CHAPTER XX.
“Luok, whar i’ th’ nuok o’ yonder tentYon crew are slyly smugglin’.I warrant ye now thar gang are bentTo tek fwonk in by jugglin’;Some cut purse dow-for-nought, nae doubt,That deevilments hev skill in,An’ some’at com’ weel leaden outMay gang widout a shillin’.”Rosley Fair, by J. Stagg.
“Luok, whar i’ th’ nuok o’ yonder tentYon crew are slyly smugglin’.I warrant ye now thar gang are bentTo tek fwonk in by jugglin’;Some cut purse dow-for-nought, nae doubt,That deevilments hev skill in,An’ some’at com’ weel leaden outMay gang widout a shillin’.”Rosley Fair, by J. Stagg.
“Luok, whar i’ th’ nuok o’ yonder tentYon crew are slyly smugglin’.I warrant ye now thar gang are bentTo tek fwonk in by jugglin’;Some cut purse dow-for-nought, nae doubt,That deevilments hev skill in,An’ some’at com’ weel leaden outMay gang widout a shillin’.”Rosley Fair, by J. Stagg.
“Luok, whar i’ th’ nuok o’ yonder tent
Yon crew are slyly smugglin’.
I warrant ye now thar gang are bent
To tek fwonk in by jugglin’;
Some cut purse dow-for-nought, nae doubt,
That deevilments hev skill in,
An’ some’at com’ weel leaden out
May gang widout a shillin’.”
Rosley Fair, by J. Stagg.
Theintimate friend and bosom companion of M. le Comte de Sanschemise wasAdolphe Sheek,Peinteur et Philosophe, and a recent addition to the small French colony that had located itself in the best bed-room of Parthenon House.
Adolphe was, by profession, an artist in hair—ingeniously forming weeping willows out of auburn tresses, and baskets of flowers out of chesnut, or, indeed, any other kind of locks. His hairy nosegays, he boasted, were the admiration of all who had seen them; and his flaxen roses and raven lilies he prided himself upon being the perfection of imitative art. Still, the hairy art wasmerelyan imitative one, and the talented Sheek had a soul for nobler things. He had occasionally soared as high as a fancy composition in hair, and had executed an elaborate hairy marine piece, displaying a hairy sea and a hairy ship in the distance, with a hairy cottage, thatched with hair, in the foreground, and a small hairy pond in front of it, with two hairy ducks swimming among a thicket of hairy weeds.
But, alas! there was no encouragement for genius in hair, so the magnanimous Adolphe had determined—in an artistical point of view at least—to cut his hair, and devote himself to what he was pleased to call the sister art. This consisted in taking portraits in black paper by means of the “machine”—and adding the additional attraction of gold hair and whiskers, for a small extra charge. But Sheek, in his heart, despised the means of living that prudence compelled him to adopt—though he occasionally indulged in a full, or three-quarter face, executed in crayon, water colours, or oil, whenever he was fortunate enough to obtain a sitter; and though he had already produced several highly natural “larder pieces,” in the shape of quartern loaves, gammons of bacon, pots of porter, and wedges of double Glo’ster, each having the same small mouse nibbling at the corner; and though his moonlight pieces had been highly admired, especially the reflection of the moon on the water, and the light in the cottage-window beside the water-mill, still Sheek longed to signalize himself in higher branches of the pictorial art, and was now devoting his leisure to the completion of an historic production, that he hoped might link his name with the great artists of the age.
At the time we write of, M. Adolphe was busily engaged upon an elaborate allegory, commemorative of the cosmopolitan character of the Great Exhibition.
In this great work of high art, Britannia, who is attended by the four quarters of the globe, has thrown one of her boxing-gloves to the ground, in token that she invites all nations to a friendly trial of skill; while France, in the garb of a Sister of Charity, is, in the same friendly spirit, pointing with one hand to the retreat of the English from the field of Waterloo, and, with the other, extracting the thorn from the foot of the British Lion.
