Desperate Remedies Read online

  II. THE EVENTS OF A FORTNIGHT

  1. THE NINTH OF JULY

  The day of their departure was one of the most glowing that the climaxof a long series of summer heats could evolve. The wide expanse oflandscape quivered up and down like the flame of a taper, as theysteamed along through the midst of it. Placid flocks of sheep recliningunder trees a little way off appeared of a pale blue colour. Cloverfields were livid with the brightness of the sun upon their deep redflowers. All waggons and carts were moved to the shade by their carefulowners, rain-water butts fell to pieces; well-buckets were loweredinside the covers of the well-hole, to preserve them from the fate ofthe butts, and generally, water seemed scarcer in the country than thebeer and cider of the peasantry who toiled or idled there.

  To see persons looking with children's eyes at any ordinary scenery, isa proof that they possess the charming faculty of drawing new sensationsfrom an old experience--a healthy sign, rare in these feverish days--themark of an imperishable brightness of nature.

  Both brother and sister could do this; Cytherea more noticeably. Theywatched the undulating corn-lands, monotonous to all their companions;the stony and clayey prospect succeeding those, with its angular andabrupt hills. Boggy moors came next, now withered and dry--the spotsupon which pools usually spread their waters showing themselves ascircles of smooth bare soil, over-run by a net-work of innumerablelittle fissures. Then arose plantations of firs, abruptly terminatingbeside meadows cleanly mown, in which high-hipped, rich-coloured cows,with backs horizontal and straight as the ridge of a house, stoodmotionless or lazily fed. Glimpses of the sea now interested them, whichbecame more and more frequent till the train finally drew up beside theplatform at Budmouth.

  'The whole town is looking out for us,' had been Graye's impressionthroughout the day. He called upon Mr. Gradfield--the only man who hadbeen directly informed of his coming--and found that Mr. Gradfield hadforgotten it.

  However, arrangements were made with this gentleman--a stout, active,grey-bearded burgher of sixty--by which Owen was to commence work in hisoffice the following week.

  The same day Cytherea drew up and sent off the advertisement appended:--

  'A YOUNG LADY is desirous of meeting with an _engagement_ as _governess_ or _companion_. She is competent to teach English, French, and Music. Satisfactory references--Address, C. G., Post-Office, Budmouth.'

  It seemed a more material existence than her own that she saw thusdelineated on the paper. 'That can't be myself; how odd I look!' shesaid, and smiled.

  2. JULY THE ELEVENTH

  On the Monday subsequent to their arrival in Budmouth, Owen Grayeattended at Mr. Gradfield's office to enter upon his duties, and hissister was left in their lodgings alone for the first time.

  Despite the sad occurrences of the preceding autumn, an unwontedcheerfulness pervaded her spirit throughout the day. Change ofscene--and that to untravelled eyes--conjoined with the sensation offreedom from supervision, revived the sparkle of a warm young natureready enough to take advantage of any adventitious restoratives.Point-blank grief tends rather to seal up happiness for a time than toproduce that attrition which results from griefs of anticipation thatmove onward with the days: these may be said to furrow away the capacityfor pleasure.

  Her expectations from the advertisement began to be extravagant. Athriving family, who had always sadly needed her, was already definitelypictured in her fancy, which, in its exuberance, led her on to picturingits individual members, their possible peculiarities, virtues, andvices, and obliterated for a time the recollection that she would beseparated from her brother.

  Thus musing, as she waited for his return in the evening, her eyes fellon her left hand. The contemplation of her own left fourth finger bysymbol-loving girlhood of this age is, it seems, very frequently, ifnot always, followed by a peculiar train of romantic ideas. Cytherea'sthoughts, still playing about her future, became directed into thisromantic groove. She leant back in her chair, and taking hold of thefourth finger, which had attracted her attention, she lifted it with thetips of the others, and looked at the smooth and tapering member for along time.

  She whispered idly, 'I wonder who and what he will be?

  'If he's a gentleman of fashion, he will take my finger so, just withthe tips of his own, and with some fluttering of the heart, and theleast trembling of his lip, slip the ring so lightly on that I shallhardly know it is there--looking delightfully into my eyes all the time.

