Ричард Марш
The Woman with One Hand, and Mr. Ely's Engagement
CHAPTER X
THE AMAZING CONTENTS OFMR. ELY'S LETTER
Mr. Ely played with that letter as a cat plays with a mouse. It was a tender morsel, a bonne bouche, which must not be hastily dismissed. He turned it over and over, examining first the superscription, the bold, flourishing hand in which she had penned his name-how well it looked; the first time his name had been inscribed by her! Then he examined the reverse-the monogram. He could make it out quite well-L. T. – Lily Truscott. He blushed as he caught himself in the act of raising the magic letters to his lips. Then he laid it down in a prominent position in front of his plate, and studied the exterior as he began to eat.
"I wonder what she has to say!" Ah, what! "I wonder if-if she's come round to my point of view? Got-got spoony, and-and all that. By George, I hope she has!" What with the food he had in his mouth, and the sigh, he was almost choked. "I think every woman ought to love the man she's going to marry. I love her-I know I do."
He began to know that fact too well. The man who had had nothing to do with sentiment was painfully conscious that he was on the point of becoming the most sentimental of men.
"I mismanaged the affair all through. I ought to have told her that I loved her. How can a man expect a girl to love him if she don't believe that he loves her? Perhaps she has written to say that she can conceal the fact no longer: that she loves me whether I want her to or don't. By George! I hope she has."
He feasted his eyes again upon the envelope, and helped himself to another serving of ham and eggs.
"I thought her behaviour was a trifle cold. It was that beastly dog that did it. How can a man make himself agreeable to a woman when there's a dog ready to bite his nose off sitting on her knee? Still, I thought her behaviour was a trifle cold. She didn't seem to pay much attention to what I had to say; I believe she would have preferred to read; and when she did begin to talk she was taking pot-shots at one all over the place, as it were."
He sighed, and took another egg.
"And when I asked her to marry me I might have been asking her to take a tart; she didn't seem to be interested in the least. She was most uncommon anxious to treat the thing in a business-like kind of way. I oughtn't to have been so particular about saying I was a business man. That was a mistake; I know it was."
He sighed again. He put down his knife and fork.
"By George, if she writes to say she loves me, I-I'd give a hundred pounds!"
He took the letter in his hands.
"I wonder if she does!"
In his anxiety he rose from his seat and began to pace the room, holding the letter tightly in his hand. He paused before the mantelshelf and regarded himself in the glass.
"Well, upon my word, I never thought that I should come to this-I never did. Here's all the papers, and goodness knows what news from Paris, and I haven't looked at one, and don't want to neither, that's the truth. If she's only written to say she loves me, whether I want her to or don't, I-I'd give a thousand pounds. Here goes! I can't stand fooling here all day! Goodness knows what the state of things in the City may be."
He was about to tear the envelope open with his finger. He changed his mind.
"She may have written something on the flap. I'd better use a knife."
He used a knife. To see him use it, opening an envelope might have been the most delicate operation on earth.
"Now for it!" He heaved the greatest sigh of all. "By George, if it's only to confess her love!"
He seated himself at the table with the letter spread out in front of him. It might have been as fragile as it was priceless to observe the ginger way in which he opened it and spread it out. Then he arrayed himself for its perusal with as much precision as though it were some formal and rather complicated revelation just to hand from the gods.
"'Dear Mr. Ely' (I say! She might have said 'Dear Fred,' or even 'Frederic'! 'Dear Mr. Ely'! It's rather a stiffish way of writing to the man you're going to marry, don't you know.) 'Just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday. I have changed my mind. I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment. It is quite impossible for me to be your wife. The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead. Yours truly, Lily Truscott.'"
Mr. Ely read this note through without, in his astonishment, being in the least able to grasp its meaning.
"What-what the blazes is all this!" He ploughed through it again. "'Dear Mr. Ely' (it's evidently meant for me), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday'! (What passed between us yesterday-what's she mean? She hasn't put a date; I suppose she means my asking her to be my wife. That's a pretty good way of referring to it, anyhow.) 'I have changed my mind!' (Oh, has she? About what? It didn't strike me she had a mind to change.) 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment'! (If she had only told me what it was she thought it better to let me know, it would have been perhaps as well. If this is a love-letter, give me the other kind of thing.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.' (What-what the blazes does she mean?) 'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead'!"
