[image]THEN HE RESUMED. "BROOKE," SAYS HE,—"BROOKE, MY BOY,"—JUST LIKE THAT"Nobody ever suspected you of having a sense of humour," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, severely. However, he felt that his first effort had not been the success he had hoped for, and he tried again. "Ah!"—said he, brightening up, "and my friend, H.R.H. the P. of W.!" He uttered the cabalistic letters with a mixture of mystery and airy familiarity. There was an awed "Oh-h!" from all his hearers except Sir Peter. The latter exclaimed impatiently, "Your friend who?"The reply came with crushing weight. "His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, sir!" The Admiral reeled under the shock of this broadside.Mrs. Poskett leant forward eagerly. "What did the dear Prince say? My poor husband knew him well," she explained. "When Mr. Alderman Poskett was Sheriff, the dear Prince frequently dined with the Corporation, and many 's the time he said to Poskett, 'Mr. Sheriff, you must be knighted,' but Poskett went and died—"Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was annoyed. He was being interrupted, which is a thing intolerable, and his own anecdote was being supplanted. He held up a deprecatory hand. "It was not so much what he said," he explained, "as his manner of saying it. Just:—'Ah, Brooke!'—but oh! the elegance! Oh, the condescension!"Sir Peter broke out with, "Well, of all the—!"But Madame stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Do you ever make speeches, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn?" she asked sweetly.The great man looked at her with something like suspicion. For a moment he was undeniably flustered. But he mastered himself with an effort and replied with a fair assumption of carelessness, "Short ones, Ma'am. Frequent, but short. I have proposed the health of many gentlemen of distinction.""How clever you must be!" cried Ruth, admiringly."Oh—!" protested Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with exquisite modesty.Madame pointed to the river, now gleaming in the afterglow. "How strangely empty the Walk looks without our fisherman!""I was wondering what I missed," said Basil, "of course! The Eyesore!""He leaves a blank," added Ruth.Marjolaine laughed. "He was a sort of statue."Mrs. Poskett confided tearfully to her tea-cup. "The Walk is not the Walk without him."Sir Peter was genuinely astonished. "Why, he tried to drown your cat, Ma'am!"Madame playfully shook her finger at him, "Oh, Sir Peter! have you driven the poor man away?"The Walk eyed him severely, and all cried as with one voice, "For shame, Sir Peter!" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn went on booming, "Shame! Shame!" all by himself, long after the others were silent.The Admiral's patience was nearly exhausted. Here was Madame turning against him now. The injustice of it infuriated him. He stamped with rage. "But, hang it and dash it, I haven't seen him!" he roared. But nobody believed him. All shook their heads gloomily, and said "Ah!"CHAPTER XIIIN WHICH THE OLD CONSPIRACY IS TRIUMPHANTAND A NEW CONSPIRACY IS HATCHED[image]Chapter XII headpieceLittle Miss Barbara Pennymint came flying out of her house: a little more and she would have flown over the railings. Her cheeks were glowing with joy, her eyes glittering with excitement. She saw nothing of the tea-party, but dashed headlong into the midst of it as a sea-mew dashes at a lighthouse. "Marjory! Marjory!" she cried. Then she saw all the people staring at her, and stopped, abashed. "Oh! I had forgotten!" she exclaimed, and spread her wings to fly back again, but Madame stopped her."A dish of tea, Miss Barbara?""No!" cried Barbara, violently, but remembering her manners she corrected herself. "Oh, no, thank you!" She hopped and skipped to Marjolaine, who had come half-way to meet her. "Marjory," she said, overflowing with excitement, "can I speak to you?"Before Marjolaine could answer, Sir Peter had borne down on them. Here, at last, was somebody who had not snubbed him yet. "Ah, Miss Barbara," he bellowed, with clumsy playfulness, "I didn't see you in church yesterday!"As if Barbara wanted to be reminded of that!"Wasn't I there?" she stammered, utterly taken aback. "I don't remember." She tried to get away, but the Admiral was inexorable. "Come, now! Come, now! What was the text?"Unhappy little Barbara saw all the eyes of the Walk fixed on her. She had to say something. "Oh! I know!" she cried at last, and proceeded volubly, "'If any of you know of any cause or just impediment—'""Barbara!" screamed Miss Ruth, indignantly, while the others laughed at her confusion. Basil heaved a great sigh. Still thinking of the lost one! Marjolaine came to the rescue and drew Barbara away from her tormentor. "Come away, Babs!" She turned severely on poor Sir Peter, "Don't worry her, Sir Peter!""Try to put some sense in her, Miss Marjory," said Ruth, as the two girls ran away, with their arms, as usual, round each others' waists.The Admiral was crushed. "Even Missie!" he groaned. But he saw Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn preparing to tell another anecdote. This gave him new courage. Putting on his courtliest manner, he exclaimed, "Well, Ladies! To-morrow is the Fourth of June!""As this is the Third," interrupted Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with fine sarcasm, "you might safely have left us to infer that, sir!"He was standing close to Mrs. Poskett, who had not moved from her seat under the elm. Sir Peter came and faced him, so that the poor lady found herself, as she afterwards described it, between the upper and the nether millstone.If Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn could wield sarcasm, so could Sir Peter when he was put to it. He spoke with dangerous politeness. "But it seems necessary to remind the bosom friend of H.R.H. the P. of W. that it is the birthday of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third!—" The shot told. For a moment Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was silenced. Sir Peter went on, conscious of victory, "Ladies, I warn you not to be alarmed when you hear me fire the salute as usual!"Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn leaped—positively leaped at his opportunity. "As usual!—Ha! That brass popgun of yours—""Popgun!—" roared the Admiral, leaning across Mrs. Poskett."I said popgun, sir!—has never gone off, yet!"Mrs. Poskett was in a dreadful flutter. She held up her cup and saucer deprecatingly to each of the infuriated gentlemen in turn, and each automatically seized them and rattled them in the other's face. Jim—moved by his guilty conscience—was signalling frantically to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn not to betray him.The Admiral was purple in the face. "Because some infernal scoundrel has always tampered with the charge!" The accumulated grievances of the evening welled up within him. "But to-night," he went on, thrusting the cup and saucer roughly on Mrs. Poskett and spilling the tea over her beautiful silk gown, "to-night, I'll load it myself! and, damme! I'll take it to bed with me!" And with that he stumped off in a rage into his house, thrusting the innocent Basil and the terrified Jim out of his way with horrible objurgations."Now, Ladies!" said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, triumphantly, "you see the man's real nature!"Poor Mrs. Poskett's nerves were completely shattered, and she was trying to drink tea out of her empty cup.Ruth came and sat beside her. "We shall break the Admiral down, yet, my dear. His temper is all due to conscience.""Alderman Poskett was just like that whenever he had sanded the sugar," said Mrs. Poskett, tearfully.Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was devoting himself to Madame. Jim and Nanette were removing the tea-things into Madame's house, and that rascally Jim, who was old enough to know better—but is anybody ever old enough to know better?—was making the most of his chances.Marjolaine and Barbara had retired into the Gazebo. "Yes!" twittered Barbara, continuing their conversation, "he's learnt it! He does surround it with flowers of speech, but he says it quite clearly.""Dear Doctor Johnson!" cried Marjolaine, laughing, and clapping her hands.Barbara shuddered reminiscently. "But I cannot bear his eye on me! It's like Charles's. And he is moulting—which more than ever increases the resemblance. Oh, Marjory, he looked at me so coldly all the time I was teaching him!""Never mind how he looked, if he'll only talk!"Barbara embraced her frantically. "How can I ever thank you?"Basil was standing by the chains that separated the Walk from the river. The melancholy of the evening had entered his soul. Ruth came up to him. He was an idiot, to be sure, yet her heart went out to him in sympathy. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn and Mrs. Poskett were thanking Madame for her hospitality. Jack could be seen peeping impatiently out of Doctor Sternroyd's window, or striding to and fro in the room like a caged tiger at feeding time.Marjolaine whispered to Barbara. "If you are really and truly grateful, you may be able to help me! I'll tell you a great secret." She drew Barbara close to her. "I am to be married to-morrow!"Barbara screamed aloud, and all the people in the Walk turned in alarm."Is anything the matter?" enquired Miss Ruth, anxiously."No, no!" said Marjolaine, laughing. "Yes," she went on, when the others had resumed their conversation, "married secretly to-morrow. Swear you won't tell anybody if you live to be ninety!""Yes! oh, yes!" cried Barbara, hopping from twig to twig. (I cannot help it: she really was exactly like a bird!) "I mean, No! oh, no!""And you must be bridesmaid!"Barbara's face expressed rapture. "Marjory!" And then with eager curiosity, "Who is it?""Sh!" whispered Marjolaine. She pointed to Doctor Sternroyd's house. "There!"Barbara was genuinely amazed. She had heard of May and December, but this was May of this year and December of the year-before-last. "Not Doctor Sternroyd?" she asked aghast.Marjolaine burst out laughing. "No, no!" She pointed again where Jack was standing behind the curtain, the picture of misery. "There! At the window!"Barbara gazed and understood. "Oh, how lovely!" she cried, alluding to the romance and secrecy.But, of course Marjolaine accepted the epithet for Jack. "Yes, is n't he?" She drew Barbara to the elm. "We are to be married by special licence.""What's that?" asked Barbara."I don't know. Doctor Sternroyd's getting it. It lets you go and be married anywhere, whenever you like.""Heavenly!" cried Barbara. "If Doctor Johnson teaches Basil what I 've taught Doctor Johnson, Doctor Sternroyd shall get me a licence, too.""Yes," said Marjolaine, "we'll keep him busy." Then she turned to where Basil was gloomily watching them, and called, "Mr. Basil!"Basil hurried forward eagerly, "Yes, Miss Marjory?""Barbara is not feeling very well," said Marjolaine, sympathetically; and immediately Barbara looked languishing and pathetic."Heavens!" cried Basil in genuine alarm, "Shall I play to her?""Oh, no!" cried Marjolaine, innocently, "it's not so bad as that. But it's her evening hour with Doctor Johnson, and she does n't feel quite equal to it."Ruth had overheard this last statement. "Why, bless her heart!" she interrupted tartly, "she 's been sitting with that bird all day!"Barbara lifted great reproachful eyes at her. "Unkind Ruth! The lonely bird!"Marjolaine went on rapidly, addressing Basil, "So she wondered whether you would take her place for once.""Why, of course!" cried Basil. "With the greatest pleasure in life!"Barbara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and said very demurely, "Oh, but you don't know what you may hear.""Yes," exclaimed Ruth, sharply, "he swears horribly.""I'll soothe his savage breast!" cried Basil, enthusiastically. "I 'll be Orpheus with his Lute! I 'll play the Kreutzer Sonata to him!"Barbara turned anxiously to Marjolaine: this wouldn't do at all!"No! no!" cried the latter, "just let him talk! Just let him talk!"But Basil was already inside the house. Marjolaine and Barbara retired, giggling, into the Gazebo, where they sat and twittered mutual confidences. Ruth joined the other ladies, who were listening to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. The Admiral was leaning out of his upstair window to take in his thrush."Indeed, yes," continued Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, "I have collected the witty sayings of my distinguished friends. I shall make a book of them. A small quarto. I shall call it, 'Pearls'"—he caught sight of the Admiral—"'Pearls before Swine.'" The Admiral disappeared. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn proceeded, "Did I tell you my friend Sherry's bonn mott about the weather?""Yes! Oh, yes!" cried all three ladies, with alacrity, and fled from him, leaving him abashed and rather offended. He saw Barbara in the Gazebo, and brightened up. "Ah! but Miss Barbara was not there!" He crossed on tip-toe, and, much to her alarm, seized her by the arm and dragged her to the elm. "Imagine, then," he boomed, condescendingly, while Barbara signalled in vain to Marjolaine for help, "Imagine, then, that you are standing—ah—just where you are standing; and I am Sheridan." Barbara had no idea of what he was talking about. Had he suddenly gone mad? If so, was he harmless? "You remember how we perspired on Saturday evening?" "Oh!" cried Barbara, with disgust. "I come up to you—so." He suited the action to the word. "I place my hand familiarly on your shoulder—so—""Really!" cried Barbara, indignantly.Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn explained. "You understand: you are Sheridan—no; I am Sheridan and you are me. And I—that is Sheridan—say to you—I mean, me—'Brooke, my boy—'"Jane, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's pretty maid, came rushing out of the house. She was in a flutter of excitement; also she was in a dreadful hurry—and here was her master, talking to a lady!"'Brooke, my boy'"—repeated Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, leading up to his point."Master—! Master—!" whispered Jane, hoarsely.Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn waved her away impatiently."'Brooke, my boy—'" he repeated for the third time. But Jane was tugging at his coat-tails."What is it?" cried Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, peevishly. "What the devil is it? Go away!"Jane clung to him like a limpet. "Master!" she cried again; and then, putting her lips close to his ear and covering them with one hand, while with the other she pointed frantically to the upstairs window, she whispered a piece of news which petrified him and made his eyes start out of his head. Then she ran back into the house as quickly as she had come."Eh? What?" he cried, in great perturbation. "There, now!—So like Selina! Spoilt the point of my story!" He turned to the utterly bewildered Barbara, with half a mind to continue his anecdote, but thought better of it, and with a brusque, "Excuse me!" dashed headlong into the house.Madame, who had been quietly conversing with Mrs. Poskett and Ruth, came to Marjolaine. "I think I shall go in. Will you come, Marjolaine?""Oh, Maman," pleaded Marjolaine, "I have so much to say to Barbara!" She accompanied her mother to their gate."You are so feverish—so unlike yourself—! You are not going to be indisposed?"Marjolaine caught sight of Jack in the Doctor's study. "Oh, Maman!" she cried, throwing her arms round her mother's neck and kissing her with quite unusual ardour, "I am so well, so well!—I never was so well!"Madame looked at her searchingly. Could her daughter be heartless? To be sure, she herself had besought her to forget her girlish love, but Marjolaine had forgotten it too quickly. Madame went into her house with an uneasy mind and a troubled countenance.Miss Ruth had been arguing with Mrs. Poskett. "Well," she said, evidently alluding to the Admiral, "That's what I should do! Bring him to his knees."There was a dangerous glitter in Mrs. Poskett's eyes as she replied, "I brought Poskett to his: why should n't I bring Peter?""Strike while the iron's hot. He knows we're all disappointed with him, and he's ashamed of himself. Now's the time, when he ain't sure of himself. Come along in. Put on your prettiest cap. I'll help you."Just as they were at Mrs. Poskett's gate they saw Doctor Sternroyd come shuffling round the corner. His manner was furtive, and he was burdened with a variety of small parcels."Dear me, Doctor! How you are loaded!" cried Miss Ruth.The antiquary had evidently hoped to get home unnoticed. "Good evening, Ladies!" he stammered, in confusion. "Pray excuse me if I cannot remove my hat.""And not books, this time?" said Mrs. Poskett."No, no, no!" cried the antiquary, looking as guilty as if he had been caught carrying stolen goods. "Not books. Not what you might call books. Just parcels. Simple necessaries, I assure you." He made a wide curve in order not to come into closer contact with Ruth and Mrs. Poskett, and they went laughing into the latter's house. But the wide curve brought him up against Marjolaine and Barbara, who had come out of the Gazebo. "More women!" groaned the Doctor; and before either of them had spoken he had added hastily, "Simple necessaries, I do assure you!"Barbara hopped up to him eagerly. She touched all the parcels, which he vainly tried to keep out of her reach. "Doctor," she said, eagerly, "which is the licence?"The Doctor was utterly taken aback. "Eh? Oh, dear! dear! Miss Marjory, you told her!""Of course," said Marjory. "She's my dearest friend!""Tut, tut!—Dear, dear!—What says the Swan of Avon? 'Who was't betrayed the Capitol?—A woman!'"Jack had opened the window and now leant out and said in a ghastly whisper, "Doctor!—For Heaven's sake look sharp with the victuals!""There, there!" cried the flustered Doctor, as he shuffled on into the house, "the cuckoo in the nest!"At the same instant Mr. Basil Pringle came bounding out of the Misses Pennymint's house, shouting, "Miss Barbara!"Barbara leant half-swooning against Marjolaine. "Oh!—he's coming!""Oh, Miss Barbara!" repeated Basil, breathlessly."Has Doctor Johnson bitten you?" asked Marjolaine, mischievously."Oh, that gifted bird!" exclaimed Basil, rapturously."Did he speak?" asked Marjolaine, while Barbara panted expectant."Speak!—Ah!—" Basil had no words.Doctor Sternroyd's window was violently thrown open by Jack. It was nearly dark in the Walk, and Jack was reckless. "Marjory!" he called. Marjory was very much startled. Anybody might come out at any moment."Oh! take care!" she cried, as she ran up to within whispering distance of him.Barbara, with bent head and blushing cheeks was trying to keep Basil to the point. "What did he say, Mr. Basil?""Come closer!" whispered Jack to Marjolaine, and after assuring herself that no one was looking, she crept inside the little garden.Basil came impulsively towards Barbara. "Shall I tell you? Dare I tell you?" he asked passionately, yet shyly."You know best," said Barbara, making an invisible pattern on the grass with her dainty foot.Basil took his courage in both hands. "He said—it was all in one breath—He said, 'O-burn-your-lungs-and-liver-you-lubberly-son-of-a- lop-eared-weevil-tell-Barbara-you-love-her!'""Oh, Mr. Basil!" sighed Barbara, and threw herself headlong into his arms."But it's true!