CHAPTER XXV

THE PHILOSOPHER MAN OF ACTION

Gower's bedroom window looked over the shrubs of the square, and as his

form of revolt from a city life was to be up and out with the sparrows in

the early flutter of morning, for a stretch of the legs where grass was

green and trees were not enclosed, he rarely saw a figure below when he

stood dressing. Now there appeared a petticoated one stationary against

the rails, with her face lifted. She fronted the house, and while he

speculated abstractedly, recognition rushed on him. He was down and

across the roadway at leaps.

'It's Madge here!'

The girl panted for her voice.

'Mr. Woodseer, I'm glad; I thought I should have to wait hours. She's

safe.'

'Where?'

'Will you come, sir?'

'Step ahead.'

Madge set forth to north of the square.

He judged of the well-favoured girl that she could steer her way through

cities: mouth and brows were a warning to challenger pirate craft of a

vessel carrying guns; and the red lips kept their firm line when they

yielded to the pressure for speech.

'It's a distance. She's quite safe, no harm; she's a prisoner; she's well

fed; she's not ill treated.'

'You 're out?'

'That's as it happens. I'm lucky in seeing you early. He don't mean to

hurt her; he won't be beaten. All she asks is ten minutes with him. If he

would!--he won't. She didn't mean to do him offence t' other night in

that place--you've heard. Kit Ines told me he was on duty there--going.

She couldn't help speaking when she had eyes on her husband. She kisses

the ground of his footsoles, you may say, let him be ever so unkind. She

and I were crossing to the corner of Roper Street a rainy night, on way

to Mile End, away down to one of your father's families, Mother Davis and

her sick daughter and the little ones, and close under the public-house

Goat and Beard we were seized on and hustled into a covered carriage that

was there, and they drove sharp. She 's not one to scream. We weren't

frightened. We both made the same guess. They drove us to the house she

's locked in, and me, too, up till three o'clock this morning.'

'You've seen nobody, Madge?'

'He 's fixed she 's to leave London, Mr. Woodseer. I've seen Kit Ines.

And she 's to have one of the big houses to her use. I guessed Kit Ines

was his broom. He defends it because he has his money to make--and be a

dirty broom for a fortune! But any woman's sure of decent handling with

Kit Ines--not to speak of lady. He and a mate guard the house. An old

woman cooks.'

'He guards the house, and he gave you a pass?'

'Not he. His pride's his obedience to his "paytron"--he calls his master,

and won't hear that name abused. We are on the first floor; all the lower

doors are locked day and night. New Street, not much neighbours; she

wouldn't cry out of the window. She 's to be let free if she'll leave

London.'

'You jumped it!'

'If I'd broke a leg, Mr. Kit Ines would have had to go to his drams. It

wasn't very high; and a flower-bed underneath. My mistress wanted to be

the one. She has to be careful. She taught me how to jump down not to

hurt. She makes you feel you can do anything. I had a bother to get her

to let me and be quiet herself. She's not one to put it upon others,

you'll learn. When I was down I felt like a stick in the ground and sat

till I had my feet, she at the window waiting; and I started for you. She

kissed her hand. I was to come to you, and then your father, you nowhere

seen. I wasn't spoken to. I know empty London.'

'Kit Ines was left sleeping in the house?'

'Snoring, I dare say: He don't drink on duty.'

'He must be kept on duty.'

'Drink or that kind of duty, it's a poor choice.'

'You'll take him in charge, Madge.'

'I've got a mistress to look after.'

'You've warmed to her.'

'That's not new; Mr. Woodseer. I do trust you, and you his friend. But

you are the minister's son, and any man not a great nobleman must have

some heart for her. You'll learn. He kills her so because she's fond of

him--loves him, however he strikes. No, not like a dog, as men say of us.

She'd die for him this night, need were. Live with her, you won't find

many men match her for brave; and she's good. My Sally calls her a Bible

saint. I could tell you stories of her goodness, short the time though

she's been down our way. And better there for her than at that inn he

left her at to pine and watch the Royal Sovereign come swing come smirk

in sailor blue and star to meet the rain--would make anybody disrespect

Royalty or else go mad! He's a great nobleman, he can't buy what she's

ready to give; and if he thinks he breaks her will now, it's because she

thinks she's obeying a higher than him, or no lord alive and Kit Ines to

back him 'd hold her. Women want a priest to speak to men certain times.

I wish I dared; we have to bite our tongues. He's master now, but, as I

believe God's above, if he plays her false, he's the one to be brought to

shame. I talk.'

'Talk on, Madge,' said Gower, to whom the girl's short-syllabled run of

the lips was a mountain rill compared with London park waters.

