Chapter XIV headpiece
The Admiral tried to start away from Mrs. Poskett, but though her hands slipped from his neck they clung to his arm. "Gobblessmysoul! Lord Otford!" he cried.
Mrs. Poskett had a delicious foretaste of future greatness. Here, at the very threshold of her betrothal, was a real, live lord. It was well worth all she had been through. "Present me, Peter," she whispered, "and tell him."
It is not so easy to tell an old friend you are going to be married, when you yourself are old enough to know better. The Admiral made a bad job of it. "Um—my neighbour—Mrs. Poskett—" he mumbled, weakly.
"Widow of Alderman Poskett," she broke in. "And if Poskett had n't died when he did—"
The Admiral cut her short. He presented his friend to her. "Um—Lord Otford—" then he tried bravely to explain the equivocal attitude in which they had been discovered. "Um—I am—she is—we are—" He broke down under Otford's eye.
For Otford was looking at him in a confounded quizzical way, as much as to say "Do all the neighbours in Pomander Walk come out and kiss in the dark?" So the Admiral turned crestfallen to Mrs. Poskett, "No, hang it! You tell him!"
Mrs. Poskett was quite equal to the occasion. She made Lord Otford a magnificent curtsey, just as she had curtseyed to the Lord Mayor's Lady, years ago. "Happy to meet any friend of my future husband," she said, with charming condescension.
Lord Otford responded to her curtsey with an equally elaborate bow. "Am I to understand—?"
"Yes, Jack," interposed Sir Peter, impatiently, "understand. Understand without further palaver."
Lord Otford bowed again. "My felicitations," said he. Mrs. Poskett had expected more; but Lord Otford was evidently preoccupied, and abruptly changed the subject. "Madam, can you spare him a little while?"
Mrs. Poskett was much put out. Was she to be thrust aside so unceremoniously in the first flush of her triumph? She bridled, and answered with some asperity, "I am sure no real friend of Sir Peter's would wish to tell him anything his future wife may not hear."
Lord Otford recognised he had made a tactical mistake. He seized one of her plump hands, kissed it, and explained with an air of the greatest consideration, "I assure you, Ma'am, the matter is strictly personal to myself."
How could any lady resist such delightful manners? Mrs. Poskett melted at once. She shook a playful finger at him. "Naughty Lord Otford!"—she turned to the Admiral—"Well, Peter; I 'll wait at the gate. But not more than five minutes, mind!" And with a roguish shake of all her curls and all her ribbons she tripped up to the Admiral's gate, where she stood planning how his house and hers were to be turned into one, and how the sweet pea was to be trained over both, at the same time striving to hear as much as possible of what the two friends were saying.
"Peter!" exclaimed Lord Otford, as soon as she was out of earshot, "Jack 's disappeared!"
The Admiral's conscience smote him uneasily. He knew the rascally Jack was in Doctor Sternroyd's house; he himself had helped to get him there; and here was the unfortunate father, his own bosom friend, in distress. What was he to do? Betray Jack? Impossible. No. He would see the matter through. At any rate, he would gain time.
"Serves you right," he growled.
Lord Otford was deeply hurt. "Did I say, 'Serves you right,' just now?"
"Just now?" repeated Sir Peter, not grasping his friend's meaning. Lord Otford pointed with his gold-headed cane to where the widow was examining the houses.
"Otford!" cried the Admiral, angrily; but his friend interrupted him impatiently. "Peter! He 's run away with that gel!"
"That he has n't!" replied Sir Peter, greatly relieved at being able to speak the truth for once. "The gel's here."
"Fact?" asked Lord Otford.
"Solemn," affirmed the Admiral.
Lord Otford strode up and down in deep thought. He brought himself up in front of the Admiral. There was evidently something more on his mind. "Peter," he said, "do you know who her mother is?"
Sir Peter was getting impatient. He saw all the old, narrow-minded prejudices being trotted out once more. "You're not going to begin that again!" he cried, angrily.
"She's Lucy Pryor," said Lord Otford quietly.
The Admiral stared at him. For a moment the name conveyed no meaning. "Lucy Pryor—?" Then the meaning suddenly flashed on him, and he gasped, "Not Lucy Pryor!"
