CHAPTER VII
FAREWELL TO ARCADIA STREET
THE morning which followed that night of wild exaggerations found Mr.Daniel Meggison in a despairing mood. He knew that he had gone toofar--understood that he had plunged not only himself but others intothis new sea of deceit in which they must all struggle together, andfrom which only one hand--that of Mr. Gilbert Byfield--could drag them.In the calmer mood following upon a severe headache, and a petulantremembrance of certain absurd statements of the night before, Meggisonsaw that he must substantiate much of what had been said at theearliest possible opportunity. Bessie believed in him, and Bessie wouldrequire to be satisfied; if even that considerable sum of fifty poundswas to be wrung out of the matter, the game must be kept alive, for afew days at least.
In a sense, however, Bessie had taken the matter out of his hands. Herbelief in him was so sublime and so fine that she had absolutely takenhim at his word; and that morning the one or two lodgers who only paidwhen they were driven to it, and the one or two others who paid when bychance they had any money, had special interviews with a radiant girlin a shabby black frock, who told them with shining eyes that she wassorry to get rid of them, and that the bills did not matter. The housewas to be given up; they were retiring to the country. So the lodgerswent away puzzled, thereafter to make arrangements for other lodgings,where it was to be feared they might not find landladies who would dealwith them so generously.
Two lodgers were difficult to deal with: poor Harry Dorricott forone, and Simon Quarle for another. It was hard to turn Harry out intothe world--harder still to make him understand that in one night hisdivinity had been removed far out of his reach. He did not understandin the least; he pleaded that he might have the new address, so thatin time to come he could forward his long overdue account. For therest, she cut short as delicately as she could his farewells and hisprotestations.
It was not so easy to get rid of Mr. Simon Quarle. Mr. Simon Quarleusually breakfasted late, because there was no business which claimedhim, as in the case of the others; and this morning Bessie came uponhim with a newspaper propped up against the cruet, and with a forkbusily going over a breakfast that had been already cut up for greaterexpedition in eating. He looked up at her quickly as she came into theroom, and then frowningly resumed his breakfast and his newspaper;which was in a sense his habit.
"If you please, Mr. Quarle--if I might speak to you," she began.
"Which is exactly what you're doing, you know," he retorted, notunkindly.
"I thought I should like to know when it would be suitable to you togo, Mr. Quarle."
He laid down his fork very slowly, and looked up at her; picked up thefork again, and resumed his breakfast. "Don't talk nonsense, Bessie,"he said.
"But, indeed, Mr. Quarle, I mean it," she urged. "The house is going tobe sold up--and all the lodgers are going. Of course I'm very sorry----"
"And pray what's the execution for this time?" he demanded, laying downhis fork finally with a sigh, and leaning back in his chair. "And howmuch is it?"
"You won't understand," she exclaimed, taking a seat at the furtherside of the table, and resting her chin on her folded hands, andsmiling across at him. "You've been so very good to me always, Mr.Quarle, that I thought you'd be glad."
"Glad! Because once again you're in difficulties?"
"But we're not; it's quite the other way about," she exclaimed. "We'reonly getting rid of this place--and the lodgers--and you--becausefather has come into a lot of money, and is taking me down into thecountry."
"Your father has come into a lot of money?" The man burst into a laugh,and picked up his fork again. "Who's told him so?"
"Mr. Quarle--you are really most unkind," she said. "Father is muchmore clever than anyone has ever imagined; he has speculated and mademoney, while we have all thought that he has merely been living thelife of a--a gentleman--and doing nothing. Ask him yourself if you'renot sure."
"I will," said Quarle grimly.
"And will you please tell me when it will be convenient for you to go?"she asked again. "Oh, please don't think that I'm anxious to get rid ofyou; I'd like to keep you here for ever and ever; but of course I haveto remember that things are so different--and that father and Aubreymust be considered. I'm sure you understand that."
Simon Quarle slowly laid down his fork for the last time, and pushedhis plate away from him. "Come here," he said gruffly.
She got up, and came round the table, and stood close to him; he tookone of the hands that was a little coarsened with work, and gently heldit while he spoke to her; and his voice was altogether changed.
"When I came here first you were a bit of a girl in shortfrocks--shorter even than they are now--and I was sorry for you. Icould have gone to other lodgings----"
"I'm glad you didn't, Mr. Quarle," she whispered.
"But I didn't. I came here because I liked the look of you, and Ithought my bit of money might be useful. There was no woman in theworld that was anything to me--and I had no chicks--no one who cared abutton about me. I saw you grow up--and you didn't grow up half badly;and I suppose because I'm an old fool, I'm fond of you."