'You won't let him hurry her off where she'll eat her heart for never

seeing him again? She prays to be near him, if she's not to see him.'

'She speaks in that way?'

'I get it by bits. I'm with her so, it's as good as if I was inside her.

She can't obey when it goes the wrong way of her heart to him.'

'Love and wisdom won't pull together, and they part company for good at

the church door,' said Gower. 'This matrimony's a bad business.'

Madge hummed a moan of assent. 'And my poor Sally 'll have to marry. I

can't leave my mistress while she wants me, and Sally can't be alone. It

seems we take a step and harm's done, though it's the right step we

take.'

'It seems to me you've engaged yourself to follow Sally's lead, Madge.'

'Girls' minds turn corners, Mr. Woodseer.'

He passed the remark. What it was that girls' minds occasionally or

habitually did, or whether they had minds to turn, or whether they took

their whims for minds, were untroubled questions with a young man

studying abstract and adoring surface nature too exclusively to be aware

of the manifestation of her spirit in the flesh, as it is not revealed so

much by men. However, she had a voice and a face that led him to be

thoughtful over her devotedness to her mistress, after nearly losing her

character for the prize-fighter, and he had to thank her for invigorating

him. His disposition was to muse and fall slack, helpless to a friend.

Here walked a creature exactly the contrary. He listened to the steps of

the dissimilar pair on the detonating pavement, and eyed a church clock

shining to the sun.

She was sure of the direction: 'Out Camden way, where the murder was.'

They walked at a brisk pace, conversing or not.

'Tired? You must be,' he said.

'Not when I'm hot to do a thing.'

'There's the word of the thoroughbred!'

'You don't tire, sir,' said she. 'Sally and I see you stalking out for

the open country in the still of the morning. She thinks you look pale

for want of food, and ought to have some one put a biscuit into your

pocket overnight.'

'Who'd have guessed I was under motherly observation!'

'You shouldn't go so long empty, if you listen to trainers.'

'Capital doctors, no doubt. But I get a fine appetite.'

'You may grind the edge too sharp.'

He was about to be astonished, and reflected that she had grounds for her

sagacity. His next thought plunged him into contempt for Kit Ines, on

account of the fellow's lapses to sottishness. But there would be no

contempt of Kit Ines in a tussle with him. Nor could one funk the tussle

and play cur, if Kit's engaged young woman were looking on. We get to our

courage or the show of it by queer screws.

Contemplative over these matters, the philosopher transformed to man of

action heard Madge say she read directions in London by churches, and

presently exclaiming disdainfully, and yet relieved, 'Spooner Villas,'

she turned down a row of small detached houses facing a brickfield, that

had just contributed to the erection of them, and threatened the big city

with further defacements.

Madge pointed to the marks of her jump, deep in flower-bed earth under an

open window.

Gower measured the height with sensational shanks.

She smote at the door. Carinthia nodded from her window. Close upon that,

Kit Ines came bounding to the parlour window; he spied and stared. Gower

was known to him as the earl's paymaster; so he went to the passage and

flung the door open, blocking the way.

'Any commands, your honour?'

'You bring the countess to my lord immediately,' said Gower.

Kit swallowed his mouthful of surprise in a second look at Madge and the

ploughed garden-bed beneath the chamber window.

'Are the orders written, sir?'

'To me?--for me to deliver to you?--for you to do my lord's bidding?

Where's your head?'

Kit's finger-nails travelled up to it. Madge pushed past him. She and her

mistress, and Kit's mate, and the old woman receiving the word for a cup

of tea, were soon in the passage. Kit's mate had a ready obedience for

his pay, nothing else,--no counsel at all, not a suggestion to a head

knocked to a pudding by Madge's jump and my lord's paymaster here upon

the scene.

'My lady was to go down Wales way, sir.'

'That may be ordered after.'

'I 'm to take my lady to my lord?' and, 'Does it mean my lady wants a

fly?' Kit asked, and harked back on whether Madge had seen my lord.

'At five in the morning?--don't sham donkey with me,' said Gower.

The business looked inclined to be leaky, but which the way for proving

himself other than a donkey puzzled Kit: so much so, that a shove made

him partly grateful. Madge's clever countermove had stunned his

judgement. He was besides acting subordinate to his patron's paymaster;

and by the luck of it, no voice of woman interposed. The countess and her

maid stood by like a disinterested couple. Why be suspicious, if he was

to keep the countess, in sight? She was a nice lady, and he preferred her

good opinion. She was brave, and he did her homage. It might be, my lord

had got himself round to the idea of thanking her for saving his nob that

night, and his way was to send and have her up, to tell her he forgave

her, after the style of lords. Gower pricked into him by saying aside:

'Mad, I suppose, in case of a noise?' And he could not answer quite

manfully, lost his eyes and coloured. Neighbours might have required an

explanation of shrieks, he confessed. Men have sometimes to do nasty work

for their patrons.