"Lucy Pryor!" repeated Lord Otford. "Ha!" he cried, with bitter self-mockery, "I was telling her how impossible the marriage was—"
"And she turned out to be Lucy Pryor!" The Admiral was so hugely delighted that for a moment he was unable to go on. "Jack, my boy," he roared, doubled up with laughter, "you must have felt like six-pennorth o' ha'-pence—what?"
"I did," answered Lord Otford, grimly; and then he added shamefacedly, "But now I—I want to see her again. I must see her again."
"Never know when you 've had enough, eh?" chuckled Sir Peter, wiping the tears from his streaming eyes.
"Laugh, you brute!" cried Lord Otford. "Laugh! Well you may. She 'll never allow me inside her house. She was magnificent! Patuit dea, Peter! She came the Goddess!"
"What did I tell you?" laughed Sir Peter, waving his handkerchief triumphantly. "Didn't I say—?"
"Can't you coax her out here?" interrupted his friend.
"Me!" cried the Admiral. "No!—I've told you: I 'll have nothing to do with it!"
Try how she might, Mrs. Poskett had only been able to pick up fragments of the conversation, but those had been enough to arouse her curiosity. Also she felt she had been standing neglected much too long. "Now, you two," she said, coming between them, "I'm sure you 've gossiped long enough."
Otford turned to her. "Madam," said he, in his most winning manner, "will you do me a great favour?"—
"I'm sure your lordship wouldn't ask me anything unbecoming," she replied, with pretty modesty.
"Will you persuade Madame Lachesnais to come out and taste the evening air, not telling her I am here?"
Mrs. Poskett looked at him enquiringly, and with a woman's intuition read an affirmation in his eyes.
"Don't do anything of the sort, Pamela!" cried the Admiral, warningly.
She turned sharply on him. How thick-headed men were, to be sure! "Peter, I'm ashamed of you!" Then she addressed Lord Otford, "With great pleasure, my Lord. Me and Peter 's that happy, we want to see everybody ditto."
The Admiral stared from one to the other in amazement. What did she mean? What could she mean, but one thing? "Gobblessmysoul, Jack!" he cried at last, in utter amazement, "Is that it?"
"That's it!" said Mrs. Poskett, with a laugh.
"That's it!" said Lord Otford, with a melancholy smile.
Mrs. Poskett tripped joyously to Madame's house; knocked, and was admitted.
The Admiral seized his friend by both hands with enthusiasm. "Here! Come in! Come in and have a glass of port-wine!"
"But if Madame—" began Lord Otford.
"Come in! She won't budge from the house if she sees you here. Pamela will warn us, when she's got her, and," ruefully, "she'll get her, fast enough." They turned to go towards Sir Peter's house; but Lord Otford stopped short, in surprise.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had opened his upstairs window and was leaning out, fanning himself with his handkerchief.
"Hoskyn, by all that's wonderful!" said Lord Otford, eyeing unconscious Brooke-Hoskyn through his lorgnette.
Sir Peter corrected him. "Brooke-Hoskyn; with a hyphen. I said you must know him."
"Know him!" cried Lord Otford, laughing, "Know my old butler! I should think so!"
"What?" asked the Admiral, not believing his ears.
"He married my cook, Mrs. Brooke! And now he 's City toast master."
Sir Peter gave a low whistle. "That's it, is it?" What a triumph! "When the Walk knows that—!"
"That's your man of fashion, is it, Peter?" laughed Lord Otford.
But the Admiral was thinking. "No!" he cried, suddenly, "Damme! No! he's a good fellow, and I'm not a blackguard!—Jack, follow my lead." He made a speaking-trumpet with his hands and roared, as if Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had been a mile away, "Ahoy! Brooky, my boy! Here 's your old friend, Otford."
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn nearly fell out of the window.
"Glad to see you, Hoskyn," said Lord Otford, cheerfully, with an amiable wave of his hand.
"Oh, don't!" groaned Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, hoarsely. "Oh, my Lord!—Not at this moment! I ain't equal to it, your Lordship! I reely ain't!"
