A Duet

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

A broad-brimmed hat with a curling feather is not a good shape for
driving with an ardent young bridegroom in a discreetly rain-blurred
carriage. Frank demonstrated the fact, and it took them all the way
to the Langham to get those pins driven home again. And then after
an abnormal meal, which was either a very late breakfast or a very
early lunch, they drove on to Victoria Station, from which they were
to start for Brighton. Jack Selby and the two regimental fizzers,
who had secured immortality for the young couple, if the deep and
constant drinking of healths could have done it, had provided
themselves with packages of rice, old slippers, and other time-
honoured missiles. On a hint from Maude, however, that she would
prefer a quiet departure, Frank coaxed the three back into the
luncheon-room with a perfectly guileless face, and then locking the
door on the outside, handed the key and a half-sovereign to the head-
waiter, with instructions to release the prisoners when the carriage
had gone--an incident which in itself would cause the judicious
observer to think that, given the opportunity, Mister Frank Crosse
had it in him to go pretty far in life. And so, quietly and soberly,
they rolled away upon their first journey--the journey which was the
opening of that life's journey, the goal of which no man may see.

CHAPTER VII--KEEPING UP APPEARANCES

It was in the roomy dining-room of the Hotel Metropole at Brighton.
Maude and Frank were seated at the favourite small round table near
the window, where they always lunched. Their immediate view was a
snowy-white tablecloth with a shining centre dish of foppish little
cutlets, each with a wisp of ornamental paper, and a surrounding bank
of mashed potatoes. Beyond, from the very base of the window, as it
seemed, there stretched the huge expanse of the deep blue sea, its
soothing mass of colour broken only by a few white leaning sails upon
the furthest horizon. Along the sky-line the white clouds lay in
carelessly piled cumuli, like snow thrown up from a clearing. It was
restful and beautiful, that distant view, but just at the moment it
was the near one which interested them most. Though they lose from
this moment onwards the sympathy of every sentimental reader, the
truth must be told that they were thoroughly enjoying their lunch.

With the wonderful adaptability of women--a hereditary faculty, which
depends upon the fact that from the beginning of time the sex has
been continually employed in making the best of situations which were
not of their own choosing--Maude carried off her new character easily
and gracefully. In her trim blue serge dress and sailor hat, with
the warm tint of yesterday's sun upon her cheeks, she was the very
picture of happy and healthy womanhood. Frank was also in a blue
serge boating-suit, which was appropriate enough, for they spent most
of their time upon the water, as a glance at his hands would tell.
Their conversation was unhappily upon a very much lower plane than
when we overheard them last.

'I've got such an appetite!'

'So have I, Frank.'

'Capital. Have another cutlet.'

'Thank you, dear.'

'Potatoes?'

'Please.'

'I always thought that people on their honeymoon lived on love.'

'Yes, isn't it dreadful, Frank? We must be so material.'

'Good old mother Nature! Cling on to her skirt and you never lose
your way. One wants a healthy physical basis for a healthy spiritual
emotion. Might I trouble you for the pickles?'

'Are you happy, Frank?'

'Absolutely and completely.'

'Quite, QUITE sure?'

'I never was quite so sure of anything.'

'It makes me so happy to hear you say so.'

'And you?'

'O Frank, I am just floating upon golden clouds in a dream. But your
poor hands! Oh, how they must pain you!'

'Not a bit.'

'It was that heavy oar.'

'I get no practice at rowing. There is no place to row in at Woking,
unless one used the canal. But it was worth a blister or two. By
Jove, wasn't it splendid, coming back in the moonlight with that
silver lane flickering on the water in front of us? We were so
completely alone. We might have been up in the interstellar spaces,
you and I, travelling from Sirius to Arcturus in one of those
profound gulfs of the void which Hardy talks about. It was
overpowering.'

'I can never forget it.'

'We'll go again to-night.'

'But the blisters!'

