Sandra Belloni by George Meredith, v5

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CHAPTER XXXV

When Mrs. Chump had turned her back on Brookfield, the feelings of the
outcast woman were too deep for much distinctly acrimonious sensation
toward the ladies; but their letters soon lifted and revived her, until,
being in a proper condition of prickly wrath, she sat down to compose a
reply that should bury them under a mountain of shame. The point,
however, was to transfer this mountain from her bosom, which laboured
heavily beneath it, to their heads. Nothing could appear simpler. Here
is the mountain; the heads are yonder. Accordingly, she prepared to
commence. In a moment the difficulty yawned monstrous. For the mountain
she felt was not a mountain of shame; yet that was the character of
mountain she wished to cast. If she crushed them, her reputation as a
forgiving soul might suffer: she could not pardon without seeing them
abased. Thus shaken at starting, she found herself writing: "I know that
your father has been hearing tales told of me, or he would have written,
and he has not; so you shall never see me, not if you cried to me from
the next world--the hot part."

Perusing this, it was too tremendous. "Oh, that's awful!" she said,
getting her body a little away from the manuscript. "Ye couldn't curse
much louder."

A fresh trial found her again rounding the fact that Mr. Pole had not
written to her, and again flying into consequent angers. She had some
dim conception of the sculpture of an offended Goddess. "I look so," she
said before the glass "I'm above ye, and ye can't hurt me, and don't come
anigh me: but here's a cheque--and may ye be haunted in your dreams!--but
here's a cheque."

There was pain in her heart, for she had felt faith in Mr. Pole's
affection for her. "And he said," she cried out in her lonely room--"he
said, 'Martha, ye've onnly to come and be known to 'm, and then they'll
take to the ideea.' And wasn't I a patient creature! And it's Pole
that's turned--Pole!"

Varied with the frequent 'Oh!' and 'Augh!' these dramatic monologues
occupied her time while the yacht was sailing for her Devon bay.

At last the thought struck her that she would send for Braintop--
telegraphing that expenses would be paid, and that he must come with a
good quill. "It goes faster," she whispered, suggesting the pent-up
torrent, as it were, of blackest ink in her breast that there was to pour
forth. A very cunning postscript to the telegram brought Braintop almost
as quick to her as a return message. It was merely 'Little Belloni.'

She had forgotten this piece of artifice: but when she saw him start at
the opening of the door, keeping a sheepish watch in that direction,
"By'n-by," she said, with a nod; and shortly afterward unfolded her
object in summoning him from his London labours: "A widde-woman ought to
get marrud, Mr. Braintop, if onnly to have a husband to write letters for
'rr. Now, that's a task! But sup to-night, and mind ye say yer prayers
before gettin' into bed; and no tryin' to flatter your Maker with your
knees cuddled up to your chin under the counterpane. I do 't myself
sometimes, and I know one prayer out of bed's worrth ten of 'm in. Then
I'll pray too; and mayhap we'll get permission and help to write our
letter to-morrow, though Sunday, as ye say."

On the morrow Braintop's spirits were low, he having perceived that the
'Little Belloni' postscript had been but an Irish chuckle and nudge in
his ribs, by way of sly insinuation or reminder. He looked out on the
sea, and sighed to be under certain white sails visible in the offing.
Mrs. Chump had received by the morning's post another letter from
Arabella, enclosing one for Wilfrid. A dim sense of approaching mastery,
and that she might soon be melted, combined with the continued silence of
Mr. Pole to make her feel yet more spiteful. She displayed no
commendable cunning when, to sharpen and fortify Braintop's wits, she
plumped him at breakfast with all things tempting to the appetite of man.
"I'll help ye to 'rr," she said from time to time, finding that no
encouragement made him potent in speech.

Fronting the sea a desk was laid open. On it were the quills faithfully
brought down by Braintop.

