to conductherself under all ordinary circumstances, at her hotel or on thestreet--how to ring for a servant, order her meals, or call a cab.
Now, standing before her mirror, Cassandra essayed to arrange her hairas she had seen other young women wear theirs, but she thought the newway looked untidy, and she took it all down and rearranged it as she wasused to wear it. David would not mind if she did not do her hair asothers did, he would be so glad to see her and his little son. Ah, thecomfort of that little son! She leaned over the bed, half dressed as shewas, and murmured pretty cooing phrases, kissing and cuddling him tocontented laughter.
Betty Towers had procured clothing for her--a modest supply--using herown good taste, and not disguising Cassandra's natural grace and dignityby a too-close adherence to the prevailing mode. There were a bluetravelling gown and jacket, and a toque of the same color with a whitewing; a soft clinging black silk, made with girlish simplicity whichadmirably became her, and a wide, flexible brimmed hat with a singleheavy plume taken from Betty's own hat of the last winter. Cassandrastood a long moment before the two gowns. She desired to don the silk,but Betty had told her always to wear the blue in the morning, so atlast she obeyed her kind adviser.
While waiting with her baby in her arms for the hotel boy to call hercab, she observed another lady, young and graceful, enter a cab, and amaid following her wearing a pretty cap, and carrying a child. Eager,for David's sake, to draw no adverse comment upon herself, she took noteof everything. Ought she then to arrive attended by a maid, carrying herbaby? But David would know she did not need one; bringing him his littleson in her own arms, what would he care for anything more? So theaddress was given the cabman, and they were rattled away over the roughpaving, a long, lonely ride through the wonderful city--so many miles ofhouses and splendid buildings, of gardens and monuments.
Strangely, the people of _Vanity Fair_ leaped out of the book she hadread, and walked the streets or dashed by her in cabs--albeit in moderndress. The soldiers--the guardsmen--the liveried lackeys--the errandboys--all were there, and the ladies in fine carriages. There were thenursemaids--the babies--the beggars--the ragged urchins and the vendersof the street, with their raucous cries rending the air. Her brainwhirled, and a new feeling to which she had hitherto been blessedly astranger crept over her, a feeling of fear.
As the great two-story coaches and trams thundered by, she clasped herbaby closer, until he looked up in her face with round-eyed wonder andput up his lip in pitiful protest. She soothed and comforted him untilher panic passed, and when, at last, they stopped before a great housebuilt in on either side by other houses, with wide steps of stonedescending directly upon the street, she had regained a measure ofcomposure. She was assured by the cabman, leaning respectfully down toher with his cap in his hand, that this was "the 'ouse, ma'm," andshould he wait?
"Oh, yes. Wait," cried Cassandra. What if David were not there! And ofcourse, he might be out. Then they were swallowed up in the darkinterior. She was admitted to a hall that seemed to her empty and vast,by a little old man in livery. For a moment, bewildered, she couldhardly understand what he was saying to her. "'Er ladyship's at 'ercountry 'ome and the 'ouse closed."
Although dazed and baffled, Cassandra betrayed no sign of the tumultwithin, and the little old man stood before her hesitating, hiscuriosity piqued into a determination to discover her business andidentity. Her gravity and silence gave her a poise and dignity thatallayed suspicion, but he and his old wife liked diversion, and a spiceof gossip lightened the monotony of their lives, so he waited, thencoughed behind his hand.
"Yes, 'er ladyship and Lady Laura are at their country 'ome now, ma'm.Maybe you came to see the 'ouse, ma'm?"
"No, it was not the house--it was--" Again she waited, not knowing howto introduce her husband's name.
A mystery! A visitor at this hour, and seemingly a lady, yet with a babyin her arms, and alone, and not to see the house. Again he coughedbehind his hand.
"A many do come to see the 'ouse, ma'm, with a permit from 'is lordship,ma'm. 'E's not 'ere now, but strangers are halways welcome--to thegallery, ma'm."
