CHAPTER V
LOVE'S MESSENGER
BOTH Hilary Vance and Mr. James were quite alive to the difficulty of the task of adorning angel children with fitting raiment. For five days Mr. James came every afternoon to tea; and they discussed gravely the forms, colors, and shades of color of the frocks and tunics which should most nobly set out the beauty of Pollyooly and the Lump.
For ever the keener taste of Mr. James curbed Hilary Vance's tendency to the flamboyant: it was his strong desire to robe Pollyooly in stiff cloth of gold. But Mr. James urged firmly that Pollyooly was a human being and not a figure in a piece of tapestry, that no human being who was not an utter fool would dream of robing himself, or herself, in cloth of gold, save, of course, for the purpose of impressing utter fools.
But little by little their discussions clarified their ideas on the matter; and they came to Liberty's on the appointed afternoon with their minds clear about the colors and the tints which would give full value to Pollyooly's frail and delicate beauty.
Thus it came about that once in the shop they were quick finding what they wanted. Pollyooly became the possessor of a frock of a golden silk, a frock of a greenish-blue silk, with silk stockings to match them, two print frocks of grayish blue, and a hat which she could fittingly wear with either of the silk frocks. The Lump had a tunic of golden silk, and one of blue silk, to match the frocks of Pollyooly, two tunics of linen, and a golden cap.
The Honorable John Ruffin was informed by the joyous Pollyooly of the great equipment, and professed himself eager indeed to see her in her finery.
He said sententiously, by way of an afterthought, "Woman survives by her vanity. It is good that yours should not be allowed to become atrophied by lack of its proper sustenance."
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly in polite assent.
While the frocks were being made, on the very day before they were to be finished and sent to her, fell the Lump's third birthday. To Pollyooly it was the most important day in their year, far more important than her own birthday. She felt that the anniversary must be duly celebrated, and that the fact that she was not herself spending money on her clothes put the due celebration of it within her power and means. She braced herself to the heroic height of resolving to spend half-a-crown on it, if need were.
The Lump therefore was rejoiced to find awaiting him on the breakfast table a woolly lamb, purchased at Carnage's for tenpence halfpenny. After breakfast Pollyooly made haste with her work; and it was finished by dinner-time. After dinner she led and carried him up Chancery Lane; and from the top of it they took a 'bus to the Marble Arch. To her country mind trees and green turf were necessary to festivals.
At the Marble Arch they disembarked, gained the park, and walked decorously down Rotten Row; and it would be hard to say whether their faces or their attire were the more out of place in that haunt of fashion. An angel child, in an oft-washed blue print frock, accompanied by an authentic, but red-headed cherub seemed indeed ill-placed in it; and though persons of breeding smiled with pleasure when their eyes rested on the two charming faces, the snobs elevated their frequently-penciled eyebrows at their shabby dress, and some of them inquired of their friends what the police were thinking of. Probably, if the painful truth were known, they were thinking with longing of the cooks in the rich kitchens of Park Lane.
Certainly, no sense of the unfitness of her frock marred Pollyooly's pleasure; and she watched the sparkling scene with the dazzled eyes of a country child. The Lump appeared less dazzled than she by the splendor through which he moved, but quite content.
She strolled and he toddled half-way down to Hyde Park Corner; then, thinking that he had walked far enough, she led him to a tree close to the park; and they sat down, inexpensively, on the grass at its foot.
The Lump abandoned himself to the full enjoyment of his new and woolly treasure; Pollyooly abandoned herself to the full enjoyment of the sparkling scene. Presently her eyes fell on a pretty girl, with eyes of nearly as deep a blue as her own, who was sitting a few yards away. She was charmingly dressed in a confection of light blue, and beside her sat her sour-faced mother, dressed in a much more elaborate confection of the same tint.
Pollyooly gazed at the pretty girl with some pleasure and more envy for a minute or two, thinking that it must be glorious, indeed, to have nothing to do all day but wear such beautiful clothes. Idleness appealed to her very strongly, though no one could have suggested that she did not do the work of the two sets of chambers in the King's Bench Walk in a thoroughly creditable fashion. But she often felt, as children will, that a whole day's holiday would be very pleasant indeed. It also seemed for her for ever impossible.
Then the pretty girl's eyes, drawn by the attraction of Pollyooly's intent gaze, fell on her; and she smiled.
Pollyooly flushed a little; she feared that she had been caught in the act of staring, and, like the well-mannered child she was, it made her uncomfortable. The pretty girl's eyes wandered from Pollyooly to the Lump, and she smiled again. Pollyooly flushed again; this time with pride. The pretty girl's eyes wandered to a point above Pollyooly's head; she looked startled, glanced at her sour-faced mother, looked back, and again smiled.
Then a voice above Pollyooly's head said quietly: "Little girl, do you think you could do something for me?"
Pollyooly, startled in her turn, looked up to find a very fine-looking gentleman, as finely dressed as the Honorable John Ruffin himself, looking down at her, and hidden by the trunk of the tree from the sour-faced dowager.
Pollyooly liked his face. It was an honest face, good-natured, and very like that of the Apollo Belvedere. She did not think, indeed, that it could compare with the face of the Honorable John Ruffin, who, to her eyes, was the very type of manly beauty; and since her ideal was the clean-shaven, she did not approve of the close-cropped mustache. But she found it a nice face, the face of one to be trusted.
"If I can, sir," she said amiably.
"Well, do you think that you could give that young lady in blue, sitting just over there, a note without any one seeing you?" said the gentleman.
"I'll try, sir," said Pollyooly briskly, her face lighting up at the prospect of action.
"I'll give you half-a-crown if you can work it," said the gentleman; and Pollyooly's face grew still brighter at the prospect of this munificent reward.
The gentleman took a slim betting-book from his pocket, wrote in it, apparently with some labor, and tore the leaf out of it.
Then he said, "Here it is. How are you going to work it?"
Pollyooly gazed at him with puckered brow. The life of Alsatia and the struggle to preserve the Lump from the workhouse had indeed sharpened her wits; but no risks must be taken in the matter of earning half-a-crown.
Then her face brightened again and she said: "Do you want those violets very much, sir? If you don't, I would stick the note in the middle of them, and nobody could see it."
"Rippin' idea! That's just where I wanted the violets to go when I bought them on the chance. She likes violets better than any flowers," said the gentleman in a tone of warm enthusiasm.