  'If he's a bold, dashing soldier, I expect he will proudly turn round,take the ring as if it equalled her Majesty's crown in value, anddesperately set it on my finger thus. He will fix his eyes unflinchinglyupon what he is doing--just as if he stood in battle before the enemy(though, in reality, very fond of me, of course), and blush as much as Ishall.

  'If he's a sailor, he will take my finger and the ring in this way,and deck it out with a housewifely touch and a tenderness of expressionabout his mouth, as sailors do: kiss it, perhaps, with a simple air, asif we were children playing an idle game, and not at the very height ofobservation and envy by a great crowd saying, "Ah! they are happy now!"

  'If he should be rather a poor man--noble-minded and affectionate, butstill poor--'

  Owen's footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs, interrupted thisfancy-free meditation. Reproaching herself, even angry with herselffor allowing her mind to stray upon such subjects in the face of theirpresent desperate condition, she rose to meet him, and make tea.

  Cytherea's interest to know how her brother had been received at Mr.Gradfield's broke forth into words at once. Almost before they had satdown to table, she began cross-examining him in the regular sisterlyway.

  'Well, Owen, how has it been with you to-day? What is the place like--doyou think you will like Mr. Gradfield?'

  'O yes. But he has not been there to-day; I have only had the headdraughtsman with me.'

  Young women have a habit, not noticeable in men, of putting on at amoment's notice the drama of whosoever's life they choose. Cytherea'sinterest was transferred from Mr. Gradfield to his representative.

  'What sort of a man is he?'

  'He seems a very nice fellow indeed; though of course I can hardly tellto a certainty as yet. But I think he's a very worthy fellow; there'sno nonsense in him, and though he is not a public school man he has readwidely, and has a sharp appreciation of what's good in books and art.In fact, his knowledge isn't nearly so exclusive as most professionalmen's.'

  'That's a great deal to say of an architect, for of all professional menthey are, as a rule, the most professional.'

  'Yes; perhaps they are. This man is rather of a melancholy turn of mind,I think.'

  'Has the managing clerk any family?' she mildly asked, after a while,pouring out some more tea.

  'Family; no!'

  'Well, dear Owen, how should I know?'

  'Why, of course he isn't married. But there happened to be aconversation about women going on in the office, and I heard him saywhat he should wish his wife to be like.'

  'What would he wish his wife to be like?' she said, with great apparentlack of interest.

  'O, he says she must be girlish and artless: yet he would be loth to dowithout a dash of womanly subtlety, 'tis so piquant. Yes, he said, thatmust be in her; she must have womanly cleverness. "And yet I should likeher to blush if only a cock-sparrow were to look at her hard," he said,"which brings me back to the girl again: and so I flit backwards andforwards. I must have what comes, I suppose," he said, "and whatever shemay be, thank God she's no worse. However, if he might give a final hintto Providence," he said, "a child among pleasures, and a woman amongpains was the rough outline of his requirement."'

  'Did he say that? What a musing creature he must be.'

  'He did, indeed.'

  3. FROM THE TWELFTH TO THE FIFTEENTH OF JULY

  As is well known, ideas are so elastic in a human brain, that they haveno constant measure which may be called their actual bulk. Any importantidea may be compressed to a mo
lecule by an unwonted crowding of others;and any small idea will expand to whatever length and breadth of vacuumthe mind may be able to make over to it. Cytherea's world was tolerablyvacant at this time, and the young architectural designer's image becamevery pervasive. The next evening this subject was again renewed.

  'His name is Springrove,' said Owen, in reply to her. 'He is a thoroughartist, but a man of rather humble origin, it seems, who has madehimself so far. I think he is the son of a farmer, or something of thekind.'

  'Well, he's none the worse for that, I suppose.'

  'None the worse. As we come down the hill, we shall be continuallymeeting people going up.' But Owen had felt that Springrove was a littlethe worse nevertheless.

  'Of course he's rather old by this time.'

  'O no. He's about six-and-twenty--not more.'