"Pole's own quills," she said, having fixed Braintop in this official
seat, while she took hers at a station half-commanding the young clerk's
face. The mighty breakfast had given Braintop intolerable desire to
stretch his limbs by the sounding shore, and enjoy life in semi-oblivion.
He cheered himself with the reflection that there was only one letter to
write, so he remarked politely that he was at his hostess's disposal.
Thereat Mrs. Chump questioned him closely whether Mr. Pole had spoken her
name aloud; and whether he did it somehow, now and then by accident, and
whether he had looked worse of late. Braintop answered the latter
question first, assuring her that Mr. Pole was improving.

"Then there's no marcy from me," said Mrs. Chump; and immediately
discharged an exclamatory narrative of her recent troubles, and the
breach between herself and Brookfield, at Braintop's ears. This done,
she told him that he was there to write the reply to the letters of the
ladies, in her name. "Begin," she said. "Ye've got head enough to guess
my feelin's. I'm invited, and I won't go--till I'm fetched. But don't
say that. That's their guess ye know. 'And I don't care for ye enough
to be angry at all, but it's pity I feel at a parcel of fine garls'--so
on, Mr. Braintop."

The perplexities of epistolary correspondence were assuming the like
proportions to the recruited secretary that they had worn to Mrs. Chump.
Steadily watching his countenance; she jogged him thus: "As if ye
couldn't help ut, ye know, ye begin. Jest like wakin' in the mornin'
after dancin' all night. Ye make the garls seem to hear me seemin' to
say--Oooo! I was so comfortable before your disturbin' me with your
horrud voices. Ye understand, Mr. Braintop? 'I'm in bed, and you're a
cold bath.' Begin like that, ye know. 'Here's clover, and you're
nettles.' D'ye see? Here from my glass o' good Porrt to your tumbler
of horrud acud vin'gar.' Bless the boy! he don't begin."

She stamped her foot. Braintop, in desperation, made a plunge at the
paper. Looking over his shoulder in a delighted eagerness, she suddenly
gave it a scornful push. "'Dear!'" she exclaimed. "You're dearin' them,
absurd young man I'm not the woman to I dear 'em--not at the starrt! I'm
indignant--I'm hurrt. I come round to the 'dear' by-and-by, after I have
whipped each of the proud sluts, and their brother Mr. Wilfrid, just as
if by accident. Ye'll promus to forget avery secret I tell ye; but our
way is always to pretend to believe the men can't help themselves. So
the men look like fools, ye sly laughin' fella! and the women horrud
scheming spiders. Now, away, with ye, and no dearin'."

The Sunday-bells sounded mockingly in Braintop's ears, appearing to ask
him how he liked his holiday; and the white sails on the horizon line
have seldom taunted prisoner more. He spread out another sheet of
notepaper and wrote "My," and there he stopped.

Mrs. Chump was again at his elbow. "But, they aren't 'my,' she
remonstrated, "when I've nothin' to do with 'm. And a 'my' has a 'dear'
to 't always. Ye're not awake, Mr. Braintop; try again."

"Shall I begin formally, "Mrs. Chump presents her compliments,' ma'am?"
said Braintop stiffly.

"And I stick myself up on a post, and talk like a parrot, sir! Don't you
see, I'm familiar, and I'm woundud? Go along; try again."

Braintop's next effort was, "Ladies."

"But they don't behave to me like ladus; and it's against my conscience
to call 'em!" said Mrs. Chump, with resolution.

Braintop wrote down "Women," in the very irony of disgust.

"And avery one of 'em unmarred garls!" exclaimed Mrs. Chump, throwing up
her hands. "Mr. Braintop! Mr. Braintop! ye're next to an ejut!"

Braintop threw dawn the pen. "I really do not know what to say," he
remarked, rising in distress.

"I naver had such a desire to shake anny man in all my life," said Mrs.
Chump, dropping to her chair.

