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Story 5-Chapter V.
Mr Pash Looks Green
Keziah Bay had made up her mind to go to Mr Tom Brough, and, attended by Peter Pash as her faithful squire, she started, loading him to begin with in case of rain, for on one arm Peter carried a large scarlet shawl, and under the other a vast blue-faded gingham umbrella, with a great staghorn beak and a grand ornamental brass ferule.
But Peter Pash looked proud at the confidence placed in him, and, following rather than walking by the side of his lady, he accompanied her to Finsbury-square, in one corner of which place lived Tom Brough.
All the same, though, Peter Pash was not comfortable, for he did not know the object of Keziah’s mission. What was she going to Mr Brough’s for? It was not because she was sent – she had declared that before starting, and when pressed for her reason she said that she was “going because she was going,” and Peter did not feel satisfied. In fact, before they were half-way to Finsbury, Peter was fiercely jealous, and telling himself that he was being made a fool of.
“You’d better let me carry that umbrella if you are going to bring it down thump at every step like that,” said Keziah.
“No, thank you, I can manage it,” said Peter, as, tucking it once more beneath his arm, he trotted on by her side, trying to make up his mind how he should find out the truth of his suspicions.
“It only wants a little looking into,” said Peter to himself, “and then you can find out anything. I can see it all now. And do they think they are going to deceive me? No, I’ve boiled down and purified too much not to be able to separate the wrong from the right. She’s going to ask him if he means to marry her instead of Miss Richards, and if he don’t, she’ll fall back on me. But she won’t, for I don’t mean to be fallen on, and so I tell her.”
“Here we are,” said Keziah, stopping short in front of Mr Brough’s house.
“Yes, here we are,” said Peter, with what he meant for a searching look.
“Now, look here, Peter,” said Keziah, “I’m going to see Mr Brough, and you’ll wait outside till I come back.”
“But what are you going for?” said Peter.
There was no reply save what was conveyed in a hitch of Keziah’s shawl, and then, her summons being responded to, she entered, leaving Peter perspiring on the door-step, brandishing the great umbrella and peering at the door with eyes that threatened to pierce the wood – varnish, paint, and all.
Meanwhile, Keziah was ushered into the room where Tom Brough was seated, rosy and hearty, over his decanter and glass.
“Well, Keziah,” he said, “and how are all at home? Take a chair.”
The visitor did not condescend to reply until the door was shut, when, folding her arms, she stood looking at him with a fierce uncompromising aspect.
“I’ve come about that poor girl,” she said at last.
“About what poor girl?” said Tom Brough.
“That poor girl whose heart’s being broken up into tiny bits by you and him – her father,” cried Keziah, fiercely, “and I’ve come to know if you ain’t ashamed of yourself. There, hold your tongue, and listen to what I’ve got to say; I haven’t said anything to him at home, because it’s like talking to stone and marbles. But I’ve come to talk to you.”
“Talk away, then,” said Tom Brough, pleasantly.
“I’m going to,” said Keziah, angrily, “and don’t you think, Mr Brough, that you’re going to get rid of me like that, because you are not, so now then. This marriage can’t go on.”
“Why not?” said Tom Brough, offering a glass of wine, which was refused.
“Because I’m not going to see my darling that I’ve nursed and tended ever since she was a baby driven into her grave to please you. There, keep off – gracious, if the man isn’t mad!”
Keziah half shrieked the last words, for, leaping from his seat, Tom Brough made a rush at her, chased her round the table with an activity hardly to have been expected from one of his years, followed her out on to the landing as she hastily beat a retreat, down the stairs, along the passage, and caught her on the door-mat, where, after a sharp scuffle, he succeeded in imprinting a couple of sounding kisses upon her cheek before she got the door open, and, panting and tumbled, rushed out nearly to the oversetting of Peter Pash, who, with his eye to the keyhole, had seen the chase in part, heard the scuffle in full, and now stood gazing grandly at the panting object of his affections.
“Keziah!” he exclaimed at length, “I thought better of you.”
“What do you mean by that?” exclaimed the irate dame.
“I thought you had been a woman as could be trusted,” he said, sadly.
“Trusted, indeed!” cried Keziah. “Why, he’s a madman, that’s what he is. He’s off his head because of this wedding: see if he ain’t.”
“Keziah!” said Peter, loftily, “I’ve done with you.”
“Give me that umbrella,” cried Keziah, snatching the great gingham from his hand. “Now just you speak to me again like that, young man, and I’ll talk to you.”
“I’ll see you home. I won’t be mean,” said Peter. “But you’ve broken a true and trusting heart, Keziah.”
“Hold your tongue, do,” she cried; “just as if I hadn’t enough to bother me without your silly clat. I did think he’d be open to reason,” she added half aloud.