'Hang the blisters! And we'll take some bait with us and try to
catch something.'

'What fun!'

'And we'll drive to Rottingdean this afternoon, if you feel inclined.
Have this last cutlet, dear!'

'No, thank you.'

'Well, it seems a pity to waste it. Here goes! By the way, Maude, I
must speak very severely to you. I can't if you look at me like
that. But really, joking apart, you must be more careful before the
waiters.'

'Why, dear?'

'Well, we have carried it off splendidly so far. No one has found us
out yet, and no one will if we are reasonably careful. The fat
waiter is convinced that we are veterans. But last night at dinner
you very nearly gave the thing away.'

'Did I, Frank?'

'Don't look so sweetly penitent, you blessing. The fact is that you
make a shocking bad conspirator. Now I have a kind of talent for
that, as I have for every other sort of depravity, so it will be
pretty safe in my hands. You are as straight as a line by nature,
and you can't be crooked when you try.'

'But what did I say? Oh, I AM so sorry! I tried to be so careful.'

'Well, about the curry, you know. It was an error of judgment to ask
if I took chutnee. And then . . . '

'Something else?'

'About the boots. Did I get them in London or Woking.'

'Oh dear, dear!'

'And then . . . '

'Not another! O Frank!'

'Well, the use of the word "my." You must give that word up. It
should be "our."'

'I know, I know. It was when I said that the salt water had taken
the curl out of the feather in my--no, in our--well, in THE hat.'

'That was all right. But it is OUR luggage, you know, and OUR room,
and so on.'

'Of course it is. How foolish I am! Then the waiter knows! O
Frank, what shall we do?'

'Not he. He knows nothing. I am sure of it. He is a dull sort of
person. I had my eye on him all the time. Besides, I threw in a few
remarks just to set the thing right.'

'That was when you spoke about our travels in the Tyrol?'

'Yes.'

'O Frank, how COULD you? And you said how lonely it was when we were
the only visitors at the Swiss hotel.'

'That was an inspiration. That finished him.'

'And about the closeness of the Atlantic staterooms. I blushed to
hear you.'

'But he listened eagerly to it all. I could see it.'

'I wonder if he really believed it. I have noticed that the maids
and the waiters seem to look at us with a certain interest.'

'My dear girlie, you will find as you go through life that every man
will always look at you with a certain interest.'

Maude smiled, but was unconvinced.

'Cheese, dear?'

'A little butter, please.'

'Some butter, waiter, and the Stilton. You know the real fact is,
that we make the mistake of being much too nice to each other in
public. Veterans don't do that. They take the small courtesies for
granted--which is all wrong, but it shows that they ARE veterans.
That is where we give ourselves away.'

'That never occurred to me.'

'If you want to settle that waiter for ever, and remove the last
lingering doubt from his mind, the thing is for you to be rude to
me.'

'Or you to me, Frank.'

'Sure you won't mind?'

'Not a bit.'

'Oh, hang it, I can't--not even for so good an object.'

'Well, then, I can't either.'

'But this is absurd. It is only acting.'

'Quite so. It is only fun.'

'Then why won't you do it?'

'Why won't you?'

'He'll be back before we settle it. Look here! I've a shilling
under my hand. Heads or tails, and the loser has to be rude. Do you
agree?'

'Very well.'

'Your call.'

'Heads.'

'It's tails.'

'Oh goodness!'

'You've got to be rude. Now mind you are. Here he comes.'

The waiter had come up the room bearing the pride of the hotel, the
grand green Stilton with the beautiful autumn leaf heart shading away
to rich plum-coloured cavities. He placed it on the table with a
solemn air.

'It's a beautiful Stilton,' Frank remarked.

Maude tried desperately to be rude.

'Well, dear, I don't think it is so very beautiful,' was the best
that she could do.

It was not much, but it had a surprising effect upon the waiter. He
turned and hurried away.