They were afoot, walking at Carinthia's pace before half-past seven. She

would not hear of any conveyance. She was cheerful, and, as it was

pitiful to see, enjoyed her walk. Hearing of her brother's departure for

the Austrian capital, she sparkled. Her snatches of speech were short

flights out of the meditation possessing her. Gower noticed her easier

English, that came home to the perpetual student he was. She made use of

some of his father's words, and had assimilated them mentally besides

appropriating them: the verbalizing of 'purpose,' then peculiar to his

father, for example. She said, in reply to a hint from him: 'If my lord

will allow me an interview, I purpose to be obedient.' No one could

imagine of her that she spoke broken-spiritedly. Her obedience was to a

higher than a mortal lord: and Gower was touched to the quick through the

use of the word.

Contrasting her with Countess Livia and her cousin, the earl might think

her inferior on the one small, square compartment called by them the

world; but she carried the promise of growth, a character in expansion,

and she had at least natural grace, a deerlike step. Although her

picturesqueness did not swarm on him with images illuminating night,

subduing day, like the Countess Livia's, it was marked, it could tower

and intermittently eclipse; and it was of the uplifting and healing kind

by comparison, not a delicious balefulness.

The bigger houses, larger shops, austere streets of private residences,

were observed by the recent inhabitant of Whitechapel.

'My lord lives in a square,' she said.

'We shall soon be there now,' he encouraged her, doubtful though the

issue appeared.

'It is a summer morning for the Ortler, the Gross-Glockner, the

Venediger,--all our Alps, Mr. Woodseer.'

'If we could fly!'

'We love them.'

'Why, then we beat a wing--yes.'

'For I have them when I want them to sight. It is the feet are so

desirous. I feel them so this morning, after prisonership. I could not

have been driven to my lord.'

'I know the feeling,' said Gower; 'any movement of us not our own

impulse, hurries the body and deadens the mind. And by the way, my dear

lady, I spoke of the earl's commands to this man behind us walking with

your Madge. My father would accuse me of Jesuitry. Ines mentioned

commands, and I took advantage of it.'

'I feared,' said Carinthia. 'I go for my chance.'

Gower had a thought of the smaller creature, greater by position, to whom

she was going for her chance. He alluded to his experience of the earl's

kindness in relation to himself, from a belief in his 'honesty'; dotted

outlines of her husband's complex character, or unmixed and violently

opposing elements.

She remarked: 'I will try and learn.'

The name of the street of beautiful shops woke a happy smile on her

mouth. 'Father talked of it; my mother, too. He has it written down in

his Book of Maxims. When I was a girl, I dreamed of one day walking up

Bond Street.'

They stepped from the pavement and crossed the roadway for a side-street

leading to the square. With the swift variation of her aspect at times,

her tone changed.

'We are near. My lord will not be troubled by me. He has only to meet me.

There has been misunderstanding. I have vexed him; I could not help it. I

will go where he pleases after I have heard him give orders. He thinks me

a frightful woman. I am peaceful.'

Gower muttered her word 'misunderstanding.' They were at the earl's house

door. One tap at it, and the two applicants for admission would probably

be shot as far away from Lord Fleetwood as when they were on the Styrian

heights last autumn. He delivered the tap, amused by the idea. It was

like a summons to a genie of doubtful service.

My lord was out riding in the park.

Only the footman appeared at that early hour, and his countenance was

blank whitewash as he stood rigid against the wall for the lady to pass.

Madge followed into the morning room; Ines remained in the hall, where he

could have the opening speech with his patron, and where he soon had

communication with the butler.

This official entered presently to Gower, presenting a loaded forehead. A

note addressed to Mrs. Kirby-Levellier at the Countess Livia's house hard

by was handed to him for instant despatch. He signified a deferential

wish to speak.

'You can speak in the presence of the Countess of Fleetwood, Mr. Waytes,'

Gower said.

Waytes checked a bend of his shoulders. He had not a word, and he turned

to send the note. He was compelled to think that he saw a well-grown

young woman in the Whitechapel Countess.

Gower's note reached Henrietta on her descent to the breakfast-table. She

was, alone, and thrown into a torture of perplexity: for she wanted

advice as to the advice to be given to Janey, and Livia was an utterly

unprofitable person to consult in the case. She thought of Lady

Arpington, not many doors distant. Drinking one hasty cup of tea, she

sent for her bonnet, and hastened away to the great lady, whom she found

rising from breakfast with the marquis.