Peter did not answer, but walked by Keziah’s side till they turned down by the Mansion House and entered Walbrook, when with a start the latter caught Peter by the arm and pointed down the deserted way to where a light figure was seen to hurriedly leave John Richards’ door, and then to flit beneath lamp after lamp in the direction of Cannon-street.
“Where’s she going?” exclaimed Keziah, hoarsely. “What is she out for to-night?”
“Who is it?” said Peter, though it was for the sake of speaking, for he knew.
“She’s mad, too, and we’re all mad, I believe,” cried Keziah. “O, Peter, if you love me as you say, hold by me now, for there’s something going wrong; don’t lose sight of her for an instant, if you value me. Make haste, man, and come on.”
“That’s cool!” said Peter, “and after me seeing some one else kissing and hugging you.”
“Quick, quick!” cried Keziah, excitedly catching Peter’s hand in hers; and then together they passed down Walbrook and across the street at the bottom, both too fat and heavy to keep the light figure in sight without great exertion.
Down one of the hilly lanes and into Thames-street they panted, with the light drapery now lost sight of, now seen again at some corner, and then to disappear down one of the dark fog-dimmed openings, up which came the faint odour of the river and the low lapping noise of its waters against the slimy steps below.
“Quick, quick!” said Keziah hoarsely, “or we shall be too late.”
Her earnest manner more than her words seemed to impress Peter Pash, and hurrying along he was the first to catch sight of the light figure they chased now standing motionless on the edge of a wharf, while the wind came mournfully sighing off the river, in whose inky breast, all blurred and half-washed-out, shone the light of star and Keziah’s breath seemed drawn in deep groans, as for a few minutes she stood, as it were, paralysed. Then recovering herself, and motioning Peter back, she advanced quickly, and just as the light figure gave a start and seemed about to step forward, she threw her arms round it and held it tightly, sobbing hysterically the while.
But only for a few seconds.
“Here, Peter, quick,” she cried, “that shawl. And were you looking for me, my pet? We’ve been walking. But never mind, we’ve found you now, and I won’t leave you again. Don’t talk – don’t say anything, only come home quickly!”
Without a word, without resistance, May Richards suffered herself to be led homeward, merely gazing from time to time at her old servant in a half-dazed way as if she could not understand the meaning of it all, nor yet why she was being led with Keziah’s arm so tightly holding hers.
And so they walked back to find the door in Walbrook ajar, with Tom Brough standing in the entry.
“Go back now, Peter,” whispered Keziah, “and not a word of this to a soul.”
“But what’s he here for?” said Peter, in the same tone.
“You miserable jealous pate,” whispered the old servant fiercely, “if you don’t be off – ”
She said no more, for Peter was off, and then she turned to Mr Brough.
“You may well look,” she whispered to him, as he said a few unnoticed words to May. “All your doing – all your doing. Another minute, and the poor lamb would have been sleeping in the river.”
Tom Brough started, and then caught May in his arms, and bore her up-stairs, where for quite an hour she sat in a dazed, heedless way that troubled Keziah more than would a passionate outburst.
“If she’d only cry,” she whispered at last to Mr Brough, “But you won’t press for it now, Mr Brough; you won’t, sir, I’m sure. People say you’re a good man, and that you’re kind and charitable. Look at the poor thing; her heart’s broke – it is indeed.”
“I’m going now,” said Mr Brough in answer, and then when Keziah accompanied him down to the door, “Do not leave her for an instant, if you love the poor child; and, look here, Keziah, the wedding must take place, and it is for her good —mark me, for her good. I love her too well to make her unhappy, and if you do your duty you will help me all you can.”
Keziah closed the door without a word, and a minute after she was kneeling beside and crying over the heartbroken girl.
Story 5-Chapter VI.
Hard-Hearted
Time glided on.
“You’ve come again, then?” said Keziah Bay.
“Yes, I’ve come again,” said Mr Peter Pash. “Trade’s very brisk, Keziah.”
“Is it?” said that lady, in the most indifferent of tones.
“Yes, things are looking up well,” said Mr Pash, “and my lodger has dropped dips and taken to composites. You know what that means, of course.”
“Not I,” said Keziah indifferently. “I don’t trouble my head about such things.”
“You’re always a-snubbing me, Keziah,” said the little man dolefully. “It’s no good for me to try and please you.”
“Not a bit,” said Keziah with a smile. “You ought to know better than to come wherrittin’ me when there’s so much trouble in the house.”
“But it ain’t our trouble,” said Peter Pash. “Why, if I was to make myself unhappy about other folks’ candles, where should I be? Now, I say, Keziah dear, when’s it to be?”
