A Lame Dog's Diary Part 4

In the midst of this confusion of noise, when only a Jamieson, whose ear is curiously trained to it, can possibly hear what is being said, Mrs. Jamieson bursts into tears and, in the strong Kentish dialect of her youth, exclaims: "Here's our Kate going to be married!"

After the first burst of delighted surprise, there is a family feeling of apology towards Maud. That Kate should marry first is surely a little disloyal to the beauty of Belmont, and Mrs. Jamieson goes so far as to say: "Never mind, Maud; it will be your turn next."

After that, they all, singly and severally, recall their previously-expressed opinion that they knew something was up, and that certainly Kate could not have given them a more pleasant or more unexpected surprise.

The letter is then read aloud, and it is so long that one is glad to think that the absent Kate did not attempt to duplicate it, but contented herself with the Pauline method of one general epistle. With the Jamieson characteristic of telling everything exhaustively, Kate writes:--

"Mr. Ward is not at all bad-looking; a little hesitating in his manner, and inclined to be untidy--you see, I am telling you everything quite candidly--but of course I can remedy all these defects when we are married. He has a short brown moustache, and rather a conical-shaped head." (This is a fault that one feels Kate will not be able to remedy, even when she has married him.) "He looks clever, though I do not think he is, very; he is well-connected, but does not know all his best relations. Poor, but with generous instincts"--one feels as though a chiromancist were reading a client's palm--"well-read, but without power of conveying intelligence to others; hair rather thin, and (I am afraid) false teeth; very religious, but I consider this in him more temperament than anything else. He has had a hard life, and not always enough to eat, until his uncle died; but now he could be quite independent if he liked, but he prefers the position which a Government appointment gives him.

"I hope to bring him down to stay when I return; please let him have the south bedroom, as that is the warmest, and I do not think James is very strong. I should like him to have a fire at night--I can arrange that with mother, as I feel quite well off now. We are to be married in July, and I am giving up my post here at once, so as to see something of you all before I go away."

At this point the letter referred once more to Mr. Ward's personal appearance, and the description was of so great length that when Margaret Jamieson, who had run all the way from her home to ours to give it to us to read, asked me breathlessly what I thought about it, I determined to leave unread the remaining paragraphs, and to judge for myself of the bridegroom when he should come to Belmont and we should be invited to meet him.

"There is one thing," said Mrs. Jamieson when, at the request of The Family, Palestrina went to sit with her one afternoon a few weeks later, to support her through the trying ordeal of waiting for Kate and "James," as he is now familiarly called, to arrive; "the girls have nothing to be ashamed of in their home." She looked with a certain amount of pardonable pride at the clean white curtains, and we gathered that we were meant to comment upon their early appearance. The white curtains, Palestrina says, are not usually put up at Belmont until the first week in May.

"They look very handsome," I said. It was a Jamieson afternoon--very wet, but clearing up about sundown, and Palestrina had suggested my escorting her as far as Belmont. But the rain came down in torrents again when I would have started to return home, and the good Jamiesons begged me to stay, to avoid the chance of a chill, and to meet James.

"It is the first break in the family," said Mrs. Jamieson tearfully, "since poor Robert died. But, as James says, he hopes I am gaining a son and not losing a daughter." From which I gathered that James was a gentleman given to uttering rather a stale form of plat.i.tude.

All were waiting in a state of great trepidation the arrival of the engaged couple, and it was quite hopeless to avoid the encounter, for the rain descended in sheets outside, and preparations for supper seemed to be going on in the dining-room at Belmont. It was decided, by universal consent, that only Mrs. Jamieson and Palestrina and I should be in the drawing-room at the moment when they should enter.

The presence of strangers, it was thought, would make it easier for James at the meeting where all were kinsfolk except himself. With their usual consideration The Family decided that the rest of their large number should afterwards drop in casually, two by two, and be introduced to the new brother-in-law without ceremony. Mrs. Jamieson, who had not left the house that day, nor for many days previously, having been absorbed in preparations for the expected guest, was dressed in a bonnet and her favourite jacket with the storm-collar, which, as she explained to my sister, took away from the roundness of her face and gave her confidence.

