The Rosery Folk

Volume Two – Chapter One.

Aunt Sophia Visits the City

Mr Fred. Saxby stopped in front of the Royal Exchange one morning to buy a rose, and spent some time in selecting it. Red ones would not do; yellow he despised. He wanted a delicate white rose, with a dash of blush pink upon its petals; and when he had discovered one, he made no scruple about paying the flower-girl sixpence and carrying it off with the greatest care to deposit in a glass upon his desk, for reasons known only to himself.

He had rather a busy morning in his close, cool, dark office, in a court out of Throgmorton Street – an office where the light of day had a struggle every morning to get down between two tall piles of building, and illumine the room, failing dismally seven or eight months out of the twelve, and leaving the stockbroker to the tender mercies of his gas company and the yellow flame that danced within a globe.

Mr Saxby’s room was “as clean as hands could make it,” – the housekeeper’s words – but all the same it did not seem clean. There was a dingy look about everything, excepting the rose he bought every morning, and himself. In one part of the room was a tiny machine, untouched save by electricity, which went on, unwinding, inking its letters and stamping mile after mile of tape-like paper, informing the reader the while that the shares of this railway were up, of that down; that foreign stocks had made this change, consols were at that, and so on, and so on, while the occupant of the office paid not the slightest heed, but divided his attention between the Times and the rose.

Just in the midst of one of his most earnest inspections of the flower, during which he took a long soft inhalation of its odorous breath, a clerk entered with a card. “Miss Raleigh, sir.”

“Bless my heart!” ejaculated the stockbroker, hastily setting down the rose, for the act of smelling it had taken him down to a velvet lawn, sloping to the riverside; and upon that lawn he had seemed to see some one walking, wearing a similar rose; but it was not the lady who now entered, and of whom he had heard nothing since he warned her not to venture in the Cornish mine.

“Good-morning, Miss Raleigh,” he exclaimed, placing a chair. “I hardly expected to see you.”

“Why not?” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Where did you expect I should go?”

“I hope you are well, ma’am, and – Sir James and Lady Scarlett?”

“No; I’m not well; I’m worried,” said the lady. “Sir James and Lady Scarlett are both ill. Has – But never mind that now. Look here, Mr Saxby; you always give me very bad advice, and you seem determined not to let me get good interest for my money. Now, tell me this, sir. I have been receiving a great many circulars lately about different excellent investments; above all, several about gold mines in the north of India.”

“So I suppose, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby rubbing his hands softly.

“And I suppose you will say that they are not good; but here is one that I received yesterday which cannot fail to be right. I want some shares in that.”

“And you won’t have one, ma’am,” said Mr Saxby, who was far more autocratic in his own office than at a friend’s house.

“What! are they all sold?”

“Sold? Pooh! ma’am, hardly any. There are not many people lunatics enough to throw their money into an Indian gold mine.”

“Saxby, you are the most obstinate, aggravating man I ever did know. Look here; will not these figures convince you?”

“No, ma’am; only make me more obstinate – more aggravating still.”

“Then what do these figures mean?”

“Mean, madam? To trap spinster ladies with small incomes, half-pay officers, poor clergymen with miserable livings – the whole lot of poor genteel people, and those who like to dabble in investments – people who can’t afford to lose, and people who can. Why, my dear madam, use your own judgment. If there were a safe fifteen per cent, there, the shares would be gone in one hour, and at a heavy premium the next.”

“Humph!” said Aunt Sophia. “Of course you do all my nephew’s business?”

“Yes, madam; it all comes here.”

“You know what shares he holds?”

“I think so. Of course, he may have been to other brokers; but he would not have done so without good reason.”

“As far as you can, then,” said Aunt Sophia, “keep an eye upon what are sold, and I should like to be made acquainted with any sales that may take place.”

“Well, really, my dear Miss Raleigh, such a proceeding – ”

“Yes, yes, man; I know all about that; but you know to what a state he has been reduced. I love him like a son, and I – Now look here, Saxby; I’m telling you this, because I think you are an honest man.”

“Well, I hope I am, ma’am.”

“Then look here; I will speak out. I won’t mention any names; but I am afraid that designing people are at work to get possession of some of his property, and I want it watched.”

“Rather a serious charge, Miss Raleigh.”

“Stuff and nonsense, man! Not half serious enough. Just look at this prospectus for a moment. There are some good names to it. I’ll talk about those other matters afterwards.”

Aunt Sophia fixed her double glasses upon her nose, and stared through them upon the neat and dapper stockbroker, who stared in return, and frowned, otherwise he would have laughed, for the spring of Aunt Sophia’s pince-nez was very strong, and its effect was to compress the organ upon which it rested, so that the ordinarily thin sharp point of the lady’s nose was turned into a sickly-looking bulb, that was, to say the least, grotesque.

