A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus

Maude had often driven alone with Frank before, but now she felt suddenly constrained and shy. The marriage-service, with all its half-understood allusions and exhortations, had depressed and frightened her. She hardly dared to glance at her husband. But he soon led her out of her graver humour.

‘Name, please?’ said he.

‘O Frank!’

‘Name, if you please?’

‘Why, you know.’

‘Say it.’

‘Maude.’

‘That all?’

‘Maude Crosse – O Frank!’

‘You blessing! How grand it sounds! O Maude, what a jolly old world it is! Isn’t it pretty to see the rain falling? And aren’t the shining pavements lovely? And isn’t everything splendid, and am I not the luckiest – the most incredibly lucky of men. Dear girlie, give me your hand! I can feel it under the glove. Now, sweetheart, you are not frightened, are you?’

‘Not now.’

‘You were?’

‘Yes, I was a little. O Frank, you won’t tire of me, will you? I should break my heart if you did.’

‘Tire of you! Good heavens! Now you’ll never guess what I was doing while the parson was telling us about what Saint Paul said to the Colossians, and all the rest of it.’

‘I know perfectly well what you were doing. And you shouldn’t have done it.’

‘What was I doing, then?’

‘You were staring at me.’

‘Oh, you saw that, did you?’

‘I felt it.’

‘Well, I was. But I was praying also.’

‘Were you, Frank?’

‘When I saw you kneeling there, so sweet and pure and good, I seemed to realise how you had been given into my keeping for life, and I prayed with all my heart that if I should ever injure you in thought, or word, or deed, I might drop dead now before I had time to do it.’

‘O Frank, what a dreadful prayer!’

‘But I felt it and I wished it, and I could not help it. My own darling, there you are just a living angel, the gentlest, most sensitive, and beautiful living creature that walks the earth, and please God I shall keep you so, and ever higher and higher if such a thing is possible, and if ever I say a word or do a deed that seems to lower you, then remind me of this moment, and send me back to try to live up to our highest ideal again. And I for my part will try to improve myself and to live up to you, and to bridge more and more the gap that is between us, that I may feel myself not altogether unworthy of our love. And so we shall act and re-act upon each other, ever growing better and wiser, and dating what is best and brightest in our minds and souls from the day that we were married. And that’s my idea of a marriage-service, and here endeth the first lesson, and the windows are blurred with rain, and hang the coachman, and it’s hard lines if a man may not kiss his own wife – you blessing!’

A broad-brimmed hat with a curling feather is not a good shape for driving with an ardent young bridegroom in a discreetly rain-blurred carriage. Frank demonstrated the fact, and it took them all the way to the Langham to get those pins driven home again. And then after an abnormal meal, which was either a very late breakfast or a very early lunch, they drove on to Victoria Station, from which they were to start for Brighton. Jack Selby and the two regimental fizzers, who had secured immortality for the young couple, if the deep and constant drinking of healths could have done it, had provided themselves with packages of rice, old slippers, and other time-honoured missiles. On a hint from Maude, however, that she would prefer a quiet departure, Frank coaxed the three back into the luncheon-room with a perfectly guileless face, and then locking the door on the outside, handed the key and a half-sovereign to the head-waiter, with instructions to release the prisoners when the carriage had gone – an incident which in itself would cause the judicious observer to think that, given the opportunity, Mister Frank Crosse had it in him to go pretty far in life. And so, quietly and soberly, they rolled away upon their first journey – the journey which was the opening of that life’s journey, the goal of which no man may see.

KEEPING UP APPEARANCES

It was in the roomy dining-room of the Hotel Metropole at Brighton. Maude and Frank were seated at the favourite small round table near the window, where they always lunched. Their immediate view was a snowy-white tablecloth with a shining centre dish of foppish little cutlets, each with a wisp of ornamental paper, and a surrounding bank of mashed potatoes. Beyond, from the very base of the window, as it seemed, there stretched the huge expanse of the deep blue sea, its soothing mass of colour broken only by a few white leaning sails upon the furthest horizon. Along the sky-line the white clouds lay in carelessly piled cumuli, like snow thrown up from a clearing. It was restful and beautiful, that distant view, but just at the moment it was the near one which interested them most. Though they lose from this moment onwards the sympathy of every sentimental reader, the truth must be told that they were thoroughly enjoying their lunch.

