K. (Katie) Langloh Parker (1856 1940) - "Australian Legendary Tales "

Edited by Henry Chadwick - "Spalding's Baseball Guide and Official League Book for 1895"

Charlotte M. Yonge - "Scenes and Characters"

Joseph Smith - "The Wentworth Letter"

The Woman Hater

C >> Charles Reade >> The Woman Hater




"Tell us more about the young lady," asked Uxmoor.

"What young lady? Oh, _her._ She is not a young lady--leastways she is
not dressed like one, but like a plain, decent body. She was all of a
piece--blue serge! Bless your heart, the peddlers bring it round here at
elevenpence half-penny the yard, and a good breadth too; and plain boots,
not heeled like your'n, miss, nor your'n, ma'am; and a felt hat like a
boy. You'd say the parish had dressed her for ten shillings, and got a
pot of beer out on't."

"Well, never mind that," said Zoe; "I must tell you she is a very worthy
young lady, and my brother has a respect for her. Dress? Why, Sally, you
know it is not the wisest that spend most on dress. You might tell us
what she _does."_

Dame Greenaway snatched the word out of her mouth. "Well, then, miss,
what she have done, she have suspected everything. She have suspected the
ponds; she have suspected the houses; she have suspected the folk; she
must know what they eat and drink and wear next their very skin, and what
they do lie down on. She have been at the very boys and forebade 'em to
swallow the cherry stones, poor things; but old Mrs. Nash--which her boys
lives on cherries at this time o' year, and to be sure they are a godsend
to keep the children hereabout from starving--well, Dame Nash told her
the Almighty knew best; he had put 'em together on the tree, so why not
in the boys' insides; and that was common sense to my mind. But la! she
wouldn't heed it. She said, 'Then you'd eat the peach stones by that
rule, and the fish bones and all.' Says she, quite resolute like, 'I
forbid 'em to swallow the stones;' and says she, 'Ye mawnt gainsay me,
none on ye, for I be the new doctor.' So then it all come out. She isn't
suspector-general; she is a wench turned doctor, which it is against
reason. Shan't doctor _me_ for one; but that there old Giles, he says he
is agreeable, if so be she wool doctor him cheap--cussed old fool!--as if
any doctoring was cheap that kills a body and doan't cure 'em. Dear
heart, I forgot to tell ye about the ponds. Well, you know there be no
wells here. We makes our tea out of the ponds, and capital good tea to
drink, far before well water, for I mind that one day about twenty years
agone some interfering body did cart a barrel up from Islip; and if we
wants water withouten tea, why, we can get plenty on't, and none too much
malt and hops, at 'The Black Horse.' So this here young 'oman she
suspects the poor ponds and casts a hevil-eye on them, and she borrows
two mugs of Giles, and carries the water home to suspect it closer. That
is all she have done at present, but, ye see, she haan't been here so
very long. You mark my words, miss, that young 'oman will turn Hillstoke
village topsy-turvy or ever she goes back to London town."

"Nonsense, Sally," said Zoe; "how can anybody do that while my brother
and I are alive?" She then slipped half a crown into Sally's hand, and
led the way to Islip.

On the road her conversation with Oxmoor took a turn suggestive of this
interview. I forget which began it; but they differed a little in
opinion, Uxmoor admiring Miss Gale's zeal and activity, and Zoe fearing
that she would prove a rash reformer, perhaps a reckless innovator.

"And really," said she, "why disturb things? for, go where I will, I see
no such Paradise as these two villages."

"They are indeed lovely," said Uxmoor; "but my own village is very
pretty. Yet on nearer inspection I have found so many defects, especially
in the internal arrangements of the cottages, that I am always glad to
hear of a new eye having come to bear on any village."

"I know you are very good," said Zoe, "and wish all the poor people about
you to be as healthy and as happy as possible."

"I really do," said, warmly. "I often think of the strange inequality in
the lot of men. Living in the country, I see around me hundreds of men
who are by nature as worthy as I am, or thereabouts. Yet they must toil
and labor, and indeed fight, for bare food and clothing, all their lives,
and worse off at the close of their long labor. That is what grieves me
to the heart. All this time I revel in plenty and luxuries--not
forgetting the luxury of luxuries, the delight of giving to those who
need and deserve. What have I done for all this? I have been born of the
right parents. My merit, then, is the accident of an accident. But having
done nothing meritorious before I was born, surely I ought to begin
afterward. I think a man born to wealth ought to doubt his moral title to
it, and ought to set to work to prove it--ought to set himself to repair
the injustice of fortune by which he profits. Yes, such a man should be a
sort of human sunshine, and diffuse blessings all round him. The poor man
that encounters him ought to bless the accident. But there, I am not
eloquent. You know how much more I mean than I can say."