With that he took them out of his buttonhole and gave them to her. Then he looked cautiously round the tree-trunk. The pretty girl was watching them covertly. He held out the note for her to see, and pointed to Pollyooly. Pollyooly untied the violets with deft fingers, set the note in the middle of them, and tied them up again. The pretty girl watched her with sparkling eyes.
Then Pollyooly looked at the pretty girl thoughtfully, and said, "I may as well do it now, sir."
"Right you are. She's tumbled to what you're up to all right," said the gentleman eagerly. "When you've given them to her walk straight on; and I'll catch you up."
Pollyooly rose, took the Lump by the hand, and sauntered toward the pretty girt. Two yards from her, she said to the Lump: "Give these flowers to the pretty lady, Lump, dear." And she gave him the violets.
The Lump toddled up to the chairs with a very grave and earnest face, and offered the violets to the sour-faced dowager. It was not only that he was of too tender years to be a trustworthy judge of female beauty, but the dowager was by far the more resplendent creature of the two. Even her cheeks flamed with more brilliant, though less natural, roses than did the cheeks of her daughter; and on a fine day her hat would have caught the eye nearly a thousand yards away.
The sour-faced dowager sniffed in a manner we are little used to associate with our aristocracy, and eyed the gift with cold scorn. The pretty girl bent hastily forward and took them.
"Thank you, you dear little boy," she said.
"Grizel! What a thing to do!" cried her mother. "Taking flowers from a red-headed little beggar! They're infectious! I'm sure of it! Throw them away at once!"
"He's quite a clean little boy, and the violets are quite fresh," said the pretty girl very firmly; and she put the shilling she had ready into the Lump's fat little hand.
"A shilling!" cried her mother. "A shilling for a twopenny bunch of violets! If that's the way you waste your allowance, no wonder you're always hard up at the end of the month! Besides, it's encouraging begging—barefaced begging!"
"Oh, I'm sure they aren't beggars! Look how clean they are," said the pretty girl.
"Say 'Thank you,' Lump, dear," said Pollyooly quickly.
The Lump said "Tank 'oo," and she drew him hastily away. She was afraid lest the sour-faced lady should violently recover the shilling.
She walked quickly, and a hundred yards farther on (well out of sight of the sour-faced one) the gentleman caught them up.
"By Jove, the way you worked it was positively a marvel!" he cried in tones of high delight. "I tell you what: where do you live? You might do another job or two like this for me. I want them doing badly."
"I'm Mr. Ruffin's housekeeper; and I live with him at Seventy-five, The King's Bench Walk in the Temple," said Pollyooly with the proper pride in her good address.
He pulled out his betting book and wrote down the address.
"I wonder if your Mr. Ruffin is the Honorable John?" he said thoughtfully. "He does live in the Temple."
"All his tradesmen call him the Honorable John Ruffin till they lose their tempers; and there's only a cat between him and a peerage—he says there is," said Pollyooly.
"A cat? A cat between him and a peerage?" said the gentleman mystified.
"Because a cat has nine lives—he says it has," said Pollyooly.
"That's the Honorable John, all right," said the gentleman in a tone of certainty. "By Jove! It's rippin' your being his housekeeper. I shall be able to get you whenever I want you. Tell him I'm going to borrow you—often."
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly. "Who shall I tell him?"
"I'm Basil—Croome Captain Croome; and my present address is Knightsbridge Barracks. That's where I shall want you to come when I've got a job for you. Do you think you'll be able to find it?"
"Oh, yes; I can always find my way anywhere—policemen tell me," said Pollyooly.
"No: I'll come and fetch you, if I can get away. No good taking chances," said Captain Croome.
He pulled a handful of money out of his pocket, took half-a-crown from it, and gave it to her. He thanked her warmly for delivering the note, shook hands with her, turned on his heel and walked quickly up the Row, doubtless to feast his eyes once more on his lady-love.
Pollyooly continued her course down the Row in a very contented frame of mind: to go out braced to the extravagance of spending, if need were, half-a-crown, and to earn three and sixpence was indeed splendid. They wandered for an hour along the banks of the Serpentine; they sat on its bank for another hour. Then the Lump said firmly that he was hungry.
She carried him out of the park; and they went by 'bus to Piccadilly. Then came the action of the day that needed true courage. She was resolved that the Lump should have a splendid birthday tea; and she was doubtful of the reception their clothes would procure them in a tea-shop. None the less she entered "The Retreat" with a very firm air.
The waitresses looked somewhat askance at her, but doubtless that firm air cowed them. On the other hand it may have been that the waitresses had not the heart to refuse sustenance to angel children. At any rate they sat down at a table in a corner and made their tea off a dream of chocolate éclairs and cocoa. After it, in a great peace, they took their way slowly to Trafalgar Square to see the fountains playing. There they stayed till the Lump grew sleepy, then took a 'bus to the Temple and bed.
The next morning after bringing in the Honorable John Ruffin's bacon Pollyooly did not at once proceed to the gathering up of his strewn garments. She looked at him with eager eyes and said:
"Please, sir, I met a gentleman who knows you in the park yesterday; and he told me to tell you he was going to borrow me. He gave me a whole half-crown for giving a lady a letter in a bunch of violets—at least, the Lump did. And she gave him a shilling. His name is Captain Croome, and he lives in Knightsbridge Barracks. He wants me to do it again."
The Honorable John Ruffin set down his knife and fork with a faint gasp, and gazed at her with bewildered eyes.
"My dear Mrs. Bride," he said faintly, "I am aware that the art of boiling down romances for popular consumption is highly esteemed and lucrative. But I'm not popular; and I do not suffer from consumption. Do you think you could narrate this romance in its unabridged form? Could you tell me all about it?"
Pollyooly assumed the grave air of the narrator and told him of the Lump's birthday treat, of the request of the strange gentleman, and of the Lump's delivery of the note in the bunch of violets. She dwelt at length on the pretty way in which the Lump had handed the violets to the wrong lady. Then she explained that Captain Croome wished to borrow her to perform other jobs for him of a like nature and probably to be paid for with a like munificence.
The Honorable John Ruffin listened to her with smiling attention, and at the end he said:
"Yet another unsuspected talent. You are full of surprises, Mrs. Bride; full of them. But, after all, it is only natural that a person of your genius for grilling bacon, should have all the accomplishments. You are versatile, indeed."
