F. Marion Crawford - "Via Crucis"

John Philip Sousa - "The Experiences of a Bandmaster"

Fredrich de la Motte Fouque - "Aslauga's Knight"

Edgar B. P. Darlington - "The Circus Boys on the Plains"

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The Nether World

G >> George Gissing >> The Nether World




Snowdon returned at eleven; it alarmed Sidney to find how late he
had allowed himself to remain, and he began shaping apologies. But
the old man had nothing but the familiar smile and friendly words.

'Haven't you given Mr. Kirkwood any supper?' he asked of Jane,
looking at the table.

'I really forgot all about it, grandfather,' was the laughing reply.

Then Snowdon laughed, and Sidney joined in the merriment; but he
would not be persuaded to stay longer.





CHAPTER XVII

CLEM MAKES A DISCLOSURE




When Miss Peckover suggested to her affianced that their wedding
might as well take place at the registry-office, seeing that there
would then be no need to go to expense in the article of costume,
Mr. Snowdon readily assented; at the same time it gave him new
matter for speculation. Clem was not exactly the kind of girl to
relinquish without good reason that public ceremony which is the
dearest of all possible ceremonies to women least capable of
reverencing its significance. Every day made it more obvious that
the Peckovers desired to keep this marriage a secret until it was
accomplished. In one way only could Joseph James account for the
mystery running through the whole affair; it must be that Miss
Peckover had indiscretions to conceal, certain points in her history
with which she feared lest her bridegroom should be made acquainted
by envious neighbours. The thought had no effect upon Mr. Snowdon
save to excite his mirth; his attitude with regard to such
possibilities was that of a philosopher. The views with which he was
entering upon this alliance were so beautifully simple that he
really did not find it worth while to puzzle further as soon as the
plausible solution of his difficulties had presented itself. Should
he hereafter discover that something unforeseen perturbed the smooth
flow of life to which he looked forward, nothing could be easier
than his remedy; the world is wide, and a cosmopolitan does not
attach undue importance to a marriage contracted in one of its
somewhat numerous parishes. In any case he would have found the
temporary harbour of refuge which stress of weather had made
necessary. He surrendered himself to the pleasant tickling of his
vanity which was an immediate result of the adventure. For, whatever
Clem might be hiding, it seemed to him beyond doubt that she was
genuinely attracted by his personal qualities. Her demonstrations
were not extravagant, but in one noteworthy respect she seemed to
give evidence of a sensibility so little in keeping with her general
character that it was only to be explained as the result of a strong
passion. In conversing with him she at times displayed a singular
timidity, a nervousness, a self-subdual surprisingly unlike anything
that could be expected from her. It was true that at other moments
her lover caught a gleam in her eyes, a movement of her lips,
expressive of anything rather than diffidence, and tending to
confirm his view of her as a cunning as well as fierce animal, but
the look and tone of subjugation came often enough to make their
impression predominant. One would have said that she suffered from
jealous fears which for some reason she did not venture to utter.
Now and then he surprised her gazing at him as if in troubled
apprehension, the effect of which upon Mr. Snowdon was perhaps more
flattering than any other look.

'What's up, Clem?' he inquired, on one of these occasions. 'Are you
wondering whether I shall cut and leave you when we've had time to
get tired of each other?'

Her face was transformed; she looked at him for an instant with
fierce suspicion, then laughed disagreeably.

'We'll see about that,' was her answer, with a movement of the head
and shoulders strongly reminding one of a lithe beast about to
spring.

The necessary delay passed without accident. As the morning of the
marriage approached there was, however, a perceptible increase of
nervous restlessness in Clem. She had given up her work at
Whitehead's, and contrived to keep her future husband within sight
nearly all day long. Joseph James found nothing particularly irksome
in this, for beer and tobacco were supplied him _ad libitum_, and a
succession of appetising meals made the underground kitchen a place
of the pleasantest associations. A loan from Mrs. Peckover had
enabled him to renew his wardrobe. When the last night arrived, Clem
and her mother sat conversing to a late hour, their voices again
cautiously subdued. A point had been for some days at issue between
them, and decision was now imperative.

'It's you as started the job,' Clem observed with emphasis, 'an'
it's you as'll have to finish it.'

'And who gets most out of it, I'd like to know?' replied her mother.
'Don't be such a fool! Can't you see as it'll come easier from you?
A nice thing for his mother-in-law to tell him! If you don't like to
do it the first day, then leave it to the second, or third. But if
you take my advice, you'll get it over the next morning.'