The posture of affairs was chimed to by the monotonous bell. After
listening to it for some minutes, Mrs. Chump was struck with a notion
that Braintop's sinfulness in working on a Sunday, or else the shortness
of the prayer he had put up to gain absolution, was the cause of his lack
of ready wit. Hearing that he had gloves, she told him to go to church,
listen devoutly, and return to luncheon. Braintop departed, with a
sensation of relief in the anticipation of a sermon, quite new to him.
When he next made his bow to his hostess, he was greeted by a pleasant
sparkle of refreshments. Mrs. Chump herself primed him with Sherry,
thinking in the cunning of her heart that it might haply help the
inspiration derived from his devotional exercise. After this, pen and
paper were again produced.

"Well, now, Mr. Braintop, and what have ye thought of?" said Mrs. Chump,
encouragingly.

Braintop thought rapidly over what he might possibly have been thinking
of; and having put a file of ideas into the past, said, with the air of a
man who delicately suggests a subtlety: "It has struck me, ma'am, that
perhaps 'Girls' might begin very well. To be sure 'Dear girls' is the
best, if you would consent to it."

"Take another glass of wine, Mr. Braintop," Mrs. Chump nodded. "Ye're
nearer to ut now. 'Garls' is what they are, at all events. But don't
you see, my dear your man, it isn't the real thing we want so much as a
sort of a proud beginnin', shorrt of slappin' their faces. Think of
dinner. Furrst soup; that prepares ye for what's comin'. Then fish,
which is on the road to meat, dye see?--we pepper 'em. Then joint, Mr.
Braintop--out we burrst: (Oh, and what ins'lent hussies ye've been to me,
and yell naver see annything of me but my back!) Then the sweets,--But
I'm a forgivin' woman, and a Christian in the bargain, ye ungrateful
minxes; and if ye really are sorrowful! And there, Mr. Braintop, ye've
got it all laid out as flat as a pancake."

Mrs. Chump gave the motion of a lightning scrawl of the pen. Braintop
looked at the paper, which now appeared to recede from his eyes, and
flourish like a descending kite. The nature of the task he had
undertaken became mountainous in his imagination, till at last he fixed
his forehead in his thumbs and fingers, and resolutely counted a number
of meaningless words one hundred times. As this was the attitude of a
severe student, Mrs. Chump remained in expectation. Aware of the fearful
confidence he had excited in her, Braintop fell upon a fresh hundred,
with variations.

"The truth is, I think better in church," he said, disclosing at last as
ingenuous a face as he could assume. He scarcely ventured to hope for a
second dismissal.

To his joy, Mrs. Chump responded with a sigh: "There, go again; and the
Lord forgive ye for directin' your mind to temporal matters when ye're
there! It's none of my doin', remember that; and don't be tryin' to make
me a partic'pator in your wickudness."

"This is so difficult, ma'am, because you won't begin with Dear," he
observed snappishly, as he was retiring.

"Of coorse it's difficult if it bothers me," retorted Mrs. Chump, divided
between that view of the case and contempt of Braintop for being on her
own level.

"Do you see, we are not to say 'Dear' anything, or 'Ladies,' or--in
short, really, if you come to think, ma'am!"

"Is that a woman's business, Mr. Braintop?" said Mrs. Chump, as from a
height; and the youth retired in humiliation.

Braintop was not destitute of the ambition of his time of life, and
yearned to be what he believed himself--something better than a clerk.
If he had put forth no effort to compose Mrs. Chump's letter, he would
not have felt that he was the partner of her stupidity; but he had
thoughtlessly attempted the impossible thing, and now, contemplating his
utter failure, he was in so low a state of mind that he would have taken
pen and written himself down, with ordinary honesty, good-for-nothing.
He returned to his task, and found the dinner spread. Mrs. Chump gave
him champagne, and drank to him, requesting him to challenge her. "We
won't be beaten," she said; and at least they dined.

The 'we' smote Braintop's swelling vanity. It signified an alliance, and
that they were yoked to a common difficulty.

"Oh! let's finish it and have it over," he remarked, with a complacent
roll in his chair.

"Naver stop a good impulse," said Mrs. Chump, herself removing the lamp
to light him.

Braintop sat in the chair of torture, and wrote flowingly, while his
taskmistress looked over him, "Ladies of Brookfield." He read it out:
"Ladies of Brookfield."