For the true perfecting of this grand, and, according to M. Sheek’s friend, national work of art, the dress of the Charitable Sister had been hired expressly from a masquerade warehouse, and the lay figure, which the talented Adolphe used to guide him in the arrangement of the drapery for his half-lengths, appropriately costumed for the occasion. It was this dress that the Count had prevailed upon his friend Adolphe to permit him to forward to Miss Chutney, as a means of facilitating her escape the following day, on the understanding that the painter should share with him any property that the girl might be entitled to on her marriage.
At daybreak on the morning appointed for the Frenchmen’s departure from Parthenon House, the Comte de Sanschemise and his friend, Adolphe Sheek, were preparing for the perilous adventure they were about to enter upon. Having assured themselves no one was yet stirring in the house, they proceeded to dress the lay figure of the artist in the apparel of Miss Chutney; and, the toilet of the dummy being finished, the two Frenchmen crept stealthily up the stairs without their shoes, carrying the wooden model between them.
On reaching the linen-room, they bent the legs of the huge Dutch doll in such a manner, that it could be made to sit upon the edge of the inverted clothes-basket; then, depressing the back, they threw Miss Chutney’s black silk apron over the face of the model, and, raising the arms, forced down the head until the face appeared to be buried in the hands.
This done, they retired a few paces to observe the effect, and when they perceived how closely it resembled the description the young lady had given of the attitude she had adopted, in compliance with the Count’s request, it was as much as the pair of them could do to repress their laughter. Then, to assure themselves that the deception was as perfect as possible, they retired from the room, and, closing the door gently after them, retreated a few paces along the passage, after which they returned, and entered the room suddenly, so as to judge what effect the figure would be likely to produce upon a stranger, on first coming into the apartment.
In suppressed whispers they both pronounced it to be “Soopairb!” and in the ardour of their admiration proceeded to embrace one another.
They then noiselessly descended the stairs, and, returning to their rooms, began to arrange their toilet against the coming of Miss Chutney—the Count being engaged in the gentlemanly operation of taking his hair out of paper, while M. Sheek was busy removing the cabbage-leaves, and brushing the lime-powder from his whiskers, in which elegant occupations we will for the present leave them.
Miss Chutney was awake long before daylight, anxious to learn the contents of the note, and growing more and more timid as the time for her departure drew near. Even before there was sufficient light whereby to decipher the characters in the letter, she was standing by the window with the note in her hand, poring over each word in the dusk, and so making out the wishes of the Count, as it were, piecemeal. In this manner she found out that, before Miss Wewitz was stirring, she was to descend to the Frenchmen’s apartment in the disguise of the Sister of Charity, when she would be apprised of all the arrangements that had been made for her safety.
It was impossible now to retract—with her guardian coming in a few hours. It would be a nice story for Miss Wewitz to tell him—and a very pretty tale she would be sure to make out of it. So, come what might, she had made up her mind to throw herself on the Count’s protection. Accordingly, she proceeded to dress herself in the disguise the Count had provided for her, her hand trembling the while so violently, that she could scarcely fasten the clothes; and though she strove to make as little noise as possible, there was not a brush nor a glass she touched without knocking it against some neighbouring thing, and then was nearly ready to faint at the noise.
At last, however, her toilet was completed, and she opened the door as gently as possible on her way to the Count. As the handle still remained in her hand, she heard, to her great horror, the voice of Miss Wewitz calling to her from her bed-room—for the schoolmistress, knowing that it was the day for the Frenchmen’s departure, and expecting that there would be a scene of some kind or other before she got them clear out of the house, had herself been awake since daylight; and having caught repeated sounds of glasses jingling, and other noises, proceeding from Miss Chutney’s room, had felt satisfied that all was not right, and had been sitting up in her bed for some little time, listening attentively to what was going on, when she was convinced she heard the door of that young lady’s bed-room opened.
Miss Chutney no sooner heard the voice, than she felt it was no time for her to hesitate; so, descending the stairs as rapidly as she could, she hurried to the Count, begging of him to hide her, for Miss Wewitz was following her.