"Sorry you're ill," said Lord Otford, with a pleasant laugh. "Too much to eat, and too little to do. What you want is a family to keep you lively!"
"A family!" almost shrieked Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "Oh, my Lord!" He disappeared abruptly from the window, and Lord Otford and the Admiral went arm-in-arm and laughing heartily into the latter's house.
It was now quite dark in the Walk: the translucent darkness of a perfect June night. The stillness was so great that you could hear the river lapping against the bank as it flowed by. Behind the tower of Chiswick Church the sky shone pale, but, above, it melted into purple in which the stars seemed to hang loose. Even the leaves of the elm had ceased to whisper together and had gone to sleep. Here and there in the Walk a faint light appeared behind drawn blinds and closed curtains. Presently the bow window of the Misses Pennymint's house was gently opened, and Barbara and Basil appeared. Their arms were twined round each other, and Barbara's pretty head reposed against her lover's shoulder. Framed in the jasmine that encircled the window, they made as touching a picture as you could wish to see. They stood quite still, inhaling the fragrance of the slumbering elm, and thinking thoughts unutterable.
As they opened their window Jack opened his. He was famished, and there was no sign of Marjolaine. Could she have forgotten him?
"'On such a night as this—'" began Basil, in his richest and deepest notes.
Jack whistled a flourish very softly.
"Hark, Basil," whispered Barbara, looking up into his eyes. "Hark! The nightingale!"
Jack whistled a little louder.
"Do you think that is the nightingale, dearest?" ventured Basil.
Jack whistled loud and impatiently.
"At least let us make believe it is," murmured Barbara.
Jack's whistle rose to a screech.
"My own one!" boomed Basil, in a voice like subdued but passionate thunder.
Jack was just on the point of a despairing effort, when Madame's door opened. He craned forward in the hope of seeing Marjolaine emerge, but had to withdraw swiftly, for Mrs. Poskett came down the steps, followed by Madame.
"The air is so balmy, it's a pity to stay indoors," Mrs. Poskett was saying.
"We were just coming out," answered Madame. "Marjolaine is strangely restless." She had come down the steps and now saw Barbara and Basil in the window. She stopped astonished. "Ah—?—Why!—Really?—"
"Yes!" cried Barbara, joyfully, clinging closer to Basil. "We are to be married at once! We are going to ask Doctor Sternroyd to get us a licence."
"My own one!" Basil's deep diapason reverberated through the night.
"Oh! I am so very glad!" said Madame, in her most charming manner.
But to Basil even this gentle congratulation seemed almost like a desecration. "Come in, my own," he throbbed, "lest the winds of heaven visit your face too roughly."
"Ah!" sighed Barbara. What beautiful language he used, to be sure, and how different from Charles's. Closely linked they sank back into the darkness of the room.
"Well, I never!" said Mrs. Poskett, alluding to them. "I wonder who'll be getting married next!" She and Madame came and sat under the elm.
Marjolaine crept very cautiously down the steps. She was elaborately concealing something in the folds of her dress. She stole along the railings, watching her mother and Mrs. Poskett, till she got to Doctor Sternroyd's gate. There she swiftly deposited two packages just inside the railing. Then she joined the others, looking as innocent as a lamb.
Mrs. Poskett said simperingly, "I wanted you to be the first to hear of my betrothal."
"I hope he'll make you very happy," said Madame, cordially.
"I 'll see to that!" answered Mrs. Poskett; and her manner showed she meant it.
"Isn't it wonderful, Maman!" exclaimed Marjolaine. "An angel's wing has touched Pomander Walk, and everybody's going to be married!"
"Yes, my poor child," said Madame, and held out her hand sympathetically to draw her daughter to her heart. But Marjolaine had turned away, and was singing! Actually singing!
"In Scarlet Town—" she had begun.
"Surely, you are not going to sing!" said Madame, almost reproachfully.
"Let her, Ma'am," said Mrs. Poskett, "'t will keep her quiet."
So Marjolaine stood between her mother and Doctor Sternroyd's house, and sang.
"In Scarlet Town, where I was born There was a fair Maid dwellin'—"
"Ah! these pathetic old ballads!" sighed Madame, turning to Mrs. Poskett.