"I'll be vary happy to represent ye at the forthcomin' 'lection," Mrs.
Chump gave a continuation in his tone.

"Why, won't that do, ma'am?" Braintop asked in wonderment.

"Cap'tal for a circular, Mr. Braintop. And ye'll allow me to say that I
don't think ye've been to church at all."

This accusation containing a partial truth (that is, true if it referred
to the afternoon, but not as to the morning), it was necessary for
Braintop's self-vindication that he should feel angry. The two were very
soon recriminating, much in the manner of boy and girl shut up on a sunny
afternoon; after which they, in like manner, made it up--the fact of both
having a habit of consulting the glass, and the accident of their doing
it at the same time, causing an encounter of glances there that could
hardly fail to be succeeded by some affability. For a last effort, Mrs.
Chump laid before Braintop a prospect of advancement in his office, if he
so contrived as to write a letter that should land her in Brookfield
among a scourged, repentant, and forgiven people. That he might
understand the position, she went far modestly to reveal her weakness for
Mr. Pole. She even consented to let 'Ladies' be the opening apostrophe,
provided the word 'Young' went before it: "They'll feel that sting," she
said. Braintop stipulated that she should not look till the letter was
done; and, observing his pen travelling the lines in quick succession,
Mrs. Chump became inspired by a great but uneasy hope. She was only to
be restrained from peeping, by Braintop's petulant "Pray, ma'am!" which
sent her bouncing back to her chair, with a face upon one occasion too
solemn for Braintop's gravity. He had written himself into excellent
spirits; and happening to look up as Mrs. Chump retreated from his
shoulder, the woman's comic reverence for his occupation--the prim
movement of her lips while she repeated mutely the words she supposed he
might be penning--touched him to laughter. At once Mrs. Chump seized on
the paper. "Young ladus," she read aloud, "yours of the 2nd, the 14th,
and 21st ulto. The 'ffection I bear to your onnly remaining parent."

Her enunciation waxed slower and significantly staccato toward a pause.
The composition might undoubtedly have issued from a merchant's office,
and would have done no discredit to the establishment. When the pause
came, Braintop, half for an opinion, and to encourage progress, said,
"Yes, ma'am;" and with "There, sir!" Mrs. Chump crumpled up the paper and
flung it at him. "And there, sir!" she tossed a pen. Hearing Braintop
mutter, "Lady-like behaviour," Mrs. Chump came out in a fiery bloom. "Ye
detestable young fella! Oh, ye young deceiver! Ye cann't do the work of
a man! Oh! and here's another woman dis'pointed, and when she thought
she'd got a man to write her letters!"

Braintop rose and retorted.

"Ye're false, Mr. Braintop--ye're offensuv, sir!" said Mrs. Chump; and
Braintop instantly retired upon an expressive bow. When he was out of
the room, Mrs. Chump appealed spitefully to an audience of chairs; but
when she heard the front-door shut with a report, she jumped up in
terror, crying incredulously, "Is the young man pos'tively one? Oh! and
me alone in a rage!--the contemplated horrors of which position set her
shouting vociferously. "Mr. Braintop!" sounded over the stairs, and "Mr.
Braintop!" into the street. The maid brought Mrs. Chump her bonnet.
Night had fallen; and nothing but the greatest anxiety to recover
Braintop would have tempted her from her house. She made half-a-dozen
steps, and then stopped to mutter, "Oh! if ye'd onnly come, I'd forgive
ye--indeed I would!"

"Well, here I am," was instantaneously answered; her waist was clasped,
and her forehead was kissed.

The madness of Braintop's libertinism petrified her.

"Ye've taken such a liberty, sir 'deed ye've forgotten yourself!"