“Halt!” said Mr Saxby, reading quickly: “Society for the Elevation of the Human Race in large and Crowded Towns; patrons, the Right Hon. – hum-ha-hum; his Grace the – hum-ha-hum; the Lord Bishop of – hum-ha-hum; directors – hum-ha-hum; M.P. – hum – Mr – hum,” – Mr Saxby’s voice grew less and less distinct, becoming at last a continuance of the sound expressed in letters by hum, but he finished off sharply with: “Secretary, Mr Arthur Prayle! – Well, ma’am, and what of this?”

“What of it, Saxby? Why, wouldn’t it be a most admirable thing to invest in a Society which will benefit my fellow-creatures and bring in a large percentage as well?”

“Admirable, my dear madam,” said Saxby; “but you don’t quite express the result.”

“What do you mean?”

“Singular, ma’am, not plural, and no percentage.”

“Now, look here, Saxby: I have come here on business, if you please, not to hear you discuss points of grammar. What do you mean by your singular and plural?”

“I mean, my dear madam,” said Saxby, with a chuckle, “that this Society,” – he flipped the prospectus with his finger as he spoke – “would benefit one fellow-creature only, and give no percentage at all. What is more, you would never see your money back.”

“Ho!” ejaculated Aunt Sophia. “And pray, who would be the fellow-creature?”

“Well, ma’am, it is being rather hard upon a gentleman whom I have had the pleasure of meeting, and who is no doubt acting in the best of faith; but the secretary is the only fellow-creature who will get anything out of that affair. He will of course take care that the office expenses are paid, he is an office expense. There will be nothing for a soul beside.”

“Oh, this is prejudice, Mr Saxby.”

“Business prejudice, perhaps, ma’am; but, to my mind, this is only one of many Societies that are constantly springing up like toadstools – that kind that comes up fair and white, looks very much like a good mushroom for a time, and then dissolves into a nasty black inky fluid, and is gone.”

“It is prejudice,” said Aunt Sophia.

“Maybe, ma’am; but there are numbers of silly Societies got up, such as appeal to weak sensitive people; the secretary gets a few letters in the daily papers, and plenty of ladies like yourself subscribe their money, say, for the Suppression of Sunday Labour amongst Cabhorses, the Society for Dieting Destitute Blackbeetles, and the Provident Home for Canaries whose Patrons are out of Town. These, my dear madam, are exaggerations, but only slight ones, of many Societies got up by ingenious secretaries, who turn a bottle of ink, a ream of neatly headed note-paper, and some cleverly monogrammed envelopes, into a comfortable income.”

“That will do,” said Aunt Sophia shortly as she took off her pince-nez and allowed the blood to resume its circulation – “that will do, Mr Saxby. – Then you will not buy the shares for me?”

“No, ma’am, not a share. I should deserve to be kicked out of the Stock Exchange, if I did.”

“Very well, sir – very well, sir,” said the lady, rising and tightening her lips. “That will do.”

“And now, as business is over, my dear madam, may I ask for the latest report concerning our friend Scarlett’s health?”

“Yes, sir, you may,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “It is very bad. His nerve is completely gone.”

“Ah, but I hope it will return,” said Saxby. “Patience, ma’am, patience. When stocks in a good thing, mind, I say a good thing, are at their lowest, they take a turn, and become often enough better than ever. And – er – may I ask how – how Miss Raleigh junior is?”

“No, sir; you may not,” said Aunt Sophia shortly. “Good-morning!”

“Phe-ew! What an old she-dragon it is!” said Mr Saxby to himself as the door closed upon Aunt Sophia’s angular form.

“I am right!” said Aunt Sophia to herself as she got into the hansom cab that she had waiting. “Here! – hi!” she cried, poking at the little trapdoor in the roof with her parasol. “Waterloo Station.”

Then, as the cab rattled along: “Arthur Prayle is a smooth-looking, smooth-tongued scoundrel; I know he is, and I’ve a good mind to let him have a few hundreds, so as to take off his mask. I won’t mistrust Saxby any more. He’s as honest as the day, and I’m glad I’ve put him on his guard. But he must be snubbed, very hard, and I must speak to Naomi. I do believe the hard, money-grubbing, fog-breathing creature thinks that he is in love!”

Volume Two – Chapter Two.

Sir James Scarlett’s Nerves

“Come, old fellow; I think you are better now,” said the doctor, as he took Scarlett’s arm and walked with him down the garden. They had just been standing upon the lawn, where, in a group, Lady Scarlett, Lady Martlett, Naomi, and Aunt Sophia were with Arthur Prayle. The doctor had been irritated, though he would not own it, by the cool, haughty indifference of Lady Martlett, and it had cost him an effort to tear his thoughts from his own affairs to the troubles of his friend; but upon twice waking up to the fact that Scarlett was growing excited, and that he had displayed a disposition to what the doctor called “break out,” he suggested a stroll down the grounds.

