The Last of the Mortimers

The people seemed all to guess that we belonged to the new regiment; and some of them were quite great ladies, and quite enlightened me as to what we should require. For most of the day I was in a perfect panic; every place seeming dearer than another. When we went into those expensive rooms I always found out something that it was quite impossible for me to tolerate (quite independent, of course, you know, of any question of price!) till Harry quite fretted at my fastidiousness. At last we did find a place that suited me. It was no great thing in point of situation. It was a first floor, a front and back drawing-room. I believe, candidly, that the back room was about as big as Mrs. Saltoun’s good substantial old dining-table, which we used to have in our sitting-room in Edinburgh; but then there were folding-doors; and the front drawing-room was decorated and ornamented to such a pitch that one was quite afraid to sit down in any of the chairs. When I heard what the rent was, I was charmed with the rooms. Harry could not understand my enthusiasm. I found it the handiest place in the world;—and then it showed such discrimination in the landlady to ask so moderate a rent. We fetched Lizzie and baby from the inn directly, and dismissed Harry to look at the town. And really, when we got a little settled, it was not so uncomfortable; though, to be sure, to give up the sizeable room for company (and they never came!), and to live in that little box behind was very foolish, as I always thought. However, when, I above and Lizzy below, we had investigated the house, and when the landlady was made to comprehend, with difficulty, that our washing was done at home, and that her toleration of these processes was needful, and when her wonder and the first shock to her system conveyed in this piece of intelligence was over, things looked tolerably promising. The worst was, we had no view; no view whatever except the bit of garden plot before the house, filled with dusty evergreens, and the corner of a street which led to the railway station. The cabs and people, going to and from the trains, made the only variety in the prospect; and anybody will allow that was sadly different from windows which looked sidelong over the corner of Bruntsfield Links, upon the Castle, and the Crags, and Arthur’s Seat. However, what I had to think of, in the meantime, was how to live without getting into debt; for, of course, people like us, with just so much money coming in (and oh, how very, very little it was!), had neither any excuse nor any way of saving themselves if once they ventured into debt.

Thus we got established in our new quarters; and many a long ramble I took with Harry along those strange superannuated walls.—To think how they once stood up desperate, in defence, round the brave little town! to think of the wild Welsh raging outside on that tranquil turf, where the races were now-a-days; to think of those secure streets down there, that lengthened themselves out presumptuously beyond the ramparts, and even cut passages through them, once cowering in alarm below their shadow! The place quite captivated me; and then the streets themselves, the strange dark covered pathways, steps up from the street, with the shops lurking in their shadow! like some of the German towns, Harry told me. Looking into them from the street, and seeing the stream of passengers coming and going, through the openings and heavy wooden beams of the railing; or looking out of one of those openings upon a kind of street-scenes and life that had nothing in the world to do with the strange old-world arcade, from which one looked out as from a balcony, was as good as reading a book about ancient times. It was not like my dear Edinburgh, to be sure, but it was very captivating; and Harry and I enjoyed exploring together. It was all new and fresh to us—and it was spring; and when you have nothing to trouble you much, it is delightful to see new places, and get new pictures into the mind. Chester was quite as novel, and fresh, and captivating, though it was only in our own country, as that German Munich which Harry told me of—Harry had been a great traveller before he joined, while his father was so long ill—could have been.

Lizzie, however, was not nearly so much at her ease as I was. When she felt herself laughed at, and looked at, and misunderstood, Lizzie fell back into her chronic state of awkwardness. Her national pride was driven to enthusiasm by her contact with “thae English.” Lizzie entertained a steady disbelief that the tongue in which she heard everybody speak—which was far enough from being a refined one, however,—was their native and natural speech. “They were a’ speaking grand for a purpose o’ their ain, to make folk believe they were lords and leddies,” Lizzie said; and with a still higher pitch of indignation, “Mem, you aye understood me, though you’re an English leddy; and think o’ the like o’ them setting up no’ to understand what your lass means when she’s speaking! I dinna understand them, I’m sure,—no half a dozen words. To hear that clippit English, and the sharp tongues they have, deaves me. The very weans in the street they’ve nae innocence in them. They’re a’ making a fashion of speaking as fine as you.”

