Collected works of j s f.., p.8
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 8
“You ought not to have come out,” she said. “It was very foolish.”
“I need not have come,” he said, “if you had told me what made you cry last night. That would have saved me, you see.”
“I am very sorry,” she answered. “But I did not want to let you know. I thought it would do you harm, and I—”
“And you thought I couldn’t help you, eh?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well, you see I was of some use,” he said smiling. “Poor man as I am.”
Now Miss Tottie had kept up very well all that morning, but somehow she felt as if she could hold out no longer, and she therefore began to weep.
“Oh, I say!” said Frank. “Don’t cry, Tottie. It’s all right now, you know. The fellows have gone, and there’s nothing to fear now.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “I think it’s because I’m glad. It was dreadful to see them looking at the horses, and writing their names down.”
“Well, they haven’t got them, anyway,” said Frank.
“No,” she said, suddenly drying her tears. “But how can we ever thank you? You have done us nothing but kindnesses ever since we came here.”
Frank tried to get on his feet, but he found that his strength would not permit it. He put out his hand to Tottie.
“Come here,” he said, and drew her to him, and made her kneel at his side.
“I will tell you how you can repay me everything,” he said. “Shall I?”
She murmured something with her lips, but he could not catch the words. Her face, very rosy and happy, in spite of the tear-stains, was very near to his own.
“Marry me, Tottie,” he whispered. “I love you with my whole heart, and I’ll work for you like a brick. Tottie, can you take me, just as I am, poor — for I’ve used almost my last money this morning to pay old Buggs out — and with a broken arm and a damaged head?”
But Miss Tottie had put her arms round his neck and kissed him.
“I would have you,” she said, “if you had broken both arms, and your legs too — because I love you.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE CIRCUS SOLD.
“MY BOY,” SAID Mr. Gammidge, later on in the day, “there’s on’y one man in all the world to which I would give her with a heasy ‘art. We was always proud of her, my boy, as was perhaps natural, bein’ the on’y one we ever ‘ad. There ain’t such a good gel nowhere else! And, as I was sayin’, my boy, there’s on’y one man in all the world as I would give ’er to. My boy, it’s you — take her — and God bless both of you! Me and the old woman here,” concluded the little man, with a jerk of his thumb in the direction of Mrs. Gammidge, who was weeping silently in a corner of the room, “‘as been very ‘appy together for twenty-five years. I on’y ‘ope, my boy, that you’ll be as ‘appy as we’ve been.”
“Amen,” said Frank. “It shan’t be my fault if we aren’t, and it won’t be yours, will it, Tottie?”
Miss Tottie answered her lover with a glance which adequately expressed her intention of doing all she could to make him happy.
“No,” said Mrs. Gammidge, mopping her eyes, “indeed it won’t, Mr. Carisbroke! A better girl, as her father says, never lived.”
“There,” said Tottie, “don’t you think we’ve had enough mutual admiration? I think we’d better devote ourselves to something practical. Pa’, what are you going to do about the circus?”
Mr. Gammidge scratched his head, and assumed a puzzled expression of countenance.
“That’s just what I don’t know, my dear,” he said. “But I guess we’ve taken all the money we shall take in Ashford. We’d better move.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Gammidge, “we had, Thomas. It’s no good going to Chatford, though, for that company that Murfioni went with has been there.”
“I’ll tell you what, pa’ and ma’,” said Tottie. “I wish you’d give the business up. You know you’ve got to pay Mr. Car — Frank. I mean — his two hundred and twenty pounds back. Now sell the stock and the horses off, and be wise.”
“Tottie,” said Frank, “don’t you ever mention that two hundred pounds again. Mr. Gammidge, please not to mind what she says.”
“She’s right, my boy,” said the old man. “She’s always right, is Tottie. I daresay we could raise a decent little sum on the things — perhaps enough to last us our lives, eh, old woman? Our tastes, my boy, is simple.”
“What do you suppose the stock’s worth?” asked Frank.
“Well, my boy, if it had been sold under a forced sale, it might ha’ brought three hundred pounds. Sold at its proper value, it would bring six or seven hundred,” answered Mr. Gammidge.