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly politely, but with a very dim understanding of his meaning, though she gathered that he was complimenting her.
"But if the lady's mother addressed her as 'Grizel,' she must be Lady Grizel Harland; and Croome will borrow you in vain," he went on thoughtfully. "The Tullislaiths have more ambitious views for their daughter, and Croome's beggarly five thousand a year will not soften their hearts."
"Yes, sir," said the uncomprehending Pollyooly politely.
"But if you like to try to smooth the path of a hopeless true love, there is nothing against it. So if Captain Croome calls on you to help him, you can do it with a clear conscience, since his lady-love's mamma will see to it that nothing whatever comes of it, and your conscience will never be able to reproach you for having aided two fellow-creatures to marry in haste and repent at leisure."
"No, sir. Thank you, sir," said Pollyooly with a beaming smile, for she gathered that she had his leave to earn more half-crowns as the messenger of love.
That afternoon the, frocks and tunics came from Liberty's; and Pollyooly spent an hour of rapture putting them on and enjoying the fine appearance she and the Lump presented. The next morning she put on the golden frock for the Honorable John Ruffin to admire; and he protested that she surpassed all his dreams of the angels.
All that day and the next she looked with eager impatience for Captain Croome to come to borrow her. She took the Lump for his airings only in the King's Bench Walk lest he should come and find her out. But it was not till ten o'clock on the third day that he appeared.
Pollyooly, her hope of half-crowns burning brightly, ushered him into the sitting-room, where he found the Honorable John Ruffin in his wig and gown, on the point of starting for the Law Courts; and the sight of that comforting attire assured him that he had come to the very man to advise him.
"How are you, Ruffin?" he said warmly. "Seein' that little housekeeper of yours the other day in the park put it into my head that you might be able to give me a tip about a difficult job I'm tryin' to pull off."
"Advice is the one thing I have in unlimited quantities: so I never stint my friends of it," said the Honorable John Ruffin amiably.
"Right," said Captain Croome hopefully. "It's about a lady."
"Stop!" said the Honorable John Ruffin sharply. "In that case the proper course would be to consult me through a solicitor. But I'd rather you didn't. As much as I can I avoid divorce court practice; the divorce court is always so full of our friends. But I will just say one thing: don't let the affair come into court at all—not on any account."
"No, no! You've got it wrong—quite wrong," protested Captain Croome hastily. "It isn't a divorce court business at all. In fact, it's just the other way about. I want to get married. I want to marry Lady Grizel Harland, and the Tullislaiths won't hear of it."
"Yes; I gathered from Mrs. Bride's lucid account of her adventure that it was Lady Grizel Harland," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"Who's Mrs. Bride?" said Captain Croome quickly.
"She's my housekeeper—the little girl who devised the violet process. She is called Mrs. Bride because she is my housekeeper. Housekeepers are always 'Mrs.' But what you've got to do is to wear them down," said the Honorable John Ruffin with decision.
"I've been wearing them down for months, don't you know; but it doesn't seem to come off," said Captain Croome ruefully. "And if it doesn't come off soon, it won't come off at all. The old cat has caught the Otter for Grizel, and the marriage is nearly fixed up."
Sir Otto Leiter, an English baronet (by right of purchase) of the old Hamburg strain, was known to his acquaintances as the Otter on account of his remarkable sleekness.
"Yes; I was told that it was arranged," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"Well, I'm going to stop it!" cried Captain Croome with some heat.
"I don't think you will. Lady Tullislaith is a tough old cat—you don't mind my calling the mother-in-law of your dreams a tough old cat?" said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"Not I—she always calls you the most dangerous detrimental in London," answered Captain Croome.
"I have pointed out to several poor young things the horrors of a loveless marriage," said the Honorable John Ruffin in a tone of satisfaction. "Well, Lady Tullislaith is a tough old cat, and the marquis is a hopeless stick. Your only chance is to persuade Lady Grizel to chuck the Otter and make a bolt of it."
"But that's just it. I can't get a chance of persuading her to do anything, because I can't get near her," said Captain Croome dolefully. "As soon as the Otter appeared on the scene Lady Ttillislaith told me she didn't want me at her house. And now that she's nailed him, she doesn't let Grizel out of her sight. She never lets her go to a dance where we could talk—only to dinners where she won't meet me, and to theaters with the Otter. Grizel never stirs out of the house without her mother or a perfect beast of a maid to keep me off. How can I persuade her?" said Captain Croome yet more dolefully.
"There is the penny post, which was invented by Sir Rowland Hill to meet emergencies of this very kind. Wherever were you at school not to learn that? Use it, man—use it," said the Honorable John Ruffin in spirited tones.
"But I can't use it!" cried Captain Croome in a tone of bitter exasperation. "The old cat opens all Grizel's letters and sends mine back to me with nasty remarks about my persecuting a young girl with unwelcome attentions. And they aren't unwelcome—I know they aren't."
"Well, if you're sure of that, you've only got to be patient. Lady Grizel has much too much character to marry the Otter, if she really cares for you."
"Oh, come, Ruffin, you know that it isn't safe. You know that girls are always being worried and badgered and bullied into marrying these rich bounders they hate. That's one of the things that keeps the divorce court so full," said Captain Croome unhappily.
"Yes; there is that danger," said the Honorable John Ruffin thoughtfully. "And, after all, things do look bad; they're not quite twentieth century; there's a mediæval breadth about Lady Tullislaith's methods; and I don't think there's much she'd stick at. I do loathe the old cat."
"So do I," said Captain Croome heartily. "What am I to do?"
"Well, when you meet the Middle Ages the only thing to do is to be mediæval. But you can't carry off a girl by force nowadays—at least it's difficult, if she's been well brought up and active with golf and tennis. She can appeal to the police, too. There were no police, to speak of, to appeal to in the day of romance," said the Honorable John Ruffin in a tone of regret.
"I wish I could carry her off," said Captain Croome.
"Still, you might surreptitiously persuade her to run away with you. Get a special license, and any parson can marry you anywhere. There's a very good church over the way. Why not use it? No one would look for you there—if the Tullislaiths pursue. The thing is to persuade and be ready," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"Good man! I'll do it," cried Captain Croome. Then his face fell; and he added: "But I say, isn't there something about being of age when you get married? Grizel is only nineteen and a half."