  'Ah, I see.... What is he like, Owen?'

  'I can't exactly tell you his appearance: 'tis always such a difficultthing to do.'

  'A man you would describe as short? Most men are those we shoulddescribe as short, I fancy.'

  'I should call him, I think, of the middle height; but as I only seehim sitting in the office, of course I am not certain about his form andfigure.'

  'I wish you were, then.'

  'Perhaps you do. But I am not, you see.'

  'Of course not, you are always so provoking. Owen, I saw a man in thestreet to-day whom I fancied was he--and yet, I don't see how it couldbe, either. He had light brown hair, a snub nose, very round face, anda peculiar habit of reducing his eyes to straight lines when he lookednarrowly at anything.'

  'O no. That was not he, Cytherea.'

  'Not a bit like him in all probability.'

  'Not a bit. He has dark hair--almost a Grecian nose, regular teeth, andan intellectual face, as nearly as I can recall to mind.'

  'Ah, there now, Owen, you _have_ described him! But I suppose he's notgenerally called pleasing, or--'

  'Handsome?'

  'I scarcely meant that. But since you have said it, is he handsome?'

  'Rather.'

  'His tout ensemble is striking?'

  'Yes--O no, no--I forgot: it is not. He is rather untidy in hiswaistcoat, and neck-ties, and hair.'

  'How vexing!... it must be to himself, poor thing.'

  'He's a thorough bookworm--despises the pap-and-daisy school ofverse--knows Shakespeare to the very dregs of the foot-notes. Indeed,he's a poet himself in a small way.'

  'How delicious!' she said. 'I have never known a poet.'

  'And you don't know him,' said Owen dryly.

  She reddened. 'Of course I don't. I know that.'

  'Have you received any answer to your advertisement?' he inquired.

  'Ah--no!' she said, and the forgotten disappointment which had showeditself in her face at different times during the day, became visibleagain.

  Another day passed away. On Thursday, without inquiry, she learnt moreof the head draughtsman. He and Graye had become very friendly, and hehad been tempted to show her brother a copy of some poems of his--someserious and sad--some humorous--which had appeared in the poets' cornerof a magazine from time to time. Owen showed them now to Cytherea, whoinstantly began to read them carefully and to think them very beautiful.

  'Yes--Springrove's no fool,' said Owen sententiously.

  'No fool!--I should think he isn't, indeed,' said Cytherea, looking upfrom the paper in quite an excitement: 'to write such verses as these!'

  'What logic are you chopping, Cytherea? Well, I don't mean on account ofthe verses, because I haven't read them; but for what he said when thefellows were talking about falling in love.'

  'Which you will tell me?'

  'He says that your true lover breathlessly finds himself engaged to asweetheart, like a man who has caught something in the dark. He doesn'tknow whether it is a bat or a bird, and takes it to the light when he iscool to learn what it is. He looks to see if she is the right age, butright age or wrong age, he must consider her a prize. Sometime later heponders whether she is the right kind of prize for him. Right kind orwrong kind--he has called her his, and must abide by it. After a time heasks himself, "Has she the temper, hair, and eyes I meant to have, andwas firmly resolved not to do without?" He finds it is all wrong, andthen comes the tussle--'

  'Do they marry and live happily?'

  'Who? O, the supposed pair. I think he said--well, I really forget whathe said.'

  'That _is_ stupid of you!' said the young lady with dismay.

  'Yes.'

  'But he's a satirist--I don't think I care about him now.'

  'There you are just wrong. He is not. He is, as I believe, an impulsivefellow who has been made to pay the penalty of his rashness in some loveaffair.'

  Thus ended the dialogue of Thursday, but Cytherea read the verses againin private. On Friday her brother remarked that Springrove had informedhim he was going to leave Mr. Gradfield's in a fortnight to push hisfortunes in London.

  An indescribable feeling of sadness shot through Cytherea's heart.Why should she be sad at such an announcement as that, she thought,concerning a man she had never seen, when her spirits were elasticenough to rebound after hard blows from deep and real troubles as if shehad scarcely known them? Though she could not answer this question, sheknew one thing, she was saddened by Owen's news.