With the wonderful adaptability of women – a hereditary faculty, which depends upon the fact that from the beginning of time the sex has been continually employed in making the best of situations which were not of their own choosing – Maude carried off her new character easily and gracefully. In her trim blue serge dress and sailor hat, with the warm tint of yesterday’s sun upon her cheeks, she was the very picture of happy and healthy womanhood. Frank was also in a blue serge boating-suit, which was appropriate enough, for they spent most of their time upon the water, as a glance at his hands would tell. Their conversation was unhappily upon a very much lower plane than when we overheard them last.

‘I’ve got such an appetite!’

‘So have I, Frank.’

‘Capital. Have another cutlet.’

‘Thank you, dear.’

‘Potatoes?’

‘Please.’

‘I always thought that people on their honeymoon lived on love.’

‘Yes, isn’t it dreadful, Frank? We must be so material.’

‘Good old mother Nature! Cling on to her skirt and you never lose your way. One wants a healthy physical basis for a healthy spiritual emotion. Might I trouble you for the pickles?’

‘Are you happy, Frank?’

‘Absolutely and completely.’

‘Quite, quite sure?’

‘I never was quite so sure of anything.’

‘It makes me so happy to hear you say so.’

‘And you?’

‘O Frank, I am just floating upon golden clouds in a dream. But your poor hands! Oh, how they must pain you!’

‘Not a bit.’

‘It was that heavy oar.’

‘I get no practice at rowing. There is no place to row in at Woking, unless one used the canal. But it was worth a blister or two. By Jove, wasn’t it splendid, coming back in the moonlight with that silver lane flickering on the water in front of us? We were so completely alone. We might have been up in the interstellar spaces, you and I, travelling from Sirius to Arcturus in one of those profound gulfs of the void which Hardy talks about. It was overpowering.’

‘I can never forget it.’

‘We’ll go again to-night.’

‘But the blisters!’

‘Hang the blisters! And we’ll take some bait with us and try to catch something.’

‘What fun!’

‘And we’ll drive to Rottingdean this afternoon, if you feel inclined. Have this last cutlet, dear!’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Well, it seems a pity to waste it. Here goes! By the way, Maude, I must speak very severely to you. I can’t if you look at me like that. But really, joking apart, you must be more careful before the waiters.’

‘Why, dear?’

‘Well, we have carried it off splendidly so far. No one has found us out yet, and no one will if we are reasonably careful. The fat waiter is convinced that we are veterans. But last night at dinner you very nearly gave the thing away.’

‘Did I, Frank?’

‘Don’t look so sweetly penitent, you blessing. The fact is that you make a shocking bad conspirator. Now I have a kind of talent for that, as I have for every other sort of depravity, so it will be pretty safe in my hands. You are as straight as a line by nature, and you can’t be crooked when you try.’

‘But what did I say? Oh, I am so sorry! I tried to be so careful.’

‘Well, about the curry, you know. It was an error of judgment to ask if I took chutnee. And then.. ’

‘Something else?’

‘About the boots. Did I get them in London or Woking.’

‘Oh dear, dear!’

‘And then.. ’

‘Not another! O Frank!’

‘Well, the use of the word “my.” You must give that word up. It should be “our.”’

‘I know, I know. It was when I said that the salt water had taken the curl out of the feather in my – no, in our – well, in the hat.’

‘That was all right. But it is our luggage, you know, and our room, and so on.’

‘Of course it is. How foolish I am! Then the waiter knows! O Frank, what shall we do?’

‘Not he. He knows nothing. I am sure of it. He is a dull sort of person. I had my eye on him all the time. Besides, I threw in a few remarks just to set the thing right.’

‘That was when you spoke about our travels in the Tyrol?’

‘Yes.’

‘O Frank, how could you? And you said how lonely it was when we were the only visitors at the Swiss hotel.’

‘That was an inspiration. That finished him.’

‘And about the closeness of the Atlantic staterooms. I blushed to hear you.’

‘But he listened eagerly to it all. I could see it.’

‘I wonder if he really believed it. I have noticed that the maids and the waiters seem to look at us with a certain interest.’

‘My dear girlie, you will find as you go through life that every man will always look at you with a certain interest.’

Maude smiled, but was unconvinced.

‘Cheese, dear?’

‘A little butter, please.’