"Then on the old Jesuit principle that the end justified the means, you will have to raise her age in getting that license to twenty-one and a half. Of course, this renders you liable to prosecution for false entry. But no true lover would let prison stand between him and wedlock," said the Honorable John Ruffin enthusiastically.
"If it was for Grizel, I'd stick it out," said Captain Croome simply. "But all the same, I shan't persuade her to bolt with me in one letter or in two. She's been so strictly brought up. It'll need a lot of writing to do it; and writing ain't my strong point. But it's got to be done. Will you lend me your little housekeeper to work the letter racket?"
"Only after bacon hours," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"Bacon hours?" said Captain Croome with a puzzled air.
"In spite of her red hair, or, perhaps, because of it, Mrs. Bride is the one person in London who can grill bacon as bacon should be grilled. She must not leave here till after breakfast," said the Honorable John Ruffin with unabated firmness.
"That's all right," said Captain Croome with some relief. "There's nothing doing before breakfast. Grizel walks in Kensington Gardens from eleven to twelve every morning. That's the time to work it."
"But how is Mrs. Bride going to deliver your letters?"
"It isn't going to be an easy job," said Captain Croome. "I was thinking that she might hit on a way. She hit on those violets."
"You stick to violets," said the Honorable John Ruffin, with quick decision. "Lady Grizel knows that Pollyooly, violets, and notes go together. When she sees Pollyooly and violets, she'll know that a note is there."
"By Jove! That's the tip!" cried Captain Croome.
"You can begin by fitting Pollyooly out as a flower-girl, and letting her meet Lady Grizel on her way to Kensington Gardens," said the Honorable John Ruffin slowly. "That ought to get three letters through—at least. When it is found out, we'll try something else."
"Right, by Jove, I do wish I'd come to you earlier! You do have rippin' ideas!" said Captain Croome, with a grateful appreciation of the Honorable John Ruffin's strategic ability.
The Honorable John Ruffin summoned Pollyooly, and unfolded this plan. She listened to it carefully, and slowly a radiant smile illumined her angel face; his words opened a vista of half-crowns.
At the end of it she said, "I shall have to take the Lump, sir."
"By all means," said the Honorable John Ruffin. "He will lend a further air of verisimilitude to an absolutely authentic flower-seller. And both of you had better go just as you are—in your old clothes and without hats. You won't catch cold on a sunny morning like this."
Pollyooly looked just a trifle distressed.
"Yes, yes! I know that you feel it beneath your dignity as my housekeeper to go about hatless. But it is beneath your dignity as my housekeeper to sell flowers in the street at all. Let us go the whole hog even though we can not turn him into bacon," said the Honorable John Ruffin quickly.
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly with an air of resignation.
Captain Croome sat down at the writing-table, and wrote his note to Grizel—laboriously. At intervals his groans of parturition were uncommonly like grunts. Then Pollyooly fetched the Lump and they went down-stairs in a body. They got into Captain Croome's motor-car; and the Honorable John Ruffin wished them good-by and good luck. Captain Croome drove to Covent Garden, and there he bought violets in the bunch, and in a neighboring street a flower-seller's basket. Then he drove to Prince's Gate, wherein stood the Tullislaiths' town house. On the way Pollyooly hid the note in a bunch of violets; and as he passed them he pointed out Knightsbridge Barracks to her. They were less than ten minutes' walk from the scene of operation.
Captain Croome drove fifty yards beyond Prince's Gate, stopped the car, and bade Pollyooly come to the barracks with the tidings of her success or failure. Then he drove off, leaving her adjusting the strap of the basket round her neck.
Pollyooly presented the very picture of the ideal flower-seller. A Royal Academician, not observing that she was far too clean for the real, would have burned to paint her on the spot: her angel face and limpid blue eyes were in such admirable accord with the innocent violets she bore.
That sedate but red-headed cherub, the Lump, added just the pretty final touch that completed the picture of the ideal.
Pollyooly's heart beat high, and by no means only with the mercenary anticipation of half-a-crown. She was full of the joyful sense of adventure; and angel smile after angel smile wreathed her beautiful lips. Now and again, however, a faint frown knitted her brow as she considered the importance of her mission and the grave responsibility which rested on her.
The Lump was no less content. With the air of an immature shepherd he drew his woolly lamb by a string along the smooth pavement.
They walked slowly down to the entrance of the park, and, just as they came to it, a kind but sallow lady of some fifty-five winters stopped them, and bought a bunch of violets. Then she began to make inquiries about their home and parents.
Pollyooly was taken aback. It was an event for which she had not bargained. She answered the questions about her parents easily enough, for they had been dead several years. But over the question of domicile she hesitated. The Honorable John Ruffin's statement that it was beneath the dignity of his housekeeper to sell flowers in the street had stuck in her mind; and of that position she was growing prouder and prouder the longer she held it.
For a full minute she was at a loss for words, then she stammered: "Please, we live with Mr. Ruffin, and he wouldn't like us to say where."
"I expect not," said the kind lady, shaking her head with a dark look. "And Ruffin is a very appropriate name for him, living on the begging of young children."
Pollyooly could not believe her ears. When she did, the red hair came out. With a scarlet face and blazing eyes, she cried furiously: "It isn't true! He doesn't do any such thing! He wouldn't! He's just the kindest gentleman that ever was! Give me back those violets!"
The kind, but sallow lady turned yellower, and shrank back.
Pollyooly sprang upon her, tore the violets from her nerveless fingers, thrust the penny into them, and said: "There you are! Take it! And just don't you interfere with me again! You mind your own business!"
The kind, but sallow, lady turned, and frankly scuttled off. She was so greatly upset by the fury of Pollyooly's onslaught that she scuttled fully a hundred yards before she remembered that she had a weak heart. Then she took a cab, and went home to have some fits of palpitation and resolve never again to seek the good of ideal flower-sellers.
Pollyooly looked after her scuttling form with a dark and lowering frown; then her face began to clear; for her anger was used to go as quickly as it came. But before it was quite clear, two young men and two maidens descended on her, and began to buy her violets. They were some time about it, for they had to laugh and joke a great deal. The young men gave her two shillings, and passed on.
Pollyooly looked at the two shillings and then, bidding the Lump stand quite still, ran after them.