"Indeed I do," said Zoe, "and I honor you."

"Ah, Miss Vizard," said Uxmoor, "that is more than I can ever deserve."

"You are praising me at your own expense," said Zoe. "Well, then," said
she, sweetly, "please accept my sympathy. It is so rare to find a
gentleman of your age thinking so little of himself and so much of poor
people. Yet that is a Divine command. But somehow we forget our religion
out of church--most of us. I am sure I do, for one."

This conversation brought them to the village, and there they met Vizard,
and Zoe repeated old Sally's discourse to him word for word. He shook his
head solemnly, and said he shared her misgivings. "We have caught a
Tartar."

On arriving at Vizard Court, they found Miss Gale had called and left two
cards.





Open rivalry having now commenced between Uxmoor and Severne, his
lordship was adroit enough to contrive that the drag should be in request
next day.

Then Severne got Fanny to convey a note to Zoe, imploring her to open her
bedroom window and say good-night to him the last. "For," said he, "I
have no coach and four, and I am very unhappy."

This and his staying sullenly at home spoiled Zoe's ride, and she was
cool to Uxmoor, and spoiled his drive.

At night Zoe peeped through the curtain and saw Severne standing in the
moonlight. She drank him in for some time in silence, then softly opened
her window and looked out. He took a step nearer.

She said, very softly and tenderly, "You are very naughty, and very
foolish. Go to bed _di-_rectly." And she closed her window with a valiant
slam; then sat down and sighed.

Same game next day. Uxmoor driving, Zoe wonderfully polite, but chill,
because he was separating her and Severne. At night, Severne on the wet
grass, and Zoe remonstrating severely, but not sincerely, and closing the
window peremptorily she would have liked to keep open half the night.





It has often been remarked that great things arise out of small things,
and sometimes, when in full motion, depend on small things. History
offers brilliant examples upon its large stage. Fiction has imitated
history in _un verre d'eau_ and other compositions. To these examples,
real or feigned, I am now about to add one; and the curious reader may,
if he thinks it worth while, note the various ramifications at home and
abroad of a seemingly trivial incident.

They were all seated at luncheon, when a servant came in with a salver,
and said, "A gentleman to see you, sir." He presented his salver with a
card upon it. Severne clutched the card, and jumped up, reddening.

"Show him in here," said the hospitable Vizard.

"No, no," cried Severne, rather nervously; "it is my lawyer on a little
private business."

Vizard told the servant to show the visitor into the library, and take in
the Madeira and some biscuits.

"It is about a lease," said Ned Severne, and went out rather hurriedly.

"La!" said Fanny, "what a curious name--Poikilus. And what does S. I.
mean, I wonder?"

"This is enigmatical discourse," said Vizard, dryly. "Please explain."

"Why, the card had Poikilus on it."

"You are very inquisitive," said Zoe, coloring.

"No more than my neighbors. But the man put his salver right between our
noses, and how could I help seeing Poikilus in large letters, and S. I.
in little ones up in the corner?"

Said Vizard, "The female eye is naturally swift. She couldn't help seeing
all that in _half a minute of time;_ for Ned Severne snatched up the card
with vast expedition."

"I saw that too," said Fanny, defiantly.

Uxmoor put in his word. "Poikilus! That is a name one sees in the
papers."

"Of course you do. He is one of the humbugs of the day. Pretends to find
things out; advertises mysterious disappearances; offers a magnificent
reward--with perfect safety, because he has invented the lost girl's
features and dress, and her disappearance into the bargain; and I hold
with the schoolmen that she who does not exist cannot disappear.
Poikilus, a puffing detective. S. I., Secret Inquiry. _I_ spell Enquiry
with an E--but Poikilus is a man of the day. What the deuce can Ned
Severne want of him? I suppose I ought not to object. I have established
a female detective at Hillstoke. So Ned sets one up at Islip. I shall
make my own secret arrangements. If Poikilus settles here, he will be
drawn through the horse-pond by small-minded rustics once a week."

While he was going on like this, Zoe felt uncomfortable, and almost
irritated by his volubility, and it was a relief to her when Severne
returned. He had confided a most delicate case to the detective, given
him written instructions, and stipulated for his leaving the house
without a word to any one, and, indeed, seen him off--all in seven
minutes. Yet he returned to our party cool as a cucumber, to throw dust
in everybody's eyes.