Mr. Ely's jaw dropped, and he stared at the letter as though it were a ghost.
"Well-I'm-hanged!' The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.' That takes the cake!' Yours truly, Lily Truscott.'-If that isn't the sweetest thing in love-letters ever yet I heard of!"
Quite a curious change had come over Mr. Ely. If we may be forgiven a vulgarism which is most expressive-he seemed to have been knocked all of a heap. His head had fallen forward on his chest, one limp hand held Miss Truscott's letter, the other dangled nerveless by his side.
"And I gave twenty pounds for an engagement-ring!"
They were the first words in which he gave expression to the strength of his emotion.
"Good Lord, if I had given him what he asked, and stumped up forty-five!"
The reflection sent a shudder all through his frame. The horror of the picture thus conjured up by his imagination had the effect of a tonic on his nerves, it recalled him to himself.
"I'll have another read at this. There isn't much of it, but what there is requires a good deal of digesting."
He pulled himself together, sat up in his chair, and had another read.
"'Dear Mr. Ely' (yes, by George, dear at any price, I'll swear! Like her impudence to call me 'dear'! I wonder she didn't begin it 'Sir'), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday.' (That is, I think, about the coollest bit I ever heard of. Quite a casual allusion, don't you know, to a matter of not the slightest importance to any one, especially me. That young woman's graduated in an establishment where they teach 'em how to go.) 'I have changed my mind!' (That's-that's about two stone better than the other. She's changed her mind! Holy Moses! About something, you know, about which we change our minds as easily and as often as we do our boots.) 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment.' (She certainly has done that. Unless she had changed her mind before she had made it up, she could scarcely have let me know it sooner. She might have wired, to be sure! But perhaps she never thought of that.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.' (It is as well that the explanation follows immediately after, or echo would have answered 'Why?') 'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.' I suppose there never was a larger amount of meaning contained in a smaller number of words. Among the remarkable women the world has seen the record's hers; she is certainly unique."
Rising from his seat, he put the letter back in the envelope, and placed the envelope within his letter-case.
"I'll take that letter up to Ash; I'll have a word to say to him. I wonder if he knows what sort of a ward he's got? That's the best and truest girl alive; a woman whose word is just her bond; who, when she says a thing, sticks to it like glue. And to think that I spent twenty pounds on an engagement-ring!"
He put his hands into his trousers pockets. He balanced himself upon his toes and heels.
"Twenty pounds for an engagement-ring! I wonder how much Mr. Summers intends to pay?"
The reflection angered him.
"By George, I'll let her know if she's going to pitch me overboard quite so easily as that. I'll make her marry me, or I'll know the reason why."
When he left for the City his first business was to pay a visit to Mr. Ash. He dismissed the cab at the corner of Throgmorton Street. He had not taken half a dozen steps along that rather narrow thoroughfare when a hand was laid upon his shoulder; turning, he saw Mr. Rosenbaum.
"My good friend, I have a little paper here for you."
And Mr. Rosenbaum deftly slipped a paper into his good friend's hand.
"Rosenbaum! What's this?"
"It's a writ, my friend; a writ. You would not tell me the name of your solicitor, so I try personal service instead."
With a beaming smile and a nod of his head, Mr. Rosenbaum swaggered away. In a somewhat bewildered state of mind Mr. Ely stared after him, the paper in his hand.
"It never rains but it pours! Here's two strokes of luck in a single day, and I've only just got out of bed!"
He opened the legal-looking document with which he had been so unexpectedly presented by his generous friend, and glanced at its contents. It was headed "Rosenbaum v. Ely," and, so far as he could judge from his hasty glance, it purported to relate to an action brought by Ruth Rosenbaum against Frederic Ely, to recover damages for breach of promise of marriage.
"Well! This is a pretty go!"
He could scarcely believe his eyes; the damages were laid at thirty thousand pounds! And he had already spent twenty pounds for an engagement-ring!
His first impulse was to tear the paper up and scatter the pieces in the street. His second-which he followed-was to place it in the inner pocket of his coat as a companion to his letter-case.