"Please, sir; you've given me two shillings; and it's only one!" she cried, holding out one of the shillings.
"Oh, that's all right," said one of the young men, smiling back at her.
Pollyooly returned to the Lump, wondering at the extravagance of the leisured classes.
Then she saw Lady Grizel Harland crossing the road accompanied by a gaunt maid of dragon-like aspect. Grizel walked with a very listless step, wearing a somber air; she looked to be plunged in gloomy reflection. At first her eyes rested on Pollyooly and the Lump with no light of recognition in them. Then they brightened; then they saw the violets, and brightened yet more; and then that angel child, Pollyooly—I blush to tell it—closed her left eye in a deliberate and premeditated wink. As she winked, she held out a bunch of violets.
Grizel flushed, and her eyes sparkled like stars.
"Oh, what pretty children!" she cried in the most ingenuous tone, conveying to her watchful dragon the strong impression that she had never set her beautiful eyes on them before—so true is it that even in the most innocent woman there is a vast store of protective deceit, only waiting for the pressure of necessity to be drawn upon for her advantage.
Even as she spoke, her fingers closed on the bunch of violets in Pollyooly's outstretched hand.
She fastened them firmly in her waistband. Then she took a shilling from her purse and gave it to Pollyooly, while her maid snorted in the genuine dragon fashion; and, if flame did not burst from her nostrils, it was not for want of will.
"What's your name, little girl?" said Grizel.
"My name's Mary Bride, but everybody calls me Pollyooly," said that angel child.
"Then you have two pretty names," said Grizel. "And I suppose this dear little boy with you is your brother?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Pollyooly.
Grizel picked him up and kissed him. She had to kiss some one, with those violets in her belt.
"I do wonder at you, Lady Grizel!" cried her scandalized maid in a tone of disgust. "Picking up a beggar's brat in the streets and kissing him!"
"He won't bite, Symons," said Grizel coldly. "And he's as clean as a new pin."
She set down the Lump, kissed Pollyooly, glancing defiantly at her maid as she did it, bade them good-by, and walked on. Her hand kept straying to the violets in her belt to assure her that they were still there. As she went into the park she turned and blew a kiss of gratitude to Pollyooly.
Pollyooly walked quickly on toward the barracks, so full of pleasure at the successful accomplishment of her task that she had quite forgotten the kind, but sallow, lady. Half-way to the barracks a very savage-looking old gentleman stopped short in front of them, bringing them up dead, and, scowling fiercely at Pollyooly, dragged a handful of money from his pocket and gave her sixpence.
Timidly and hastily Pollyooly took three bunches of violets from her basket and held them out to him.
He gazed at them as if he could have torn them to pieces with his teeth. "Violets!" he cried, with ill-contained ferocity. "I don't want any violets! Keep them! Beastly things!" And he went furiously on.
"T-t-thank you, sir," said Pollyooly faintly after him, and she dropped a curtsey to the empty air.
The old gentleman went on with unabated savagery. He was plainly one of those to whom vegetable beauty does not appeal.
Before she reached the barracks, Pollyooly sold four more bunches of violets. As she went up the steps of that palatial structure, she was puzzling over the difficult question of how much of the four-and-two pence she had earned belonged rightfully to Captain Croome. She could not but regard the savage old gentleman's sixpence as her own, but she was very doubtful about Grizel's shilling.
The sentry at the top of the steps was for stopping her; but another soldier, Captain Croome's servant, was awaiting her coming, told him that she was to be admitted, and conducted her and the Lump to Captain Croome's quarters.
He was awaiting her impatiently, and, when he learned that she had been successful in her mission, he overwhelmed her with thanks and praise. Then he told her that he would probably want her again on the morrow, and gave her five shillings.
Pollyooly took them with shining eyes; she had only expected half-a-crown. Then she laid down three-and-eight-pence on the table. .
"What's this?" said Captain Croome, somewhat startled.
"That's what I sold some of the violets for," said Pollyooly.
"Keep it, keep it," said Captain Croome, laughing. "You've earned it fifty times over. And take the basket along with you, ready for use again to-morrow."
Pollyooly stammered out her thanks and came out of the barracks somewhat stunned. She had made nine shillings and two-pence by less than half-an-hour's easy work. Such an exploit ran counter to all experience; she was too young to grasp the fact that there were two quite distinct worlds, and that a fortunate accident had thrown her into the world in which money was.
When she came put of the barracks, she was tempted to walk down to Piccadilly and sell more violets as she went but it did not seem to her right. She felt that it was one thing for the housekeeper of the Honorable John Ruffin to sell flowers in the street as a cloak to her real work as Love's Messenger, but another thing for her to sell violets for the mere sake of money.
But as she rode home on the motor-'bus, she consoled herself by the thought that she had discovered a lucrative profession to which she could profitably devote herself, when the evil day came, against the coming of which the Honorable John Ruffin often warned her, and his creditors, at last victorious, hailed him to the dungeons of Holloway.
As they passed the park she looked into it longingly. She would have liked to take the Lump to the banks of the Serpentine for an hour. But she had come away from the Temple before her work was done; and there were beds to make and bedrooms to dust. She set about them as soon as she reached the Temple; and when they were done, she put the violets in water and disposed them about the two sitting-rooms. Then she gave the Lump his dinner; and after it she went forth to the post-office with her savings bank-book and paid nine shillings into her account.
As she went out of the post-office, the girl who had entered the deposit in her book, said to the older girl beside her, "Where that child gets the money she does beats me. She's paid in more than twenty-five pounds in two months."
"I expect her face has a lot to do with it," said the older girl with an air of wide experience. "You know what men are. It's all the face with them."
"They are silly," said the younger girl contemptuously.
"Yes. But I wish I'd got that brat's face," said the older girl slowly.
The next morning the Honorable John Ruffin found his room scented and adorned with violets; and when Pollyooly brought in his bacon, he thanked her for them and asked how she had fared in her mission. She told him how easily she had delivered the note to Grizel.
"So far so good; but—I should like to have written that note myself," said the Honorable John Ruffin thoughtfully, with the air of one who had a deep-rooted distrust of the epistolary powers of the household brigade.
It proved well-founded, for he had finished his breakfast but a few minutes when Captain Croome came in a very somber mood.
He sank heavily into an easy-chair and said gloomily: "It's no go; she won't hear of it."