‘Some butter, waiter, and the Stilton. You know the real fact is, that we make the mistake of being much too nice to each other in public. Veterans don’t do that. They take the small courtesies for granted – which is all wrong, but it shows that they are veterans. That is where we give ourselves away.’

‘That never occurred to me.’

‘If you want to settle that waiter for ever, and remove the last lingering doubt from his mind, the thing is for you to be rude to me.’

‘Or you to me, Frank.’

‘Sure you won’t mind?’

‘Not a bit.’

‘Oh, hang it, I can’t – not even for so good an object.’

‘Well, then, I can’t either.’

‘But this is absurd. It is only acting.’

‘Quite so. It is only fun.’

‘Then why won’t you do it?’

‘Why won’t you?’

‘He’ll be back before we settle it. Look here! I’ve a shilling under my hand. Heads or tails, and the loser has to be rude. Do you agree?’

‘Very well.’

‘Your call.’

‘Heads.’

‘It’s tails.’

‘Oh goodness!’

‘You’ve got to be rude. Now mind you are. Here he comes.’

The waiter had come up the room bearing the pride of the hotel, the grand green Stilton with the beautiful autumn leaf heart shading away to rich plum-coloured cavities. He placed it on the table with a solemn air.

‘It’s a beautiful Stilton,’ Frank remarked.

Maude tried desperately to be rude.

‘Well, dear, I don’t think it is so very beautiful,’ was the best that she could do.

It was not much, but it had a surprising effect upon the waiter. He turned and hurried away.

‘There now, you’ve shocked him?’ cried Frank.

‘Where has he gone, Frank?’

‘To complain to the management about your language.’

‘No, Frank. Please tell me! Oh, I wish I hadn’t been so rude. Here he is again.’

‘All right. Sit tight,’ said Frank.

A sort of procession was streaming up the hall. There was their fat waiter in front with a large covered cheese-dish. Behind him was another with two smaller ones, and a third with some yellow powder upon a plate was bringing up the rear.

‘This is Gorgonzola, main,’ said the waiter, with a severe manner. ‘And there’s Camembert and Gruyère behind, and powdered Parmesan as well. I’m sorry that the Stilton don’t give satisfaction.’

Maude helped herself to Gorgonzola and looked very guilty and uncomfortable. Frank began to laugh.

‘I meant you to be rude to me, not to the cheese,’ said he, when the procession had withdrawn.

‘I did my best, Frank. I contradicted you.’

‘Oh, it was a shocking display of temper.’

‘And I hurt the poor waiter’s feelings.’

‘Yes, you’ll have to apologise to his Stilton before he will forgive you.’

‘And I don’t believe he is a bit more convinced that we are veterans than he was before.’

‘All right, dear; leave him to me. Those reminiscences of mine must have settled him. If they didn’t, then I feel it is hopeless.’

It was as well for his peace of mind that Frank could not hear the conversation between the fat waiter and their chambermaid, for whom he nourished a plethoric attachment. They had half an hour off in the afternoon, and were comparing notes.

‘Nice-lookin’ couple, ain’t they, John?’ said the maid, with the air of an expert. ‘I don’t know as we’ve ‘ad a better since the spring weddin’s.’

‘I don’t know as I’d go as far as that,’ said the fat waiter critically. ‘’E’d pass all right. ’E’s an upstandin’ young man with a good sperrit in ’im.’

‘What’s wrong with ’er, then?’

‘It’s a matter of opinion,’ said the waiter. ‘I likes ’em a bit more full-flavoured myself. And as to ’er taste, why there, if you ’ad seen ’er turn up ’er nose at the Stilton at lunch.’

‘Turn up ’er nose, did she? Well, she seemed to me a very soft-spoken, obligin’ young lady.’

‘So she may be, but they’re a queer couple, I tell you. It’s as well they are married at last.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they ’ave been goin’ on most owdacious before’and. I ’ave it from their own lips, and it fairly made me blush to listen to it. Awful, it was, awful!’

‘You don’t say that, John!’

‘I tell you, Jane, I couldn’t ’ardly believe my ears. They was married on Tuesday last, as we know well, and to-day’s Times to prove it, and yet if you’ll believe me, they was talkin’ about ’ow they ’ad travelled alone abroad – ’

‘Never, John!’

‘And alone in a Swiss ’otel!’

‘My goodness!’

‘And a steamer too.’

‘Well, there! I’ll never trust any one again.’