—It's true!" he cried enthusiastically. "Come! let me tell you my own way!" And without more ado, he picked her up and carried her bodily into the Gazebo."It's perfectly monstrous!" Jack was explaining angrily to Marjolaine, who was now under his window. "The old fossil's brought two eggs, a red herring, and a pot of currant jelly!""Poor Jack!" exclaimed Marjolaine sympathetically, yet with a note of laughter in her voice."Is that rations for a grown man?" asked Jack pathetically. "Says he'll make an omelette! Two eggs! An omelette! Ho!"Here the Eyesore crept cautiously back to his post. He had not dared come in broad daylight, but now that it was nearly dark he hoped he would be unobserved.From the Gazebo came the voices of the other lovers in long-drawn notes."My own!" said Basil, in a stupendous bass."My Basil!" echoed Barbara.Rapture. Oblivion. An endless embrace."Can't you send that object for food?" said Jack, pointing to the Eyesore."I daren't speak to him," answered Marjolaine, with a little shiver of dislike. "He always turns out to be somebody else. Jack! if you 'll be good, I 'll get it myself!""Angel! But make haste! I'm starving!""If you hear me singing, look out of the window," whispered Marjolaine, kissing her hand to him. And with that she ran lightly into her own house, and Jack retired to wait with what patience he could muster."And now, what is the next thing to do?" asked Basil, rising and leading Barbara towards the house."We must tell Ruth," said Barbara, with a sound practical idea of clinching the matter. There should be no mistake this time."Yes! at once!" cried Basil, nobly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, with a burst of grateful sentiment, "I 'll buy Doctor Johnson a golden chain!"Barbara's pretty head was reposing affectionately on his shoulder. "And I 'll wear it for him. The dear bird.""The dear, dear bird!" they repeated in melodious unison.Not otherwise did Romeo and Juliet breathe soft nothings in the gardens of Verona. Not otherwise did Paolo and Francesca talk exquisite nonsense when they had very injudiciously left off reading. Not otherwise—but why pursue the subject? You and I have been just as happy, and just as foolish.Ruth brought Mrs. Poskett, resplendent in a new cap and various other seductive devices, out of the house. Barbara fluttered to her sister. "Dear Ruth! Come in quickly! Basil and I have such news for you!"Ruth saw it at a glance. At last they had shed one form of idiocy to take on another. Now, perhaps, she would enjoy a little peace. "Very well," she said. Then she made a low curtsey to Mrs. Poskett, and said, meaningly, "Courage—Lady Antrobus!"Alas, poor Admiral! The knell of thy freedom has sounded. Shut thyself in thy house as thou wilt: close thy shutters; make fast thy doors; yea, train the little brass cannon on the Walk: nothing will help. Thy fair enemy is cruising at the harbour's mouth, with pennons flaunting to the breeze, and all her deadly armoury of sighs, tears, threats, reproaches and languishing glances made ready for action; and nothing thou canst do will serve. Through long years thou hast sailed light-heartedly from many ports, leaving broken, or, at any rate, damaged hearts behind thee. Now the Hour of Retribution has struck, and the Avenger is here. Thy day of conquests is past, and it is thou who wilt be led captive in chains of roses. There is none to sympathise with thee. On the contrary, it is my firm conviction that the whole Walk will hang out banners to celebrate thy defeat.CHAPTER XIIIIN WHICH ADMIRAL SIR PETER ANTROBUS IS MORE THANEVER DETERMINED TO FIRE THE LITTLE BRASS GUN[image]Chapter XIII headpieceMrs. Poskett found herself—if you did not count the Eyesore: and nobody ever had counted him, yet—alone in the Walk. The sun had set, and the evening twilight itself had almost merged into night. The river gleamed a pale green, as if it were loath to surrender the last remnant of day. It was a propitious hour for amorous dalliance, but Mrs. Poskett felt she had much to do ere she could hope to be engaged in any such pleasant pastime. She sat some moments under the elm considering her position. She was face to face with a difficult problem. Here she was, under the elm, and there was Sir Peter, safely barricaded in his own house. That he was not in a good humour she knew. The house looked forbidding. The door was tightly closed. The windows were shut, and the blinds drawn. Somewhere behind those drawn blinds the Admiral was fuming. She yearned to hold his hand and comfort him and soothe his feelings, wounded, as well she knew, by the sneers and open mutiny of the Walk. But how to get at him? She could not go to his house. She could not call him. All the conventions and proprieties rose up like an impregnable wall against either of those courses. And even if she called him, he would not come. On the contrary, he would retire like Hamlet to some more remote part of his ramparts, and pretend he had n't heard her. She must employ some stratagem. But what stratagem? Pomander Walk was not a good nursery for stratagems, she thought, little knowing how many plots and schemes and conspiracies had been concocted and were still seething all around her.She was on the point of giving up in despair when she caught sight of the Eyesore. She looked at his back—which was all she could see of him—and brooded a long time. At last she rose and stole over to him on tip-toe. She felt for a coin in the little bead-embroidered bag that hung from her wrist. Two or three times she opened her mouth as if about to speak, but each time she closed it again upon the unspoken word. Finally, however, she made up her mind."My good man," she said, rather condescendingly.The Eyesore never stirred. She might as well have addressed one of the chain-posts. She tried again: this time a trifle more urbanely. "Mister!—"A sort of wave of acknowledgment ran down the back of the Eyesore's coat, just as a horse shivers at the touch of a fly; but that was all. She made one more effort: now with a courteous appeal. "Sir!—You threw Sempronius into the river on Saturday—here's a crown for you."I cannot explain what connection there was in her mind between the crime and the reward, except that in some confused way she considered the former as a sort of introduction entitling her to address him.The Eyesore only put his hand behind his back with the open palm upward. When Mrs. Poskett had dropped the huge coin into it, he brought it slowly round, bit it, spat on it, and pocketed it. But he said no word. Mrs. Poskett proceeded hastily, indicating the Admiral's house. "Now I want you to knock at that door."The Eyesore followed the direction of her finger with a bleary eye. What! He knock at the door of his enemy and persecutor! and be captured by him! That was her little game, was it? And she thought to lure him to his doom with a miserable bait of five shillings. But he'd show her! To Mrs. Poskett's amazement, alarm, and admiration, he picked up a stone, hurled it with unerring aim at the door, and incontinently bolted round the corner. Mrs. Poskett fled behind the elm and awaited the upshot with a beating heart.Jim appeared, red-faced, at the door. He looked up and down the Walk, but seeing it empty, muttered, "Cuss them boys!" and was turning to go in again, when Mrs. Poskett called him."Good evening, Mr. Jim," she said, in her blandest tones."'Evening, mum!" answered Jim, touching his forelock. "Them boys ought to be drownded, is what I says; and I wish I had the doing of it.""You have a responsible post, Mr. Jim.""Ay, ay, mum. Bosun o' the Admiral's gig.""Oh, more than that, Mr. Jim. Chief officer, and cook, and gardener—what lovely peas!" It was much too dark to see the peas, but she knew they grew all around Jim's heart."Ah," he assented, and added with meaning, "takes a oncommon lot o' moistenin', though.""It is thirsty weather, Mr. Jim." Mrs. Poskett was searching in her bag again.Jim's eyes gleamed. "And a truer word you never spoke, Lady.""Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, insidiously, "I want to see the Admiral."Jim shook his head gloomily. "Ah! 'tis dirty weather he's makin' of it, sure 'nough. He've a-locked hisself in by hisself if you'll believe me; an' he's a-swearin' somethin' 'orrible for to 'ear!""Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, holding up a beautiful, bright new crown-piece between her finger and thumb, "would five shillings quench your thirst?"Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, Lady, I can't say but 'twould take the edge off it."To his disgust, Mrs. Poskett retreated a step. "But I must see Sir Peter."Jim scratched his head—which was his way of expressing deep reflection. He caught sight of the Admiral's flag hanging motionless. "I've got it!" he cried. "Sheer off a cable's length, Lady."Mrs. Poskett retired to the extreme end of the Walk. Jim made a speaking-trumpet of both hands and bellowed, "Admiral, ahoy!"The Admiral's window went up so suddenly, the Admiral's head shot out so abruptly, and his voice was so fierce, that Mrs. Poskett could not suppress a little scream."D'ye want to wake the dead?" roared the Admiral."Axing your pardon, Admiral—sunset.""What of it, you lubber?" The Admiral was quite unaware of Mrs. Poskett's presence, or I am sure he would not have used such an expression."Shall I haul the flag down, Admiral?" asked Jim, with well-feigned astonishment.You may judge of what the Admiral had gone through from the fact that this was the first time in recorded history he had neglected to perform this ritual."On your life!" he cried, in great agitation. "I've hoisted it and struck it with my own hands, morning and night, any time these five years. D' ye think I'll have a lubberly son of a sea-cook like you do it now?"He vanished from his window as abruptly as he had appeared. Jim hobbled towards Mrs. Poskett. "Got him, Lady!" he chuckled.Mrs. Poskett handed him the coin. "Here, and thank you.""Thank you, mum."Sir Peter appeared at the door. Unfortunately he caught sight of Mrs. Poskett. He retreated, half-closed the door, and only showed his head through the opening."Jim!" he cried."Ay, ay, sir!""Haul it down yourself."Mrs. Poskett gave a cry of disappointment. Had she spent ten shillings in vain?But Jim was equal to the occasion. His voice was a beautiful blend of pathos and wounded dignity. "No, Admiral. Not after what passed your lips.""Damme! I can't leave it hoisted all night!" roared the Admiral."That's as mebbe," said Jim, beginning to stump off. "Even the lubberly son of a sea-cook 'as 'is feelin's, same as them wot's 'igher placed." And he stumped round the corner."Here! Jim!" roared the Admiral, in distress and fury. "Come back! you mutinous scoundrel!" But Jim was gone.What was the Admiral to do? Was he to leave the flag up, contrary to all precedent? That was unthinkable. On the other