Lady Arpington read Gower's note. She unburdened herself: 'Oh! So it 's

no longer a bachelor's household!'

Henrietta heaved the biggest of sighs. 'I fear the poor dear may have

made matters worse.'

To which Lady Arpington said: 'Worse or better, my child!' and shrugged;

for the present situation strained to snapping.

She proposed to go forthwith, and give what support she could to the

Countess of Fleetwood.

They descended the steps of the house to the garden and the Green Park's

gravel walk up to Piccadilly. There they had view of Lord Fleetwood on

horseback leisurely turning out of the main way's tide. They saw him

alight at the mews. As they entered the square, he was met some doors

from the south corner by his good or evil genius, whose influence with

him came next after the marriage in the amazement it caused, and was

perhaps to be explained by it; for the wealthiest of young noblemen

bestowing his name on an unknown girl, would be the one to make an absurd

adventurer his intimate. Lord Fleetwood bent a listening head while Mr.

Gower Woodseer, apparently a good genius for the moment, spoke at his

ear.

How do we understand laughter at such a communication as he must be

hearing from the man? Signs of a sharp laugh indicated either his cruel

levity or that his presumptuous favourite trifled--and the man's talk

could be droll, Lady Arpington knew: it had, she recollected angrily,

diverted her, and softened her to tolerate the intruder into regions from

which her class and her periods excluded the lowly born, except at the

dinner-tables of stale politics and tattered scandal. Nevertheless, Lord

Fleetwood mounted the steps to his house door, still listening. His

'Asmodeus,' on the tongue of the world, might be doing the part of Mentor

really. The house door stood open.

Fleetwood said something to Gower; he swung round, beheld the ladies and

advanced to them, saluting. 'My dear Lady Arpington! quite so, you arrive

opportunely. When the enemy occupies the citadel, it's proper to

surrender. Say, I beg, she can have the house, if she prefers it. I will

fall back on Esslemont. Arrangements for her convenience will be made. I

thank you, by anticipation.'

His bow included Henrietta loosely. Lady Arpington had exclaimed: 'Enemy,

Fleetwood?' and Gower, in his ignorance of the smoothness of aristocratic

manners, expected a remonstrance; but Fleetwood was allowed to go on,

with his air of steely geniality and a decision, that his friend imagined

he could have broken down like an old partition board under the kick of a

sarcasm sharpening an appeal.

'Lord Fleetwood was on the point of going in,' he assured the great lady.

'Lord Fleetwood may regret his change of mind,' said she. 'The Countess

of Fleetwood will have my advice to keep her footing in this house.'

She and Henrietta sat alone with Carinthia for an hour. Coming forth,

Lady Arpington ejaculated to herself: 'Villany somewhere!--You will do

well, Henrietta, to take up your quarters with her a day or two. She can

hold her position a month. Longer is past possibility.'

A shudder of the repulsion from men crept over the younger lady. But she

was a warrior's daughter, and observed: 'My husband, her brother, will be

back before the month ends.'

'No need for hostilities to lighten our darkness,' Lady Arpington

rejoined. 'You know her? trust her?'

'One cannot doubt her face. She is my husband's sister. Yes, I do trust

her. I nail my flag to her cause.'

The flag was crimson, as it appeared on her cheeks; and that intimated a

further tale, though not of so dramatic an import as the cognizant short

survey of Carinthia had been.

These young women, with the new complications obtruded by them, irritated

a benevolent great governing lady, who had married off her daughters and

embraced her grandchildren, comfortably finishing that chapter; and

beheld now the apparition of the sex's ancient tripping foe, when

circumstances in themselves were quite enough to contend against on their

behalf. It seemed to say, that nature's most burdened weaker must always

be beaten. Despite Henrietta's advocacy and Carinthia's clear face, it

raised a spectral form of a suspicion, the more effective by reason of

the much required justification it fetched from the shades to plead

apologies for Lord Fleetwood's erratic, if not mad, and in any case ugly,

conduct. What otherwise could be his excuse? Such was his need of one,

that the wife he crushed had to be proposed for sacrifice, in the mind of

a lady tending strongly to side with her and condemn her husband.

Lady Arpington had counselled Carinthia to stay where she was, the Fates

having brought her there. Henrietta was too generous to hesitate in her

choice between her husband's sister and the earl. She removed from

Livia's house to Lord Fleetwood's. My lord was at Esslemont two days;

then established his quarters at Scrope's hotel, five minutes' walk from

the wedded lady to whom the right to bear his title was granted, an

interview with him refused. Such a squaring for the battle of spouses had

never--or not in mighty London--been seen since that old fight began.