“Never mind, Lizzie; you’ll soon get accustomed to them, and make friends,” said I, with an attempt at consolation.

“Friends! I never had anybody belonging to me but a faither,” said Lizzie, who understood relations to be signified by that word: “but I’m no heeding now; and I’ll soon learn to nip the ends off the words like the rest o’ them. There’s a grand green for drying, that Mrs. Goldsworthy calls the back ga’den; and, if you’ll no’ be angry, I can do the ironing grand mysel’.”

“You! but I dare not trust you, Lizzie,” said I, shaking my head. “Mr. Langham would find it out—I mean he would find me out—if they were not quite so well done; and you don’t consider what quantities of things you will have to do—to keep the drawing-room nice, and get tea and breakfast, and wash, and I don’t know what; and yet always to be tidy, and keep baby all day long. You don’t know what you have on your hands already, you unlucky girl.”

“Eh, I’m glad!” cried Lizzie, clapping her hands together with fervour; and her brown eyes sparkled, and her uncouth figure grew steady with the delight of conscious energy and power. If she had been eighteen she would not have been so simple-minded. Never anybody was so fortunate as I had been in my little maid.

Chapter II

VERY soon we began to get interested in the people round about us; for we were not here, as we had been in Mrs. Saltoun’s little house, the only strangers. By means of Lizzie, who was much annoyed at the discovery, I found out that the house was quite full of lodgers. On the ground floor there was a foreign gentleman and his servant. The gentleman was absent at first; but the man, a very fat, good-humoured-looking fellow, who adopted us all into his friendship immediately, and expanded into smiles through the railings of the stair when any of us went up or down, was in full possession. The way that Lizzie avoided this smiling ogre, and the way in which he appreciated her panic, and was amused by it, and conciliated and coaxed her, was the most amusing thing I ever saw. And the way he opened the door for me, and took off his hat, and laid his hand on his heart and bowed! The good fellow quite kept us in amusement. When baby, who was getting on famously and noticing everything, crowed at him, in spite of his great beard, as children will do to men (it is very odd; but babies do take to strange men sooner than to strange women, I believe), the fat foreigner burst into great shouts of delighted laughter, and snapped his fat fingers, and made the funniest grimaces to please the child. None of us could speak a single word of his language; we did not even know at first what countryman he was; but we all got to have the most friendly, kind feeling for the stranger,—all except Lizzie, who stumbled up and flew downstairs in her anxiety to avoid his eyes. One bad habit he certainly had; he smoked perpetually. He smoked cigars—shocking bad ones, Harry said: he did not even put them down when he sprang out of his parlour to open the door for me; but only withdrew the one he was smoking from his full red lips, and held it somehow concealed in his hand. As he was constantly about in the house, or lingering close at hand with his great-coat buttoned on round his throat like a cloak, and the empty sleeves waving from his shoulders, stamping his feet on the ground, and whistling like a bird, this smell of bad cigars was perpetually about the house. Poor Mrs. Goldsworthy went up and down with the most grieved look upon her face. If any one made the least sign of having smelt anything disagreeable, she held up her hands in the most imploring way, and said, “What can a poor body do? He’s the obligingest creatur as ever was! and he don’t know a word of Christian language; and the gentleman—which is a real gentleman, and none o’ your make-believes—as good as left him in my charge; and, bless you, if he will smoke them cigars, and don’t understand a word a body says to him, what am I to do?” Indeed, for my own part, I had not only a great sympathy for him, but I could not help liking the fat fellow; and after a few days it was astonishing how we got used to the cigars.