hand was he to offer himself as a target for Mrs. Poskett's sarcasms? Yet again, was he to show the white feather in the presence of the enemy? No! He'd be hanged if he would. He slapped himself on the chest to give himself courage, and came down the steps. "Cheer up, my hearty!" he cried; and then he hummed what he thought was the tune of "Oh! dear! what can the matter be?" and began hauling down the flag.Meanwhile Mrs. Poskett had sidled casually along the railings, as if she were going nowhere in particular and didn't mind when she got there. But she timed herself carefully, so that she was close to Sir Peter just as he was entangled in the lines."Admiral!" she said, very gently."Ma'am?" growled he, continuing to extricate himself."Why do you force me to address you?" she asked reproachfully, and with great dignity.Sir Peter was taken aback. "Me! Force you! Gobblessmysoul!" he exclaimed, "Well, I'm—""For your own good," said Mrs. Poskett, solemnly. "Oh, Sir Peter, you was King of the Walk on Friday. Now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn will usurp that title."This fetched him. He left the flag lying at the foot of the mast, and came out into the open. "Will he so, Ma'am!" he said, fiercely."So he will!" Having enticed him from behind the security of his railings, Mrs. Poskett knew he would follow wherever she led him. She led him at once towards the elm."The Walk says you have lowered the prestige of His Majesty's Navy."The Admiral had indeed turned to go back; but this brought him to her side. "Dash it and hang it, Ma'am! what do you mean?""Well, you know what I mean," said Mrs. Poskett, with pretty confusion. "The entire Walk saw you press me to your heart!"The Admiral was helpless. His own recollections of what had happened on Saturday were extremely vague. What with the rescue of the cat and the sudden appearance of Caroline Thring, together with the subsequent escape of Jack, he had lost all sense of actualities. Moreover, it was impossible for him to accuse Mrs. Poskett of having embraced him. A gentleman does not do such things. So he could only stammer weakly, "I didn't, did I?"Mrs. Poskett flashed at him indignantly. "The entire Walk witnessed the outrage, and the entire Walk is indignant that nothing has come of it.""Gobblessmysoul!" muttered the Admiral.Mrs. Poskett followed up her advantage. "'Oh, how unsailor-like!'"—that is what the Walk says: "'How unsailor-like!'"Imagine the stab. He, Admiral Sir Peter Antrobus, with more than forty years of service in His Majesty's Navy to his credit; the hero of Copenhagen; the friend of Nelson; he, who had given an eye for his country—unsailor-like!He pushed his wig back and mopped his brow. "It doesn't say that!" he murmured, horrified.But Mrs. Poskett was mercilessly emphatic. "It says that." Then she steered on another tack. "I 'm only a lone widow," she said, with an air of martyrdom. "If Alderman Poskett were alive, he 'd see you did the right thing by his wife. But I!—I must leave my once happy home!""But—dash it and hang it—!" protested Sir Peter, struggling in the web that was being woven around him."You cannot alter facts by swearing," said the widow. "Can I bear the sneers of a Pennymint? the arched eyebrows of a Brooke-Hoskyn? I cannot. I must let my beautiful house," with a side glance at him and considerable stress, "my freehold house. Let it to an undesirable tenant: a person with a mangle."A mangle in Pomander Walk! "Gobblessmysoul!" said the Admiral. Also he had been set thinking. Freehold, eh?"To be sure, the expense of moving is nothing," proceeded Mrs. Poskett, airily, "when one has Four-hundred a year in the Funds. But oh! my lovely furniture will be chipped! and, oh! how shall I part from my friends?"The Admiral was moved. He was undeniably moved. A freehold house, Four-hundred a year in the Funds, and lovely furniture.—And, mind you, the widow was buxom; he himself had described her as a "Dam fine woman." As she stood there in tearful confusion, she looked distinctly agreeable; plump and comfortable. To be sure, the sun had gone down."But it's not so bad as that?" said the Admiral, with something approaching sympathy."It's worse!" cried Mrs. Poskett. "And that innocent cat, Sempronius!—What will he say? He took a chill on Saturday and he's lying before the kitchen fire wrapped up in a piece of flannel. When I move, the change will kill him. Oh, why did n't you leave him to drown?" she sobbed aloud.The Admiral was much stirred. A woman's tears always bowled him over. He could stand anything but that."Dash it and hang it, Ma'am, don't cry!""It is n't as if I was older," sobbed Mrs. Poskett. "I could be much older! But I'm young enough to have a tender heart!" She mastered herself with an heroic effort; swallowed her sobs; drove back her tears; and stood before him, the picture of stoic calm, of noble resignation. "But never mind! I will be brave! You—you—shall—not—see—me—weep!" Then she howled.Sir Peter was indescribably distressed. "But—Gobblessmysoul!—" he stammered—"what am I to do with Jim, and the flagstaff, and the brass gun, and the thrush, and the sweet peas?" and, pointing to his house, "What am I to do with Number One?"Mrs. Poskett raised one tear-bedewed eye from her handkerchief. "Knock a door through and make one house of them!" she exclaimed, as if sweeping away an absurdity. "Oh, these paltry details!" Then she lifted her face to his with a smile. Thus does the sun look when it emerges from behind a rain-cloud. "Sweet peas? What could be more appropriate? Ain't I Pamela Poskett? and ain't you Peter?"The tearful smile, so winsome, so appealing, was irresistible. "Damme, you 're right!" cried the Admiral, surrendering at discretion. "You've swept me fore and aft! You've blown me out of the sea! By George, Ma'am, I 'll marry you if you 'll have me!"Once more, as when he saved her cat, Mrs. Poskett threw her comfortable arms round Sir Peter's neck. "I 'll have you, Peter," she cried joyfully; and she added in a tone which clinched the matter, "I've got you!"There was an eloquent silence. The old elm shook its leaves with a ripple of laughter. It had seen many things in its long life, but never anything so epically grand as the widow's victory and the Admiral's surrender. Troy town was besieged in vain during ten long years, and was then only conquered by a horse. Five years Mrs. Poskett had besieged Sir Peter and her victory was due to a cat. You seize the analogy? When you remember, further, that Basil had been inveigled by a parrot, you will realise the danger—or utility, according to your point of view—of keeping domestic pets: the undoubted risk of having any commerce with other peoples' domestic pets—especially if they are Greeks or widows. I mean, the people.The Admiral was conquered, and like a gentleman, he made the best of his defeat. That is the way to turn it into a moral victory. "I 'll haul out the brass gun and fire it to-night!" he cried, enthusiastically. "That'll tell the Walk!""I 'll tell the Walk!" said Mrs. Poskett, masking her quite legitimate triumph under renewed endearments.They say drowning men see all their past lives in a flash. As the Admiral felt Mrs. Poskett's arms tighten round his neck, he had a similar experience. All the eyes he had ever looked into seemed to be gazing reproachfully at him out of the darkness; all the names he had ever whispered seemed now to be whispering in his ear. Dolores, Inez, Mariette, Suzette, Paquita, Frederike, Jette, Karen—I know not how many more—like a swarm of bees they buzzed around him. Then, too, he suddenly remembered that upstairs in his old sailor's chest; the chest that had accompanied him all over the world, there was a splendid and varied assortment of locks of hair: black, brown, golden, auburn, frankly red, straw-coloured, chestnut, and one off which the dye had faded and shown it uncompromisingly grey. He must remember to destroy them before—well, before the door was knocked through.What escapes he had had! What a mercy he had not married that fiery Spaniard; that still more blazing Brazilian; that fickle Portuguese; that frivolous Mam'selle; that straw-coloured Dane. He began to realise that Mrs. Poskett was, like the Walk itself, a Harbour of Refuge. Here was no rhapsodical nonsense, but safe comfort, with a freehold house, solid furniture, and Four-hundred a year. Almost unconsciously his arms closed round her. She gave a great, contented sigh, as her head sank on his shoulder. To have drawn this response from him was, indeed, victory! I wonder what she would have done if she could have read his thoughts, if she could have seen the long procession of seductive females that was passing across his mental vision. I am convinced that the prospective title would have consoled her, and that she would have accepted his past for the sake of her future.They were abruptly aroused from their happiness, however. Unperceived by them, Lord Otford had entered the Walk. He had come slowly along the crescent, examining each house in turn, evidently trying to make up his mind to knock at one of them. He retraced his steps and had his hand on the handle of the Admiral's gate, when his attention was attracted by the sound of murmuring voices. Evidently the voices of lovers. Quickly and angrily he came down, just in time to witness the Admiral implant a chaste but conclusive salute on Mrs. Poskett's ample brow."Peter!" he cried, scandalised.
[image]THEN HE RESUMED. "BROOKE," SAYS HE,—"BROOKE, MY BOY,"—JUST LIKE THAT
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THEN HE RESUMED. "BROOKE," SAYS HE,—"BROOKE, MY BOY,"—JUST LIKE THAT
"Nobody ever suspected you of having a sense of humour," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, severely. However, he felt that his first effort had not been the success he had hoped for, and he tried again. "Ah!"—said he, brightening up, "and my friend, H.R.H. the P. of W.!" He uttered the cabalistic letters with a mixture of mystery and airy familiarity. There was an awed "Oh-h!" from all his hearers except Sir Peter. The latter exclaimed impatiently, "Your friend who?"