"I must apologize for this intrusion," he said to Vizard; "but my lawyer
wanted to consult me about the lease of one of my farms, and, finding
himself in the neighborhood, he called instead of writing."

"Your lawyer, eh?" said Vizard, slyly. "What is your lawyer's name?"

"Jackson," said Ned, without a moment's hesitation.

Fanny giggled in her own despite.

Instead of stopping here, Severne must go on; it was his unlucky day.

"Not quite a gentleman, you know, or I would have inflicted his society
on you."

"Not quite--eh?" said Harrington, so dryly that Fanny Dover burst into a
fit of uncontrollable laughter.

But Zoe turned hot and cold to see him blundering thus, and telling lie
upon lie.

Severne saw there was something wrong, and buried his nose in pigeon pie.
He devoured it with an excellent appetite, while every eye rested on him;
Zoe's with shame and misery, Uxmoor's with open contempt, Vizard's with
good humored satire.

The situation became intolerable to Zoe Vizard. Indignant and deeply
shocked herself, she still could not bear to see him the butt of others'
ridicule and contempt. She rose haughtily and marched to the door. He
raised his head for a moment as she went out. She turned, and their eyes
met. She gave him such a glance of pity and disdain as suspended the meat
upon his fork, and froze him into comprehending that something very
serious indeed had happened.

He resolved to learn from Fanny what it was, and act accordingly. But
Zoe's maid came in and whispered Fanny. She went out, and neither of the
young ladies was seen till dinner-time. It was conveyed to Uxmoor that
there would be no excursion of any kind this afternoon; and therefore he
took his hat, and went off to pay a visit. He called on Rhoda Gale. She
was at home. He intended merely to offer her his respects, and to side
with her generally against these foolish rustics; but she was pleased
with him for coming, and made herself so agreeable that he spent the
whole afternoon comparing notes with her upon village life, and the
amelioration it was capable of. Each could give the other valuable ideas;
and he said he hoped she would visit his part of the country ere long;
she would find many defects, but also a great desire to amend them.

This flattered her, naturally; and she began to take an interest in him.
That interest soon took the form of curiosity. She must know whether he
was seriously courting Zoe Vizard or not. The natural reserve of a
well-bred man withstood this at first; but that armor could not resist
for two mortal hours such a daughter of Eve as this, with her insidious
questions, her artful statements, her cat-like retreats and cat-like
returns. She learned--though he did not see how far he had committed
himself--that he admired Zoe Vizard and would marry her to-morrow if she
would have him; his hesitation to ask her, because he had a rival, whose
power he could not exactly measure; but a formidable and permitted rival.

They parted almost friends; and Rhoda settled quietly in her mind he
should have Zoe Vizard, since he was so fond of her.

Here again it was Severne's unlucky day, and Uxmoor's lucky. To carry
this same day to a close, Severne tried more than once to get near Zoe
and ask if he had offended her, and in what. But no opportunity occurred.
So then he sat and gazed at her, and looked unhappy. She saw, and was not
unmoved, but would not do more than glance at him. He resigned himself to
wait till night.

Night came. He went on the grass. There was a light in Zoe's room. It was
eleven o'clock. He waited, shivering, till twelve. Then the light was put
out; but no window opened. There was a moon; and her windows glared black
on him, dark and bright as the eyes she now averted from him. He was in
disgrace.

The present incident I have recorded did not end here; and I must now
follow Poikilus on his mission to Homburg; and if the reader has a sense
of justice, methinks he will not complain of the journey, for see how
long I have neglected the noblest figure in this story, and the most to
be pitied. To desert her longer would be too unjust, and derange entirely
the balance of this complicated story.



CHAPTER XVIII.

A CRUEL mental stroke, like a heavy blow upon the body, sometimes benumbs
and sickens at first, but does not torture; yet that is to follow.

It was so with Ina Klosking. The day she just missed Edward Severne, and
he seemed to melt away from her very grasp into the wide world again, she
could drag herself to the theater and sing angelically, with a dull and
aching heart. But next day her heart entered on sharper suffering. She
was irritated, exasperated; chained to the theater, to Homburg, yet wild
to follow Severne to England without delay. She told Ashmead she must and
would go. He opposed it stoutly, and gave good reasons. She could not
break faith with the management. England was a large place. They had, as
yet, no clew but a name. By waiting, the clew would come. The sure course
was to give publicity in England to her winnings, and so draw Severne to
her. But for once she was too excited to listen to reason. She was
tempest-tossed. "I will go--I will go," she repeated, as she walked the
room wildly, and flung her arms aloft with reckless abandon, and yet with
a terrible majesty, an instinctive grace, and all the poetry of a great
soul wronged and driven wild.