‘Oh, a perfec’ pair of scorchers. But I’ll let ’im see as I knows it. I’ll put that Times before ’im to-night at dinner as sure as my name’s John.’

‘And a good lesson to them, too! If you didn’t say you’d ’eard it from their own lips, John, I never could ’ave believed it. It’s things like that as shakes your trust in ’uman nature.’

Maude and Frank were lingering at the table d’hôte over their walnuts and a glass of port wine, when their waiter came softly behind them.

‘Beg pardon, sir, but did you see it in the Times?’

‘See what?’

‘That, sir. I thought that it might be of interest to you and to your good lady to see it.’

He had laid one page of the paper before them, with his forefinger upon an item in the left-hand top corner. Then he discreetly withdrew. Frank stared at it in horror.

‘Maude, your people have gone and put it in.’

‘Our marriage!’

‘Here it is! Listen! “Crosse – Selby. 30th June, at St. Monica’s Church, by the Rev. John Tudwell, M.A., Vicar of St. Monica’s, Frank Crosse, of Maybury Road, Woking, to Maude Selby, eldest daughter of Robert Selby, Esq., of St. Albans.” Great Scot, Maude! what shall we do?’

‘Well, dear, does it matter?’

‘Matter! It’s simply awful!’

‘I don’t mind much if they do know.’

‘But my reminiscences, Maude! The travels in the Tyrol! The Swiss Hotel! The Stateroom! Great goodness, how I have put my foot into it.’

Maude burst out laughing.

‘You old dear!’ she cried, ‘I don’t believe you are a bit better as a conspirator than I am. There’s only one thing you can do. Give the waiter half a crown, tell him the truth, and don’t conspire any more.’

And so ignominiously ended the attempt which so many have made, and at which so many have failed. Take warning, gentle reader, and you also, gentler reader still, when your own turn comes.

THE HOME-COMING

The days of holiday were over, and for each of them the duties of life were waiting. For him it was his work, and for her, her housekeeping. They both welcomed the change, for there was a rush and a want of privacy about the hotel life which had been amusing at first, but was now becoming irksome. It was pleasant, as they rolled out of Waterloo Station that summer night, to know that their cosy little home was awaiting them just five-and-twenty miles down the line. They had a first-class carriage to themselves – it is astonishing how easy it is for two people to fit into one of those armchair partitions, – and they talked all the way down about their plans for the future. Golden visions of youth, how they can glorify even a suburban villa and four hundred a year! They exulted together over the endless vista of happy days which stretched before them.

Mrs. Watson, Frank’s trusty housekeeper, had been left in charge of The Lindens, and he had sent her a telegram the evening before to tell her that they were coming. She had already engaged the two servants, so everything would be ready for them. They pictured her waiting at the door, the neat little rooms with all their useful marriage-presents in their proper places, the lamplight and the snowy cloth laid for supper in the dining-room. It would be ten o’clock before they got there, and that supper would be a welcome sight. It was all delightful to look forward to, and this last journey was the happiest of all their wanderings. Maude wanted to see her kitchen. Frank wanted to see his books. Both were eager for the fight.

But they found a small annoyance waiting for them at Woking. A crowded train had preceded them, and there was not a single cab left at the station. Some would be back soon, but nobody could tell when.

‘You don’t mind walking, Maude?’

‘I should prefer it.’

So a friendly porter took charge of their trunks, and promised to send them up when a conveyance had arrived. In the meantime they started off together down an ill-lit and ill-kept road, which opened into that more important thoroughfare in which their own villa was situated. They walked quickly, full of eager anticipations.

‘It’s just past the third lamp-post on the right,’ said Frank. ‘Now it’s only the second lamp-post. You see it will not be far from the station. Those windows among the trees are where Hale lives – my best man, you know! Now it is only one lamp-post!’ They quickened their pace almost to a run, and so arrived at the gate of The Lindens.

It was a white gate leading into a short path – ‘carriage sweep’ the house-agent called it, – and so to a low but comfortable-looking little house. The night was so dark that one could only see its outline. To their surprise, there was no sign of a light either above the door or at any of the windows.

‘Well, I’m blessed!’ cried Frank.

‘Never mind, dear. They live at the back, no doubt.’

‘But I gave them the hour. This is too bad. I am so sorry.’

‘It will be all the more cosy inside. What a dear little gate this is! The whole place is perfectly charming.’