The reply came with crushing weight. "His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, sir!" The Admiral reeled under the shock of this broadside.
Mrs. Poskett leant forward eagerly. "What did the dear Prince say? My poor husband knew him well," she explained. "When Mr. Alderman Poskett was Sheriff, the dear Prince frequently dined with the Corporation, and many 's the time he said to Poskett, 'Mr. Sheriff, you must be knighted,' but Poskett went and died—"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was annoyed. He was being interrupted, which is a thing intolerable, and his own anecdote was being supplanted. He held up a deprecatory hand. "It was not so much what he said," he explained, "as his manner of saying it. Just:—'Ah, Brooke!'—but oh! the elegance! Oh, the condescension!"
Sir Peter broke out with, "Well, of all the—!"
But Madame stopped him with a touch on his arm. "Do you ever make speeches, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn?" she asked sweetly.
The great man looked at her with something like suspicion. For a moment he was undeniably flustered. But he mastered himself with an effort and replied with a fair assumption of carelessness, "Short ones, Ma'am. Frequent, but short. I have proposed the health of many gentlemen of distinction."
"How clever you must be!" cried Ruth, admiringly.
"Oh—!" protested Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with exquisite modesty.
Madame pointed to the river, now gleaming in the afterglow. "How strangely empty the Walk looks without our fisherman!"
"I was wondering what I missed," said Basil, "of course! The Eyesore!"
"He leaves a blank," added Ruth.
Marjolaine laughed. "He was a sort of statue."
Mrs. Poskett confided tearfully to her tea-cup. "The Walk is not the Walk without him."
Sir Peter was genuinely astonished. "Why, he tried to drown your cat, Ma'am!"
Madame playfully shook her finger at him, "Oh, Sir Peter! have you driven the poor man away?"
The Walk eyed him severely, and all cried as with one voice, "For shame, Sir Peter!" Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn went on booming, "Shame! Shame!" all by himself, long after the others were silent.
The Admiral's patience was nearly exhausted. Here was Madame turning against him now. The injustice of it infuriated him. He stamped with rage. "But, hang it and dash it, I haven't seen him!" he roared. But nobody believed him. All shook their heads gloomily, and said "Ah!"
CHAPTER XII
IN WHICH THE OLD CONSPIRACY IS TRIUMPHANTAND A NEW CONSPIRACY IS HATCHED
[image]Chapter XII headpiece
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Chapter XII headpiece
Little Miss Barbara Pennymint came flying out of her house: a little more and she would have flown over the railings. Her cheeks were glowing with joy, her eyes glittering with excitement. She saw nothing of the tea-party, but dashed headlong into the midst of it as a sea-mew dashes at a lighthouse. "Marjory! Marjory!" she cried. Then she saw all the people staring at her, and stopped, abashed. "Oh! I had forgotten!" she exclaimed, and spread her wings to fly back again, but Madame stopped her.
"A dish of tea, Miss Barbara?"
"No!" cried Barbara, violently, but remembering her manners she corrected herself. "Oh, no, thank you!" She hopped and skipped to Marjolaine, who had come half-way to meet her. "Marjory," she said, overflowing with excitement, "can I speak to you?"
Before Marjolaine could answer, Sir Peter had borne down on them. Here, at last, was somebody who had not snubbed him yet. "Ah, Miss Barbara," he bellowed, with clumsy playfulness, "I didn't see you in church yesterday!"
As if Barbara wanted to be reminded of that!
"Wasn't I there?" she stammered, utterly taken aback. "I don't remember." She tried to get away, but the Admiral was inexorable. "Come, now! Come, now! What was the text?"
Unhappy little Barbara saw all the eyes of the Walk fixed on her. She had to say something. "Oh! I know!" she cried at last, and proceeded volubly, "'If any of you know of any cause or just impediment—'"
"Barbara!" screamed Miss Ruth, indignantly, while the others laughed at her confusion. Basil heaved a great sigh. Still thinking of the lost one! Marjolaine came to the rescue and drew Barbara away from her tormentor. "Come away, Babs!" She turned severely on poor Sir Peter, "Don't worry her, Sir Peter!"
"Try to put some sense in her, Miss Marjory," said Ruth, as the two girls ran away, with their arms, as usual, round each others' waists.
The Admiral was crushed. "Even Missie!" he groaned. But he saw Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn preparing to tell another anecdote. This gave him new courage. Putting on his courtliest manner, he exclaimed, "Well, Ladies! To-morrow is the Fourth of June!"
"As this is the Third," interrupted Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with fine sarcasm, "you might safely have left us to infer that, sir!"
He was standing close to Mrs. Poskett, who had not moved from her seat under the elm. Sir Peter came and faced him, so that the poor lady found herself, as she afterwards described it, between the upper and the nether millstone.
If Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn could wield sarcasm, so could Sir Peter when he was put to it. He spoke with dangerous politeness. "But it seems necessary to remind the bosom friend of H.R.H. the P. of W. that it is the birthday of His Most Gracious Majesty King George the Third!—" The shot told. For a moment Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was silenced. Sir Peter went on, conscious of victory, "Ladies, I warn you not to be alarmed when you hear me fire the salute as usual!"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn leaped—positively leaped at his opportunity. "As usual!—Ha! That brass popgun of yours—"
"Popgun!—" roared the Admiral, leaning across Mrs. Poskett.
"I said popgun, sir!—has never gone off, yet!"
Mrs. Poskett was in a dreadful flutter. She held up her cup and saucer deprecatingly to each of the infuriated gentlemen in turn, and each automatically seized them and rattled them in the other's face. Jim—moved by his guilty conscience—was signalling frantically to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn not to betray him.
The Admiral was purple in the face. "Because some infernal scoundrel has always tampered with the charge!" The accumulated grievances of the evening welled up within him. "But to-night," he went on, thrusting the cup and saucer roughly on Mrs. Poskett and spilling the tea over her beautiful silk gown, "to-night, I'll load it myself! and, damme! I'll take it to bed with me!" And with that he stumped off in a rage into his house, thrusting the innocent Basil and the terrified Jim out of his way with horrible objurgations.
"Now, Ladies!" said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, triumphantly, "you see the man's real nature!"
Poor Mrs. Poskett's nerves were completely shattered, and she was trying to drink tea out of her empty cup.
Ruth came and sat beside her. "We shall break the Admiral down, yet, my dear. His temper is all due to conscience."
"Alderman Poskett was just like that whenever he had sanded the sugar," said Mrs. Poskett, tearfully.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was devoting himself to Madame. Jim and Nanette were removing the tea-things into Madame's house, and that rascally Jim, who was old enough to know better—but is anybody ever old enough to know better?—was making the most of his chances.
Marjolaine and Barbara had retired into the Gazebo. "Yes!" twittered Barbara, continuing their conversation, "he's learnt it! He does surround it with flowers of speech, but he says it quite clearly."
"Dear Doctor Johnson!" cried Marjolaine, laughing, and clapping her hands.
Barbara shuddered reminiscently. "But I cannot bear his eye on me! It's like Charles's. And he is moulting—which more than ever increases the resemblance. Oh, Marjory, he looked at me so coldly all the time I was teaching him!"
"Never mind how he looked, if he'll only talk!"
Barbara embraced her frantically. "How can I ever thank you?"
Basil was standing by the chains that separated the Walk from the river. The melancholy of the evening had entered his soul. Ruth came up to him. He was an idiot, to be sure, yet her heart went out to him in sympathy. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn and Mrs. Poskett were thanking Madame for her hospitality. Jack could be seen peeping impatiently out of Doctor Sternroyd's window, or striding to and fro in the room like a caged tiger at feeding time.
Marjolaine whispered to Barbara. "If you are really and truly grateful, you may be able to help me! I'll tell you a great secret." She drew Barbara close to her. "I am to be married to-morrow!"
Barbara screamed aloud, and all the people in the Walk turned in alarm.
"Is anything the matter?" enquired Miss Ruth, anxiously.
"No, no!" said Marjolaine, laughing. "Yes," she went on, when the others had resumed their conversation, "married secretly to-morrow. Swear you won't tell anybody if you live to be ninety!"
"Yes! oh, yes!" cried Barbara, hopping from twig to twig. (I cannot help it: she really was exactly like a bird!) "I mean, No! oh, no!"
"And you must be bridesmaid!"
Barbara's face expressed rapture. "Marjory!" And then with eager curiosity, "Who is it?"
"Sh!" whispered Marjolaine. She pointed to Doctor Sternroyd's house. "There!"
Barbara was genuinely amazed. She had heard of May and December, but this was May of this year and December of the year-before-last. "Not Doctor Sternroyd?" she asked aghast.
Marjolaine burst out laughing. "No, no!" She pointed again where Jack was standing behind the curtain, the picture of misery. "There! At the window!"
Barbara gazed and understood. "Oh, how lovely!" she cried, alluding to the romance and secrecy.
But, of course Marjolaine accepted the epithet for Jack. "Yes, is n't he?" She drew Barbara to the elm. "We are to be married by special licence."
"What's that?" asked Barbara.