"Isn't it rather early to be depressed?" said the Honorable John Ruffin calmly. "What, after all, is a woman's 'No'? Is it not a polite form of 'Yes'?"
"That sounds as if you'd begun to rot; and if you have, there's no doing anything," said Captain Croome sadly.
"Well, you didn't expect her to see it the first time, did you?" said his adviser coldly. "And what's more, you wouldn't have liked it if she had. What you've got to do is to peg away."
"She seems awfully determined about it. Her letter's very firm," said Captain Croome; but his face brightened a little.
"Of course it is. The idea startled her at first. It would startle any nice girl. But probably by now she's beginning to think how nice it would be if she could. If you write the right kind of letters, you'll make it seem nicer than ever, and at last she'll see that it's her duty to put you out of your misery."
Captain Croome looked at him with admiration, and said: "No one would ever think you were a gentleman, Ruffin; you do know such a lot. But the nuisance is, I'm not much of a hand at writing letters; I can't ever get down exactly what I mean."
The Honorable John Ruffin regarded him with a thoughtful frown; then he said: "Well, of course I can't be expected to know your exact feelings, but I might be able to give you a tip or two."
"By Jove! If you would!" cried his friend.
"Well, when I've finished my breakfast, we'll see about it. But of course it's very difficult to know another man's feelings exactly. Still I know Lady Grizel; and that's very important. I can guess pretty well what she'd like you to say; and of course the way to a woman's heart is to say what she wants to hear," said the Honorable John Ruffin sententiously.
"You're a rum beggar, Ruffin," said Captain Croome in a tone of admiration.
"Thank you for the tribute," said the Honorable John Ruffin gravely.
He continued his breakfast in his usual leisurely fashion; and there was a sore struggle between the politeness and the impatience of Captain Croome. His politeness won, for he felt that his friend would permit no attempt to curtail that leisurely meal. Any such attempt would probably cause him to lengthen it.
But at last it came to an end; the Honorable John Ruffin lighted a cigar; and they betook themselves to their task. Slowly and surely they composed and wrote a brief, but melting letter.
When he had signed it, Captain Croome set down the pen, and said, in a tone of awe: "By Jove! That's perfectly ripping!"
"A few like that ought to soften Lady Grizel's stern resolution," said the Honorable John Ruffin dispassionately.
"Rather," said Captain Croome.
"When I do a thing—not that I often do—I like to do it thoroughly. Besides, I do hate that old Tullislaith cat," said the Honorable John Ruffin with real feeling.
Captain Croome carried off Pollyooly and the Lump to Covent Garden for violets, and thence to Prince's Gate. She was less fortunate in the sale of the violets than she had been the day before, and had made but a paltry fourpence when Grizel and the dragon appeared.
Grizel no longer wore a despondent air; her eyes were shining; and she walked with a firm and eager step.
When she reached the children, she took the bunch of violets from Pollyooly with a radiant smile, saying: "You here again, you dear children! I am so pleased to see you!"
The dragon snorted more fiercely than ever, and growled: "Encouraging begging, I call it."
"You weren't asked to call it anything, Symons," said Grizel coldly.
She picked up the Lump again and kissed him, and asked his name. Then she gave him some chocolate creams which she had brought with her on the chance of their meeting. Then she kissed him again, gave Pollyooly a shilling, and went on her way with her dragon and her treasure.
Pollyooly had performed her task, but it was not her lucky day. The kind, but sallow, lady had passed along the other side of the road as she was talking to Lady Grizel; and the sight of the two children recalled painfully to her mind the fits of palpitation of the heart which she had suffered after her brief interview with Pollyooly the day before. She called the attention of a leisured policeman to the impropriety of allowing two young children to beg in that select and fashionable quarter.
Finding that she resided in it, the policeman thought it wise to act on her suggestion. He crossed the road to meet Pollyooly as, her task performed, she came briskly along to Knightsbridge Barracks.
She was passing him, indeed she was hardly seeing him, when he pulled her up short with the startling words:
"You've no business to be beggin' 'ere, young 'un. You come along o' me to the station."
Pollyooly was startled, but not afraid. She had not the Alsatian child's fear of the police; the obese constable of Muttle-Deeping had been rather an official decoration of the village than a terror; the kindly joviality of Mr. Brown had caused her to regard the London police as mere human beings in blue.
"Please, sir; I wasn't begging," she said.
"Sellin' vi'lets is beggin'," said the policeman with all the conviction of a man who has an act of parliament behind his statement.
"But I'm not selling violets, not really. I'm only pretending to. I'm doing something for Captain Croome. He lives in Knightsbridge Barracks," Pollyooly protested.
"You can spin any yarn you want to the Inspector," said the policeman coldly incredulous. "You come along o' me."
There was plainly nothing else to be done; and Pollyooly and the Lump came along with him; and they had not gone very far before, in spite of the select and fashionable character of the neighborhood, five rude boys were coming along with them, too, and loudly discussing, in the least complimentary terms, Pollyooly's hair and the length of the term of imprisonment she would suffer.
Pollyooly was still undismayed, but she was bitterly mortified. This was no position for the housekeeper of the Honorable John Ruffin. She was glad indeed that they were in a neighborhood in which there was no chance of meeting any of her friends or acquaintances.
So the Messenger of Love came to the police station in this ignominious fashion. The policeman preferred his charge; and the Inspector at the desk examined the delinquents with the proper stern official frown. His brow grew much smoother at the sight of their faces.
It was fortunate that Pollyooly was merely mortified and dismayed and not terrified. She maintained her calm bearing and answered the questions of the Inspector quite clearly. She lived at Seventy-five, the King's Bench Walk in the Temple, and was the housekeeper of the Honorable John Ruffin. He went to the Law Courts every day in a wig and gown. She was not really a flower-seller at all. She was only pretending to be one in order to do something for Captain Croome who lived in Knightsbridge Barracks. She could not say what it was. It was a secret; and she was sure Captain Croome would not like her to tell.
It was a strange tale; and the Inspector was used to strange tales. He was no less used to disbelieving them. At the same time he had had infinite experience in questioning his fellow-creatures; and he knew when they were telling the truth. It seemed to him that Pollyooly was telling the truth.
He scratched his head with a puzzled air, and said, "Do you do anything else besides keep house for Mr. Rufin and sell violets for Captain Croome?"