"Rosenbaum must be a greater fool even than I thought. Thirty thousand pounds! By George! One girl values me at a considerably higher figure than another does."
He found that Mr. Ash was still in his office, and alone; so, without troubling to have himself announced, he marched straight in.
"Hallo, Ely, here again! Anything settled about the date? Or is it something more tangible than love?"
Mr. Ash was engaged with a file of correspondence, from which he looked up at Mr. Ely, with a laugh.
"I have to get through all this before I can put in an appearance in the House. And here's a man who gives me so many minute directions about what he wants to do that I can't for the life of me understand what it is he wants. Why people can't just say 'Buy this,' 'Sell that,' is more than I can tell. But what's the matter? You look quite glum."
"So would you look glum if you had as much cause for looking glum as me."
"I don't know! You've won one of the prettiest girls in England-and one of the nicest little fortunes, too. After that it would take something to make me look glum."
"She's one of the prettiest girls in England."
"There's no mistake about that. Any man might be proud of such a prize. I've been thinking about it all night."
"I've been thinking about it, too."
"And the result is to give you that dyspeptic look? Not flattering to her, eh?"
There was a pause before Mr. Ely answered. With much deliberation he put his hand into his pocket and drew out his letter-case. "I'm sorry you don't think it's flattering." Another pause before he spoke again; then it was with an even more acidulated expression of countenance. "I have received a letter by this morning's post."
"No! From her? She's going it."
"Yes, she is going it, I think."
"That sort of thing's hardly your line, eh?"
"That sort of thing hardly is my line."
"Don't care for love-letters-as a rule?"
"I should like to refer to a dictionary to know what a love-letter is. If this is a love-letter, I prefer a summons."
It was on his tongue to say a writ, but he remembered that he already had one in his pocket, and chose another word.
"Ah, Ely, you must remember that this is a romantic girl. If her language seems too flowery-too kissy-kissy-you must bear in mind that in romantic girls affection is apt to take such shapes. Besides, I should think you'd rather have that than the other kind of thing-I know I would."
"Perhaps, before you pass an opinion on that subject, you'll allow me to read to you the letter I've received."
"Read it! I say! Is that quite fair? Men don't read their love-letters even to their young women's guardians as a rule. Especially the first-I thought that was sacred above the rest."
"Look here, Ash, I'm the mildest-mannered man alive, but you never came nearer having an inkstand at your head than since I've been inside this room."
"Ely! Good gracious, man! What's the matter now?"
"I repeat-perhaps you'll allow me to read to you the letter I've received."
With the same air of excessive deliberation, Mr. Ely opened his letter-case, took from it an envelope, and from it a letter, unfolded the epistle, and looked at Mr. Ash. Mr. Ash did nothing but stare at him.
"This is my first love-letter-the one which you thought was sacred above the rest. I don't know about the rest. This is quite enough for me. You are sure you're listening?"
"I'll take my oath on that."
"'Dear Mr. Ely' (you observe how warmly she begins! Kissy-kissy kind of way, you know), 'just a line with reference to what passed between us yesterday.' (That's a gentle allusion to the trivial fact that on the day before she pledged herself to be my wife. We're getting warm, you see.) 'I have changed my mind.'"
"She has what?"
"She says that she has changed her mind."
"What does she mean by she's changed her mind?"
"Ah, that's what we have to see. It's an obscure allusion which becomes clearer later on; an example of the flowery language in which romantic girls indulge. 'I thought it better to let you know at the earliest possible moment.' (You'll observe that she wastes no time. Perhaps that's another characteristic of the romantic state of mind.) 'It is quite impossible for me to be your wife.'"
"What's that?"
"She says that it's quite impossible for her to be my wife."
"But-good heavens! – I thought you told me she said yes."
"She did say yes."
"But an unhesitating-a final and decisive yes?"
"It was an unhesitating, a final and decisive yes.
"You sent me up a wire!"
"It was agreed between us that I should send you up a wire."
"You talked about having the marriage in a month."
"I did talk, about having the marriage in a month."
"And buying a house and furniture, and all the rest of it."
"Precisely; and all the rest of it."
"And you told me that you had bought a ring."