Then we ourselves occupied the two next floors. It was a strange little house; two rooms, back and front, piled on the top of each other four stories high; the top-story rooms were attics; and there was actually a lodger in each of those attics! Where Mrs. Goldsworthy and her daughter slept themselves was more than either Lizzie or I could make out. One of the attic lodgers was a thin, wistful man, whom I could not help looking at. He worked at something in his own room, and used to go out to dine. He was always very neat and clean; but very threadbare, and with a hungry look that went to one’s heart. Perhaps it was not want; maybe he was hungry for something else than mere money or nourishment; but sometimes I am sure I should not have been surprised to hear that he was starving too. Sometimes he looked at me or at baby in his wistful way, just as he vanished past us. I can’t say he ever smiled, even at little Harry; but still we drew his eyes when he chanced to meet us going out or in. I felt a great compassion for this poor solitary man. He was a man that might have been found starved, but never would have asked any charity; at least so I thought of him. I used to fancy him sitting in his solitary room upstairs by the window, and not by the fire,—for we never heard him poking any fire, and often saw him at the window,—and wondered how people could get so isolated, and chilled, and solitary; how they lived at all when they came to that condition—benumbed of all comfort, and still not frozen to death. How strange to think of keeping on living, years and years after one’s heart is dead! Harry said I was fanciful and continually made stories about people; but I did not tell Harry one half of my fancies; I don’t know what he would have done to me if I had; but I did so wish I could have some chance of doing something to please that old man.

One day Harry came downstairs with a smile on his face. “There is the most ludicrous scene going on below; come and look, Milly,” he said, drawing me to the stairs. I peeped down, and there, to be sure, I saw a reason for the sound of talking I had heard for a few minutes past. Lizzie was sitting on the stair, pondering deeply, with a perplexed face, over a large book spread out on the step above her. She was holding baby fast in one arm, and staving off his attempts to snatch at the leaves of the book. Leaning on the bannisters regarding her, and holding forth most volubly in an unknown tongue, was our fat friend; and between every two or three words he pointed to the book, making a sort of appeal to it. The contrast between the two—she silent and bewildered, confused by her efforts to restrain baby and comprehend the book—he, the vast full figure of him, so voluble, so good-humoured, so complacent, talking with his fat arms and fingers, his gestures, and every movement he made—talking with such confidence that language which nobody understood—was almost as irresistible to me as to Harry. We stood looking down at them, extremely amused and wondering. Then Lizzie, failing to comprehend the book, and hearing herself addressed so energetically, raised her round eyes, round with amazement, to the speaker’s face. The unknown tongue awed Lizzie; she contemplated him with speechless wonder and dismay; until at last, when the speaker made an evident close appeal to her, with a natural oratory which she could not mistake, unintelligible as was its meaning, her amazement burst forth in words. “Eh, man, what div ye mean?” cried Lizzie, in the extremity of her puzzled wonder. It was the climax of the scene. Though I thrust Harry back into the room instantly, that his laughter might not be heard, and smothered my own as best I could, the sound caught Lizzie’s watchful ears. In another moment she had reached the top of the stairs, breathless, with her charge in her arms. The puzzled look had not left Lizzie’s eyes, but she was deeply abashed and ashamed of herself. Harry’s laughter did not mend the matter, of course. She dropped baby in my arms, and twisted herself into all her old awkward contortions. I had to send her away and dismiss Harry into the other room. Poor Lizzie had never possessed sufficient courage to permit herself to be accosted by the dreadful foreigner before.

However, we were not less amused when we heard what Mrs. Goldsworthy would have called “the rights of it.” Lizzie, with great resolution, determined to have herself exculpated, came to me with her statement as soon as she was quite assured that “the Captain” was out of the way.

“Eh! I came to think at last he was, maybe, a Hielander,” said Lizzie, “though they’re seldom that fat. And he laid down the book straight before in the stair. I kent what kind of book it was. It was the book wi’ a’ kind o’ words, and the meanings. But the meanings just were English, and the words were some other language. And I kind of guessed what he wanted, too. He wanted me to look in the book for the words he said, to tell me what he meant; but eh! how was I to ken where one word ended and another began? And he just hurried on and on; and the mair I listened, the mair I could not hear a single word, and looking at the book was just nonsense; and Master baby, he would try his hand; and oh, Mem, if you’re angry, I didna mean ony ill, and I’ll never do it again.”

“Nonsense, Lizzie! I am not angry; but couldn’t you get on with the dictionary, and help the poor fellow? Were not you a very good scholar at school?”

“No very,” said Lizzie, hanging her head in agonies of pleased but painful bashfulness, and unconsciously uttering her sentiments in language as puzzling to an English hearer as any uttered by our fat friend downstairs. “No very,” said Lizzie, anxiously truthful, yet not unwilling to do herself due credit;—“no very, but gey.”