“Now, I’ll tell you what,” said Frank. “I think we all want a little change. Let me put the things into my solicitor’s hands. He’s a good old fellow, and being in London, he’ll be able to dispose of the circus to the best advantage. Meanwhile, you and Mrs. Gammidge and Tottie shall go to the seaside for a few weeks, and I’ll follow you shortly.”
That ‘ud be very nice, my boy, but there’s the expense,” said Mr. Gammidge.
“Oh, it won’t be much,” said Frank. “And you can spare twenty or thirty pounds out of the six or seven hundred you’ll get. As for the two hundred which Tottie was unkind enough to mention just now, you can leave that till the last day.”
“When you’ll get it with compound interest, my boy,” said Mr. Gammidge. “Well, I daresay the old woman’ll do with a little change, and it won’t do Tottie no ‘arm. We’ll go, my boy, and you’ll join us.”
“Stop,” said Tottie, turning to her lover questioningly. “How is it, Frank, that you, having lost your money, can afford to throw away two hundred pounds in this way? This isn’t working for your living.”
“Um,” said Frank, “well — er you see, my dear, I forgot that the five hunters I had in the Crown stables, were worth something like twelve hundred pounds. I’ve sold them — so I’ve enough money for a while.”
“You told me just now,” said Tottie, “that you’d spent almost your last money.”
“When a man’s had five thousand a year,” answered Frank,” twelve hundred pounds doesn’t seem much. Let us have our holiday, Tottie, and then we’ll settle down. We might start a grand new circus in partnership, eh, Gammidge, afterwards?”
“Of course, my, boy,” said Mr. Gammidge.
So the Gammidges went away in a few days to a quiet little watering-place in the South of England, with a promise from Frank to follow them in a week or two. He had business to attend to, he said, which would take a little time.
Four days after Mr. Gammidge with his wife and daughter arrived at Seaby, the ex-circus proprietor received a letter from Mr. Chatham, of Lincoln’s Inn, in which that gentleman begged to inform Mr. Gammidge that he had succeeded in finding a purchaser for the circus as a going concern, and had the pleasure to inclose a draft for the price obtained — one thousand pounds. Mr. Gammidge was delighted, and vowed that Frank’s solicitor was a keen one and no mistake. He settled down to enjoy himself for two months with a vengeance. He arrayed himself in clothes of light texture to his heart’s content, and exchanged the curly-brimmed hat for a white one. Mrs. Gammidge likewise attired herself in more fashionable raiment, while Tottie, for the first time in her life, bought no less than half-a-dozen new gowns, in all of which she looked equally pretty. She had that instinct in dress, which seems to come naturally to some pretty women, and makes everything they wear add a new charm to their loveliness.
Meanwhile Frank was very busy. He was recovering from his accident in wonderful fashion, judging from his movements. He went up to London for two or three days, taking Stevens with him. There he had sundry interviews with Mr. Chatham, at which he imparted news, which that gentleman received with much amusement. He also had a long interview with the head of the great house of Sideboard, Carpett, and Dado, the famous house-furnishers, and judging from the smiles and bows of the latter, the conversation was of a very pleasing nature. A week later one of Mr. Chatham’s principal clerks went down to Ashford, and took Ashford Park, a large place just outside the town, on a twenty years’ lease. He gave no particulars of the tenant, but as the Park had remained untenanted for five years, the lessors were only too glad to let it. Then came a troop of men from Sideboard, Carpett, and Dado’s, who papered, and painted, and moulded, and carved, and finally brought down huge loads of such furniture as Ashford people had never dreamt of. Outside, Mr. Rose, the gardener, was laying out flower beds and lawns, and contriving waterfalls and prospects with the skill of a Paxton. The good ladies of Ashford would have given anything to get inside those gates, and explore the place for themselves. But there was a stern clerk of works, who employed an equally stern Janus, and these two kept all strangers out. Mr. Gammidge and his wife and daughter had been at Seaby nearly three weeks when Frank appeared. He came down one afternoon unannounced; in fact, they had heard nothing from him since the day they left him at Ashford. He walked into the little sitting-room, to find Mr. Gammidge nodding at the expanse of blue sea, visible from the window, and Mrs. Gammidge giving some whispered instructions to the lodging-house servant about the preparation of the evening meal, for which a white cloth had already been laid. “Lor! if it isn’t Mr. Carisbroke,” cried Mrs. Gammidge. “Well, I never! Thomas, wake up.”