'You'll have to do it yourself,' Clem repeated stubbornly, propping
her chin upon her fists.

'Well, I never thought as you was such a frightened babby!
Frightened of a feller like him! I'd be ashamed o' myself!'

'Who's frightened? Hold your row!'

'Why, you are; what else?'

'I ain't!'

'You are!'

'I ain't! You'd better not make me mad, or I'll tell him before,
just to spite you.'

'Spite _me_, you cat! What difference 'll it make to me? I'll tell
you what: I've a jolly good mind to tell him myself beforehand, and
then we'll see who's spited.'

In the end Clem yielded, shrugging her shoulders defiantly.

'I'll have a kitchen-knife near by when I tell him,' she remarked
with decision. 'If he lays a hand on me I'll cut his face open, an'
chance it!'

Mrs. Peckover smiled with tender motherly deprecation of such
extreme measures. But Clem repeated her threat, and there was
something in her eyes which guaranteed the possibility of its
fulfilment.

No personal acquaintance of either the Peckover or the Snowdon
family happened to glance over the list of names which hung in the
registrar's office during these weeks. The only interested person
who had foreknowledge of Clem's wedding was Jane Snowdon, and Jane,
though often puzzled in thinking of the matter, kept her promise to
speak of it to no one. It was imprudence in Clem to have run this
risk, but the joke was so rich that she could not deny herself its
enjoyment; she knew, moreover, that Jane was one of those imbecile
persons who scruple about breaking a pledge. On the eve of her
wedding-day she met Jane as the latter came from Whitehead's, and
requested her to call in the Close next Sunday morning at twelve
o'clock.

'I want you to see my 'usband,' she said, grinning. 'I'm sure you'll
like him.'

Jane promised to come. On the next day, Saturday, Clem entered the
registry-office in a plain dress, and after a few simple formalities
came forth as Mrs. Snowdon; her usual high colour was a trifle
diminished, and she kept glancing at her husband from under
nervously knitted brows. Still the great event was unknown to the
inhabitants of the Close. There was no feasting, and no
wedding-journey; for the present Mr. and Mrs. Snowdon would take
possession of two rooms on the first floor.

Twenty-four hours later, when the bells of St. James's were ringing
their melodies before service, Clem requested her husband's
attention to something of importance she had to tell him.

Mr. Snowdon had just finished breakfast and was on the point of
lighting his pipe; with the match burning down to his fingers, he
turned and regarded the speaker shrewdly. Clem's face put it beyond
question that at last she was about to make a statement definitely
bearing on the history of the past month. At this moment she was
almost pale, and her eyes avoided his. She stood close to the table,
and her right hand rested near the bread-knife; her left held a
piece of paper.

'What is it?' asked Joseph James mildly. 'Go ahead, Clem.'

'You ain't bad-tempered, are you? You said you wasn't.'

'Not I! Best-tempered feller you could have come across. Look at me
smiling.'

His grin was in a measure reassuring, but he had caught sight of the
piece of paper in her hand, and eyed it steadily.

'You know you played mother a trick a long time ago,' Clem pursued,
'when you went off an' left that child on her 'ands.'

'Hollo! What about that?'

'Well, it wouldn't be nothing but fair if someone was to go and play
tricks with _you_--just to pay you off in a friendly sort o' way--see?'

Mr. Snowdon still smiled, but dubiously.

'Out with it!' he muttered. 'I'd have bet a trifle there was some
game on. You're welcome, old girl. Out with it!'

'Did you know as I'd got a brother in 'Stralia--him as you used to
know when you lived here before?'

'You said you didn't know where he was.'

'No more we do--not just now. But he wrote mother a letter about
this time last year, an' there's something in it as I'd like you to
see. You'd better read for yourself.'