Scarlett eagerly agreed; and after a solemn exchange of courtesies with Lady Martlett, the doctor took his friend away.

“Confound her!” muttered the doctor; “the others must have wondered whether I was going to hand her out for a minuet. I wish the woman would keep away.”

They strolled about for some few minutes, and twice came to a halt; but the first time, as they seated themselves in a couple of garden-chairs, the voice of Arthur Prayle came in a low deep murmur from the lawn as he was saying something earnestly, and the doctor saw his patient’s eyes flash, and then, us he watched him curiously, contract in an unpleasant way.

“Prayle seems to be working very hard for you, old fellow.”

“Yes.”

“You trust him, I suppose, with all the settlement of your London affairs?”

“Yes: everything.”

“Thoroughly trustworthy fellow, of course?”

“Yes, yes, I tell you,” cried Scarlett angrily. “He is my cousin.”

“Yes, of course,” said the doctor, quietly noting every change in his friend the while.

“Come somewhere else,” said Scarlett, leaping up in an excited manner. “I can’t bear to sit here.”

“All right – all right,” said the doctor cheerily. “Let’s go down to the waterside.”

“No, no!” exclaimed Scarlett, with a shudder. “Come to the rhododendrons.”

“By all means. But I say, old fellow, you must fight down this weakness.”

“Weakness? What weakness? Is it a weakness to prefer one part of the garden to the other?”

“O no; of course not. Let’s go down there.”

They strolled down between two great banks of the grand flowering shrubs, now rich with the glossy green of their summer growth, and sat down, when a new trouble assailed Scarlett, and he sprang up impatiently. “Hah!” he exclaimed. “I can’t bear it.”

“Why, what’s the matter now?”

“Those blue-bottles buzzing about me like that; just as if they expected I should soon be carrion.”

“Pooh! What an absurd idea! But you are wrong, old fellow, as usual. I am the more fleshy subject, and they would be after me. Let’s go down yonder under the firs.”

“Why? What is there there, that you should choose that part?” said Scarlett, with a quick suspicious glance.

“Fir-trees, shade, seats to sit down,” said the doctor quietly.

“Yes, yes, of course; that will do,” said Scarlett hastily. “Let’s go there.”

They strolled along a sun-burned path; and the doctor had just made the remark that commences this chapter, when there was a rustling noise among the shrubs, a whining yelp, and Scarlett’s favourite dog, a little white fox-terrier, rushed out at them, to leap up at its master, barking with delight. It came upon them so suddenly, that Scarlett uttered a wild cry, caught at the doctor’s arm, screened himself behind his sturdy body, and stood there trembling like a leaf.

“Why, it’s only Fritz!” cried the doctor, smiling.

“He startled me so – so sudden,” panted Scarlett. “Drive the brute away.”

“Ist! Go home; go back!” cried the doctor; and, as if understanding the state of affairs, and dejected and wretched at being treated like this, where he had expected to be patted and caressed, the dog drooped his head and tail, looked wistfully up at his master, and slowly trotted away. He turned at the end of the path, and looked back at them, as if half expecting to be recalled, and then went on out of sight.

“I’ll sell that dog, Jack; he’s growing vicious,” said Scarlett, speaking in an excited tone. “I’ve watched him a good deal lately. What are the first signs of hydrophobia?”

“Hydrophobia,” said the doctor smiling – “water-hating; but I have never studied the diseases of dogs – only sad dogs.”

“I wish you would not be so flippant, Jack, I’m sure that dog is going mad. He hates water now.”

“Don’t agree with you, old fellow,” said the doctor, throwing himself upon a great rustic seal beneath some pines; “the dog was quite wet, and I saw him, an hour ago, plashing about after the rats.”

“Ah, but he avoids it sometimes. I have a horror of mad dogs.”

Scarlett settled himself down in the seat in a moody, excitable way, looking uneasily round; and the doctor offered him a cigar, which he took and lit, Scales also lighting one, and the friends sat smoking in the delicious pine-scented shade.

“I wish that woman would not be so fond of coming over here,” said Scarlett suddenly.

“What woman?”

“That Lady Martlett. Coarse, masculine, horsy creature. She is spoiling Kate.”

The doctor’s countenance grew lowering, and there was a red spot on either cheek, but he only said quietly: “Think so?”

“Yes. I shall put a stop to the intimacy.”

“I’m not going to have my home-life spoiled. Her coming makes me nervous.”

“Does it?” said the doctor cheerfully. “I’ll soon put that right for you.”

“How?” said Scarlett suspiciously.