“Eh?” said the sleepy Thomas. “Why, my boy, it ain’t you? Bless me, you look as strong and ‘appy as ever — don’t ’e, ma’?”
“I’m all right,” said Frank, shaking Mr. Gammidge’s hand as though he would wring it off by the wrist, and actually kissing Mrs. Gammidge’s plump cheek, much to that good lady’s pleasant confusion. “Right as — as anything. Where’s Tottie?”
“She’s out, my boy,” answered Mr. Gammidge, “she’s a-reading under the cliffs, down there. I’ll show you where she is.”
“Stop,” said Frank. “I’ll find her. You help Mrs. Gammidge to get the tea ready, and if you’ve something substantial I shan’t be sorry, for I’m jolly hungry.”
Whereupon Mr. Gammidge shot into a state of wonderful activity, and went forth to purchase the best beefsteak in Seaby; while Mrs. Gammidge put on her best cap, and took off the table-cloth and substituted another in its place, and cut bread-and-butter, and warmed the teapot, and bribed the landlady for her best real silver teaspoons, and made all those thousand-and-one preparations which are so dear to the hearts of hospitable females — bless ’em!
Frank went with swinging steps down the little lane to the beach, and turned along under the cliffs. He saw a figure in white a little distance away. Was it Tottie? She did not see him as he hurried towards her, and he was close behind her before she heard his step. Frank wondered what change had come over the girl. Somehow she looked brighter, happier, ten times prettier than she was a month ago. He came quickly up to her side, and had one arm round her waist before she had time to recover from her astonishment.
“Frank!” she cried, “you have come at last!” There was no one near, and she let him draw her close to him and kiss her half-a-dozen times. “My dear,” he said, “you have grown so beautiful that I should hardly have known you! What has made this wonderful transformation?”
She did indeed look so handsome, with her golden brown hair, and smiling eyes, and sweet lips, which Frank could have kissed all day long, that he felt a thrill of pride pass through him as he gazed at her. “I don’t know,” she said. “It must be because I have been happy, thinking of you, Frank. It has all been so different during these three weeks — especially since your lawyer’s letter came, telling us that the circus had sold so well. It’s been so nice to see the old folks look easy and content.”
“That’s like you, Tottie,” said Frank. “Always thinking for others. What a lucky fellow I am to have such a wife!”
“You haven’t got me yet, though,” she answered smiling, “and perhaps you’ll repent some day — when it’s too late.”
“I think not,” he said gravely. “I have seen too much of you, my dear, to fear that.”
“And yet,” said Tottie, “I have been thinking that we were rather hasty — or that you are very fickle. How long had your old engagement been broken off when you asked me to marry you?”
“Never mind that,” he said. “Let me tell you that I never loved — somebody else — as I love you, my dear. But you know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said contentedly. “I never had any doubts about that.”
They walked on, arm in arm, over the sands, both supremely happy. Two old sailors, mending their boats, looked significantly at each other as they passed, and felt as if something had made the afternoon a little brighter; so much effect has happiness when reflected on other people.
“Them’s all right,” said one sailor, turning his quid.
“Rayther,” assented the other. “Eh, dear! Young ‘uns will be young ‘uns, so they will.”
“Tottie,” said Frank, as they came to the lane where Mr. Gammidge lodged, at the house of one Boggs, a master mariner, who was gone on a trip to ‘Chiny and the Hindies,’ “guess what I have in my pocket?”
“I can’t,” she said, looking curious, notwithstanding. “Tell me.”
“Give me your hand,” he said, possessing himself of his sweetheart’s fingers, and slipping something on one of them.