Her husband laid down his pipe on the mantel-piece and began to cast
his eye over the letter, which was much defaced by frequent
foldings, and in any case would have been difficult to decipher, so
vilely was it scrawled. But Mr. Snowdon's interest was strongly
excited, and in a few moments he had made out the following
communication:

'I don't begin with no deering, because it's a plaid out thing, and
because I'm riting to too people at onse, both mother and Clem, and
it's so long since I've had a pen in my hand I've harf forgot how to
use it. If you think I'm making my pile, you think rong, so you've
got no need to ask me when I'm going to send money home, like you
did in the last letter. I jest keep myself and that's about all,
because things ain't what they used to be in this busted up country.
And that remminds me what it was as I ment to tell you when I cold
get a bit of time to rite. Not so long ago, I met a chap as used to
work for somebody called Snowdon, and from what I can make out it
was Snowdon's brother at home, him as we use to ere so much about.
He'd made his pile, this Snowdon, you bet, and Ned Williams says he
died worth no end of thousands. Not so long before he died, his old
farther from England came out to live with him; then Snowdon and a
son as he had both got drownded going over a river at night. And Ned
says as all the money went to the old bloak and to a brother in
England, and that's what he herd when he was paid off. The old
farther made traks very soon, and they sed he'd gone back to
England. So it seams to me as you ouht to find Snowdon and make him
pay up what he ose you. And I don't know as I've anything more to
tell you both, ecsep I'm working at a place as I don't know how to
spell, and it woldn't be no good if I did, because there's no saying
were I shall be before you could rite back. So good luck to you
both, from yours truly, W. P.'

In reading, Joseph James scratched his bald head thoughtfully.
Before he had reached the end there were signs of emotion in his
projecting lower lip. At length he regarded Clem, no longer smiling,
but without any of the wrath she had anticipated.

'Ha, ha! This was your game, was it? Well, I don't object, old girl--so
long as you tell me a bit more about it. Now there's no need
for any more lies, perhaps you'll mention where the old fellow is.'

'He's livin' not so far away, an' Jane with him.'

Put somewhat at her ease, Clem drew her hand from the neighbourhood
of the bread-knife, and detailed all she knew with regard to old Mr.
Snowdon and his affairs. Her mother had from the first suspected
that he possessed money, seeing that he paid, with very little
demur, the sum she demanded for Jane's board and lodging. True, he
went to live in poor lodgings, but that was doubtless a personal
eccentricity. An important piece of evidence subsequently
forthcoming was the fact that in sundry newspapers there appeared
advertisements addressed to Joseph James Snowdon, requesting him to
communicate with Messrs. Percival & Peel of Furnival's Inn,
whereupon Mrs. Peckover made inquiries of the legal firm in question
(by means of an anonymous letter), and received a simple assurance
that Mr. Snowdon was being sought for his own advantage.

'You're cool hands, you and your mother,' observed Joseph James,
with a certain involuntary admiration. 'This was not quite three
years ago, you say; just when I was in America. Ha--hum! What I
can't make out is, how the devil that brother of mine came to leave
anything to me. We never did anything but curse each other from the
time we were children to when we parted for good. And so the old man
went out to Australia, did he? That's a rum affair, too; Mike and he
could never get on together. Well, I suppose there's no mistake
about it. I shouldn't much mind if there was, just to see the face
_you'd_ pull, young woman. On the whole, perhaps it's as well for
you that I _am_ fairly good-tempered--eh?'

Clem stood apart, smiling dubiously, now and then eyeing him
askance. His last words once more put her on her guard; she moved
towards the table again.

'Give me the address,' said her husband. 'I'll go and have a talk
with my relations. What sort of a girl's Janey grown up--eh?'

'If you'll wait a bit, you can see for yourself. She's goin' to call
here at twelve.'

'Oh, she is? I suppose you've arranged a pleasant little surprise
for her? Well, I must say you're a cool band, Clem. I shouldn't
wonder if she's been in the house several times since I've been
here?'

'No, she hasn't. It wouldn't have been safe, you see.'

'Give me the corkscrew, and I'll open this bottle of whisky. It
takes it out of a fellow, this kind of thing. Here's to you, Mrs.
Clem! Have a drink? All right; go downstairs and show your mother
you're alive still; and let me know when Jane comes. I want to think
a bit.'

When he had sat for a quarter of an hour in solitary reflection the
door opened, and Clem led into the room a young girl, whose face
expressed timid curiosity. Joseph James stood up, joined his hands
under his coat-tail, and examined the stranger.

'Do you know who it is?' asked Clem of her companion.

'Your husband--but I don't know his name.'

'You ought to, it seems to me,' said Clem, giggling. 'Look at him.'

Jane tried to regard the man for a moment. Her cheeks flushed with
confusion. Again she looked at him, and the colour rapidly faded. In
her eyes was a strange light of painfully struggling recollection.
She turned to Clem, and read her countenance with distress.

'Well, I'm quite sure I should never have known _you_, Janey,' said
Snowdon, advancing. 'Don't you remember your father?'