'There now, you've shocked him?' cried Frank.

'Where HAS he gone, Frank?'

'To complain to the management about your language.'

'No, Frank. Please tell me! Oh, I wish I hadn't been so rude. Here
he is again.'

'All right. Sit tight,' said Frank.

A sort of procession was streaming up the hall. There was their fat
waiter in front with a large covered cheese-dish. Behind him was
another with two smaller ones, and a third with some yellow powder
upon a plate was bringing up the rear.

'This is Gorgonzola, main,' said the waiter, with a severe manner.
'And there's Camembert and Gruyere behind, and powdered Parmesan as
well. I'm sorry that the Stilton don't give satisfaction.'

Maude helped herself to Gorgonzola and looked very guilty and
uncomfortable. Frank began to laugh.

'I meant you to be rude to ME, not to the cheese,' said he, when the
procession had withdrawn.

'I did my best, Frank. I contradicted you.'

'Oh, it was a shocking display of temper.'

'And I hurt the poor waiter's feelings.'

'Yes, you'll have to apologise to his Stilton before he will forgive
you.'

'And I don't believe he is a bit more convinced that we are veterans
than he was before.'

'All right, dear; leave him to me. Those reminiscences of mine must
have settled him. If they didn't, then I feel it is hopeless.'

It was as well for his peace of mind that Frank could not hear the
conversation between the fat waiter and their chambermaid, for whom
he nourished a plethoric attachment. They had half an hour off in
the afternoon, and were comparing notes.

'Nice-lookin' couple, ain't they, John?' said the maid, with the air
of an expert. 'I don't know as we've 'ad a better since the spring
weddin's.'

'I don't know as I'd go as far as that,' said the fat waiter
critically. ''E'd pass all right. 'E's an upstandin' young man with
a good sperrit in 'im.'

'What's wrong with 'er, then?'

'It's a matter of opinion,' said the waiter. 'I likes 'em a bit more
full-flavoured myself. And as to 'er taste, why there, if you 'ad
seen 'er turn up 'er nose at the Stilton at lunch.'

'Turn up 'er nose, did she? Well, she seemed to me a very soft-
spoken, obligin' young lady.'

'So she may be, but they're a queer couple, I tell you. It's as well
they are married at last.'

'Why?'

'Because they 'ave been goin' on most owdacious before'and. I 'ave
it from their own lips, and it fairly made me blush to listen to it.
Awful, it was, AWFUL!'

'You don't say that, John!'

'I tell you, Jane, I couldn't 'ardly believe my ears. They was
married on Tuesday last, as we know well, and to-day's Times to prove
it, and yet if you'll believe me, they was talkin' about 'ow they 'ad
travelled alone abroad--'

'Never, John!'

'And alone in a Swiss 'otel!'

'My goodness!'

'And a steamer too.'

'Well, there! I'll never trust any one again.'

'Oh, a perfec' pair of scorchers. But I'll let 'im see as I knows
it. I'll put that Times before 'im to-night at dinner as sure as my
name's John.'

'And a good lesson to them, too! If you didn't say you'd 'eard it
from their own lips, John, I never could 'ave believed it. It's
things like that as shakes your trust in 'uman nature.'

Maude and Frank were lingering at the table d'hote over their walnuts
and a glass of port wine, when their waiter came softly behind them.

'Beg pardon, sir, but did you see it in the Times?'

'See what?'

'THAT, sir. I thought that it might be of interest to you and to
your good lady to see it.'

He had laid one page of the paper before them, with his forefinger
upon an item in the left-hand top corner. Then he discreetly
withdrew. Frank stared at it in horror.

'Maude, your people have gone and put it in.'

'Our marriage!'

'Here it is! Listen! "Crosse--Selby. 30th June, at St. Monica's
Church, by the Rev. John Tudwell, M.A., Vicar of St. Monica's, Frank
Crosse, of Maybury Road, Woking, to Maude Selby, eldest daughter of
Robert Selby, Esq., of St. Albans." Great Scot, Maude! what shall we
do?'