The Count did not take long to tell the terrified girl how well he had arranged matters in the linen-room, and that she need be under no fear of detection if she would but do as he requested her; and then he explained that he intended her to take the place of the lay figure of his talented friend, Adolphe, and to have her removed immediately from the house in that character. All she had to do was, to keep every limb perfectly rigid, and not to move a muscle of her body on any account.
The schoolmistress, who now grew considerably alarmed for the safety of the wayward girl, hastily threw on her dressing-gown, and hurried as quickly as possible to the linen-room. To confess the truth, however, she had little hope of finding her in that place; and as she mounted the stairs, she panted with trepidation, lest she should discover that the young lady had sought protection from that wretch of a Frenchman.
It would be impossible to picture Miss Wewitz’s astonishment and joy at perceiving, on opening the linen-room door, the figure of the girl, bent down in the same attitude of penitence and shame as she had observed her in on the preceding day; she felt like a female Atlas, with the weight of the world suddenly taken off her shoulders. Then, noticing that the despised crust of dry bread was no longer there, (the fact was, M. Adolphe Sheek had eaten it that morning, with the view of keeping the wind off his stomach,) Miss Wewitz threw up her hands with delight, to think all was progressing so favourably, and again congratulated herself that, if the girl was only left to the workings of her better nature, she would have her at her feet before dinner-time.
With this consolatory reflection the schoolmistress closed the door, and having locked it securely, placed the key in her pocket, exclaiming to herself as she did so, “Thank goodness, my lady, you’re all safe!”
Miss Wewitz descended the stairs with a much lighter step than she had mounted them a few moments before, comforting herself with the reflection, that precisely the same change was taking place in Miss Chutney as had been wrought in her own nature, on the memorable occasion of her refusing to eat that delicious boiled rice-pudding.
On reaching her bed-room, however, she thought, as she overheard the Frenchmen on the move, that it would be advisable just to “pop down,” and assure herself that all was right; “for she could not rest easy,” she said, “until she had seen the last lock of their back hair.” Notwithstanding she felt satisfied she had got her parlour boarder safe under lock and key, there was no telling what tricks the creatures might be at—they were such a set!”
Accordingly, having adjusted her cap and patted down her front hair, she tripped down the stairs with one of her most amiable smiles on her countenance, and putting her head in at the door, said in her softest tone, and in a mixture of English and French, “I am ready to pay youvotre argent, Monsieur le Comte, whenever you please.” (Miss Wewitz was to be numbered among the many ladies who understand the language perfectly, but cannot speak it.)
The Count and M. Adolphe had just finished “posing” Miss Chutney in the same attitude as the model, and had retired a few paces back to admire her, as she stood with her hands crossed on her bosom, and her head bent down, as if at her devotions, and were congratulating one another on the perfect resemblance the young lady bore to the “lay” sister, when the head of the schoolmistress was discovered peeping round the door.
Miss Chutney no sooner heard the voice of Miss Wewitz, than she felt all the rigidity she had been throwing into her limbs suddenly leave her, and her legs become as limp and bendy as sugar-sticks in hot weather; and it was merely the conviction that they would all be ruined if she moved a joint, that sustained her in her statuesque position.
The Count ran to the door, and bowing in the face of the schoolmistress, so as to obstruct her view, thanked her for her polite information, and excused himself for shutting her out, by saying that some of his friends were not yet dressed.
Immediately the schoolmistress had left, Miss Chutney, who began to feel in no way equal to the task she had undertaken, entreated of the Count to allow her to return to the linen-room. But this, of course, was a proposition that the Frenchman, now that he had obtained possession of the girl, felt in no way inclined to listen to; so, by dint of compliments on her charming appearance in her new character, and protestations of the most fervent devotion, and assurances of the unceasing happiness that awaited her in Paris, he at length succeeded in calming the young lady’s perturbation.