Yes; as soon as consciousness could reconcile what seemed
impossibilities Jane had remembered him. She was not seven years old
when he forsook her, and a life of anything but orderly progress had
told upon his features. Nevertheless Jane recognised the face she
had never had cause to love, recognised yet more certainly the voice
which carried her back to childhood. But what did it all mean? The
shock was making her heart throb as it was wont to do before her
fits of illness. She looked about her with dazed eyes.

'Sit down, sit down,' said her father, not without a note of genuine
feeling. 'It's been a bit too much for you--like something else
was for me just now. Put some water in that glass, Clem; a drop of
this will do her good.'

The smell of what was offered her proved sufficient to restore Jane;
she shook her head and put the glass away. After an uncomfortable
silence, during which Joseph dragged his feet about the floor, Clem
remarked:

'He wants you to take him home to see your grandfather, Jane.
There's been reasons why he couldn't go before. Hadn't you better go
at once, Jo?'

Jane rose and waited whilst her father assumed his hat and drew on a
new pair of gloves. She could not look at either husband or wife.
Presently she found herself in the street, walking without
consciousness of things in the homeward direction.

'You've grown up a very nice, modest girl, Jane,' was her father's
first observation. 'I can see your grandfather has taken good care
of you.'

He tried to speak as if the situation were perfectly simple. Jane
could find no reply.

'I thought it was better,' he continued, in the same matter-of-fact
voice, 'not to see either of you till this marriage of mine was
over. I've had a great deal of trouble in life--I'll tell you all
about it some day, my dear--and I wanted just to settle myself
before--I dare say you'll understand what I mean. I suppose your
grandfather has often spoken to you about me?'

'Not very often, father,' was the murmured answer.

'Well, well; things'll soon be set right. I feel quite proud of you,
Janey; I do, indeed. And I suppose you just keep house for him, eh?'

'I go to work as well.'

'What? You go to work? How's that, I wonder?'

'Didn't Miss Peckover tell you?'

Joseph laughed. The girl could not grasp all these astonishing facts
at once, and the presence of her father made her forget who Miss
Peckover had become.

'You mean my wife, Janey! No, no; she didn't tell me you went to
work;--an accident. But I'm delighted you and Clem are such good
friends. Kind-hearted girl, isn't she?'

Jane whispered an assent.

'No doubt your grandfather often tells you about Australia, and your
uncle that died there?'

'No, he never speaks of Australia. And I never heard of my uncle.'

'Indeed? Ha--hum!'

Joseph continued his examination all the way to Hanover Street,
often expressing surprise, but never varying from the tone of
affection and geniality. When they reached the door of the house he
said:

'Just let me go into the room by myself. I think it'll be better.
He's alone, isn't he?'

'Yes. I'll come up and show you the door.'

She did so, then turned aside into her own room, where she sat
motionless for a long time.





CHAPTER XVIII

THE JOKE IS COMPLETED




Michael Snowdon--to distinguish the old man by name from the son
who thus unexpectedly returned to him--professed no formal
religion. He attended no Sunday service, nor had ever shown a wish
that Jane should do so. We have seen that he used the Bible as a
source of moral instruction; Jane and he still read passages
together on a Sunday morning, but only such were chosen as had a
purely human significance, and the comments to which they gave
occasion never had any but a human bearing. Doubtless Jane reflected
on these things; it was her grandfather's purpose to lead her to
such reflection, without himself dogmatising on questions which from
his own point of view were unimportant. That Jane should possess the
religious spirit was a desire he never lost sight of; the single
purpose of his life was involved therein; but formalism was against
the bent of his nature. Born and bred amid the indifference of. the
London working classes, he was one of the very numerous thinking men
who have never needed to cast aside a faith of childhood; from the
dawn of rationality, they simply stand apart from all religious
dogmas, unable to understand the desire of such helps to conduct,
untouched by spiritual trouble--as that phrase is commonly
interpreted. And it seemed that Jane closely resembled him in this
matter. Sensitive to every prompting of humanity, instinct with
moral earnestness, she betrayed no slightest tendency to the
religion of church, chapel, or street-corner. A promenade of the
Salvation Army half-puzzled, half-amused her; she spoke of it
altogether without intolerance, as did her grandfather, but never
dreamt that it was a phenomenon which could gravely concern her.
Prayers she had never said; enough that her last thought before
sleeping was one of kindness to those beings amid whom she lived her
life, that on awaking her mind turned most naturally to projects of
duty and helpfulness.