“You shall have a shower-bath every morning, old fellow.”

“Water? ah!” The poor fellow shuddered, and started up. “Here, let’s have a stroll down by the meadow-side.”

“All right!” cried the doctor with alacrity, “What a glorious day it is!”

“Glorious? Ah, yes. Not breeze enough though. Now, let’s go back to the lawn.”

“As you like, old fellow; but I don’t think Lady Martlett has gone.”

“Why, what a dislike you seem to have taken to Lady Martlett, Jack!”

“Well, you know what a woman-hater I am.”

“Yes, of course. Let’s go on down by the meadow. Perhaps it will be best.”

They strolled down a green path separated from the meadow, where the cows were placidly grazing, by an iron fence; and as they went slowly on, two of the soft mousy-coloured creatures came slowly from the middle of the field, blinking their eyes to get rid of the clustering black flies, and giving a pendulum-like swing to their long tails. They timed their approach so accurately, that as the doctor and his patient reached the corner, they were there, with their heads stretched over the railings, ready for the caress and scrap of oilcake which they expected to receive.

Scarlett’s attention was so taken up by his thoughts, that he came upon the two patient animals quite suddenly, stopping as if paralysed, and trembling like one afflicted with the palsy. He did not speak, but stood staring, fascinated as it were by the great soft eyes gazing at him; but he stretched out one hand slowly and cautiously behind him, feeling about for his friend, till Scales placed his hand within. Then the poor fellow clasped the fingers with a sob of relief, shuddering as he tore himself away from the inoffensive beasts, and suffering himself to be led back to the seat they had quitted, where he sank down shivering, and covered his face with his hands, sobbing like a child.

The doctor sat gazing at him gravely thinking it better to let him give free vent to his emotion; but, as it grew more and more intense, he laid his hand upon his friend’s shoulder, saying nothing, but firmly pressing it; the effect of which was to make Scarlett snatch at his hand and grasp it passionately, as he panted out in a voice choked with sobs: “It’s a judgment on me, Jack. I’ve been living here in wealth and idleness, thinking of nothing but self and my own enjoyment. I have not had a thought of anything but pleasure, and I felt so strong and well, that it did not seem possible for a cloud to come across my life. Now, look at me! One stroke, and I have been taught what a poor frail helpless worm I am. Jack, Jack! my nerve is gone. I hate everything. I mistrust every one, even my poor wife, and I see danger everywhere. I daren’t stir a step. You pretend not to see it; but you are always reading me. Jack, old man, I’m afraid of you sometimes, but I do believe in and trust you. I’ll obey you; I’ll do every thing you want, even if it kills me with fear. I will – I will indeed; but, for God’s sake, don’t let them take me away. Don’t leave me. Don’t trust anybody. Don’t get any other advice. Go by your own judgment, old fellow, and no matter what I say or do, don’t let me drive you away. You are the only one I can trust.”

“My dear Scarlett, be calm.”

“I can’t – I can’t!” cried the wretched man passionately, “knowing what I do – knowing what I am; but I will – I will try so – so hard.”

“Of course; and you’ll succeed.”

“No – no! I’m getting worse – much worse, and I can see what everybody thinks. Kate sees it, and has turned from me in horror. You see it; I can read it in your eyes. You wouldn’t say so, but you know it as well as can be. Tell me; isn’t it true?”

“What, that the shock of that half-drowning has upset your nerves, so that you are weak, and have developed a temper that would try an angel? Yes; that’s true enough.”

“No – no! I mean the other – that horror – that dreadful thought that makes me lie and shudder, and ask myself whether I had not better,” – He stopped short and crouched away in the corner of the seat, his face ghastly, his eyes wild and staring, till the doctor spoke in a firm imperious voice, that made him reply, as it were, in spite of himself. “Better what?”

“End it all, and be at rest.”

“Why?” said the doctor, bending towards him as if about to drag forth an answer.

“Because – ”

“Well? Speak. I know what you are going to say, but speak out.”

“Because,” said Scarlett, in a low hoarse whisper, as if he dreaded that the very breeze might bear away his confession – “I know it – I feel it – I can tell as well as can be, without something always seeming to whisper it in my ears – I am going mad!” He covered his face with his hands, and sank lower in his seat, panting heavily, and his breath coming and going each minute in a piteous sigh; while, after watching him intently for a few moments, the doctor rose and stood by his side.

Volume Two – Chapter Three.

Doctor and Friend

A wonderful stillness seemed to have fallen, and not even a bird twittered or uttered a note in the hot midsummer sunshine. Once from the distance came the low soft murmur of the weir, but that died away, and scarcely a leaf rustled, so that when the doctor spoke, his firm deep tones sounded as if all nature in that lovely country-home were listening for the verdict he was about to deliver to the stricken man.