“Once for all, I tell you,” said Keziah, “that until I see poor Miss May happily settled, I won’t bother about that nonsense; so you may hold your tongue, for I can see what you mean.”
Peter Pash gave a great groan of despair, but the next minute he was patiently submitting to a severe cross-examination concerning the habits and customs of his lodger Frank Marr.
“He’s no good, Peter,” said Keziah at last, “and the sooner you get rid of him the better.”
“But he pays his rent very regular,” said Peter, “and that’s a consideration, you know. And he’s a good son, and pays no end of attention to his mother. And I say, Keziah, dear, I’ve seen Mr Brough, and I ain’t a bit jealous now.”
Keziah snorted.
“He’s been to my place twice to see Mr Marr, and they’re the best of friends, and he tells me it was only his fun, and Mr Marr don’t seem to mind a bit. And I say, Keziah dear, now that Miss May is really going to get married and settled, sha’n’t we make it right now?”
“Now I tell you what it is, young man,” said Keziah fiercely, “I hate the very name of marrying, and if you say another word to me about it I’ll never have you at all. When I want to be married I’ll ask you, and not before, so now be off.”
“But will you want to some day?” said Peter pitifully.
“Perhaps I shall, and perhaps I sha’n’t; I’m seeing enough of it to satisfy me, so I tell you.”
Peter groaned.
“Now don’t make that noise here,” cried Keziah snappishly. “If you can’t behave yourself, you’d better go.”
“I won’t do so any more, dear,” said Peter softly. “How’s poor dear Miss May?”
“O, don’t ask me – poor lamb!” cried Keziah.
“It is to be, isn’t it?” said Peter.
“To be! Yes. They’ve talked her into it, now that your fine Mr Marr has proved himself such a good-for-nothing. It’s to be, sure enough, and I wish them all joy of what they’ve done. They’re killing her between them, and then they’ll be happy. Get married! There, don’t drive me wild, Peter Pash, but be off out of my sight, for I hate the very sound of the word, and don’t you come here any more till I ask you.”
Peter Pash groaned; and then rising he departed in a very disconsolate state of mind, for he considered himself to be far more worthy of pity than May Richards.
Story 5-Chapter VII.
May’s Marriage
The wedding day, and for once in a way a crisp, bright, hearty, frosty time – cold but inspiriting; and at ten o’clock, pale and trembling, but nerved for her trial, May Richards stood suffering Keziah to give the finishing touches to her dress before starting for the church. There was to be no form; May had stipulated for that. The wedding was to be at an old City church hard by, and in place of meeting her there Tom Brough had arrived, and was in the dining-room talking to old Richards bound to an easy-chair with gout, and too ill to think of going to the church.
As May entered at last, led in by Keziah, defiant and snorting, Tom Brough, active as a young man, hurried to meet the trembling girl, caught her in his arms, and kissed her fondly, heedless of the sigh she gave.
“Don’t look like that, my darling,” he whispered. “I’m going to make you happy as the day is long.”
May’s only reply was a look so full of misery and despair, that Keziah put her apron to her eyes and ran out of the room.
For a moment there was a shade as of uneasiness crossed old Richards’ face – it might have been a twinge of gout – but it passed on the instant.
“Don’t look like that, May!” he exclaimed angrily. “If you don’t know what is for your good you must be taught. Now, Brough, time’s going – get it over, man. She’ll be happier as soon as you have her away.”
“Yes, yes,” said Tom Brough tenderly. “Come May, my child, have you not one look for me?”
May placed her hands in his, and looked up in his face with the faintest dawning of a smile upon her lip, and this time she did not shrink back when he kissed her forehead, but hung upon his arm as if resigned to her fate; the sound of wheels was heard in the narrow street; the friends ready to accompany them were summoned from the room below – two old friends of Mr Brough’s, for old Richards had, as he often boasted, no friends; May was led out, the door was heard to close, wheels rattled away, and then, for a wonder, there fell a dead silence upon Walbrook, one which seemed to affect old Richards, even as he sat there looking haggard and drawn of feature, thinking of the past, and of the day he wed his own wife long before gold had become his care – almost his god. For the first time remorse had seized upon him, and it wanted not the words of Keziah Bay, who now entered the room, for reproach to be heaped upon his head.
But Keziah’s words were not fierce now, only the words of sorrow; and at last she sank down sobbing before him, and said:
“O, Master Richards – Master Richards – what have you done?”
He did not turn round fiercely to bid her begone, but shrank from her, farther and farther, into his great roomy chair, and at that moment, could he have done so, he would have arrested the farther progress of the ceremony, for remorse was beating strongly at his heart.
But the time was passed now, and with him action was impossible. He sat there motionless, listening to the sobs of his old servant till nearly an hour had passed, when suddenly Keziah rose, wiping her eyes, and saying, —
“I hadn’t the heart to go and see it, and now it is too late!”