  4. JULY THE TWENTY-FIRST

  A very popular local excursion by steamboat to Lulstead Cove wasannounced through the streets of Budmouth one Thursday morning bythe weak-voiced town-crier, to start at six o'clock the same day. Theweather was lovely, and the opportunity being the first of the kindoffered to them, Owen and Cytherea went with the rest.

  They had reached the Cove, and had walked landward for nearly an hourover the hill which rose beside the strand, when Graye recollected thattwo or three miles yet further inland from this spot was an interestingmediaeval ruin. He was already familiar with its characteristics throughthe medium of an archaeological work, and now finding himself so closeto the reality, felt inclined to verify some theory he had formedrespecting it. Concluding that there would be just sufficient time forhim to go there and return before the boat had left the shore, he partedfrom Cytherea on the hill, struck downwards, and then up a heatheryvalley.

  She remained on the summit where he had left her till the time of hisexpected return, scanning the details of the prospect around. Placidlyspread out before her on the south was the open Channel, reflecting ablue intenser by many shades than that of the sky overhead, and dottedin the foreground by half-a-dozen small craft of contrasting rig, theirsails graduating in hue from extreme whiteness to reddish brown, thevarying actual colours varied again in a double degree by the rays ofthe declining sun.

  Presently the distant bell from the boat was heard, warning thepassengers to embark. This was followed by a lively air from the harpsand violins on board, their tones, as they arose, becoming intermingledwith, though not marred by, the brush of the waves when their crestsrolled over--at the point where the check of the shallows was firstfelt--and then thinned away up the slope of pebbles and sand.

  She turned her face landward and strained her eyes to discern, ifpossible, some sign of Owen's return. Nothing was visible save thestrikingly brilliant, still landscape. The wide concave which lay at theback of the hill in this direction was blazing with the western light,adding an orange tint to the vivid purple of the heather, now at thevery climax of bloom, and free from the slightest touch of the invidiousbrown that so soon creeps into its shades. The light so intensified thecolours that they seemed to stand above the surface of the earth andfloat in mid-air like an exhalation of red. In the minor valleys,between the hillocks and ridges which diversified the contour of thebasin, but did not disturb its general sweep, she marked brakes of tall,heavy-stemmed ferns, five or six feet high, in a brilliant light-greendress--a broad riband of them with the path in their midst winding likea stream along the little ravine that reached to the foot of the hill,and delivered up the path to its grassy area. Among th
e ferns grewholly bushes deeper in tint than any shadow about them, whilst the wholesurface of the scene was dimpled with small conical pits, and here andthere were round ponds, now dry, and half overgrown with rushes.

  The last bell of the steamer rang. Cytherea had forgotten herself, andwhat she was looking for. In a fever of distress lest Owen shouldbe left behind, she gathered up in her hand the corners of herhandkerchief, containing specimens of the shells, plants, and fossilswhich the locality produced, started off to the sands, and mingled withthe knots of visitors there congregated from other interesting pointsaround; from the inn, the cottages, and hired conveyances that hadreturned from short drives inland. They all went aboard by the primitiveplan of a narrow plank on two wheels--the women being assisted by arope. Cytherea lingered till the very last, reluctant to follow,and looking alternately at the boat and the valley behind. Her delayprovoked a remark from Captain Jacobs, a thickset man of hybrid stains,resulting from the mixed effects of fire and water, peculiar to sailorswhere engines are the propelling power.

  'Now then, missy, if you please. I am sorry to tell 'ee our time's up.Who are you looking for, miss?'

  'My brother--he has walked a short distance inland; he must be heredirectly. Could you wait for him--just a minute?'

  'Really, I am afraid not, m'm.' Cytherea looked at the stout,round-faced man, and at the vessel, with a light in her eyes soexpressive of her own opinion being the same, on reflection, as his, andwith such resignation, too, that, from an instinctive feeling of prideat being able to prove himself more humane than he was thought tobe--works of supererogation are the only sacrifices that entice in thisway--and that at a very small cost, he delayed the boat till some amongthe passengers began to murmur.