"Yes, I'm a stranger." She caught at the word. Seized by an inwardterror of the small eyes fixed curiously on her, she intuitively shrankfrom betraying her identity, and the old servant had told her what sheneeded to know. Of course her husband was "his lordship," over here. "Iam from America, and I would like to see the gallery." She must do so togive a pretext for having come to visit an empty house. David must notbe compromised before the old servant, but a great lump filled herthroat, and tears were burning unshed beneath her eyes.
For all of the warm August sun shining without, a chill struck to herbones as they passed through the vast, closed rooms. She held her nowsleeping baby close to her breast as she followed the old man about frompicture to picture.
"Yes, a many do come 'ere--especially hartists--to see this gallery.They say as 'ow 'is lordship wouldn't take a thousand pounds for thisone, ma'm. We'll let in a little more light. A Vandyke--and worth it'sweight in gold."
Cassandra watched him cross the floor, his short bow legs reflectedgrotesquely in its shining surface as he walked, then turned and gazedagain at the life-size, half-length portrait of a young man with sunnyhair like David's and warm brown eyes.
"There, you see, it's more than a Vandyke to the family, ma'm, for it'sa hancestor, and my wife says it's as like as two peas to 'is younglordship, who has just come into the title, ma'm. And that's strange,isn't it, for 'im to look so like, being
as 'e belonged to the youngerbranch who 'aven't 'eld the title for four generations; but come todress 'im in velvet and gold lace, and the likeness would be nigh asperfect as if 'e 'ad stood for it."
Cassandra gazed so long silently at this picture that again the littleman coughed his deprecatory cough and essayed to lead her on; but shewas seeing visions and did not heed him. When at last she turned, hergray eyes had deepened, and a clearly defined spot of delicate redburned on one pale cheek. She drew a deep breath and looked down thelength of the long gallery. Everything was being impressed upon her mindas upon sensitized paper.
She followed slowly in the old man's wake, never opening her lips untilthey had made the circuit and were again standing before the portrait ofthe fair-haired youth. Then, roused suddenly by a direct question, sheresponded.
The old servant was saying: "You 'aven't 'appened to meet a SamuelCutter in America, 'ave you? 'E's our son. England was too slow for 'im.Young men aren't like old ones; they wants hadventure, and they gets it.That's 'ow so many of 'em joins the harmy and gets killed like 'islordship's two sons, and young Lord Thryng's brother as would 'ave been'is lordship, if 'e' ad lived. You 'aven't 'appened to know a SamuelCutter over there? 'E went to Canada."
"No, I never met any one by that name. I live a long way from Canada."
"About 'ow far do you think, ma'm?"
Cassandra had no idea of the distance, but she knew how long David andHoyle were journeying there, so she answered as best she could. "Ittakes three or four days to get there from my home."
The old man's eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped. "It's a bigcountry--America is. England may be a small place, but she 'astremendous big possessions." He felt it all belonged to England, andspoke with swelling pride as his short legs carried him toward the door.There again he paused. He had learned nothing of this young woman totell his old wife, except that she came from America, and had never metSamuel Cutter. The mystery was still unsolved.
"Yes, 'is young lordship do look amazing like that picture. If you'dever seen 'im, you'd think 'e'd dressed up in velvet and lace and stoodfor it. 'E's lived in America five years, but if you never were inCanada and never met our Sammy, it's more likely you never saw 'imeither."
"Is he at their country home also?" Cassandra asked. She had seatedherself in the hall, for her heart throbbed chokingly, and the lump washeavy in her throat. It was as she had dreamed sometimes, when her feetseemed to cling to the earth, and would not lift her weight up somesteep hill.
"'Is lordship is still in Hafrica, mam. 'E 'ave been a great traveller,but 'e can't stay much longer now, for Lady Laura is to 'ave a grandcoming out, and 'is lordship is to be married. Her ladyship's 'eart isset on it, and on 'is marrying 'igh, too. That's gossip, you know."
Cassandra rose and stood suddenly poised for flight. She must get out ofthat house and hear no more. She had a silver shilling in her hand, forBetty Towers had told her all servants expected a tip, and this wasintended for the cabman. Had she followed her impulse, she would havedarted by with her fingers in her ears, but instead, she dropped theshilling in the old man's hand, and quietly turned toward the door.