'Well, dear, does it matter?'

'Matter! It's simply awful!'

'I don't mind much if they do know.'

'But my reminiscences, Maude! The travels in the Tyrol! The Swiss
Hotel! The Stateroom! Great goodness, how I have put my foot into
it.'

Maude burst out laughing.

'You old dear!' she cried, 'I don't believe you are a bit better as a
conspirator than I am. There's only one thing you can do. Give the
waiter half a crown, tell him the truth, and don't conspire any
more.'

And so ignominiously ended the attempt which so many have made, and
at which so many have failed. Take warning, gentle reader, and you
also, gentler reader still, when your own turn comes.

CHAPTER VIII--THE HOME-COMING

The days of holiday were over, and for each of them the duties of
life were waiting. For him it was his work, and for her, her
housekeeping. They both welcomed the change, for there was a rush
and a want of privacy about the hotel life which had been amusing at
first, but was now becoming irksome. It was pleasant, as they rolled
out of Waterloo Station that summer night, to know that their cosy
little home was awaiting them just five-and-twenty miles down the
line. They had a first-class carriage to themselves--it is
astonishing how easy it is for two people to fit into one of those
armchair partitions,--and they talked all the way down about their
plans for the future. Golden visions of youth, how they can glorify
even a suburban villa and four hundred a year! They exulted together
over the endless vista of happy days which stretched before them.

Mrs. Watson, Frank's trusty housekeeper, had been left in charge of
The Lindens, and he had sent her a telegram the evening before to
tell her that they were coming. She had already engaged the two
servants, so everything would be ready for them. They pictured her
waiting at the door, the neat little rooms with all their useful
marriage-presents in their proper places, the lamplight and the snowy
cloth laid for supper in the dining-room. It would be ten o'clock
before they got there, and that supper would be a welcome sight. It
was all delightful to look forward to, and this last journey was the
happiest of all their wanderings. Maude wanted to see her kitchen.
Frank wanted to see his books. Both were eager for the fight.

But they found a small annoyance waiting for them at Woking. A
crowded train had preceded them, and there was not a single cab left
at the station. Some would be back soon, but nobody could tell when.

'You don't mind walking, Maude?'

'I should prefer it.'

So a friendly porter took charge of their trunks, and promised to
send them up when a conveyance had arrived. In the meantime they
started off together down an ill-lit and ill-kept road, which opened
into that more important thoroughfare in which their own villa was
situated. They walked quickly, full of eager anticipations.

'It's just past the third lamp-post on the right,' said Frank. 'Now
it's only the second lamp-post. You see it will not be far from the
station. Those windows among the trees are where Hale lives--my best
man, you know! Now it is only one lamp-post!' They quickened their
pace almost to a run, and so arrived at the gate of The Lindens.

It was a white gate leading into a short path--'carriage sweep' the
house-agent called it,--and so to a low but comfortable-looking
little house. The night was so dark that one could only see its
outline. To their surprise, there was no sign of a light either
above the door or at any of the windows.

'Well, I'm blessed!' cried Frank.

'Never mind, dear. They live at the back, no doubt.'

'But I gave them the hour. This is too bad. I am so sorry.'

'It will be all the more cosy inside. What a dear little gate this
is! The whole place is perfectly charming.'

But in spite of her brave attempts at making the best of it, it could
not be denied that this black house was not what they had pictured in
their dreams. Frank strode angrily up the path and pulled at the
bell. There was no answer, so he knocked violently. Then he knocked
with one hand while he rang with the other, but no sound save that of
the clanging bell came from the gloomy house. As they stood
forlornly in front of their own hall-door, a soft rain began to
rustle amidst the bushes. At this climax of their troubles Maude
burst into such a quiet, hearty, irresistible fit of laughter, that
the angry Frank was forced to laugh also.