Miss Chutney, however, had not much time to think over the consequences of the step she was about to take, for scarcely had the Count finished his exhortation and eulogium, when the servant announced that the cab was at the door, and the men were ready to carry down the luggage.
It was then arranged that Adolphe should escort the rest of the Frenchmen out of the house as soon as possible, so that the girl might not be flurried by the presence of so many. And as soon as this part of the operations had been executed, the Count, who had remained continually by the side of the wavering girl, exhorting her to have “courage” but for a few moments longer, quitted her for a few minutes, in order to come to a settlement with Miss Wewitz.
He had scarcely left the room when the cabman and his companion, in obedience to the instructions of M. Adolphe Sheek, stepped up from the hall to remove the lay figure, with the greatest possible care, to the cab.
On entering the apartment, the men were mightily taken with the figure of the Sister of Charity, and declared to one another that if they hadn’t been given to understand it was an artist’s model, they should have taken it for a living woman.
For some little time they amused themselves by merely contemplating the model, and wondering what character it could be intended to represent. The sombreness and peculiarity of the costume seemed to take their fancy vastly. In a few minutes, as the novelty of the impression began to wear away, they commenced handling the rosary, lifting up the white apron, and, ultimately, the black crape veil.
This was a severe trial for the nerves of Miss Chutney; but with her teeth firmly set, and holding her breath, she remained with her eyes upturned, and with every feature and limb as rigid as if they were petrified.
The men grew more pleased than ever with the life-like appearance of the figure, and could not keep from laughing at the apparent intensity of the model’s devotion. Presently, the cab-driver drew the short clay pipe from under the band of his hat, and saying to his companion, “I say, Jem, here’s a lark!” thrust the end of it into the corner of poor Miss Chutney’s mouth.
The girl, though ready to shriek with horror and faint with disgust, still, by a violent effort, held the “dodeen” between her lips. The Count, she said to herself, would be sure to return directly, and then she would be free from all further insult and persecution.
The friend of the cab-driver, determined not to be outdone by his companion, and discovering on the hob a lump of the charcoal that the Frenchmen had used to heat their bachelor’s kettle, seized it, and, approaching the alarmed Miss Chutney, began tracing on her upper lip a huge pair of black mustachios.
This drollery tickled the driver of the cab to such a degree, that, spurred on by the comical appearance of the “model,” he ran to the grate, and having provided himself with another piece of the dingy material, began, in his turn, to adorn the lady’s cheeks with an equally enormous pair of whiskers.
The wretched Miss Chutney felt every minute that shemustgive way under the accumulated insults she was enduring, and had it not been for her reliance on the Count’s immediate return, she would have startled her tormentors by taking to her heels; but every minute she consoled and sustained herself with the assurance, that the next moment would bring her protector to her relief. “Oh!” she thought to herself, as she felt the cabman charcoaling her eyebrows, “if I had only known half I should have to go through, I’m sure I should never have dreamt of making such a silly of myself.”
The embellishment of the “model’s” countenance being finished, the cabman and his “buck” retired a few paces to examine the effect of their handiwork, and burst into a suppressed fit of laughter at the extreme incongruity of the lady’s appearance—and certainly the extraordinary hirsute character of Miss Chutney’s countenance at that moment, embellished, as it was, with the most extravagant hairy appendages, was sufficient to burst the waistcoat-strings of any gentleman gifted with the slightest sense of the ridiculous.
The cabman and his companion were roused from their mirth by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. In their fear of discovery, it was the work of a moment for the driver to pull his wash-leather from his pocket, and endeavour, by rubbing at Miss Chutney’s face, to remove the black marks from it. This, however, had the effect of distributing the charcoal evenly over the whole of the young lady’s countenance, so that the operation served merely to transform her into a negress.