"I don't know. Doctor Sternroyd's getting it. It lets you go and be married anywhere, whenever you like."
"Heavenly!" cried Barbara. "If Doctor Johnson teaches Basil what I 've taught Doctor Johnson, Doctor Sternroyd shall get me a licence, too."
"Yes," said Marjolaine, "we'll keep him busy." Then she turned to where Basil was gloomily watching them, and called, "Mr. Basil!"
Basil hurried forward eagerly, "Yes, Miss Marjory?"
"Barbara is not feeling very well," said Marjolaine, sympathetically; and immediately Barbara looked languishing and pathetic.
"Heavens!" cried Basil in genuine alarm, "Shall I play to her?"
"Oh, no!" cried Marjolaine, innocently, "it's not so bad as that. But it's her evening hour with Doctor Johnson, and she does n't feel quite equal to it."
Ruth had overheard this last statement. "Why, bless her heart!" she interrupted tartly, "she 's been sitting with that bird all day!"
Barbara lifted great reproachful eyes at her. "Unkind Ruth! The lonely bird!"
Marjolaine went on rapidly, addressing Basil, "So she wondered whether you would take her place for once."
"Why, of course!" cried Basil. "With the greatest pleasure in life!"
Barbara glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and said very demurely, "Oh, but you don't know what you may hear."
"Yes," exclaimed Ruth, sharply, "he swears horribly."
"I'll soothe his savage breast!" cried Basil, enthusiastically. "I 'll be Orpheus with his Lute! I 'll play the Kreutzer Sonata to him!"
Barbara turned anxiously to Marjolaine: this wouldn't do at all!
"No! no!" cried the latter, "just let him talk! Just let him talk!"
But Basil was already inside the house. Marjolaine and Barbara retired, giggling, into the Gazebo, where they sat and twittered mutual confidences. Ruth joined the other ladies, who were listening to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. The Admiral was leaning out of his upstair window to take in his thrush.
"Indeed, yes," continued Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, "I have collected the witty sayings of my distinguished friends. I shall make a book of them. A small quarto. I shall call it, 'Pearls'"—he caught sight of the Admiral—"'Pearls before Swine.'" The Admiral disappeared. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn proceeded, "Did I tell you my friend Sherry's bonn mott about the weather?"
"Yes! Oh, yes!" cried all three ladies, with alacrity, and fled from him, leaving him abashed and rather offended. He saw Barbara in the Gazebo, and brightened up. "Ah! but Miss Barbara was not there!" He crossed on tip-toe, and, much to her alarm, seized her by the arm and dragged her to the elm. "Imagine, then," he boomed, condescendingly, while Barbara signalled in vain to Marjolaine for help, "Imagine, then, that you are standing—ah—just where you are standing; and I am Sheridan." Barbara had no idea of what he was talking about. Had he suddenly gone mad? If so, was he harmless? "You remember how we perspired on Saturday evening?" "Oh!" cried Barbara, with disgust. "I come up to you—so." He suited the action to the word. "I place my hand familiarly on your shoulder—so—"
"Really!" cried Barbara, indignantly.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn explained. "You understand: you are Sheridan—no; I am Sheridan and you are me. And I—that is Sheridan—say to you—I mean, me—'Brooke, my boy—'"
Jane, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's pretty maid, came rushing out of the house. She was in a flutter of excitement; also she was in a dreadful hurry—and here was her master, talking to a lady!
"'Brooke, my boy'"—repeated Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, leading up to his point.
"Master—! Master—!" whispered Jane, hoarsely.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn waved her away impatiently.
"'Brooke, my boy—'" he repeated for the third time. But Jane was tugging at his coat-tails.
"What is it?" cried Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, peevishly. "What the devil is it? Go away!"
Jane clung to him like a limpet. "Master!" she cried again; and then, putting her lips close to his ear and covering them with one hand, while with the other she pointed frantically to the upstairs window, she whispered a piece of news which petrified him and made his eyes start out of his head. Then she ran back into the house as quickly as she had come.
"Eh? What?" he cried, in great perturbation. "There, now!—So like Selina! Spoilt the point of my story!" He turned to the utterly bewildered Barbara, with half a mind to continue his anecdote, but thought better of it, and with a brusque, "Excuse me!" dashed headlong into the house.
Madame, who had been quietly conversing with Mrs. Poskett and Ruth, came to Marjolaine. "I think I shall go in. Will you come, Marjolaine?"
"Oh, Maman," pleaded Marjolaine, "I have so much to say to Barbara!" She accompanied her mother to their gate.
"You are so feverish—so unlike yourself—! You are not going to be indisposed?"
Marjolaine caught sight of Jack in the Doctor's study. "Oh, Maman!" she cried, throwing her arms round her mother's neck and kissing her with quite unusual ardour, "I am so well, so well!—I never was so well!"
Madame looked at her searchingly. Could her daughter be heartless? To be sure, she herself had besought her to forget her girlish love, but Marjolaine had forgotten it too quickly. Madame went into her house with an uneasy mind and a troubled countenance.
Miss Ruth had been arguing with Mrs. Poskett. "Well," she said, evidently alluding to the Admiral, "That's what I should do! Bring him to his knees."
There was a dangerous glitter in Mrs. Poskett's eyes as she replied, "I brought Poskett to his: why should n't I bring Peter?"
"Strike while the iron's hot. He knows we're all disappointed with him, and he's ashamed of himself. Now's the time, when he ain't sure of himself. Come along in. Put on your prettiest cap. I'll help you."
Just as they were at Mrs. Poskett's gate they saw Doctor Sternroyd come shuffling round the corner. His manner was furtive, and he was burdened with a variety of small parcels.
"Dear me, Doctor! How you are loaded!" cried Miss Ruth.
The antiquary had evidently hoped to get home unnoticed. "Good evening, Ladies!" he stammered, in confusion. "Pray excuse me if I cannot remove my hat."
"And not books, this time?" said Mrs. Poskett.
"No, no, no!" cried the antiquary, looking as guilty as if he had been caught carrying stolen goods. "Not books. Not what you might call books. Just parcels. Simple necessaries, I assure you." He made a wide curve in order not to come into closer contact with Ruth and Mrs. Poskett, and they went laughing into the latter's house. But the wide curve brought him up against Marjolaine and Barbara, who had come out of the Gazebo. "More women!" groaned the Doctor; and before either of them had spoken he had added hastily, "Simple necessaries, I do assure you!"
Barbara hopped up to him eagerly. She touched all the parcels, which he vainly tried to keep out of her reach. "Doctor," she said, eagerly, "which is the licence?"
The Doctor was utterly taken aback. "Eh? Oh, dear! dear! Miss Marjory, you told her!"
"Of course," said Marjory. "She's my dearest friend!"
"Tut, tut!—Dear, dear!—What says the Swan of Avon? 'Who was't betrayed the Capitol?—A woman!'"
Jack had opened the window and now leant out and said in a ghastly whisper, "Doctor!—For Heaven's sake look sharp with the victuals!"
"There, there!" cried the flustered Doctor, as he shuffled on into the house, "the cuckoo in the nest!"
At the same instant Mr. Basil Pringle came bounding out of the Misses Pennymint's house, shouting, "Miss Barbara!"
Barbara leant half-swooning against Marjolaine. "Oh!—he's coming!"
"Oh, Miss Barbara!" repeated Basil, breathlessly.
"Has Doctor Johnson bitten you?" asked Marjolaine, mischievously.
"Oh, that gifted bird!" exclaimed Basil, rapturously.
"Did he speak?" asked Marjolaine, while Barbara panted expectant.
"Speak!—Ah!—" Basil had no words.
Doctor Sternroyd's window was violently thrown open by Jack. It was nearly dark in the Walk, and Jack was reckless. "Marjory!" he called. Marjory was very much startled. Anybody might come out at any moment.
"Oh! take care!" she cried, as she ran up to within whispering distance of him.
Barbara, with bent head and blushing cheeks was trying to keep Basil to the point. "What did he say, Mr. Basil?"
"Come closer!" whispered Jack to Marjolaine, and after assuring herself that no one was looking, she crept inside the little garden.
Basil came impulsively towards Barbara. "Shall I tell you? Dare I tell you?" he asked passionately, yet shyly.
"You know best," said Barbara, making an invisible pattern on the grass with her dainty foot.
Basil took his courage in both hands. "He said—it was all in one breath—He said, 'O-burn-your-lungs-and-liver-you-lubberly-son-of-a- lop-eared-weevil-tell-Barbara-you-love-her!'"
"Oh, Mr. Basil!" sighed Barbara, and threw herself headlong into his arms.
"But it's true!—It's true!" he cried enthusiastically. "Come! let me tell you my own way!" And without more ado, he picked her up and carried her bodily into the Gazebo.
"It's perfectly monstrous!" Jack was explaining angrily to Marjolaine, who was now under his window. "The old fossil's brought two eggs, a red herring, and a pot of currant jelly!"
"Poor Jack!" exclaimed Marjolaine sympathetically, yet with a note of laughter in her voice.
"Is that rations for a grown man?" asked Jack pathetically. "Says he'll make an omelette! Two eggs! An omelette! Ho!"
Here the Eyesore crept cautiously back to his post. He had not dared come in broad daylight, but now that it was nearly dark he hoped he would be unobserved.