While she was speaking; she grew confused with the thought that Braintop
had mightily altered both his voice and shape. When on the doorstep he
said; "Come out of the darkness or, upon my honour, I shall behave
worse," she recognized Wilfrid, and understood by his yachting costume in
what manner he had come. He gave her no time to think of her dignity or
her wrath. "Lady Charlotte is with me. I sleep at the hotel; but you
have no objection to receive her, have you?" This set her mind upon her
best bedroom, her linen, and the fitness of her roof to receive a title.
Then, in a partial fit of gratitude for the honour, and immense
thankfulness at being spared the task of the letter, she fell on
Wilfrid's shoulder, beginning to sob--till he, in alarm at his absurd
position, suggested that Lady Charlotte awaited a welcome. Mrs. Chump
immediately flew to her drawing-room and rang bells, appearing presently
with a lamp, which she set on a garden-pillar. Together they stood by
the lamp, a spectacle to ocean: but no Lady Charlotte drew near.

CHAPTER, XXXVI

Though Mrs. Chump and Wilfrid, as they stood by the light of the lamp,
saw no one, they themselves were seen. Lady Charlotte had arranged to
give him a moment in advance to make his peace. She had settled it with
that air of practical sense which her title made graceful to him. "I
will follow; and I dare say I can complete what you leave unfinished,"
she said. Her humorous sense of the aristocratic prestige was conveyed
to him in a very taking smile. He scarcely understood why she should
have planned so decisively to bring about a reconciliation between Mrs.
Chump and his family; still, as it now chimed perfectly with his own
views and wishes, he acquiesced in her scheme, giving her at the same
time credit for more than common wisdom.

While Lady Charlotte lingered on the beach, she became aware of a figure
that hung about her; as she was moving away, a voice of one she knew well
enough asked to be directed to the house inhabited by Mrs. Chump. The
lady was more startled than it pleased her to admit to herself.

"Don't you know me?" she said, bluntly.

"You!" went Emilia's voice.

"Why on earth are you here? What brings you here? Are you alone?"
returned the lady.

Emilia did not answer.

"What extraordinary expedition are you making? But, tell me one thing:
are you here of your own accord, or at somebody else's bidding?"

Impatient at the prospect of a continuation of silences, Lady Charlotte
added, "Come with me."

Emilia seemed to be refusing.

"The appointment was made at that house, I know," said the lady; "but if
you come with me, you will see him just as readily."

At this instant, the lamp was placed on the pillar, showing Wilfrid, in
his sailor's hat and overcoat, beside the fluttering Irishwoman.

"Come, I must speak to you first," said Lady Charlotte hurriedly,
thinking that she saw Emilia's hands stretch out. "Pray, don't go into
attitudes. There he is, as you perceive; and I don't use witchcraft.
Come with me; I will send for him. Haven't you learnt by this time that
there's nothing he detests so much as a public display of the kind you're
trying to provoke?"

Emilia half comprehended her.

"He changes when he's away from me," she said, low toneless voice.

"Less than I fancied," the lady thought.

Then she told Emilia that there was really no necessity for her to whine
and be miserable; she was among friends, and so forth. The simplicity of
her manner of speech found its way to Emilia's reason quicker than her
arguments; and, in the belief that Wilfrid was speaking to Mrs. Chump on
urgent private matters (she had great awe of the word 'business'), Emilia
suffered herself to be led away. She uttered twice a little exclamation,
as she looked back, that sounded exceedingly comical to Lady Charlotte's
ears. They were the repressions of a poignant outcry. "Doggies make
that noise," thought the lady, and succeeded in feeling contemptuous.

Wilfrid, when he found that Lady Charlotte was not coming, bestowed a
remark upon her sex, and went indoors for his letter. He considered it
politic not to read it there, Mrs. Chump having grown so friendly, and
even motherly, that she might desire, out of pure affection, to share the
contents. He put it by and talked gaily, till Mrs. Chump, partly to
account for the defection of the lady, observed that she knew they had a
quarrel. She was confirmed in this idea on a note being brought in to
him, over which, before opening it, he frowned and flushed. Aware of the
treachery of his countenance, he continued doing so after his eyes had
taken in the words, though there was no special ground furnished by them
for any such exhibition. Mrs. Chump immediately, with a gaze of
mightiest tribulation, burst out: "I'll help ye; 'pon my honour, I'll
help ye. Oh! the arr'stocracy! Oh, their pride! But if I say, my dear,
when I die (which it's so horrud to think of), you'll have a share, and
the biggest--this vary cottage, and a good parrt o' the Bank property--
she'll come down at that. And if ye marry a lady of title, I'll be 's
good as my word, I will."