Here I fear my laugh rather shocked and affronted Lizzie. She stood very upright, and twisted nothing but her fingers. It would have been as impossible to persuade her that there was scarcely a person in Chester, but myself, who could have translated that exquisite monosyllable as to convince the foreigner that he was actually and positively incomprehensible in spite of the dictionary. But I will not attempt to interpret gey; it is untranslatable, as we are quite content so many French words should be. Even into Harry’s head, which should be capable of better things, I find it quite impossible to convey an idea of the expressiveness of this word. Lizzie and I, however, knew no other to put in its place.

“But a gey good scholar might do a great deal for the poor fellow,” said I, when I had got over my laughter; “tell him the English names for things. Try if you can find out his name; but I forgot you were frightened for him, Lizzie.”

“Aye, till I thought he might, maybe, be a Hielander,” said Lizzie. “Though the Hielanders dinna belang to us at hame, they might feel kindly in a strange place; and I’ve heard folk speaking Gaelic. But this is no like Gaelic, it’s a’ aws and os; and it’s awfu’ fast, just a rattle; a’ the words run in to one another. Forbye what harm could he do me? and the book was straight in my way on the stair; and it gangs to my heart to set my foot on a book. Ye might be trampin’ ower a bit o’ the Bible without kennin’; and then he’s very good-natured; and then,” said Lizzie, her eyes suddenly glowing up, “it would be grand to learn a language that nae ither body kens!”

With the greatest cordiality I applauded this crowning argument, and did all I could to encourage her to persevere with the dictionary, and make herself interpreter; for I was not wise enough to think that this new study might possibly be too captivating for Lizzie, and lead her into neglect of her many and pressing duties. I only thought it was the most amusing mode of intercourse I ever heard of, and that it would be great fun to watch its progress. Besides, as she said herself, what harm could he do her? Poor Lizzie, who might have been in danger at an elder age in such a comical friendship, was invulnerable to all the dangers of flirtation at fourteen.

Chapter III

ABOUT this time Harry’s object was attained, and some of the other ladies of the regiment called on me. I think they were a little surprised to find me just like other people, and not very much afraid of them; though I will confess that in my heart I was rather anxious, thinking whether Lizzie would have the discretion to put baby’s best frock on, in case they asked to see him. They did ask, of course; and when, after a few minutes, Lizzie came down, not only with his best frock on, but with the ribbon I had just got to trim my bonnet for spring, carefully tied round his waist for a sash, anybody may imagine what my feelings were! He looked very pretty in it certainly; but only fancy my good ribbon that I had grudged to buy, and could not do without! Ah! it is just possible that one’s nursery-maid may be too anxious to show off one’s baby to the best advantage. However, of course, I had to smile and make the best of it, and console myself with bursting forth upon Lizzie whenever they were gone.

“How could you think of taking my ribbon! oh, Lizzie, Lizzie! and I am sure I cannot afford to buy another one,” cried I.

“It’s a’ preened on,” said Lizzie mysteriously, “there’s no a single crumple in’t; and I made the bows just like what the leddies have them on their bonnets, and it’s no a bit the waur. But, Mem, the very weans in the street have a sash round their waist; and was I gaun to let on to strangers that our bairn hadna everything grand? And he sat still like a king till I fastened it a’ on. You see yoursel’ it has taken nae harm.”

“But the pins!” cried I, in horror. “Were you not afraid, you dreadful girl, to make a pincushion of my boy?”

Lizzie was fast taking them out, conveying them to her mouth in the first place, and furtively withdrawing them again lest I should observe her. Her only answer was to point triumphantly to the child.

“Would he laugh like that if I had jaggit him?” cried Lizzie. There was no contesting that proof; so I had to withdraw the ribbon out of their joint hands immediately, and put it at once to its proper use. This, however, was neither the first nor the last of Lizzie’s impromptus. Those great red fingers of hers, all knuckles and corners as they were, had that light rapid touch which distinguishes every true artiste. She devised and appropriated for the decoration of the baby and “the credit of the house,” with the utmost boldness. It was not safe to leave anything which she could adapt to his use in her way.