From the Gazebo came the voices of the other lovers in long-drawn notes.
"My own!" said Basil, in a stupendous bass.
"My Basil!" echoed Barbara.
Rapture. Oblivion. An endless embrace.
"Can't you send that object for food?" said Jack, pointing to the Eyesore.
"I daren't speak to him," answered Marjolaine, with a little shiver of dislike. "He always turns out to be somebody else. Jack! if you 'll be good, I 'll get it myself!"
"Angel! But make haste! I'm starving!"
"If you hear me singing, look out of the window," whispered Marjolaine, kissing her hand to him. And with that she ran lightly into her own house, and Jack retired to wait with what patience he could muster.
"And now, what is the next thing to do?" asked Basil, rising and leading Barbara towards the house.
"We must tell Ruth," said Barbara, with a sound practical idea of clinching the matter. There should be no mistake this time.
"Yes! at once!" cried Basil, nobly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, with a burst of grateful sentiment, "I 'll buy Doctor Johnson a golden chain!"
Barbara's pretty head was reposing affectionately on his shoulder. "And I 'll wear it for him. The dear bird."
"The dear, dear bird!" they repeated in melodious unison.
Not otherwise did Romeo and Juliet breathe soft nothings in the gardens of Verona. Not otherwise did Paolo and Francesca talk exquisite nonsense when they had very injudiciously left off reading. Not otherwise—but why pursue the subject? You and I have been just as happy, and just as foolish.
Ruth brought Mrs. Poskett, resplendent in a new cap and various other seductive devices, out of the house. Barbara fluttered to her sister. "Dear Ruth! Come in quickly! Basil and I have such news for you!"
Ruth saw it at a glance. At last they had shed one form of idiocy to take on another. Now, perhaps, she would enjoy a little peace. "Very well," she said. Then she made a low curtsey to Mrs. Poskett, and said, meaningly, "Courage—Lady Antrobus!"
Alas, poor Admiral! The knell of thy freedom has sounded. Shut thyself in thy house as thou wilt: close thy shutters; make fast thy doors; yea, train the little brass cannon on the Walk: nothing will help. Thy fair enemy is cruising at the harbour's mouth, with pennons flaunting to the breeze, and all her deadly armoury of sighs, tears, threats, reproaches and languishing glances made ready for action; and nothing thou canst do will serve. Through long years thou hast sailed light-heartedly from many ports, leaving broken, or, at any rate, damaged hearts behind thee. Now the Hour of Retribution has struck, and the Avenger is here. Thy day of conquests is past, and it is thou who wilt be led captive in chains of roses. There is none to sympathise with thee. On the contrary, it is my firm conviction that the whole Walk will hang out banners to celebrate thy defeat.
CHAPTER XIII
IN WHICH ADMIRAL SIR PETER ANTROBUS IS MORE THANEVER DETERMINED TO FIRE THE LITTLE BRASS GUN
[image]Chapter XIII headpiece
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Chapter XIII headpiece
Mrs. Poskett found herself—if you did not count the Eyesore: and nobody ever had counted him, yet—alone in the Walk. The sun had set, and the evening twilight itself had almost merged into night. The river gleamed a pale green, as if it were loath to surrender the last remnant of day. It was a propitious hour for amorous dalliance, but Mrs. Poskett felt she had much to do ere she could hope to be engaged in any such pleasant pastime. She sat some moments under the elm considering her position. She was face to face with a difficult problem. Here she was, under the elm, and there was Sir Peter, safely barricaded in his own house. That he was not in a good humour she knew. The house looked forbidding. The door was tightly closed. The windows were shut, and the blinds drawn. Somewhere behind those drawn blinds the Admiral was fuming. She yearned to hold his hand and comfort him and soothe his feelings, wounded, as well she knew, by the sneers and open mutiny of the Walk. But how to get at him? She could not go to his house. She could not call him. All the conventions and proprieties rose up like an impregnable wall against either of those courses. And even if she called him, he would not come. On the contrary, he would retire like Hamlet to some more remote part of his ramparts, and pretend he had n't heard her. She must employ some stratagem. But what stratagem? Pomander Walk was not a good nursery for stratagems, she thought, little knowing how many plots and schemes and conspiracies had been concocted and were still seething all around her.
She was on the point of giving up in despair when she caught sight of the Eyesore. She looked at his back—which was all she could see of him—and brooded a long time. At last she rose and stole over to him on tip-toe. She felt for a coin in the little bead-embroidered bag that hung from her wrist. Two or three times she opened her mouth as if about to speak, but each time she closed it again upon the unspoken word. Finally, however, she made up her mind.
"My good man," she said, rather condescendingly.
The Eyesore never stirred. She might as well have addressed one of the chain-posts. She tried again: this time a trifle more urbanely. "Mister!—"
A sort of wave of acknowledgment ran down the back of the Eyesore's coat, just as a horse shivers at the touch of a fly; but that was all. She made one more effort: now with a courteous appeal. "Sir!—You threw Sempronius into the river on Saturday—here's a crown for you."
I cannot explain what connection there was in her mind between the crime and the reward, except that in some confused way she considered the former as a sort of introduction entitling her to address him.
The Eyesore only put his hand behind his back with the open palm upward. When Mrs. Poskett had dropped the huge coin into it, he brought it slowly round, bit it, spat on it, and pocketed it. But he said no word. Mrs. Poskett proceeded hastily, indicating the Admiral's house. "Now I want you to knock at that door."
The Eyesore followed the direction of her finger with a bleary eye. What! He knock at the door of his enemy and persecutor! and be captured by him! That was her little game, was it? And she thought to lure him to his doom with a miserable bait of five shillings. But he'd show her! To Mrs. Poskett's amazement, alarm, and admiration, he picked up a stone, hurled it with unerring aim at the door, and incontinently bolted round the corner. Mrs. Poskett fled behind the elm and awaited the upshot with a beating heart.
Jim appeared, red-faced, at the door. He looked up and down the Walk, but seeing it empty, muttered, "Cuss them boys!" and was turning to go in again, when Mrs. Poskett called him.
"Good evening, Mr. Jim," she said, in her blandest tones.
"'Evening, mum!" answered Jim, touching his forelock. "Them boys ought to be drownded, is what I says; and I wish I had the doing of it."
"You have a responsible post, Mr. Jim."
"Ay, ay, mum. Bosun o' the Admiral's gig."
"Oh, more than that, Mr. Jim. Chief officer, and cook, and gardener—what lovely peas!" It was much too dark to see the peas, but she knew they grew all around Jim's heart.
"Ah," he assented, and added with meaning, "takes a oncommon lot o' moistenin', though."
"It is thirsty weather, Mr. Jim." Mrs. Poskett was searching in her bag again.
Jim's eyes gleamed. "And a truer word you never spoke, Lady."
"Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, insidiously, "I want to see the Admiral."
Jim shook his head gloomily. "Ah! 'tis dirty weather he's makin' of it, sure 'nough. He've a-locked hisself in by hisself if you'll believe me; an' he's a-swearin' somethin' 'orrible for to 'ear!"
"Mr. Bosun," said Mrs. Poskett, holding up a beautiful, bright new crown-piece between her finger and thumb, "would five shillings quench your thirst?"
Jim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, Lady, I can't say but 'twould take the edge off it."
To his disgust, Mrs. Poskett retreated a step. "But I must see Sir Peter."
Jim scratched his head—which was his way of expressing deep reflection. He caught sight of the Admiral's flag hanging motionless. "I've got it!" he cried. "Sheer off a cable's length, Lady."
Mrs. Poskett retired to the extreme end of the Walk. Jim made a speaking-trumpet of both hands and bellowed, "Admiral, ahoy!"
The Admiral's window went up so suddenly, the Admiral's head shot out so abruptly, and his voice was so fierce, that Mrs. Poskett could not suppress a little scream.
"D'ye want to wake the dead?" roared the Admiral.
"Axing your pardon, Admiral—sunset."
"What of it, you lubber?" The Admiral was quite unaware of Mrs. Poskett's presence, or I am sure he would not have used such an expression.
"Shall I haul the flag down, Admiral?" asked Jim, with well-feigned astonishment.
You may judge of what the Admiral had gone through from the fact that this was the first time in recorded history he had neglected to perform this ritual.
"On your life!" he cried, in great agitation. "I've hoisted it and struck it with my own hands, morning and night, any time these five years. D' ye think I'll have a lubberly son of a sea-cook like you do it now?"
He vanished from his window as abruptly as he had appeared. Jim hobbled towards Mrs. Poskett. "Got him, Lady!" he chuckled.
Mrs. Poskett handed him the coin. "Here, and thank you."
"Thank you, mum."
Sir Peter appeared at the door. Unfortunately he caught sight of Mrs. Poskett. He retreated, half-closed the door, and only showed his head through the opening.
"Jim!" he cried.
"Ay, ay, sir!"
"Haul it down yourself."
Mrs. Poskett gave a cry of disappointment. Had she spent ten shillings in vain?
But Jim was equal to the occasion. His voice was a beautiful blend of pathos and wounded dignity. "No, Admiral. Not after what passed your lips."