She overpowered Ashmead and drove him to the director. He went most
unwillingly; but once there, was true to her, and begged off the
engagement eagerly. The director refused this plump. Then Ashmead, still
true to his commission, offered him (most reluctantly) a considerable sum
down to annul the contract, and backed this with a quiet hint that she
would certainly fall ill if refused. The director knew by experience what
this meant, and how easily these ladies can command the human body to
death's door _pro re nata,_ and how readily a doctor's certificate can be
had to say or swear that the great creature cannot sing or act without
peril to life, though really both these arts are grand medicines, and far
less likely to injure the _bona fide_ sick than are the certifying
doctor's draughts and drugs. The director knew all this; but he was
furious at the disappointment threatened him. "No," said he; "this is
always the way; a poor devil of a manager is never to have a success. It
is treacherous, it is ungrateful: I'll close. You tell her if she is
determined to cut all our throats and kick her own good fortune down, she
can; but, by ----, I'll make her smart for it! Mind, now; she closes the
theater and pays the expenses, if she plays me false."

"But if she is ill?"

"Let her die and be ----, and then I'll believe her. She is the
healthiest woman in Germany. I'll go and take steps to have her arrested
if she offers to leave the town."

Ashmead reported the manager's threats, and the Klosking received them as
a lioness the barking of a cur. She drew herself swiftly up, and her
great eye gleamed imperial disdain at all his menaces but one.

"He will not really close the theater," said she, loftily; but uneasiness
lurked in her manner.

"He will," said Ashmead. "He is desperate: and you know it _is_ hard to
go on losing and losing, and then the moment luck turns to be done out of
it, in spite of a written bargain. I've been a manager myself."

"So many poor people!" said Ina, with a sigh; and her defiant head sunk a
little.

"Oh, bother _them!"_ said Ashmead, craftily. "Let 'em starve."

"God forbid!" said Ina. Then she sighed again, and her queenly head sunk
lower. Then she faltered out, "I have the will to break faith and ruin
poor people, but I have not the courage."

Then a tear or two began to trickle, carrying with them all the
egotistical resolution Ina Klosking possessed at that time. Perhaps we
shall see her harden: nothing stands still.

This time the poor conquered.

But every now and then for many days there were returns of torment and
agitation and wild desire to escape to England.

Ashmead made head against these with his simple arts. For one thing, he
showed her a dozen paragraphs in MS. he was sending to as many English
weekly papers, describing her heavy gains at the table. "With these
stones," said he, "I kill two birds: extend your fame, and entice your
idol back to you." Here a growl, which I suspect was an inarticulate
curse. Joseph, fi!

The pen of Joseph on such occasions was like his predecessor's coat,
polychromatic. The Klosking read him, and wondered. "Alas!" said she,
"with what versatile skill do you descant on a single circumstance not
very creditable."

"Creditable!" said Ashmead; "it was very naughty, but it is very nice."
And the creature actually winked, forgetting, of course, whom he was
winking at, and wasting his vulgarity on the desert air; for the
Klosking's eye might just manage to blink--at the meridian sun, or so
forth; but it never winked once in all its life.

One of the paragraphs ran thus, with a heading in small capitals:


"A PRIMA DONNA AT THE GAMBLING TABLE.

"Mademoiselle Klosking, the great contralto, whose success has been
already recorded in all the journals, strolled, on one of her off nights,
into the Kursaal at Homburg, and sat down to _trente et quarante._ Her
melodious voice was soon heard betting heavily, with the most engaging
sweetness of manner; and doubling seven times upon the red, she broke the
bank, and retired with a charming courtesy and eight thousand pounds in
gold and notes."





Another dealt with the matter thus:

"ROUGE ET NOIR.

"The latest coup at Homburg has been made by a cantatrice whose praises
all Germany are now ringing. Mademoiselle Klosking, successor and rival
of Alboni, went to the Kursaal, _pour passer le temps;_ and she passed it
so well that in half an hour the bank was broken, and there was a pile of
notes and gold before La Klosking amounting to ten thousand pounds and
more. The lady waved these over to her agent, Mr. Joseph Ashmead, with a
hand which, _par parenthe'se,_ is believed to be the whitest in Europe,
and retired gracefully."





On perusing this, La Klosking held _two_ white hands up to heaven in
amazement at the skill and good taste which had dragged this feature into
the incident.

"A DRAMATIC SITUATION.