At the first note of Marjolaine's song Jack had appeared at the window. Marjolaine now half turned to him, and went on:—
"A pigeon-pie and a loaf of bread Are just behind the railin'!"
The lamplighter, a wizened little man with a face like a ferret's, came running round the corner with his short ladder over his shoulder. He put it against the lamp-post opposite the Admiral's house, swarmed up it like a squirrel, lighted the lamp, slid down the ladder, and ran quickly to the lamp at Doctor Sternroyd's.
Jack had the door ajar, and was eagerly peeping out; but in the darkness he could see nothing.
"The lamplighter!" exclaimed Madame Lachesnais, with some surprise. "I thought there was a moon to-night."
"Perhaps he's forgotten," answered Mrs. Poskett. "Anyhow, he 'll come and put out the lights as soon as the moon rises."
Marjolaine saw Jack's dilemma and began singing again:—
"All in the merry month of May When green buds they were swellin'!"
The lamplighter was on his ladder lighting the Doctor's lamp.
"I should like to congratulate the Admiral," said Madame.
"I 'll send him out to you," answered Mrs. Poskett, eagerly. She saw her chance of obliging Lord Otford. Madame rose with her and accompanied her towards Sir Peter's house. Marjolaine turned towards Jack, pointing with violent gesticulations to where the victuals lay:—
"You'll find the parcels where I say By lookin' or by smellin'!"
Then she ran into the summer-house.
Jack caught sight of the food, and with a delighted "Ha!" crept down the steps. Unfortunately, however, the lamplighter had heard Marjolaine's words and followed the direction in which she had pointed. His little ferret eyes gleamed greedily.
Madame left Mrs. Poskett to go into the house, and turned to where she had left her daughter, but no Marjolaine was to be seen. "Marjolaine!" she called, anxiously.
Marjolaine came slowly out of the Gazebo. Her hands were folded in front of her and her eyes were cast down. She looked altogether as subdued as a Saint in a stained-glass window.
"Me voilà, Maman," she said, demurely.
Madame sat under the elm, a little to the right of the trunk.
Marjolaine came and knelt at her feet and seized both her hands so that she held the poor, deluded lady with her back to the houses, while she herself could watch Jack in his quest of the pigeon-pie.
Madame was glad of this opportunity of saying a few well-chosen words to her daughter.
She began very gravely:—"Marjolaine, you are putting on this gaiety to please me—"
"No, Maman," said Marjolaine; but at that moment the lamplighter slid down his ladder, and, creeping on all fours, began stalking the pigeon-pie. She saw it was going to be a race between the lamplighter and Jack for the coveted prize, and she could not suppress a little startled "Oh!"
"Why do you cry out like that?" asked Madame, with deep concern.
Marjolaine had the greatest difficulty in the world to keep from laughing. "Nothing, Maman!" she said, volubly. "You are not to be anxious about me. I am quite, quite happy."
The race was continuing. Although Jack saw the lamplighter's manoeuvre, he could not move quickly, for fear of making a noise and being heard by Madame.
"I saw Lord Otford yesterday," Madame continued.
Marjolaine's entire attention was absorbed by the rivals. "You saw—?" she repeated, vaguely. But at that moment the lamplighter was perceptibly gaining on Jack. "Oh! Oh!" she cried, with a stifled laugh.
Madame was shocked. "Marjolaine, you are laughing!"
"No, no!" cried Marjolaine, "it was—it was surprise."
"He was very stern, very indignant," her mother proceeded; "but I did not flinch. I told him you—"
The lamplighter snatched the pigeon-pie and fled. Jack, speechless with rage and disappointment, was on the point of rushing after him, but, to his horror, he caught sight of his father coming out of the Admiral's house, and only just had time to bolt back into the Antiquary's.
Marjolaine gave up. In an uncontrollable fit of hysterical laughter she dashed into her own house, almost knocking Lord Otford over on her way, and leaving her poor mother utterly dumbfounded on the seat. Had grief affected the poor child's brain? Madame rose hurriedly to follow her daughter—and there stood Lord Otford.