Her habitual shyness, added to her fears of the unknown in the shape of the future son-in-law, had wrought her into a sort of rigid state in which conversation seemed impossible, and although we did our best to divert her attention I am doubtful if she heard a word we said.

"They should be here soon," I remarked presently.

Mrs. Jamieson, following some line of thought of her own, remarked that the first marriage in a family was almost like a death; and to this mournful a.n.a.logy I gave a.s.sent.

"Kate says he is quite a gentleman," hazarded Mrs. Jamieson, still rigid, and now white with anxiety and shyness.

I found myself replying, without overdone brilliance, that that seemed a good thing.

The sands of Mrs. Jamieson's courage were running very low. "I hope he is not one of your grandees," she said apprehensively; "I would not like to think of Kate not being up to him. But their father was a gentleman--the most perfect gentleman I ever knew, and I have always that to think of. Still, a gentlemanly man is all I want for any of my girls, with no difference between the two families."

Sometimes in this way Mrs. Jamieson gives one an unexpected insight into the difficulties of her life, and one feels that even her admiration for her daughters may be tinged with a slight feeling of being their inferior. I have heard her say, making use of a French expression such as she hazards so courageously, that there is something of the "_grawn dam_ about Maud;" and perhaps the loyal admiration thus expressed may have been mingled with another sensation not so pleasurable to the farmer's daughter.

I endeavoured to follow the intricacies of her train of thought, but the station omnibus had stopped at the gate, and the moment of supreme excitement had arrived.

Kate entered first. This was probably the crowning moment of her life.

She came in with a little air of a.s.surance that already suggested the married woman, and having kissed her mother she said in a proprietary sort of way: "This is Mr. Ward, mamma."

Mr. Ward had a curious way of walking on his toes; he came into the room as though tip-toeing across some muddy crossing on a wet day, and shook hands with a degree of nervousness that made even Mrs. Jamieson appear bold. One can hardly be surprised at Kate for having mentioned that he has a conical-shaped head, for it is of the most strange pear-shape, and the spa.r.s.e hair hangs from a ridge behind like a fringe. He sat down and locked his knees firmly together, with his clasped hands tightly wedged between them, while Kate made inquiries about the rest of the family, and I plunged heavily into remarks about the weather and the state of the roads. It was a great relief when two of the sisters entered, in their best silk blouses, even although they repeated exactly what I had said a moment before about the weather and the mud. Five minutes later, according to preconceived arrangement, two other sisters came in and were kissed by Kate, and introduced by her to James. We had unconsciously taken up our position in two straight lines facing James, and it is no exaggeration to say that by this time shyness was causing great beads of perspiration to stand out on poor James's pear-shaped head. "Surely they will spare him any more introductions before supper," I thought; but the door had again opened, and Mettie and the Pirate Boy entered, and some unhappy chance was causing these last comers to comment upon the weather and the state of the roads, and to extend the line of chairs now facing James. We began to make feverish little remarks to each other, as though we were all strangers, and Palestrina asked Eliza if she were fond of dancing.

George Jamieson, the eldest brother, was the last to enter the room, and Kate said: "George, I am sure James would like to unpack before supper;" and the unhappy James tip-toed out between the two lines of chairs, with his eyes fixed upon the carpet.

"_Well?_" said Kate. And as The Family was The Family of Jamieson, that of course was a signal for each member of it to say the kindest thing that could possibly be said for the new arrival. Margaret found that he had kind eyes. And Eliza said: "Not intellectual, but a good man." Eliza, it must be remarked in pa.s.sing, is the intellectual sister, with a pa.s.sion for accurate information, and for looking up facts in the "Encyclopedia Britannica." Maud found that even his shyness was in his favour, and disliked men who made themselves at home at once. Mettie remarked that marriage was a great risk. This is one of poor little Mettie's plat.i.tudes, which she makes with faithful regularity upon all occasions. The Pirate Boy preferred, perhaps, a more robust development, and throwing out his own chest, he beat it with a good deal of violence, and said he would like to put on the gloves with Mr. Ward. Mrs. Jamieson could be got to say nothing but "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" at intervals. But Gracie, the youngest daughter, remarked that she was sure that they would all get to like him immensely in time.