"Thank you," his fingers closed over the shilling. Her pallor struck himthen, even as the red spot on her cheek deepened, and he held out hisarms for the child.
"Let me carry 'im for you, ma'm. Is it a boy?"
But her arms closed tighter about her baby. "He is my little son." Itwas almost a cry, as she said it, but again she forced herself tocalmness, and, walking slowly out, added, with a quiet smile: "I alwayskeep him myself. We do in America."
In a moment she was gone. The warm sunlight burst in on them and floodedthe cold hall as the old man stood in the doorway looking after theretreating cab, and down at the silver shilling.
Darker, dingier, stuffier, seemed the box of a room, as she walked intoit and laid her still sleeping babe on the bed. She felt herself movingin an unreal world. David--her David--she had not come to him after all;she had come to an empty place. She knelt and threw her arms about herlittle son, encircling his head and his feet. She neither wept norprayed; and the red spot burned against the creamy whiteness of herskin. She was not thinking, only looking, seeing into the past and downthe long vista of her future.
Pictures came to her--pictures of her girlhood--her dim aspirations--hermelancholy-eyed father--his hilltop--and beloved, sunlit mountains. Inthe radiance of the spring, she saw them, and in the glory of theautumn; she breathed the fragrance of the pines in winter and heard thesoft patter of summer rains on widespreading leaves. She saw Davidwalking at her side, and heard his laugh, sun-bright and glorious heseemed, her Phoebus Apollo--the father of her little son.
She saw the terrible sea which she had crossed to come to him--thewhite-crested waves, with turquoise lights and indigo depths, shiftingand sliding unceasingly where all the world seemed swallowed in space,and the huge steamship so small a thing in the vast and perilous deep;and now--now she was here. What was she? What was life?
She had tried to find him, her David, and had been shown the dead, andthe glory of the dead--all past and gone--her David's glory. Shown thatlong, empty gallery resounding with those aged footsteps, and thepictures--pictures--pictures--of men and women who had once been babeslike her little son and David's, now dead and gone--not one soul amongthem all to greet her. Proud lords and dames in frames of gold; youngmen and maidens in costly silks and velvets of marvellous dyes,red-cheeked, red-lipped, and soullessly silent; and she, alone andundefended in their midst, holding in her arms their last descendant.All those painted fingers seemed lifted to point at her; those silentred lips parted to cry out at her, "Look at this stranger claiming to beone of us; send her away."
And David--her David--was one of these! What they had felt--what theyhad thought and striven for--was it all intensified and concentrated inhim? Oh, if her soul could only reach to him, wherever he was, andpenetrate this impalpable veil that stretched between them! If her handscould only touch him, her eyes look into his and see what lay in theirdepths for her!
Then her babe stirred and tossed up his pretty hands, waking her fromher sad, vision-seeing trance. He opened his large, clear eyes, andsuddenly it seemed that her wish was granted,--that the veil was rentand she was looking into David's eyes and seeing his soul free, nolonger chained by invisible links to those dead and gone beings, andtheir traditions. This had been all a dream--a dream.
She gathered the child in her arms and held him with his sweet, warmlips pressed to her breast and his soft little hand thrust in her bosom.David's little son--David's little son! Surely all was good and wellwith the world! Did not the old man say it was only gossip? Had not evilthings been said of David even on her own mountain? It was the trail ofthe serpent of ill report. He had not confided his sacred secret tothese people, and they had thought what they pleased. Surely he had toldhis mother about his wife. She would go to his mother and wait for hisreturn, and there she would bring her precious gift--David's little son.
Quickly she packed her few belongings and rang for a messenger, and asshe stood an instant waiting for an answer to her ring, the white-cappednurse she had noticed in the morning passed by with the baby in herarms. Yes, surely women of David's state did not travel about alone. Hadshe not read in _Vanity Fair_ how Becky Sharp always had her maid? Andnow she was in "Vanity Fair," and must be wise and not go to David'smother unattended. Then, too, if only she had some one with her to whomshe could speak now and then, it would be better. Therefore, withoutfurther consideration, she walked swiftly down the corridor after thetidy nurse.