"Damme! I can't leave it hoisted all night!" roared the Admiral.
"That's as mebbe," said Jim, beginning to stump off. "Even the lubberly son of a sea-cook 'as 'is feelin's, same as them wot's 'igher placed." And he stumped round the corner.
"Here! Jim!" roared the Admiral, in distress and fury. "Come back! you mutinous scoundrel!" But Jim was gone.
What was the Admiral to do? Was he to leave the flag up, contrary to all precedent? That was unthinkable. On the other hand was he to offer himself as a target for Mrs. Poskett's sarcasms? Yet again, was he to show the white feather in the presence of the enemy? No! He'd be hanged if he would. He slapped himself on the chest to give himself courage, and came down the steps. "Cheer up, my hearty!" he cried; and then he hummed what he thought was the tune of "Oh! dear! what can the matter be?" and began hauling down the flag.
Meanwhile Mrs. Poskett had sidled casually along the railings, as if she were going nowhere in particular and didn't mind when she got there. But she timed herself carefully, so that she was close to Sir Peter just as he was entangled in the lines.
"Admiral!" she said, very gently.
"Ma'am?" growled he, continuing to extricate himself.
"Why do you force me to address you?" she asked reproachfully, and with great dignity.
Sir Peter was taken aback. "Me! Force you! Gobblessmysoul!" he exclaimed, "Well, I'm—"
"For your own good," said Mrs. Poskett, solemnly. "Oh, Sir Peter, you was King of the Walk on Friday. Now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn will usurp that title."
This fetched him. He left the flag lying at the foot of the mast, and came out into the open. "Will he so, Ma'am!" he said, fiercely.
"So he will!" Having enticed him from behind the security of his railings, Mrs. Poskett knew he would follow wherever she led him. She led him at once towards the elm.
"The Walk says you have lowered the prestige of His Majesty's Navy."
The Admiral had indeed turned to go back; but this brought him to her side. "Dash it and hang it, Ma'am! what do you mean?"
"Well, you know what I mean," said Mrs. Poskett, with pretty confusion. "The entire Walk saw you press me to your heart!"
The Admiral was helpless. His own recollections of what had happened on Saturday were extremely vague. What with the rescue of the cat and the sudden appearance of Caroline Thring, together with the subsequent escape of Jack, he had lost all sense of actualities. Moreover, it was impossible for him to accuse Mrs. Poskett of having embraced him. A gentleman does not do such things. So he could only stammer weakly, "I didn't, did I?"
Mrs. Poskett flashed at him indignantly. "The entire Walk witnessed the outrage, and the entire Walk is indignant that nothing has come of it."
"Gobblessmysoul!" muttered the Admiral.
Mrs. Poskett followed up her advantage. "'Oh, how unsailor-like!'"—that is what the Walk says: "'How unsailor-like!'"
Imagine the stab. He, Admiral Sir Peter Antrobus, with more than forty years of service in His Majesty's Navy to his credit; the hero of Copenhagen; the friend of Nelson; he, who had given an eye for his country—unsailor-like!
He pushed his wig back and mopped his brow. "It doesn't say that!" he murmured, horrified.
But Mrs. Poskett was mercilessly emphatic. "It says that." Then she steered on another tack. "I 'm only a lone widow," she said, with an air of martyrdom. "If Alderman Poskett were alive, he 'd see you did the right thing by his wife. But I!—I must leave my once happy home!"
"But—dash it and hang it—!" protested Sir Peter, struggling in the web that was being woven around him.
"You cannot alter facts by swearing," said the widow. "Can I bear the sneers of a Pennymint? the arched eyebrows of a Brooke-Hoskyn? I cannot. I must let my beautiful house," with a side glance at him and considerable stress, "my freehold house. Let it to an undesirable tenant: a person with a mangle."
A mangle in Pomander Walk! "Gobblessmysoul!" said the Admiral. Also he had been set thinking. Freehold, eh?
"To be sure, the expense of moving is nothing," proceeded Mrs. Poskett, airily, "when one has Four-hundred a year in the Funds. But oh! my lovely furniture will be chipped! and, oh! how shall I part from my friends?"
The Admiral was moved. He was undeniably moved. A freehold house, Four-hundred a year in the Funds, and lovely furniture.—And, mind you, the widow was buxom; he himself had described her as a "Dam fine woman." As she stood there in tearful confusion, she looked distinctly agreeable; plump and comfortable. To be sure, the sun had gone down.
"But it's not so bad as that?" said the Admiral, with something approaching sympathy.
"It's worse!" cried Mrs. Poskett. "And that innocent cat, Sempronius!—What will he say? He took a chill on Saturday and he's lying before the kitchen fire wrapped up in a piece of flannel. When I move, the change will kill him. Oh, why did n't you leave him to drown?" she sobbed aloud.
The Admiral was much stirred. A woman's tears always bowled him over. He could stand anything but that.
"Dash it and hang it, Ma'am, don't cry!"
"It is n't as if I was older," sobbed Mrs. Poskett. "I could be much older! But I'm young enough to have a tender heart!" She mastered herself with an heroic effort; swallowed her sobs; drove back her tears; and stood before him, the picture of stoic calm, of noble resignation. "But never mind! I will be brave! You—you—shall—not—see—me—weep!" Then she howled.
Sir Peter was indescribably distressed. "But—Gobblessmysoul!—" he stammered—"what am I to do with Jim, and the flagstaff, and the brass gun, and the thrush, and the sweet peas?" and, pointing to his house, "What am I to do with Number One?"
Mrs. Poskett raised one tear-bedewed eye from her handkerchief. "Knock a door through and make one house of them!" she exclaimed, as if sweeping away an absurdity. "Oh, these paltry details!" Then she lifted her face to his with a smile. Thus does the sun look when it emerges from behind a rain-cloud. "Sweet peas? What could be more appropriate? Ain't I Pamela Poskett? and ain't you Peter?"
The tearful smile, so winsome, so appealing, was irresistible. "Damme, you 're right!" cried the Admiral, surrendering at discretion. "You've swept me fore and aft! You've blown me out of the sea! By George, Ma'am, I 'll marry you if you 'll have me!"
Once more, as when he saved her cat, Mrs. Poskett threw her comfortable arms round Sir Peter's neck. "I 'll have you, Peter," she cried joyfully; and she added in a tone which clinched the matter, "I've got you!"
There was an eloquent silence. The old elm shook its leaves with a ripple of laughter. It had seen many things in its long life, but never anything so epically grand as the widow's victory and the Admiral's surrender. Troy town was besieged in vain during ten long years, and was then only conquered by a horse. Five years Mrs. Poskett had besieged Sir Peter and her victory was due to a cat. You seize the analogy? When you remember, further, that Basil had been inveigled by a parrot, you will realise the danger—or utility, according to your point of view—of keeping domestic pets: the undoubted risk of having any commerce with other peoples' domestic pets—especially if they are Greeks or widows. I mean, the people.
The Admiral was conquered, and like a gentleman, he made the best of his defeat. That is the way to turn it into a moral victory. "I 'll haul out the brass gun and fire it to-night!" he cried, enthusiastically. "That'll tell the Walk!"
"I 'll tell the Walk!" said Mrs. Poskett, masking her quite legitimate triumph under renewed endearments.
They say drowning men see all their past lives in a flash. As the Admiral felt Mrs. Poskett's arms tighten round his neck, he had a similar experience. All the eyes he had ever looked into seemed to be gazing reproachfully at him out of the darkness; all the names he had ever whispered seemed now to be whispering in his ear. Dolores, Inez, Mariette, Suzette, Paquita, Frederike, Jette, Karen—I know not how many more—like a swarm of bees they buzzed around him. Then, too, he suddenly remembered that upstairs in his old sailor's chest; the chest that had accompanied him all over the world, there was a splendid and varied assortment of locks of hair: black, brown, golden, auburn, frankly red, straw-coloured, chestnut, and one off which the dye had faded and shown it uncompromisingly grey. He must remember to destroy them before—well, before the door was knocked through.
What escapes he had had! What a mercy he had not married that fiery Spaniard; that still more blazing Brazilian; that fickle Portuguese; that frivolous Mam'selle; that straw-coloured Dane. He began to realise that Mrs. Poskett was, like the Walk itself, a Harbour of Refuge. Here was no rhapsodical nonsense, but safe comfort, with a freehold house, solid furniture, and Four-hundred a year. Almost unconsciously his arms closed round her. She gave a great, contented sigh, as her head sank on his shoulder. To have drawn this response from him was, indeed, victory! I wonder what she would have done if she could have read his thoughts, if she could have seen the long procession of seductive females that was passing across his mental vision. I am convinced that the prospective title would have consoled her, and that she would have accepted his past for the sake of her future.
They were abruptly aroused from their happiness, however. Unperceived by them, Lord Otford had entered the Walk. He had come slowly along the crescent, examining each house in turn, evidently trying to make up his mind to knock at one of them. He retraced his steps and had his hand on the handle of the Admiral's gate, when his attention was attracted by the sound of murmuring voices. Evidently the voices of lovers. Quickly and angrily he came down, just in time to witness the Admiral implant a chaste but conclusive salute on Mrs. Poskett's ample brow.
"Peter!" he cried, scandalised.