"I know," she said softly.
"Consequently, I don't want any tricks to be played, or any infernalnonsense to come into your life and to upset it. I'm not going to sayanything about family matters, because I suppose after all a father'sa father, no matter what color he is. Only I'm a business man, littleBessie, and we must know that everything is fair and square andstraight. Do you understand?"
"Yes, of course I understand; only I think none of us quite know whatfather is capable of," she responded.
"There I agree with you," he retorted grimly. "And I'll talk aboutgoing when I've had a chance to inquire into the matter. Don't turn meout before it's necessary; it happens that I'm rather a lonely man."
"You'll be able to come down and see us as often as you like--to staywith us," she reminded him; but to that he made no answer.
That arch-plotter Daniel Meggison had been spending an anxious hour ortwo in search of his patron. Inquiry at the front of the house nextdoor elicited the information that Mr. Gilbert Byfield was having hisbath; the landlady a little contemptuous concerning a man who found itnecessary to wash all over every day. An impromptu peep over the wallat the back was equally useless. The only occupation left to DanielMeggison was to saunter about the house, and to carry things with ahigh hand, and yet with a failing courage.
His man might escape at any moment, and go out into that world outsideArcadia Street, and never come back. The people with whom hithertoDaniel had had dealings were in the habit of repudiating a promise at aday or even an hour's notice; it was quite on the cards that this youngman would do the same. Daniel Meggison began to wish that he had insome fashion got the thing reduced to writing; more than that, he beganto doubt the actual value of that asset on which he had counted--hisdaughter. Therefore Simon Quarle, coming upon him unexpectedly, andthrusting his head out at him in characteristic fashion, found the manin no mood for questions.
"It's all right," said Meggison, with a very distinct air of its beingall wrong. "I have been lucky--fortunate; I have kept my eyes open."
"How much have you made?" demanded Quarle stolidly. "Always better tocome to figures, you know."
"It doesn't concern you--and I am inclined to keep my particularfigures to myself," snapped Daniel Meggison. "Suffice it that thissystem of living is ceasing; suffice it that I no longer find itnecessary to depend for my income upon lodgers whose payments are notwhat they should be, and whose manners do not please me."
"Keep your temper, Meggison; there's nothing that should call forpersonal remarks. If you didn't like my manners you could have got ridof me years ago--always supposing, of course, that it suited me to go.Meantime, we're no nearer to this mysterious fortune--are we? Exactlyin what particular investments were you so very lucky?"
"The investments were--were various," said Daniel Meggison, with a waveof the hand. "A little
bit in this--and a little bit in that; it'staken quite a long time--but it's growing even now."
"Wonderful!" said Simon Quarle, nodding his head slowly. "Mostremarkable. And so you sell up everything here--and you start for thecountry--eh? House cost much?"
"I have merely--merely rented it--hired it for a period," said Meggison.
"What I shall do with you," said Quarle, with a bullying shake ofhis head at him, "will be to keep my eye on you. You've been doingsomething mysterious--something you don't want talked about; I shallfind out presently what it is. You never were any good, you know--andyou never will be. Don't wave your arms about, and don't splutter atme; bluster is the last dog that will frighten me. So far as you'reconcerned I don't care a snap of the fingers--but I do care about thegirl."
"Sir--you are not the only one who cares about the girl," retortedDaniel Meggison. "It is for her sake that I have done this; it is onher account alone that I propose burying myself in the country, andhaving what will probably prove a devilish dull time of it. I declineto answer any further questions; it is no affair of yours."
He went away again on that hunt for Byfield; with the creeping onof the hours his courage had fallen more and more. He had burnt hisboats, in the sense that even his daughter now was ranged against himin that mad business of giving up what had, at the best and the worst,been a livelihood for them all. He had hoped that she would have beencontent to take her cue from him, and to march a little behind hisstride; he was appalled, now that he came to look at the thing from acommon-sense point of view, to see that she was bringing to bear uponthis new situation the characteristic energy that had helped her inthe old one. He had forced her to be self-reliant in the past; thatself-reliance now might well prove the undoing of them all.
He was returning from a hurried visit to the Arcadia Arms when hemet Gilbert Byfield in the street. He essayed a rather nervous "Goodmorning, Mr. Byfield, sir"; but it halted on his tongue as Byfieldfrowningly took him by the arm, and turned him round, and walked withhim up the street. Without a word that young man conducted him to thedoor of that house in which he had taken a lodging; took him upstairs;and having got him into the room where the desk littered with papersstood, thrust him unceremoniously into a chair, and looked at himsternly over folded arms.