"Will you tell me, please, have you a sister?" she said. The young womanstood still in astonishment. "Or--any friend like yourself? I--I am astranger from America." The look of surprise changed to one ofcuriosity. "And it is right hard to go about alone with my baby, so Ithought I would ask you if you have a sister."
"Is it to the country you wish to go, ma'm?" The baby in her armsstirred, and the nurse swayed gently back and
forth to hush it.
"Yes."
"I couldn't go with you myself, ma'm--but--"
"Oh, no! I didn't mean you. I only thought if you had a sister--or afriend, maybe, who could help me for a little while."
"I saw you this morning, ma'm, as you went out. I'll see what I can do.What number is your room? and what name? I mustn't talk here. Mrs.Darling is very particular."
"Oh, never mind, then." Cassandra turned away in sudden shame lest shehad not done the right thing. The nurse watched her return to her roomas swiftly as she had left it, and took note of the number.
"How very odd!" said the young woman to herself.
Cassandra felt more abashed under the round-eyed gaze of the maid thanif she had encountered the queen. Her ring for a messenger had not beenanswered, and she did not know how to find her husband's country-seat.She felt faint and weary, but did not think of hunger, nor that it waslong past the dinner-hour, and that she had eaten nothing since herearly breakfast. She only thought that she must be brave and try--try tothink how to reach David's people.
Resolutely she closed her door, and dressed her baby carefully; then shearrayed herself in the soft silk gown, and the wide hat with the heavyplume, and then--could David have seen her with her courageous eyes andlifted head, and the faint color from excitement in her cheeks--he wouldno longer have feared to take her by the hand and lead her to his motherand say, "She is my wife, and the loveliest lady in the land."
People looked at her as she passed, and turned to look again. Down wide,carpeted stairs she went, until she came to a broad landing withrecessed windows, where were round polished tables and people seated,sipping tea and eating thin bread and butter and muffins. Then Cassandraknew that she was hungry and sat herself in one of the windows apart,before a table. Presently a young man came and bent down to her as iflistening. She looked up at him in bewilderment, but at the sameinstant, seeing another young man similarly dressed bearing a tray ofmuffins and tea to a lady and gentleman near by, she said:--
"I would like tea, please."
"W'ot kind, ma'm?" She did not care what kind, nor know for what to ask,only to have something soon, so she said:--
"I will take what they have."
"Yes, ma'm. Muffins, ma'm?"
"Yes," she replied wearily, and turned to gaze out of the window. Cabsand carriages were rushing up and down the street below them. She placedher little son on the seat beside her and held him with sheltering arm,while he watched the moving vehicles and looked from them to hismother's face.
"What a perfectly lovely child!" said a pleasant voice. "Is it a boy?How old is he?"
Cassandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout andflorid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. Agray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.
"Yes," said Cassandra, faintly. "He is almost six months old."
The girl reached over and patted his cheek. "How perfectly dear. Seehim, mamma. Isn't he, though?"
"Babies are always dear," said the mother, with a smile. "Come, Laura,we can't wait, you know," and they passed on. As Cassandra looked up inthe mother's face, something stirred vaguely in her heart. Had she seenher before? Possibly, so many had paused to speak to her in this casualway since she left home.
Then her tea and crisp, hot muffins were brought. The young girl'spleasant words had warmed her heart, and the refreshment gave her morecourage. She made her way to the office and inquired how she might findLord Thryng's country home. The clerk wrote the address promptly on acard, but the keen look of interest with which he handed it to hercaused her to shrink inwardly. Why, what was it to him what place sheasked for? She lifted her head proudly. She must not falter.
"I wish to go there. Will you tell me how, please?"
But the surprise of the clerk was quite natural, as she had signed thehotel register the evening before with her whole name, giving no thoughtto it; and now he wondered what relation she might be to the family solately come into the title, since she bore the name, yet seemed to knowso little about them. He explained to her courteously--almostdeferentially.
"Will you go to Daneshead Castle itself, ma'm, or stop in Queensderry?"As she had no idea what the question involved, she replied at hazard.
"I will stop in Queensderry." And her bags were brought down, and shewas despatched to the right station without more delay.