Wilfrid pressed her fingers. "Can you ever believe that, I have called
you a 'simmering pot of Emerald broth'?"

"My dear! annything that's lots o' words, Ye may call me," returned Mrs.
Chump, "as long as it's no name. Ye won't call me a name, will ye? Lots
o' words--it's onnly as if ye peppered me, and I sneeze, and that's all;
but a name sticks to yer back like a bit o' pinned paper. Don't call me
a name," and she wriggled pathetically.

"Yes," said Wilfrid, "I shall call you Pole."

"Oh! ye sweetest of young fellas!"

Mrs. Chump threw out her arms. She was on the point of kissing him, but
he fenced with the open letter; and learning that she might read it, she
gave a cry of joy.

"Dear W.!" she begins; and it's twice dear from a lady of title. She's
just a multiplication-table for annything she says and touches. "Dear
W.!" and the shorter time a single you the better. I'll have my joke,
Mr. Wilfrud. "Dear W.!" Bless her heart now! I seem to like her next
best to the Queen already.--"I have another plan." Ye'd better keep to
the old; but it's two paths, I suppose, to one point.--"Another plan.
Come to me at the Dolphin, where I am alone." Oh, Lord! 'Alone,' with a
line under it, Mr. Wilfrud! But there--the arr'stocracy needn't matter a
bit."

"It's a very singular proceeding not the less," said Wilfrid. "Why
didn't she go to the hotel where the others are, if she wouldn't come
here?"

"But the arr'stocracy, Mr.Wilfrud! And alone--alone! d'ye see? which
couldn't be among the others; becas of sweet whisperin'. 'Alone,'" Mrs.
Chump read on; "'and to-morrow I'll pay my respects to what you call your
simmering pot of Emerald broth.' Oh ye hussy! I'd say, if ye weren't a
borrn lady. And signs ut all, 'Your faithful Charlotte.' Mr. Wilfrud,
I'd give five pounds for this letter if I didn't know ye wouldn't part
with it under fifty. And 'deed I am a simmerin' pot; for she'll be a
relation, my dear! Go to 'r. I'll have your bed ready for ye here at
the end of an hour; and to-morrrow perhaps, if Lady Charlotte can spare
me, I'll condescend to see Ad'la."

Wilfrid fanned her cheek with the note, and then dropped it on her neck
and left the room. He was soon hurrying on his way to the Dolphin:
midway he stopped. "There may be a bad shot in Bella's letter," he
thought. Shop-lights were ahead: a very luminous chemist sent a green
ray into the darkness. Wilfrid fixed himself under it. "Confoundedly
appropriate for a man reading that his wife has run away from him!" he
muttered, and hard quickly plunged into matter quite as absorbing. When
he had finished it he shivered. Thus it ran:

"My beloved brother,

"I bring myself to plain words. Happy those who can trifle with human
language! Papa has at last taken us into his confidence. He has not
spoken distinctly; he did us the credit to see that it was not necessary.
If in our abyss of grief we loss delicacy, what is left?--what!

"The step he desired to take, Which We Opposed, he has anticipated, And
Must Consummate.

"Oh, Wilfrid! you see it, do you not? You comprehend me I am surf! I
should have said 'had anticipated.' How to convey to you! (but it would
be unjust to him--to ourselves--were I to say emphatically what I have
not yet a right to think). What I have hinted above is, after all;
nothing but Cornelia's conjecture, I wish I could not say confirmed by
mine. We sat with Papa two hours before any idea of his meaning dawned
upon us. He first scolded us. We both saw from this that more was to
come.

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