"Now, Mr. Daniel Meggison--let me know what the game is," said Gilbert.
"Game, Mr. Byfield, sir?" asked Daniel innocently. "I'm sure, so faras I'm concerned, there ain't any game; if I've been a bit playful inmentioning matters--a joke's a joke--and I----"
"There is no joke about this, Meggison," broke in Gilbert. "I want youto understand from the beginning that this is to be merely a holidayfor the girl; whatever innocent lie you tell must not go beyond that.My cottage at Fiddler's Green is at your disposal for a few weeks; andthat will be the end of it."
"Have I said different?" pleaded Daniel passionately. "A bit of moneywas what I've come into, and no more than that. I'll own that lastnight, Mr. Byfield, sir, I was excited--exhilarated--perhaps a littleunduly happy. Mine has been a hard life, and if I may be said to havelooked upon the rosy wine in a joyful moment, is that always to bethrown up in my face for ever after? Is there to be no charity extendedto me?"
"Last night you led your daughter to believe that this was no merematter of a little sudden money to provide her with a holiday--butsomething in the nature of a fortune, that should mean ease andcontentment for the rest of her days."
"A playful exaggeration; she perfectly understands this morning," saidDaniel. "She knows her poor old father; she will take the thing in theright spirit, and be grateful. I am a man of imagination, Mr. Byfield,sir; I can assure you that a very ordinary duck with me may quiteeasily and legitimately become a swan."
"Well--so that you have explained it, I suppose it's all right," saidByfield slowly. "Only for her sake you must be careful."
"Careful, Mr. Byfield, sir?" exclaimed Daniel fervently. "Fromthis moment I will be more than discreet. I was careless lastnight--reckless--unpardonably reckless. It shall not occur again; I'mannoyed with myself."
"Well--we'll say no more about it," said Gilbert, a little sorry andashamed that he should have been so hard on anyone so abject. "Gether away to Fiddler's Green as soon as possible; I'll arrange thatthe house shall be ready, and that servants shall be there to lookafter you. There's a housekeeper and others there, and they shall beinstructed that for the time being you are master, and that they taketheir orders from you."
"That will be highly satisfactory," said Daniel, cheering upwonderfully at the thought of the new importance that was to be his."But if you will pardon my suggesting such a thing--there is a littlematter of ready money----"
"Oh, you shall have ready money," said Gilbert impatiently. "There willbe certain things to be bought--certain expenses to be paid. I suggestthat you should be at Fiddler's Green for the next month or six weeks.You will, I suppose, get someone to look after the place--your ownhouse I mean--in your absence?"
"I can quite safely leave that to my daughter," said Daniel, with asort of cold shudder going through him at the remembrance of whathad already been done in regard to the house. "She will provide foreverything, as she has always done. A most reliable good girl, Mr.Byfield, sir."
The little man was so quiet now, and so humble and grateful, thatGilbert had no hesitation in sitting down to write a cheque for acertain sum to meet initial expenses. In the very act of writing it helooked up, and spoke to the waiting Daniel Meggison; he was petulantlyanxious that his own point of view should be understood.
"You will understand, of course, Meggison, that I do this verywillingly and very cheerfully--just as I might do something tohelp some poor child that could not help herself. For she _is_ achild--isn't she?"
"A mere babe, sir, in the ways of the world--a toddler, who shouldnever have left her mother's knee," replied Meggison sentimentally."Had she been, of course, anything else I should never for an instanthave consented to this." He was carefully folding the cheque as hespoke, and was making rapid calculations in his own mind.
"One other point, Meggison. It is possible that your daughter mightsuspect that I had had something to do with the matter; I believe shethinks that I am a little richer than the people she generally meets.Therefore to avoid that, I have made up my mind to go away for a week,so that she may not in any way connect me with what is being done. Youseem to have told your tale well--rather too well, if anything--and shebelieves you; when you come back here you will find me perhaps in thisplace again, quite in the ordinary way. So far as money is concerned,you will find your credit good at Fiddler's Green, and my housekeeperwill order what is necessary for you. More than that, I will keep intouch with you, and will let you have what other ready money you maywant. But no more talk of fortunes, Meggison, if you please."
"Certainly not, Mr. Byfield, sir; that was an indiscretion. I shallhave a month or six weeks in which to explain to Bessie that I cannotgo on beyond a certain time; she will understand perfectly. As for yournotion about going away--I applaud it, sir. Splendid notion!"
"I'm glad you approve," said Gilbert dryly. "I will write down hereexactly what you're to do to get to the house, so that you may inyour daughter's eyes appear to be already familiar with it; and youwill understand that to all intents and purposes you will be masterthere so long as you are in it. No one will question your right to bethere--and no one will interfere with you."