Kate looked grateful, and spoke with her usual fine common sense.

"What I say is," she remarked, "that of course no one sees James's faults more clearly than I do, but then I don't see why any of us should expect perfection. We haven't much to offer: I am sure I have neither looks, nor money, nor anything. And, after all, it's nice to think of one of us getting married--and I was no bother about it," said the independent Kate. "I mean, The Family had not to help, or chaperon me, or ask James down to stay."

The sisters a.s.sented to this in a very hearty, congratulatory sort of way; and then, as the rain had ceased, I took my leave, but Palestrina was persuaded to stay and have supper. Kennie offered, in a doughty fas.h.i.+on, to see me home. The boy's kindness of heart const.i.tutes him my defender upon many occasions, and he always looks disappointed if I do not take his arm. I do not think that the peaceful country road in the waning twilight could be considered a dangerous one, even to a cripple like myself; but Kennie, armed with a large stick and wearing a curious felt hat turned up at one side, appeared a most truculent defender, and regarded with suspicion all the pedestrians whom we met.

Did but a country cart pa.s.s us, Kennie made a movement to ward off the danger of a collision with his arm. There is something in my helpless condition which, quite unconsciously I believe, produces a very valorous frame of mind in the Pirate, and he beguiled the whole of the way home with stories of his own prowess, and of the hair-breadth escapes which he had had.

"I only once," he said, "had to take a human life in self-defence.

Curiously enough"--Kennie's voice deepened, and he spoke with the air of a man who will spare a weak fellow-mortal all he can in the telling of his tale, and he enunciated all his words with a measured calm which was very impressive--"curiously enough, it was on the Thames Embankment!" Kennie cleared his throat, and dropping the deep ba.s.s voice of reminiscence, he began the history in a high-pitched tone of narrative. "I was walking home alone one night from the City, when a very strange, low fellow accosted me, and asked me for some money. The man's dest.i.tute appearance appealed to me, and unfortunately I gave him threepence. I suppose the action was about as dangerous a thing as I could have done. It showed that I had money, and I was practically defenceless while feeling in my pockets. The Embankment at that time of the evening was almost deserted; I could see the s.h.i.+pping in the river and the lights, and even pa.s.sing cabs, but I was strangely alone, and still the man followed me. At last, in desperation, I raised my stick to drive him from me, and the next moment he had grappled with me! Instantly my blood was up!" The Pirate Boy stood still in the middle of the highroad, and went through a series of very forcible pantomimic gestures, and with awful facial contortions, indicative of violent exertion, he raised some imaginary object above his head and flung it from him. "The next moment," said Kennie, "I heard a splash.

I had vanquished the man, and flung him far from me, straight from the Thames Embankment into the river."

I was prepared to make an exclamation, but was prevented by Kennie, who said in a dramatic sort of way, "Wait!" and went on with his story.

"My instinct was to plunge after him, but I heard no sound, no cry, and from that day to this that struggle by the water's edge remains as one of the most vivid experiences of my life--in England, at least. But the man's end remains a mystery: I can tell you nothing more of him."

"I think I would have fished the poor wretch out," I said, and moved onwards on our walk, our pause in the public highway having lasted a considerable time.

"One learns rough justice out there," said Kennie.

CHAPTER V.

Miss Taylor was really responsible for the formation of the Stowel Reading Society, but Eliza Jamieson was her staunch supporter. Eliza drew the line at poetry and metaphysics, "Neither of which," she said, "I consider an exact science."

Miss Taylor said: "But it is not a scientific course that I propose; it is English literature in its fullest sense. I do think that Stowel is getting behind the rest of the world in its knowledge of the best literature, and I am sure that if a Reading Society were founded The Uncle would be pleased to choose books and send them to us from London."