“Yes, yes,” said old Richards softly; “it is now too late!”
The next moment Keziah was hurrying from the room, for there was the sound of wheels and a heavy knocking at the door, which she opened to admit old Tom Brough, red and excited, and his first act upon the door being closed was to catch Keziah round the waist, to hug her and give her a sounding kiss before waltzing her down the passage, she struggling the while till she got free, and stood panting, trembling, and boiling over with ire.
“It’s all right, ’Ziah!” he exclaimed, “the knot’s tied.”
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, that you ought,” panted Keziah, darting away to avoid another embrace. “And pray where’s Miss May?”
Tom Brough did not answer, he only hurried into the drawing-room, where old Richards sat upright, holding on by the arms of his chair.
“Where’s May?” he gasped, looking ashy pale; “why have you not brought her back?”
“Because she was not mine to bring,” said Tom Brough coolly. “Flunk Marr waylaid me, and he’s carried her off and married her.”
“Brough! this is a plot, and you are in it,” exclaimed old Richards fiercely, as he saw the serio-comic smile upon his friend’s countenance.
“Well, yes, I had a little to do with it,” Brough said quietly.
“And is dear Miss May really married to Mr Frank?” cried Keziah.
“Silence, woman,” roared old Richards. “Brough, I’ll never forgive you. You’ve planned all this with that beggar, and he’s swindled me out of a thousand pounds, and robbed me of my child! A rascally, lying beggar.”
“Gently, gently, my dear Richards,” said Tom Brough, coolly. “I don’t think that now I have taken him into partnership he is quite the beggar you imagine. What with that and your thousand, and what we —we, friend Richards – will leave them when we die, I don’t think there will be many men hold up their heads much higher in the City than Frank Marr. On the whole, I think your child has done well.”
“Brough, Brough,” exclaimed old Richards excitedly, “what does this all mean? In God’s name tell me, or I shall have a fit.”
“In God’s name,” said Tom Brough, slowly and reverently, “it means that I, blessed as I have been with wealth, could not commit the grievous sin you wished against that sweet child I loved her too well to condemn her to such a fate, and Frank Marr found me more open to appeal than he did his father-in-law. I told him to come again to your office when he had been to me, and at my wish he accepted all your terms, though not without a deal of forcing on my part. He’s a fine, noble-hearted young fellow, Richards, and listening to me I tried to make matters work for the good of us all.”
He looked at old Richards as he spoke, but the old man was scowling at the wall.
“Would you have murdered your child, Richards?” said Tom Brough. “I tell you, man, that had your will been law the poor girl would not have lived a year, while now, with the husband she loves, she is waiting to ask your forgiveness for that for which I am solely to blame.”
“Keziah,” said Mr Brough softly, after a pause, and he whispered a few words in her ear – words whose effect was to send her from the room, but only to return in ten minutes, followed by Frank Marr, leading in his trembling wife.
Story 5-Chapter VIII.
Can’t it be To-Morrow?
There will doubtless be those ready to say that such things do not happen in real life – that rich men do not take poor men into partnership, nor yet give up handsome young wives on their wedding morn; but in spite of all that cynics may declare, there are men with hearts so large still to be found in this business-like world of ours – men who are ready to do any good to benefit another. And there are times when people do perform very eccentric acts, in proof of which must be related what took place in Walbrook that same evening, at a time when there was a merry party in the drawing-room, and old Richards’ face wore an expression that it had not worn for years. There came a ring at the door bell – a sneaking under-handed sort of ring; and on Keziah opening the door – behold Peter Pash!
“May I come in?” he said, modestly.
“Come in? yes, man,” cried Keziah, catching him by the coat, and giving him a snatch so that he was pulled into the passage, and the door banged behind him.
The next moment, to Peter’s utter astonishment – for he was ignorant of the morning’s changes – Keziah’s arms were round his neck.
“Peter dear, can’t it be to-morrow?”
“What! will you have me, then?” cried the little man in ecstasies, and the next moment there was the sound of such a kiss heard in that passage that it rolled along, vibrating from floorcloth to ceiling, and actually echoed; not that one would have recorded the fact, only this was such a tremendously big kiss, and one that echoes is really worthy of mention.
It could not “be to-morrow,” but it happened very soon after, and Tom Brough gave away the bride, while, talk about illuminations, Peter Pash’s house was a sight that drew together twelve small boys and an old woman, who stayed till the last dip went out and smelt unpleasant in the best room window; but it is not every man that can have an illumination at his own expense and of his own manufacture.
The gout proved too much for old Richards before another twelvemonths passed; but every one said that during the last year of his life he was another man.