“Frank!” she cried, her face all a flush with pleasure and dismay. “Diamonds! Oh, my dear, you are more than good, but aren’t you very extrav — but there I won’t scold to-day. If we were at home, I would kiss you. Oh my, a real diamond ring!”
“I’ve got a plain gold one in my pocket, too.” he said, “and I’ve got something else — a special license. Tottie, do you think you love me well enough to marry me the day after to-morrow?”
“Day after to-morrow!” she said, the rosy colour dying away and then coming back. “Day after tomorrow? I — it’s so soon — but I think, Frank, that I love you well enough to marry you just now, if you asked it!”
CHAPTER XII.
THE GARDEN PARTY.
IT WAS A very quiet and a very pretty little wedding that took place on the next day but one in the tiny church by the sea shore. There was just Frank, looking brave and handsome, and Tottie, blushing and sweet, and Mr. Gammidge with a blue silk handkerchief to wipe his spectacles, and Mrs. Gammidge with a white one to wipe her eyes, and an interested, unmarried curate, who was not High Church enough to be unsympathetic, and the old sexton and his wife, to whom the bridegroom privately gave a sovereign, and who vowed that the young gentleman and his lady were the handsomest couple they ever did see, and they’d seen a many in their time.
Tottie looked prettier than ever, in her white dress and bonnet. The dress was made of simple stuff, and there was neither veil nor orange-blossoms, but even then the bride lost none of her charms. The curate went home and ate his breakfast — for the wedding took place at eight o’clock in the morning — with a vow that he would get married himself as soon as ever he could find somebody who would have him. He wondered if every married couple felt as happy as the one he had just despatched seemed to be. If they did matrimony, he decided, must be a remarkably pleasant thing.
The young husband and wife walked away from the church hand in hand. An old woman who lived by the churchyard gate saw them leave the porch and blessed them with a wish that they might be happy. The sun shone his best upon them; a lark sprang up from a neighbouring corn field and soared heavenward, staging their marriage anthem. When they reached the little village street, they let Mr and Mrs. Gammidge go on to the house of Mr. Boggs, the mariner, while they themselves strolled towards the sea. They had neither of them spoken till then, for their hearts were too full of happiness. But now, on the still, deserted beach, and with no eye near them, Frank took his bride in his arms and kissed her reverently, lingeringly, as a man kisses the woman whom of all others he has chosen to be the mother of his children, and his own companion till death, “My wife!” he said, still holding her to him. “My wife!”
Mrs. Carisbroke said nothing, but her happy face told Frank that his bride came to him with boundless love and affection, if with nothing else. He stood watching the light come and go in her eyes, and still holding her hand in his own, until a group of fishermen came upon the beach and recalled the lover-like young people to the remembrance of mundane things.
Eh, my reader, I wonder if you know what the delight of a marriage-day is? If you don’t, you know very little of the joy of life. Young man, upon whose unrazored lip the first faint trace of moustache is just appearing, and to whom young love is just dawning, in the shape of Miss Sixteen, the emotion that fills your breast is no doubt very sweet, very nice to dream about and to sigh over, but you will laugh at it ten years hence, and think it wishy-washy stuff compared with the real article. And oh, young maiden, you who have wept abundant tears over the heroes of Lord Byron and perhaps of my Lord Tennyson, and imagined yourself a Marianna waiting for her knight, or a Gulbeyaz longing for some bold lover, half robber, half gentleman, with a fixed scowl and a pointed beard, your dream too is sweet; but you will laugh at it before long. When you, young people, come to love in real earnest, and the one woos and the other consents, and two hearts become one — then, and only then, will you know what love is. Then you will know how that strange emotion can change all nature, how the skies will look brighter, and the flowers more beautiful; then you will begin to understand the mystery of love’s joy and sorrow, then (and take the words of a pater-familias for it, whose table is already ornamented by three olive branches with round eyes and large appetites, and never-ending capacities for wearing out clothes and asking questions), you will begin, please God, to comprehend something of that mystic union wherein hearts grow dearer and still dearer.
But truly my delight was more
In her to whom I’m bound for aye,
Yesterday than the day before,
And more to-day than yesterday.