But in spite of her brave attempts at making the best of it, it could not be denied that this black house was not what they had pictured in their dreams. Frank strode angrily up the path and pulled at the bell. There was no answer, so he knocked violently. Then he knocked with one hand while he rang with the other, but no sound save that of the clanging bell came from the gloomy house. As they stood forlornly in front of their own hall-door, a soft rain began to rustle amidst the bushes. At this climax of their troubles Maude burst into such a quiet, hearty, irresistible fit of laughter, that the angry Frank was forced to laugh also.

‘My word, it will be no laughing matter for Mrs. Watson if she cannot give a good reason for it,’ said he.

‘Perhaps the poor woman is ill.’

‘But there should be two other people, the cook and the housemaid. It is just as well that we did not bring up our trunks, or we should have had to dump them down in the front garden. You wait here, dear, under the shelter of the porch, and I will walk round and see if I can burgle it.’

He tried the back, but it was as dark as the front, and the kitchen-door was locked. Then he prowled unhappily in the rain from window to window. They were all fastened. He came back to the kitchen-door, poked his stick through the glass which formed the upper panel, and then putting his hand through the hole, he turned the key, and so stumbled into the obscurity of his own hall. He passed through it, unlocked the front door, and received Maude into his open arms.

‘Welcome to your home, my own darling girl. May you never have one sad hour under this roof! What a dismal home-coming! What can I do to make amends? But good comes out of evil, you see, for in no other possible way could I have been inside to welcome you when you entered.’

They stayed in the hall in the dark some time, these wet and foolish young people. Then Frank struck a match, and tried to light the hall-lamp. There was no oil in it. He muttered something vigorous, and carried his burning vesta into the dining-room. Two candles were standing on the sideboard. He lit them both, and things began to look a little more cheerful. They took a candle each and began to explore their own deserted house.

The dining-room was excellent – small, but very snug. The Tantalus spirit-stand – stood upon the walnut sideboard, and the bronzes from the cricket-club looked splendid upon each side of the mantelpiece. Beside the clock in the centre lay an open telegram. Frank seized it eagerly.

‘There now!’ he cried. ‘Listen to this. “Expect us on Thursday evening about ten.” It was Tuesday evening, I said. That’s the telegraphic clerk. We’ve come two days before our time.’

It was good to have any sort of explanation, although it left a great deal unexplained. They passed through the hall with its shining linoleum, and into the drawing-room. It was not a very good room, too square for elegance, but they were in no humour for criticism, and it was charming to see all the old knick-knacks, and the photographs of friends in their frames. A big wrought-iron and brass-work standing lamp towered up near the fireplace, but again there was no oil.

‘I think that Mrs. Watson has arranged it all splendidly,’ said Maude, whose active fingers were already beginning to reconstruct. ‘But where can she be?’

‘She must be out, for, of course, she lives in the house. But it is the absence of the servants which amazes me, for I understood that they had arrived. What would you like to do?’

‘Aren’t you hungry, Frank?’

‘Simply starving.’

‘So am I.’

‘Well, then, let us forage and see if we cannot find something to eat.’

So hand in hand, and each with a candle in the other hand, like a pair of young penitents, they continued their explorations with more purpose than before. The kitchen, into which they penetrated, had clearly been much used of late, for there were dirty dishes scattered about, and the fire had been lighted, though it was now out. In one corner was what seemed to be a pile of drab-coloured curtains. In the other, an armchair lay upon its side with legs projecting. A singular disorder, very alien to Mrs. Watson’s habits, pervaded the apartment. A dresser with a cupboard over it claimed the first attention of the hungry pair. With a cheer from Frank and hand-clapping from Maude, they brought out a new loaf of bread, some butter, some cheese, a tin of cocoa, and a bowl full of eggs. Maude tied an apron over her pretty russet dress, seized some sticks and paper, and had a fire crackling in a very few minutes.

‘Put some water in the kettle, Frank.’

‘Here you are! Anything else?’

‘Some in the small saucepan for the eggs.’

‘I believe they are “cookers,”’ said he, sniffing at them suspiciously.

‘Hold them up to the light, sir. There, they are quite bright and nice. In with them! Now, if you will cut some bread and butter it, we shall soon have our supper ready.’

‘It’s too new to cut,’ cried Frank, sawing away upon the kitchen table. ‘Besides, new bread is better in chunks. Here are some cloths and knives and forks in the dresser drawer. I will go and lay the table.’