'My word, it will be no laughing matter for Mrs. Watson if she cannot
give a good reason for it,' said he.

'Perhaps the poor woman is ill.'

'But there should be two other people, the cook and the housemaid.
It is just as well that we did not bring up our trunks, or we should
have had to dump them down in the front garden. You wait here, dear,
under the shelter of the porch, and I will walk round and see if I
can burgle it.'

He tried the back, but it was as dark as the front, and the kitchen-
door was locked. Then he prowled unhappily in the rain from window
to window. They were all fastened. He came back to the kitchen-
door, poked his stick through the glass which formed the upper panel,
and then putting his hand through the hole, he turned the key, and so
stumbled into the obscurity of his own hall. He passed through it,
unlocked the front door, and received Maude into his open arms.

'Welcome to your home, my own darling girl. May you never have one
sad hour under this roof! What a dismal home-coming! What can I do
to make amends? But good comes out of evil, you see, for in no other
possible way could I have been inside to welcome you when you
entered.'

They stayed in the hall in the dark some time, these wet and foolish
young people. Then Frank struck a match, and tried to light the
hall-lamp. There was no oil in it. He muttered something vigorous,
and carried his burning vesta into the dining-room. Two candles were
standing on the sideboard. He lit them both, and things began to
look a little more cheerful. They took a candle each and began to
explore their own deserted house.

The dining-room was excellent--small, but very snug. The Tantalus
spirit-stand--stood upon the walnut sideboard, and the bronzes from
the cricket-club looked splendid upon each side of the mantelpiece.
Beside the clock in the centre lay an open telegram. Frank seized it
eagerly.

'There now!' he cried. 'Listen to this. "Expect us on Thursday
evening about ten." It was TUESDAY evening, I said. That's the
telegraphic clerk. We've come two days before our time.'

It was good to have any sort of explanation, although it left a great
deal unexplained. They passed through the hall with its shining
linoleum, and into the drawing-room. It was not a very good room,
too square for elegance, but they were in no humour for criticism,
and it was charming to see all the old knick-knacks, and the
photographs of friends in their frames. A big wrought-iron and
brass-work standing lamp towered up near the fireplace, but again
there was no oil.

'I think that Mrs. Watson has arranged it all splendidly,' said
Maude, whose active fingers were already beginning to reconstruct.
'But where can she be?'

'She must be out, for, of course, she lives in the house. But it is
the absence of the servants which amazes me, for I understood that
they had arrived. What would you like to do?'

'Aren't you hungry, Frank?'

'Simply starving.'

'So am I.'

'Well, then, let us forage and see if we cannot find something to
eat.'

So hand in hand, and each with a candle in the other hand, like a
pair of young penitents, they continued their explorations with more
purpose than before. The kitchen, into which they penetrated, had
clearly been much used of late, for there were dirty dishes scattered
about, and the fire had been lighted, though it was now out. In one
corner was what seemed to be a pile of drab-coloured curtains. In
the other, an armchair lay upon its side with legs projecting. A
singular disorder, very alien to Mrs. Watson's habits, pervaded the
apartment. A dresser with a cupboard over it claimed the first
attention of the hungry pair. With a cheer from Frank and hand-
clapping from Maude, they brought out a new loaf of bread, some
butter, some cheese, a tin of cocoa, and a bowl full of eggs. Maude
tied an apron over her pretty russet dress, seized some sticks and
paper, and had a fire crackling in a very few minutes.

'Put some water in the kettle, Frank.'

'Here you are! Anything else?'

'Some in the small saucepan for the eggs.'

'I believe they are "cookers,"' said he, sniffing at them
suspiciously.

'Hold them up to the light, sir. There, they are quite bright and
nice. In with them! Now, if you will cut some bread and butter it,
we shall soon have our supper ready.'