"That's a fact. I did. I paid twenty pounds for an engagement-ring. It's in my pocket now. That's one of the pleasantest parts of the affair."
"Then what the dickens does she mean? Is the girl stark mad? Are you sure the letter comes from her?"
"You shall examine it for yourself in a moment, and then you'll be able to decide. You understand it is the first love-letter I ever had, and therefore sacred above the rest. As for what she means, the explanation comes a little further on-in the next sentence, in fact, Perhaps you will allow me to proceed!"
"Oh, go on! It is plain the girl is mad."
"'The fact is, I am going to marry Mr. Summers instead.'"
"Good-! What-what's that?"
"She says that she's going to marry Mr. Summers instead."
"Instead! Instead of whom?"
"Instead of me."
"Well, I'm-hanged!"
"Yes, that's exactly what I am. And as this is the result of my first love-letter, I don't want to have a second experience of the same kind, you understand."
"Then he's done it after all! What a fool I've been!"
"Well, it does seem that there's a fool somewhere in the case."
"I've done it all!"
"The deuce you have!"
"Do you know this man Summers?"
"Of course I do. Didn't you see I did when I met him here the other day?"
"Do you know what he came for then?"
"How should I? For half a crown, I shouldn't be surprised. He's one of those painter fellows who run up pictures by the yard."
"He came for Lily."
"What the dickens do you mean?"
"I mean exactly what I say. He came to ask my consent to make my ward an offer of his hand."
"What! Before I did?"
"No; directly you had gone."
"But you had given your consent to me!"
"I told him so. He didn't seem to think that it mattered in the least."
"Well, he's a cool hand, upon my Sam!"
"When I told him what I had arranged with you, he wanted to start off for Shanklin there and then. It was with the greatest difficulty that I got him to listen to common sense-I never saw a man in such a state of imbecility. Finally, I agreed that if you failed then he should have his chance."
"But I didn't fail."
"Well, it looks queer."
"Looks queer! Do you want to drive me mad? And I paid twenty pounds for my engagement-ring! Do you think I should buy engagement-rings if I wasn't sure that it was clear? A girl promises to be my wife, and another man comes directly after and eggs her on to break her word! Looks queer! I should think it does, by George! Look here, Ash, if you think I'm going to sit down quietly and stand this sort of thing, you're wrong!"
"Shall I tell you what my own opinion of the matter is?"
"Get it out!"
"The girl's a fool!"
"She's either that or something worse."
"I have only to go down and talk the matter over with her quietly, and you'll see it will be all right."
"You go down! And where do you suppose that I shall be?"
"You leave the matter in my hands, and you'll find that I will make it all right."
"I'll be shot if I will! The girl has promised to be my wife, and if there's any man who's got a right to talk to her it's me. I've had one day out of town; I think I'll spare myself another. You've got a time-table, haven't you? When is there a train?"
Producing a Bradshaw, Mr. Ash plunged into its intricacies.
"It's now eleven. There's a train leaves Waterloo eleven thirty-five. Reaches Shanklin three forty-three. It's too late for that."
"Eleven thirty-five? Is it too late-we'll see. You don't seem to be aware of the fact that at this moment, for all I know, that man's amusing himself with the woman who promised to be my wife. It don't occur to you that there is any necessity for haste. I'm off; you may come or stay, just as you please."
"I'll come-it's a little awkward, but I'll come."
"It is awkward! You'd think it awkward if you were in the pair of shoes that I'm wearing now."
"Half a minute! Just let me speak one word to my managing man."
Mr. Ash called in his clerk. Mr. Ely passed into the street, and engaged a hansom cab. In a remarkably short space of time he was joined by Mr. Ash. Mr. Ely gave instructions to the cabman.
"Waterloo! Main line! And go like blazes!"
And the cab was off.
CHAPTER XI
AN ENCOUNTER IN THE TRAIN
Mr. Ely's last journey from Shanklin up to town had not been exactly of a cheerful kind. Mr. Rosenbaum's appearance on the scene had put a damper on to that. The tale of the six daughters had banished peace from the successful wooer's mind. The journey from town to Shanklin was not exactly pleasant either. Under the best of circumstances Mr. Ely was not the most cheerful of companions. Under existing circumstances he was the most cheerless man alive.