Thus it happened, in the little drama that was afterwards to be playedout so strangely, that Gilbert Byfield, the better to preserve hissecret, left his lodging, and went back into the more seemly world thatknew him; while Daniel Meggison, knowing that the coast was clear, sethis hand boldly to the work he had to do, and burnt what boats wereleft to him with a gay good will.
The cheque was cashed; and from that moment, with money in his pocketand apparently unlimited credit for the first time in his life, Mr.Daniel Meggison flung caution to the winds, and hurled himself withzest into the new life that was opening
before him. Arcadia Streetwas shaken to its very foundations at finding that the Meggisonswere leaving--that the Meggisons were arraying themselves in newclothing, that the Meggisons had turned their lodgers adrift, andthat the Meggisons actually had money to spend. Arcadia Street heardrumours, and flung them further out into Islington, and even onwardinto Highbury and other districts. If you wanted a quick word forlucky or fortunate or anything of that sort, you simply said, "Whatprice Meggison?" and clicked your tongue; and so became in a momentwonderfully expressive.
Bessie, for her part, had set about the business, if not exactly withcaution, at least with some forethought. The respectable part of thefurniture fetched a good price; a landlord who had long given up hopecompromised matters, and went away congratulating himself on havinggot anything at all. Everyone suggested that the Meggisons might havebehaved better, but that on the other hand they might have behavedworse. So that in the long run most people were satisfied; while quitea number suggested that, after all, if any luck was coming to ArcadiaStreet, Mr. Meggison--always quite the gentleman, mind you!--was theman who should properly have it.
There came that tumultuous moment when the bare and empty house was tobe left, and when, with such personal luggage as they had contrived tocram into several very new trunks, they were about to set out on theirway to Fiddler's Green. Aubrey Meggison, not desiring to be associatedwith so public a departure, had casually suggested that he would "turnup at the station"; Mr. Meggison had gone out hurriedly, with a promiseto be back in a moment; the actual business of leaving was left toBessie. The small servant Amelia had drifted away hopelessly back tothat institution from which she had come, there to wait until such timeas another situation should offer itself.
The cab was at the door, and the trunks were piled upon it; and ArcadiaStreet had turned out to see the great departure. All the childrenof Arcadia Street had long since seized upon points of vantage, andhad taken up positions on the pavement, leaving only a narrow lane,down which Bessie must presently pass. The elders stood behind, andsuggested with sighs what they would have done if by any chance DameFortune had swooped upon them. By all accounts, it seemed unanimouslyresolved that they would have made something of a "splash," thoughin what particular water they did not specify. And while they waited,Bessie had gone through the blank and empty house for a final look atit--and so out into that poor garden of her dreams.
The garden was stripped now; the box that had formed the ottoman wasnaked and broken; the whole place a wilderness. Yet, as she stood init for a moment, she seemed to see it as it had been, and as it neverwould be again; looked with eyes that were bright with tears at thefamiliar shabby place.
"Good-bye--old garden!" she whispered. "You did your best for me--butyou never had a real chance. Yet I have loved you as I shall never loveany other place, however beautiful; because everything that was goodand kind has happened to me here. Good-bye; I hope someone may love youhalf as well as I have done!"
So at last she fluttered out of the house, and into the cab, witha kindly word or two for those that pressed about her; and quitenaturally, as it seemed, told the man to stop at the corner--at theArcadia Arms. Someone raised a feeble cheer; and one man, beating time,amazingly started--"For he's a jolly good fellow"; then the cab rolledaway, with the younger part of Arcadia Street trailing after it.
Outside the Arcadia Arms it waited, with the girl sitting quietlyinside. It having been impressed upon Mr. Daniel Meggison insidethat he was wanted, and that the time had come for farewells, he waspresently prevailed upon to emerge. He appeared surrounded by friends,with a new silk hat, that had been rubbed in places the wrong way, uponthe back of his head, and a large cigar with the band upon it in acorner of his mouth, and a little uncertain as to what to do with hislegs. He shook hands with all and sundry, and murmured that he wouldnever forget them; was helped into the cab by a dozen willing hands;and left to Arcadia Street the lasting remembrance that they had seenhim, as the cab drove away, burst into tears.
Arcadia Street, having been shaken to its depths, spent what was leftof the day in discussing the matter, and in talking about the Meggisonsin general, and Mr. Daniel Meggison in particular. And quite late atnight there were little knots of people gathered outside the emptyhouse, still talking of the glory that had fallen upon those who haddeparted from it.