"A circumstance has lately occurred here which will infallibly be seized
on by the novelists in search of an incident. Mademoiselle Klosking, the
new contralto, whose triumphant progress through Europe will probably be
the next event in music, walked into the Kursaal the other night, broke
the bank, and walked out again with twelve thousand pounds, and that
charming composure which is said to distinguish her in private life.

"What makes it more remarkable is that the lady is not a gamester, has
never played before, and is said to have declared that she shall never
play again. It is certain that, with such a face, figure, and voice as
hers, she need never seek for wealth at the gambling-table. Mademoiselle
Klosking is now in negotiation with all the principal cities of the
Continent. But the English managers, we apprehend, will prove awkward
competitors."





Were I to reproduce the nine other paragraphs, it would be a very
curious, instructive, and tedious specimen of literature; and, who knows?
I might corrupt some immaculate soul, inspire some actor or actress,
singer or songstress, with an itch for public self-laudation, a foible
from which they are all at present so free. Witness the _Era,_ the
_Hornet,_ and _Figaro._

Ina Klosking spotted what she conceived to be a defect in these
histories. "My friend," said she meekly, "the sum I won was under five
thousand pounds."

"Was it? Yes, to be sure. But, you see, these are English advertisements.
Now England is so rich that if you keep down to any _Continental_ sum,
you give a false impression in England of the importance on the spot."

"And so we are to falsify figures? In the first of these legends it was
double the truth; and, as I read, it enlarges--oh, but it enlarges," said
Ina, with a Gallicism we shall have to forgive in a lady who spoke five
languages.

"Madam," said Ashmead, dryly, "you must expect your capital to increase
rapidly, so long as I conduct it."

Not being herself swift to shed jokes, Ina did not take them rapidly. She
stared at him. He never moved a muscle. She gave a slight shrug of her
grand shoulders, and resigned that attempt to reason with the creature.

She had a pill in store for him, though. She told him that, as she had
sacrificed the longings of her heart to the poor of the theater, so she
should sacrifice a portion of her ill-gotten gains to the poor of the
town.

He made a hideously wry face at that, asked what poor-rates were for, and
assured her that "pauper" meant "drunkard."

"It is not written so in Scripture," said Ina; "and I need their prayers,
for I am very unhappy."

In short, Ashmead was driven out from the presence chamber with a
thousand thalers to distribute among the poor of Homburg; and, once in
the street, his face did not shine like an angel of mercy's, but was very
pinched and morose; hardly recognizable--poor Joe!

By-and-by he scratched his head. Now it is unaccountable, but certain
heads often yield an idea in return for that. Joseph's did, and his
countenance brightened.

Three days after this Ina was surprised by a note from the burgomaster,
saying that he and certain of the town council would have the honor of
calling on her at noon.

What might this mean?

She sent to ask for Mr. Ashmead; he was not to be found; he had hidden
himself too carefully.

The deputation came and thanked her for her munificent act of charity.

She looked puzzled at first, then blushed to the temples. "Munificent
act, gentlemen! Alas! I did but direct my agent to distribute a small sum
among the deserving poor. He has done very ill to court your attention.
My little contribution should have been as private as it is
insignificant."

"Nay, madam," said the clerk of the council, who was a recognized orator,
"your agent did well to consult our worthy burgomaster, who knows the
persons most in need and most deserving. We do not doubt that you love to
do good in secret. Nevertheless, we have also our sense of duty, and we
think it right that so benevolent an act should be published, as an
example to others. In the same view, we claim to comment publicly on your
goodness." Then he looked to the burgomaster, who took him up.

"And we comment thus: Madam, since the Middle Ages the freedom of this
town has not been possessed by any female. There is, however, no law
forbidding it, and therefore, madam, the civic authorities, whom I
represent, do hereby present to you the freedom of this burgh."

He then handed her an emblazoned vellum giving her citizenship, with the
reasons written plainly in golden letters.

Ina Klosking, who had remained quite quiet during the speeches, waited a
moment or two, and then replied, with seemly grace and dignity:

"Mr. Burgomaster and gentlemen, you have paid me a great and unexpected
compliment, and I thank you for it. But one thing makes me uneasy: it is
that I have done so little to deserve this. I console myself, however, by
reflecting that I am still young, and may have opportunities to show
myself grateful, and even to deserve, in the future, this honor, which at
present overpays me, and almost oppresses me. On that understanding,
gentlemen, be pleased to bestow, and let me receive, the rare compliment
you have paid me by admitting me to citizenship in your delightful town."
(To herself:) "I'll scold him well for this."

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