He showed his mettle at the start.
"First-class smoking," Mr. Ash suggested to the guard.
Mr. Ely pulled up short.
"Not for me."
"What do you mean?"
"No smoking carriage for me. I've got enough on my hands already, without having to disinfect myself immediately I arrive."
So they were shown into a non-smoking compartment. Mr. Ash wished his friend at Jericho. The idea of a journey to Portsmouth without the aid of a cigar did not commend itself to him. Besides, he knew that Miss Truscott had liberal-minded notions on the subject of tobacco. But he deemed it prudent to refrain from treading on the tail of the coat which Mr. Ely was obviously trailing on the ground. And he had his revenge!
Just as the train was actually starting there was a cry of "Stop!" Some one came rushing down the platform, the door was opened, and first a lady and then a gentleman were assisted in.
"That was a narrow squeak!" exclaimed the gentleman. Then he turned laughing to the lady: "That's a nice beginning, Mrs. B." The lady laughed at him again. "It's a matter of no importance, but I suppose all our luggage is left behind." He put his head out of the window to see. "No, they're putting it in! In such a style! What a scene of ruin will greet our eyes when we reach the other end."
He drew his head into the compartment and took a survey of his surroundings.
"What, Ash! What, Ely! Here's a go! What brings you two thieves in here? Quite a happy family, my boys."
The gentleman extended one hand to Mr. Ash and the other to Mr. Ely. Mr. Ash laughingly grasped the one which came his way; Mr. Ely acidly declined the other, but the gentleman did not seem to be in the least cast down. He gave Mr. Ely a resounding thwack upon the shoulder, which doubled him up as though he were some lay figure.
"Ely, my boy, you look as though you had been living on sour apples for a week! What's the matter with him, Ash? Been induced to lend his aged mother half a crown? He'll never get over it, you know."
"Mr. Bailey," gasped Mr. Ely, "I'll trouble you not to play your practical jokes on me."
Mr. Bailey laughed. Behind the cover of his paper Mr. Ash laughed too. Mr. Bailey-better known as "Jack" Bailey-was also a member of the "House," and as such known both to Mr. Ely and to Ash. One of those hearty, healthy Englishmen, who having not the slightest reserve themselves have no notion of the existence of such a sense in anybody else. He was Mr. Ely's particular abhorrence. When Mr. Bailey had done laughing, he turned to the lady who accompanied him. She was a feminine repetition of himself: a tall, strapping, buxom wench, with bright black eyes and bright red cheeks; the very embodiment of health and strength; the sort of damsel who is in her element on the tennis-lawn or on the river, or doing four-and-twenty dances off the reel.
"Who do you think that is?"
The lady laughed.
"Jack! shut up," she said.
"Just hark at her! We've not been married an hour, and she's beginning to order me about already! Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Bailey-Miss Williamson that was. Married this morning in the Church of St. Michael and All Angels, six bridesmaids, and such a wedding-cake! Only we couldn't stop to eat this wedding-cake, we had to catch the train!"
Mr. and Mrs. Bailey laughed again. Mr. Ash laughed too. But Mr. Ely-he turned green. Mr. Ash raised his hat and bowed to the lady.
"Allow me to offer you my congratulations, Mrs. Bailey. Am I justified in supposing that you are starting on your honeymoon?"
"Justified! I should think you are!" Seating himself, Mr. Bailey slipped his arm about the lady's waist. "I say, Bess, it's lucky we've fallen among men I know. I should have had to apologise for kissing you in front of strangers."
He kissed her then. But the lady only laughed.
"You know Jack," she explained. "Every one knows Jack! He has a way of his own."
"I should think I have got a way of my own!" cried the gentleman referred to. And he slipped the lady on to his knee. "I wouldn't give a button for the man who hadn't; eh, Ely, what do you say? I say, Ely, why don't you go in for something in this line?"
And he nodded towards his wife.
"I'm afraid I do not understand you."
"He says he doesn't understand me, Bess. Isn't that a funny man?"
"Are you not married, Mr. Ely?" inquired the bride of an hour.
"I have not that happiness."