But there was no time for the men to resort to more effectual means of cleaning the face of the model, so, letting fall the black crape, they began to prepare for the removal of the “figure” down stairs; and then Miss Chutney, to her indescribable horror, heard the men propose that one should take the “old gal” by the head, and the other by the feet. A dispute, however, arose as to the practicability of that measure, owing to the peculiar construction of the staircase, whereupon it was suggested by the driver, that the best way perhaps, after all, would be to have up the rope from the foot of the cab, and lower the thing down out of the window; and no sooner was this course agreed upon, than the men retired together for the cord with which to put it into execution.
Immediately the driver and his companion had quitted the apartment, the terrified Chutney lifted up the long black robe of the Sister of Charity, and scampered off as fast as her legs, under the circumstances, could carry her. She had just reached the door, when the Count, who was hurrying back to her with all possible speed, ran bump against her, and, seizing her by the arm, exclaimed in as good English as he was master of—
“Mon petit chou!vot go you to do?Reste tranquille, je t’en prie! In von minoot you sall be mine for nevare!”
“Oh, if I could tell you all!” she cried, falling into his arms; “take me away!” she whispered—“take me away! if you would not have me die!”
“Silence! silence, mon ange! von leetel minoot more, and you sall be mine for nevare!” he said in her ear, as he lifted her in his arms, and proceeded to carry her down the stairs.
In the passage, to the great discomfort of himself and the alarm of the girl, stood Miss Wewitz beside the door, determined to see the Frenchmen safe off the premises. Placing the girl carefully in the corner of the hall, with her face turned towards the wall, he whispered in her ear, “Courage! courage! ma souris;” and then requested to speak a word with the schoolmistress in the music-room, so that he might there occupy her with some little matter, while he returned and placed the trembling girl in the cab.
The men no sooner perceived that the figure was in the passage, than they began arranging which was the best place to stow it in the cab; whereupon the half-dead Chutney was doomed once more to hear the driver and his companion discuss the most effectual plan of removing her from the premises.
The cabman was for laying her at full length on the roof of his vehicle, and lashing her down with the cord, so that, as he said, “there wouldn’t be no chance of the thing’s rolling off.”
The “buck,” however, hinted that, in going over the stones, “some of her j’ints might get broke, so he was for tying her up on the board behind the cab; but this proposal was quickly overruled by the cabman, who observed that “that there would never do, for them boys would be sartin to get pelting the thing with stones and mud on the road, and a pretty pickle it would be in by the time they got to town. No! no! he was for shoving the old gal right across the foot-board; she could lay there very heasy under their feet; and where was the hodds, if so be as her legs did stick out a little bit; there wouldn’t be no danger of their getting broke off, with them right under his hi.”
The last proposition being considered quite unobjectionable by the cabman’s companion, Miss Chutney heard the heavy boots of the men moving across the passage towards the corner in which she stood. She made up her mind to give a good shriek immediately the fellows laid hands upon her again, and, indeed, had just got her mouth wide open, ready to utter one of her most piercing, when, to her unbounded delight, she caught the voice of the Count de Sanschemise at the end of the passage, shouting—
“Ne la touchez pas!Toosh it not! toosh it not!”
Hurrying towards the girl, the Frenchman seized her in his arms and carried her to the cab;—there he pretended to adjust the joints of the imaginary figure, much to the delight of the cabmen, so that it might be made to assume a sitting posture, and occupy the cushion beside him in the interior of the vehicle.
He had but barely completed the pretended adjustment, when Miss Wewitz emerged from the music-room, bearing the receipt in quittance of all claims upon the Count de Sanschemise, which that gentleman, as a means of keeping her out of the way for a few minutes, had requested her to write for him.
The Count hastened back to the schoolmistress, thanking her for her kindness, raised his Spanish hat from his head, and then, making her a profound bow, he saluted her with the greatest possible respect, and jumped into the cab, with his leathern reticule of a portmanteau in his hand.
In another minute the vehicle was whirling across Wimbledon Common; the driver and his companion turning round on the “box,” as they dashed along, to make signs to the servants, who still loitered about the gate, indicative of the novel character of their fare, and folding their hands across their bosom, in imitation of the attitude of the fancied model within.