Excepting the Bible, Snowdon seldom made use of books either for
inquiry or amusement. Very imperfectly educated in his youth, he had
never found leisure for enriching his mind in the ordinary way until
it was too late; as an old man he had so much occupation in his
thoughts that the printed page made little appeal to him. Till quite
recently he had been in the habit of walking for several hours
daily, always choosing poor districts; now that his bodily powers
were sensibly failing him, he passed more and more of his time in
profound brooding, so forgetful of external things that Jane, on her
return from work, had more than once been troubled by noticing that
he had taken no midday meal. It was in unconsciousness such as this
that he sat when his son Joseph, receiving no reply to his knock,
opened the door and entered; but that his eyes were open, the
posture of his body and the forward drooping of his head would have
made it appear that he slept. Joseph stepped towards him, and at
length the old man looked up. He gazed at his visitor first
unintelligently, then with wonder and growing emotion.

'Jo?--Jo, at last? You were in my mind only a few minutes ago, but
I saw you as a boy.'

He rose from the chair and held out both his hands, trembling more
than they were wont to do.

'I almost wonder you knew me,' said Joseph. 'It's seventeen years
since we saw each other. It was all Jane could do to remember me.'

'Jane? Where have you seen her? At the house in the Close?'

'Yes. It was me she went to see, but she didn't know it. I've just
been married to Miss Peckover. Sit down again, father, and let's
talk over things quietly.'

'Married to Miss Peckover?' repeated the old man, as if making an
effort to understand the words. 'Then why didn't you come here
before?'

Joseph gave the explanation which he had already devised for the
benefit of his daughter. His manner of speaking was meant to be very
respectful, but it suggested that he looked upon the hearer as
suffering from feebleness of mind, as well as of body. He
supplemented his sentences with gestures and smiles, glancing about
the room meantime with looks of much curiosity.

'So you've been living here a long time, father? It was uncommonly
good of you to take care of my girl. I dare say you've got so used
to having her by you, you wouldn't care for her to go away now?'

'Do you wish to take Jane away?' Michael inquired gravely.

'No, no; not I! Why, it's nothing but her duty to keep you company
and be what use she can. She's happy enough, that I can see. Well,
well; I've gone through a good deal since the old days, father, and
I'm not what you used to know me. I'm gladder than I can say to find
you so easy in your old age. Neither Mike nor me did our duty by
you, that's only too sure. I wish I could have the time back again;
but what's the good of that? Can you tell me anything about Mike?'

'Yes. He died in Australia, about four years ago.'

'Did he now? Well, I've been in America, but I never got so far as
Australia. So Mike's dead, is he? I hope he had better luck than
me.'

The old man did not cease from examining his son's countenance.

'What is your position, at present?' he asked, after a pause. 'You
don't look unprosperous.'

'Nothing to boast of, father. I've gone through all kinds of trades.
In the States I both made and lost money. I invented a new method of
nickel-plating, but it did me no good, and then I gave up that line
altogether. Since I've been back in England--two years about--
I've mostly gone in for canvassing, advertising agencies, and that
kind of thing. I make an honest living, and that's about all. But I
shouldn't wonder if things go a bit better now; I feel as if I was
settled at last. What with having a home of my own, and you and
Janey near at hand--You won't mind if I come and see you both
now and then?'

'I shall hope to see you often,' replied the other, still keeping
his grave face and tone. 'It's been my strong desire that we might
come together again, and I've done the best I could to find you.
But, as you said, we've been parted for a very long time, and it
isn't in a day that we can come to understand each other. These
seventeen years have made an old man of me, Jo; I think and speak
and act slowly:--better for us all if I had learned to do so long
ago! Your coming was unexpected; I shall need a little time to get
used to the change it makes.'

'To be sure; that's true enough. Plenty of time to talk over things.
As far as I'm concerned, father, the less said about bygones the
better; it's the future that I care about now. I want to put things
right between us--as they ought to be between father and son. You
understand me, I hope?'

Michael nodded, keeping his eyes upon the ground. Again there was a
silence, then Joseph said that if Jane would come in and speak a few
words--so as to make things home-like--it would be time for him
to take his leave for the present. At her grandfather's summons Jane
entered the room. She was still oppressed by the strangeness of her
position, and with difficulty took part in the colloquy. Joseph,
still touching the note of humility in his talk, eyed his relatives
alternately, and exhibited reluctance to quit them.

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