"I'm Mr. Gedge-Tomkins' laundress. I get his breakfast and clean his rooms. They're across the landing," said Pollyooly.
The Inspector sat upright in his chair. He knew the name of that eminent criminal counsel very well indeed. He had, indeed, been cross-examined by him, for the most part in a furious bellow; and he had by no means forgotten that cross-examination. If Pollyooly's story were true, it behooved him to walk warily indeed in the matter of a child who enjoyed such a powerful employer.
He scratched his head again and said doubtfully, "They look uncommon clean, both of them."
"They gets more when they're clean—in this neighborhood," said the policeman with an air of wide experience. He was still wholly incredulous.
The Inspector rose, went to the telephone, rang up Knightsbridge Barracks, and asked to speak to Captain Croome. Pollyooly heaved a sigh of relief when she heard him ask for him. Captain Croome presently came to the telephone; and the Inspector informed him of the arrest of Pollyooly. As a rule Captain Croome was a strong, silent man; but on the receipt of these tidings he swore at the metropolitan police with a fluency that at once assured the Inspector that he had to do with a gentleman. When Captain Croome had fully expressed all his opinions of the metropolitan police force, he said that he would at once motor round to the police station; and the Inspector bade Pollyooly to sit down.
She perched herself on a chair, with the Lump on her knee, and awaited the coming of the deliverer with a mind at ease. Captain Croome arrived in less than ten minutes; and perhaps it was well that his temper had calmed down to its usual amiability. He explained Pollyooly's real errand to the Inspector in private, assuring him that he had not really arrested a flower-seller at all but the Messenger of Love.
The Inspector received the information with a respectful grin, and gave Captain Croome leave to take the children away with him. But he also declared firmly that Pollyooly must not even pretend to sell violets about Prince's Gate, since the residents in that fashionable district expected the police to keep it select; she must find some other way of delivering her message.
Pollyooly was relieved indeed to escape from the police station; and Captain Croome apologized at length for having got her into such a distressing position. He was overjoyed to learn that she had delivered the note before she was arrested. He drove them to the Temple; and on the way he bought them the largest box of delicious chocolate creams to be found in a shop.
As he stopped in the King's Bench Walk, frowning a little anxiously, he said, "We shall have to find some other way for you to deliver those notes."
"Oh, Mr. Ruffin will easily think of one, sir," said Pollyooly confidently.
The next morning, when she brought him his bacon, she told the Honorable John Ruffin of her arrest; and he condoled with her in the most sympathetic fashion.
Then he said in an indulgent tone, "You must try to forgive the police. They overflow with such a superabundance of furious energy, that they will make work for themselves."
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly with equal indulgence.
Presently Captain Croome came with a very cheerful face.
"She's weakenin' a bit—she's weakenin'!" he cried joyously.
"I expect that the letter revealed unsuspected depths in your nature," said the Honorable John Ruffin with an amiable grin.
"Well, we did get down exactly what I wanted to say," said his simple-minded friend.
As soon as the Honorable John Ruffin had finished his breakfast they addressed themselves to the composition of yet another moving epistle; and Captain Croome professed himself even more pleased with it than with the first.
Then they debated earnestly in what manner Pollyooly should deliver it.
"Well, there's no doubt that this walk in Kensington Gardens is the weak point in Lady Tullislaith's scheme of seclusion," said the Honorable John Ruffin with conviction. "In Kensington Gardens this letter must be delivered; and we must leave the manner of its deliverance to Pollyooly. I think we can: she has an uncommonly fertile mind."
"She has that," said Captain Croome in warm assent.
"Besides, Lady Grizel will give her the chance. She'll make it," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"She's bound to," said Captain Croome hopefully.
"Well, you'd better be in Kensington Gardens when they come there, Pollyooly. Then just hang about till you get the chance. Don't go too near them: you don't want Argus, Lady Grizel's maid's name is Argus, of course, to recognize you," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
"No, sir; but she calls her 'Symons,' sir," said Pollyooly.
"A pet name," said the Honorable John Ruffin.
Pollyooly hesitated; then she said, "Please, sir: can I wear a hat, sir?"
"Certainly—certainly—as many as you like," said the Honorable John Ruffin. "The disguise of a flower-seller is no longer needed. You can wear your prettiest frock if you like. Hurry up and get it on."
"Thank you, sir," said Pollyooly gratefully.
"And I think you'd better ask that friend of yours—what's her name? Mrs. Brown—yes, Mrs. Brown—to take charge of the Lump for you this morning. You had better be unhampered. Speed may be necessary."
Pollyooly's face fell a little. She would have enjoyed taking the Lump in glorious apparel in Captain Croome's motor-car. But she said, "Very well, sir;" and hurried away.
She was quick changing into her golden frock; then she took the Lump to Mrs. Brown in Alsatia. Several of its inhabitants spoke to her about her frock as she passed, in terms which showed envious natures; but she was too busy to give them the appropriate answers.
She left the Lump in charge of Mrs. Brown, who was no less delighted to have his society for the morning than overwhelmed by the splendor of Pollyooly's attire, and hurried back to the Temple. She found Captain Croome awaiting her in his car; and he drove her swiftly to Prince's Gate. On the way they stopped and bought a bunch of violets; and Pollyooly hid the moving epistle in the middle of it.
A very cheerful and even excited Grizel, a Grizel who was making up her mind to elope and finding her spirits rising in the process, left the Tullislaith house in Prince's Gate that morning. But when she came to the entrance to the gardens without having seen Pollyooly and the Lump, her spirits fell and fell. She had not, however, lost hope; and she kept looking for them with eager eyes. She did not for a while recognize Pollyooly in the little girl in the golden frock who sauntered along the path in front of her and Symons. Then she saw that she had Pollyooly's red hair. Then she saw that the little girl had a bunch of violets in her hand; and her heart began to beat high.
But the little girl did not look round; and Grizel could not be sure that it was Pollyooly. Pollyooly dared not look round, for she feared lest the maid should recognize her; and she could not be sure that Grizel knew it was she. But when she came to a seat embowered in a clump of bushes, without looking round, she pointed to it, left the path and walked round the clump. To her joy Grizel and Symons sat down on the seat; and through the bushes she saw Symons, who was a keen student of manners, plunge eagerly into the novel she had brought with her, while Grizel, sitting sidewise on the seat, with her arm over the back of it, peered quietly into the clump.