  'There, never mind,' said Cytherea decisively. 'Go on without me--Ishall wait for him.'

  'Well, 'tis a very awkward thing to leave you here all alone,' said thecaptain. 'I certainly advise you not to wait.'

  'He's gone across to the railway station, for certain,' said anotherpassenger.

  'No--here he is!' Cytherea said, regarding, as she spoke, the halfhidden figure of a man who was seen advancing at a headlong pace downthe ravine which lay between the heath and the shore.

  'He can't get here in less than five minutes,' a passenger said. 'Peopleshould know what they are about, and keep time. Really, if--'

  'You see, sir,' said the captain, in an apologetic undertone, 'since'tis her brother, and she's all alone, 'tis only nater to wait a minute,now he's in sight. Suppose, now, you were a young woman, as might be,and had a brother, like this one, and you stood of an evening uponthis here wild lonely shore, like her, why you'd want us to wait, too,wouldn't you, sir? I think you would.'

  The person so hastily approaching had been lost to view during thisremark by reason of a hollow in the ground, and the projecting cliffimmediately at hand covered the path in its rise. His footsteps werenow heard striking sharply upon the flinty road at a distance of abouttwenty or thirty yards, but still behind the escarpment. To save time,Cytherea prepared to ascend the plank.

  'Let me give you my hand, miss,' said Captain Jacobs.

  'No--please don't touch me,' said she, ascending cautiously by slidingone foot forward two or three inches, bringing up the other behind it,and so on alternately--her lips compressed by concentration on the feat,her eyes glued to the plank, her hand to the rope, and her immediatethought to the fact of the distressing narrowness of her footing. Stepsnow shook the lower end of the board, and in an instant were up to herheels with a bound.

  'O, Owen, I am so glad you are come!' she said without turning. 'Don't,don't shake the plank or touch me, whatever you do.... There, I am up.Where have you been so long?' she continued, in a lower tone, turninground to him as she reached the top.

  Raising her eyes from her feet, which, standing on the firm deck,demanded her attention no longer, she acquired perceptions of thenew-comer in the following order: unknown trousers; unknown waistcoat;unknown face. The man was not her brother, but a total stranger.

  Off went the plank; the paddles started, stopped, backed, pattered inconfusion, then revolved decisively, and the boat passed out into deepwater.

  One or two persons had said, 'How d'ye do, Mr. Springrove?' and lookedat Cytherea, to see how she bore her disappointment. Her ears had butjust caught the name of the head draughtsman, when she saw him advancingdirectly to address her.

  'Miss Graye, I believe?' he said, lifting his hat.

  'Yes,' said Cytherea, colouring, and trying not to look guilty of asurreptitious knowledge of him.

  'I am Mr. Springrove. I passed Corvsgate Castle about an hour ago, andsoon afterwards met your brother going that way. He had been deceived inthe distance, and was about to turn without seeing the ruin, on accountof a lameness that had come on in his leg or foot. I proposed thathe should go on, since he had got so near; and afterwards, instead ofwalking back to the boat, get across to Anglebury Station--a shorterwalk for him--where he could catch the late train, and go directly home.I could let you know what he had done, and allay any uneasiness.'

  'Is the lameness serious, do you know?'

  'O no; simply from over-walking himself. Still, it was just as well toride home.'

  Relieved from her apprehensions on Owen's score, she was able slightlyto examine the appearance of her informant--Edward Springrove--who nowremoved his hat for a while, to cool himself. He was rather above herbrother's height. Although the upper part of his face and head washandsomely formed, and bounded by lines of sufficiently masculineregularity, his brows were somewhat too softly arched, and finelypencilled for one of his sex; without prejudice, however, to the beliefwhich the sum total of his features inspired--that though they did notprove that the man who thought inside them would do much in theworld, men who had done most of all had had no better ones. Across hisforehead, otherwise perfectly smooth, ran one thin line, the healthyfreshness of his remaining features expressing that it had come thereprematurely.