The next trial I had was an invitation to dinner, which came for us shortly after. I set my face very much against it. Long ago, when Harry used to tell me about their parties, I made up my mind it never would do for us to begin going to them, however much we might be asked. To be sure Harry might go. I was always glad Harry should go; but how was I, who had got no trousseau, like other young wives, when I was married, but just had one cheap silk dress, bought off Aunt Connor’s ten pounds, which I made up myself, to go out to dinner? I stood out long and obstinately; but I had to give in at last, just as I had about the maid and the lodgings. Harry would not go by himself. He would not decline the invitation; he said, with a very glum face, that we had better accept, and leave it to the chapter of accidents to find an excuse at the time. He did not understand how necessary it was for me to keep at home. He had been able always to go where he wanted, and keep up with the rest, and it fretted him dreadfully now to feel the bondage that our narrow means put us in. You understand he did not object to be economical in a general way, nor even, indeed, grumbled, the dear good fellow, at giving up many of his old luxuries; and, at first, he seemed to be delighted with having no society but our own. But now, when he began to feel annoyed that his wife was not in the same position as the others, and when I plied him with all the old arguments—that we dare not begin such a life or the expense would ruin us, Harry became very restive indeed. Somehow it seemed to gall and humble him; the idea that his wife could not go out for want of a dress! He could not put up with the thought; he jumped up from his chair as if something had stung him. “It is nonsense, Milly! folly; the merest shortsightedness; you don’t want half a dozen dresses to go to one dinner, and one dress can’t ruin us,” cried the unreasonable fellow. He would not understand me or listen to me. The notion wounded him quite to the heart. He looked so sulky and miserable that I could not bear to see it. I gave a great sigh, and gave in again. What could I do?

“Well, Harry!” said I, “the foolishness is all on the other side, mind; but if I must give in I can’t help myself. I am only twenty, not twenty quite. I’ll go in white.”

“Bravo! you could not do better than go in white!” cried Harry, “there’s a courageous woman! But why, may an ignoramus ask, should you not go in white, Milly darling! Isn’t it the dress of all others for a—well, an ugly little creature like you?”

“I am not so sure about the ugly,” said I; “and now, please, get your hat and come out with me. I saw the fashions in a window at the other end of the street. Let us go and look at them, and then I shall know how to make it up.”

“Why can’t you go to the milliner like other people,” growled the unsatisfied man; “and why, answer my question, shouldn’t you go in white?”

I durstn’t confess that I had my own vanity in the matter, and being a matron, rather despised a white muslin frock to go out in; for if I had betrayed the least inkling of such a thing, there is no saying what he might not have done; run up a bill, or paid away all the money he had, or something; so I stopped his mouth with some foolish answer, and ran off to get my bonnet. Upstairs baby was sitting on the carpet, with Lizzie beside him, jumping a little paste-board harlequin to please him. Her brown eyes were quite sparkling over the loose-legged, insane figure, as she jerked the string about. I could not help but stand and look at her for a moment with a startled sensation. She was just as much amused as baby was. Only to think of such a child being left in charge of our boy! I went downstairs in consequence with a slower step, after having given Lizzie a superabundance of cautions about taking care of him. Only a girl of fourteen! I daresay all this time you must have been thinking I was mad to trust her; but, indeed, she was a very extraordinary girl; and after all, when you think it, fourteen is quite a trustworthy age. She was old enough to know what she ought to do, and not old enough to be distracted by thoughts of her own. Ah, depend upon it, fourteen is more single-minded than eighteen; and then Lizzie had a woman’s strength and handiness along with her child’s heart.

Not to delay longer about it, we did go to the party. Harry said I looked very well on the whole; he did not think he would have been disposed to exchange with anybody. I had no jewellery at all, which was rather a little humiliating to me; but, to my wonder and delight, Harry did not object to that. “They’ll only think you’re setting up for simplicity,” he said, laughing. “I suppose it’s safer to be thought a little humbug than to have your dreadful destitution known. Come along. Nobody will suspect you have not a bracelet; only mind you behave yourself very innocently, like a little shepherdess, and you’ll take everybody in.”