'It's too new to cut,' cried Frank, sawing away upon the kitchen
table. 'Besides, new bread is better in chunks. Here are some
cloths and knives and forks in the dresser drawer. I will go and lay
the table.'

'And leave me here alone. No please, Frank, if I am cook, you must
be scullery-maid. Get the cups down and put the cocoa in them. What
fun it all is! I think it is simply SPLENDID to be mistress of a
house.'

'With one scullery-maid.'

'And she perfectly incompetent, and much given to embracing her
mistress. I must take my hat off. Get the sugar for the cocoa out
of the cupboard. The kettle is singing, so it won't be long. Do you
know, Frank'--she paused, listening, with the egg-saucepan in her
hands. 'There's a dog or something in the room.'

They had both become aware of a sort of sibilant breathing, and they
looked round them in bewilderment.

'Where is it?' asked Maude. 'Frank, I believe it's a mouse.'

'Hope for the best. Don't frighten yourself unnecessarily. I fancy
it comes from under these curtains.' He approached them with his
candle, and was suddenly aware of a boot which was projecting from
them. 'Great Scot!' he cried, 'there's a woman here asleep.'

Reassured as to the mouse, Maude approached with her saucepan still
clutched in her hand. There could be no doubt either as to the woman
or the sleep. She lay in an untidy heap, her head under the table,
and her figure sprawling. She appeared to be a very large woman.

'Hullo!' cried Frank, shaking her by the shoulder. 'Hullo, you
there!'

But the woman slumbered peacefully on.

'Heh, wake up, wake up!' he shouted, and pulled her up into a sitting
position. But she slept as soundly sitting as lying.

'The poor thing must be ill,' said Maude. 'O Frank, shall I run for
a doctor?'

'Wake up, woman, wake up!' Frank yelled, and danced her up and down.
She flopped about like a sawdust doll, with her arms swinging in
front of her. He panted with his exertions, but she was serenely
unconscious. At last he had to lower her on to the floor again,
putting a footstool under her head.

'It's no go,' said he. 'I can make nothing of her. She will sleep
it off.'

'You don't mean to say, Frank, that she is--'

'Indeed I do.'

'How horrible!'

'That kettle is boiling now. Suppose we have our supper.'

'Dear Frank, I could not enjoy my supper with that unfortunate woman
lying there. O Frank, I know that you could not either.'

'Bless her!' said Frank bitterly, as he gazed at the inert lump. 'I
really don't see why we should put ourselves out for her. She is
quite comfortable.'

'Oh I couldn't, Frank. It would seem inhuman.'

'What are we to do, then?'

'We must put her to bed.'

'Great heavens!'

'Yes, dear, it is our duty to put her to bed.'

'But look here, my dear girl, we must be practical. The woman weighs
half a ton, and the bedrooms are at the top of the house. It's
simply impossible.'

'Don't you think, Frank, that if you took her head and I took her
feet, we might get her up?'

'Not up the stair, dear. She is enormous.'

'Well, then, on to the drawing-room sofa,' said Maude. 'I could have
my supper, if I knew that she was safe upon the sofa.'

So Frank, seeing that there was no help for it, seized her under the
arms, and Maude took her ankles, and they bore her, bulging but
serene, down the passage. They staggered exhausted into the drawing-
room, and the new sofa groaned beneath the weight. It was a curious
and unsavoury inaugural ceremony. Maude put a rug over the prostrate
form, and they returned to their boiling kettle and their uncooked
eggs. Then they laid the table, and served the supper, and enjoyed
this picnic meal of their own creating as no conventional meal could
ever have been enjoyed. Everything seemed beautiful to the young
wife--the wall-paper, the pictures, the carpet, the rug; but to him,
she was so beautiful in mind, and soul, and body, that her presence
turned the little room into an enchanted chamber. They sat long
together, and marvelled at their own happiness--that pure serene
happiness of mere companionship, which is so much more intimate and
deeper than all the transports of passion.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15