To no one, perhaps, is the specializing definite article felt to be more appropriate than to Sir John. It seems to distinguish him from ordinary human beings; and it is felt to be indicative of a considerable amount of good taste and good feeling on the part of the Taylors to drop the General's t.i.tle when conversing with their intimate friends, and to refer to him merely as "The Uncle." When we call upon the Taylors we always ask how The Uncle is.

Eliza Jamieson became the Society's secretary and treasurer in one, and she it was who in her neat hand transcribed the letter, which all had helped to compose, to ask The Uncle what works in English literature it would be advisable for the Reading Society to get. His reply was read aloud at one of the first meetings, and each eulogized it in turn as being "courtly," "gentlemanly," "manly," and "concise." It could not but be felt, however, that as a guide to a choice of literature the letter was disappointing:--

"DEAR MADAM" (it ran),

"I much regret that I am unable to help you in any way about your books. I read very little myself, except the newspapers, though I occasionally take a dip into one of my old favourites by Charles Lever.

I think a cookery-book is the most useful reading for a young lady, and she would be best employed studying that, and not filling her head with nonsense. This is the advice of a very old fellow, who remembers many charming girls years ago who knew nothing about advanced culture...."

It was a distinct salve to the Society's feelings to note that the letter was written on paper stamped with the address of a military club, and instead of copying it, and making an entry of it in the minutes of the Reading Society, it was pasted into the notebook, as it was thought the autograph and the crest were "interesting."

Since the foundation of the Reading Society there has followed a period during which the young ladies of Stowel have written essays, and have met in each other's drawing-rooms to read poetry aloud, to their own individual satisfaction and to the torture of other ears.

Mrs. Fielden did not join the Society, her plea being that poetry is merely prose with the stops in the wrong places, and therefore very fatiguing to read, and very obscure in its meaning. But Eliza has worn us out with books of reference, and we have become so learned and so full of culture that it is impossible to say where it will all end. My own library has been ransacked for books--I think it is the fact of my having a library that has made our house a sort of centre for the Reading Society. We criticize freely all contemporary literature, and base our preference for any book upon its "vigorous Saxon style."

Eliza has written two reviews for the local newspaper, pointing out some mistakes in grammar in one of the greatest novels of the day, and this naturally makes us feel very proud of Eliza. Those of us who plead for an easy flowing style consider that she has an almost hypersensitive ear for errors in the use of the English accidence. A split infinitive has heretofore hardly arrested our attention; now we shudder at its use: while the misuse of the word to "aggravate," which up to the present we believed in all simplicity to mean to "annoy,"

causes the gravest offence when employed in the wrong sense. Books from the circulating library have been known to be treated almost like proof-sheets, and corrections are jotted down in pencil on the margin of the leaves. Even the notes which ladies send to each other are subject to revision at the hands of the recipient. Ordinary conversation is now hardly known in Stowel, and tea-parties take the form of discussions. The spring weather is so warm that I generally have my long chair taken on to the lawn in the afternoons, and tea is sometimes brought out there when the meetings of the Reading Society are over. But tea, and even pound-cake, are thrown away upon young ladies who partake of it absently, and to whom all things material and mundane--these words are often used--must now be offered with a feeling of apology.

Major Jacobs rode over to see me this afternoon, and we had not long enjoyed the repose of deckchairs and cigarettes under the medlar-tree, and the songs of birds which have begun nesting very early this year, and the quiet rumbling of heavy wagons that pa.s.s sometimes in the highroad beyond the garden, when the Reading Society in a body joined us from the house, and I heard my sister give directions for tea to be brought out on to the lawn. The other day I heard Palestrina tell a friend of hers that she nearly always contrived to have some one to tea, or to sit with Hugo in the afternoon, and my sister's satisfaction increases in direct proportion to the number of people who come.

We had hardly finished tea when Frances Taylor said suddenly, yet with the manner of one who has risen to make a speech on a platform, "Was Coleridge a genius or a crank?"