For the life of him Mr. Ash could not have resisted the chance which offered.
"But he's going to be-he's engaged," he said.
Mr. Ely turned the colour of a boiled beetroot. But Mr. and Mrs. Bailey quite mistook the reason. It was not because he was shy; it was because the exigencies of civilisation debarred him from cutting Mr. Ash's throat.
"I wish you joy!" exclaimed the gentleman.
"When's it going to be!" chimed in the lady.
"I'll be best man!"
"If you promise to send me a piece of the cake I'll let you have a piece of mine."
Mr. Bailey turned to his wife.
"To look at him you wouldn't think he was engaged, now, would you?"
"Why? Is there anything funny about the looks of a man when he's engaged?"
"Funny! I should think there is! Ely, what do you think? Don't you feel funny? You ought to if you don't."
"May I inquire, Mr. Bailey, what you mean?"
There was such a savage tone in Mr. Ely's voice that even the not quick-witted Mr. Bailey was struck by it.
"Hallo! What's up now? I say, Ash, you ought to tip a fellow the wink when a man's had an unfortunate misunderstanding with his best girl."
"Mr. Bailey-I beg Mrs. Bailey's pardon, – but I suppose that in the presence of a lady you take it for granted that you may permit yourself the utmost license of speech."
Mr. Bailey whistled, Mrs. Bailey laughed, then looked out of the window with a look of innocent surprise-that look of innocent surprise which means so much. Mr. Bailey nudged his wife with his elbow.
"Beautiful scenery, isn't it?"
They were then passing a long, level stretch of what seemed turnip-fields. Mrs. Bailey laughed again.
"Ah, it's a serious thing to have a misunderstanding with your best girl!"
Mrs. Bailey laughed again.
"It's all very well to laugh, but I've had more than one, and nobody knows what it feels like who hasn't gone through it all. Poor chap, no wonder he feels down!"
"Mr. Ely," explained the lady, "never you mind Jack, it's a way he's got; he will always have his joke." Then she showed the tact for which women are so famous. "I hope that there really has been no misunderstanding with-with the lady?"
"S-sh! – Bess! – For shame! – I'm surprised at you! I wouldn't have asked such a question, not for a thousand pounds!"
"Mr. Bailey, if the worst comes to the worst, I feel quite convinced that you will be able to provide Mrs. Bailey with an excellent establishment by becoming a professional buffoon."
This was Mr. Ely's final word. The train just then drew up at Guildford. Mr. Bailey rose with the air of a martyr.
"I'm afraid, my dear Bess, we must really tear ourselves away. We ought to find a separate compartment. Our friends are most anxious to smoke, and the presence of a lady prevents them, you know."
When the pair were gone, Mr. Ely turned upon Mr. Ash with something that was very much like a snarl.
"I have to thank you for that."
"For what? What do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean. For that clown's impertinence-great, lumbering buffoon!"
"Good gracious, Ely, you don't seem to be in the pleasantest of moods. What did I tell him? I only said you were engaged. What harm is there in that? I don't know what good you expect to come from keeping it hidden from the world."
Mr. Ely turned the matter over in his mind. He gnashed his teeth, not figuratively, but very literally indeed.
"By George, I'll make her marry me, or I'll know the reason why!"
"One way to that desirable consummation is to compromise the lady's name. Advertise the fact that she has promised to be your wife."
"If I thought that, I'd stick it up on every dead wall in town."
"Let's try milder means at first. Leave more vigorous measures to a little later on. Unless I'm much mistaken, you'll find the milder means will serve. There's a little misunderstanding, that is all."
"Little misunderstanding you call it, do you? I should like to know what you call a big one, then."
If they did not actually come to blows they did more than one little bit of figurative sparring on the way. Mr. Ash found it best to keep quite still. Directly he opened his mouth Mr. Ely showed an amazing disposition to snap at his nose. For instance, once when the train stopped at a station-
"This is Rowland's Castle, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't Rowland's Castle. I should like to know what on earth makes you think it's Rowland's Castle. I wonder you don't say it's Colney Hatch."
Mr. Ash gazed mildly at his friend, and subsided into his paper. He felt that with things as they were conversation might be labelled "dangerous."