  Though some years short of the age at which the clear spirit bidsgood-bye to the last infirmity of noble mind, and takes to house-huntingand investments, he had reached the period in a young man's life whenepisodic periods, with a hopeful birth and a disappointing death, havebegun to accumulate, and to bear a fruit of generalities; his glancesometimes seeming to state, 'I have already thought out the issue ofsuch conditions as these we are experiencing.' At other times he wore anabstracted look: 'I seem to have lived through this moment before.'

  He was carelessly dressed in dark grey, wearing a rolled-up blackkerchief as a neck-cloth; the knot of which was disarranged, and stoodobliquely--a deposit of white dust having lodged in the creases.

  'I am sorry for your disappointment,' he continued, glancing intoher face. Their eyes having met, became, as it were, mutually lockedtogether, and the single instant only which good breeding allows asthe length of such a look, became trebled: a clear penetrating ray ofintelligence had shot from each into each, giving birth to one of thoseunaccountable sensations which carry home to the heart before the handhas been touched or the merest compliment passed, by something strongerthan mathematical proof, the conviction, 'A tie has begun to unite us.'

  Both faces also unconsciously stated that their owners had been much ineach other's thoughts of late. Owen had talked to the young architect ofhis sister as freely as to Cytherea of the young architect.

  A conversation began, which was none the less interesting to the partiesengaged because it consisted only of the most trivial and commonplaceremarks. Then the band of harps and violins struck up a lively melody,and the deck was cleared for dancing; the sun dipping beneath thehorizon during the proceeding, and the moon showing herself at theirstern. The sea was so calm, that the soft hiss produced by thebursting of the innumerable bubbles of foam behind the paddles could bedistinctly heard. The passengers who did not dance, including Cythereaand Springrove, lapsed into silence, leaning against the paddle-boxes,or standing aloof--noticing the trembling of the deck to
the steps ofthe dance--watching the waves from the paddles as they slid thinly andeasily under each other's edges.

  Night had quite closed in by the time they reached Budmouth harbour,sparkling with its white, red, and green lights in opposition to theshimmering path of the moon's reflection on the other side, whichreached away to the horizon till the flecked ripples reduced themselvesto sparkles as fine as gold dust.

  'I will walk to the station and find out the exact time the trainarrives,' said Springrove, rather eagerly, when they had landed.

  She thanked him much.

  'Perhaps we might walk together,' he suggested hesitatingly. She lookedas if she did not quite know, and he settled the question by showing theway.

  They found, on arriving there, that on the first day of that monththe particular train selected for Graye's return had ceased to stop atAnglebury station.

  'I am very sorry I misled him,' said Springrove.

  'O, I am not alarmed at all,' replied Cytherea.

  'Well, it's sure to be all right--he will sleep there, and come by thefirst in the morning. But what will you do, alone?'

  'I am quite easy on that point; the landlady is very friendly. I must goindoors now. Good-night, Mr. Springrove.'

  'Let me go round to your door with you?' he pleaded.

  'No, thank you; we live close by.'

  He looked at her as a waiter looks at the change he brings back. But shewas inexorable.

  'Don't--forget me,' he murmured. She did not answer.

  'Let me see you sometimes,' he said.

  'Perhaps you never will again--I am going away,' she replied inlingering tones; and turning into Cross Street, ran indoors andupstairs.

  The sudden withdrawal of what was superfluous at first, is often felt asan essential loss. It was felt now with regard to the maiden. More, too,after a meeting so pleasant and so enkindling, she had seemed to implythat they would never come together again.

  The young man softly followed her, stood opposite the house and watchedher come into the upper room with the light. Presently his gaze was cutshort by her approaching the window and pulling down the blind--Edwarddwelling upon her vanishing figure with a hopeless sense of loss akin tothat which Adam is said by logicians to have felt when he first saw thesun set, and thought, in his inexperience, that it would return no more.

  He waited till her shadow had twice crossed the window, when, findingthe charming outline was not to be expected again, he left the street,crossed the harbour-bridge, and entered his own solitary chamber on theother side, vaguely thinking as he went (for undefined reasons),

  'One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother.'