But Pollyooly could not go through the clump, contact with London bushes would ruin her frock. She stole very quietly to the corner of the clump and peeped round it. Grizel smiled at her without stirring; Symons remained buried in her novel. Pollyooly held up the bunch of violets, laid them on the turf at the corner of the clump, and slipped back behind it.
Grizel said, "I believe there's a bird's nest in the corner of these bushes, Symons."
Symons, an urban soul, grunted indifference.
Grizel walked to the corner of the clump, picked up the violets, and blew a kiss to the vanishing Pollyooly.
Neither the next morning, nor the morning after did Captain Croome, to the great disappointment of Pollyooly, come to the Temple. But on the afternoon of the second day there came a letter from him to the Honorable John Ruffin, saying that he had had no word from Grizel.
Pollyooly brought in his tea as the Honorable John was answering it, and he said: "You will be pleased to hear, Pollyooly, that the course of true love is at last running smoothly. To-morrow Captain Croome will come in triumph. His lady-love is letting a silent, decorous interval elapse before she assents to his being Young Lochinvar in a taxicab."
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly with an amiable smile.
Sure enough, the next morning proved him a true prophet. He had eaten but one rasher of bacon when Captain Croome dashed into his room, red with joy, and cried: "She's agreed! She's agreed!"
"Good," said the Honorable John Ruffin calmly. "Sit down and have some breakfast."
"Breakfast! You don't suppose I want any breakfast!" cried Captain Croome with horrid scorn.
"I did. But I perceive that you are too full of joy to hold food al the moment. You will probably make a better lunch for your abstinence," said the Honorable John Rtiffin with philosophic detachment.
"How anybody can think about food, I can't imagine!" cried Captain Croome with the air of an enthusiast.
"You ought to be able to, with this evidence staring you in the face. I'm not only thinking about it; I'm eating it," said the Honorable John Ruffin, proceeding with his bacon.
By the time he had finished his breakfast Captain Croome had simmered down just enough to discuss intelligently the manner of Grizel's evasion. He was for motoring her out of London to some quiet Surrey village for their honeymoon. But the Honorable John Ruffin would not hear of it.
"Owing to the efforts of the common road-hog, the motor-car is so easily traced nowadays," he said. "But there is a practically unused station in London, called Fenchurch Street, from which nobody ever goes, though trains do. From there you can go to the village of Pitsea, and it will be weeks before your pursuers learn that there is a village called Pitsea, much less that you are there. Your first evasion from Prince's Gate will, of course, be made in a taxicab."
Captain Croome accepted this plan with enthusiasm. He committed as much of it as was necessary to writing, filled up the letter with gratitude and devotion, and Pollyooly delivered it safely to the now impatient Grizel at the corner of the very same clump of bushes at which she had delivered the last.
That afternoon the Honorable John Ruffin devoted to assisting his friend to procure the special license, by the process of false entry, and the wedding-ring.
At ten o'clock the next morning he said to Pollyooly, "Take your brother to your friend, Mrs. Brown, and leave him in her charge. Then put on your finest attire and prepare to accompany me to the church. Young women in the process of getting married like to have one of their own sex with them, and Lady Grizel knows you. You will therefore be an excellent person to discharge the function of bridesmaid."
Pollyooly made haste to carry out his instructions. She took the Lump to Mrs. Brown, and came back and dressed. Since Grizel had already seen her twice in her golden frock, she put on her blue one.
When she came into his sitting-room, the Honorable John Ruffin was opening a large cardboard box. He paused to survey Pollyooly with approving eyes, and said, "You are the most trustworthy person of my acquaintance, Mrs. Bride. I knew that you had but to be called on to show yourself the ideal bridesmaid; and there you are, the complete thing within the limits of your resources. There is, however, the matter of shoes and gloves; and for those we must hie to St. Paul's Churchyard. There are the nearest female shops, and they must serve."
With that he took from the box a beautiful bride's bouquet; and they made haste to St. Paul's Churchyard. There he bought her shoes, and a pair of gloves to match her frock. Pollyooly came out of the shop enjoying an immense sense of completeness.
They reached the church at a few minutes past eleven, and after ascertaining that the parson was waiting, the Honorable John Ruffin and Pollyooly took up their stand in the porch.
At that very time an observant person near Prince's Gate might have seen a pretty and manifestly excited girl, accompanied by a fierce maid bearing a fair-sized hand-bag, which she fondly believed to contain the apparatus for sketching, approaching the entrance to Hyde Park. That observer's interest might have changed to a mild astonishment when the pretty girl suddenly snatched the hand-bag from the maid and sprang into a taxicab which was slowing down by the curb as it met them; and his astonishment might have been changed to amusement by the futility of the action of the maid who bounded, with savage cries and bared teeth, after the taxicab which bore her charge so swiftly away.
Pollyooly and the Honorable John Ruffin had not long to wait. The taxicab was quick in bringing the flying lovers to the church. Grizel, paling and flushing by turns, was ravishing to the eye. Captain Croome, once out of the steadying taxicab, presented every appearance of a man who had not the slightest idea whether he was standing on his head or his heels.
The Honorable John Ruffin paid the cab driver, grasping his friend's arm with a grip of iron, and guided, or rather propelled, him firmly up the aisle. Grizel clutched Pollyooly's hand with the vigor of a drowning man clutching a straw, and held it tight till they reached the altar. During the ceremony she bore herself with a far more composed and intelligent air than did the bridegroom, though she was very pale, and he was very red. The Honorable John Ruffin, who hated to leave anything to chance, produced the ring at the right moment, and the pair were firmly wedded.
The ordeal at an end, the bridegroom, under the spur of his new responsibilities, recovered some control of himself; and after a short, stern discussion, the Honorable John Ruffin decided that he might trust him to get his bride to Fenchurch Street Station without falling out of the taxicab. He hailed one; Grizel kissed Pollyooly with very much the air of a drowning man clutching at yet another straw; the Honorable John Ruffin shook hands with them and wished them happiness; they got into the taxicab and glided away.
The Honorable John Ruffin wiped his beaded brow with an air of extreme relief. "Marrying people is a parlous job, Pollyooly," he said, shaking himself like a dog which has just emerged from the ocean.
"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly in polite assent.