Books: Love Me Little, Love Me Long

C >> Charles Reade >> Love Me Little, Love Me Long

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Mrs. Bazalgette steeled her mind to admire the garden, and would have
done so with ease if it had been hideous. But, unfortunately, it was
pretty--prettier than her own; had grassy slopes, a fountain, a
grotto, variegated beds, and beds a blaze of one color (a fashion not
common at that time); item, a brook with waterlilies on its bosom.
"This brook is not mine, strictly speaking," said her host; "I
borrowed it of my neighbor." The lady opened her eyes; so he grinned
and revealed a characteristic transaction. A quarter of a century ago
he had found the brook flowing through a meadow close to his garden
hedge. He applied for a lease of the meadow, and was refused by the
proprietor in the following terms: "What is to become of my cows?"

He applied constantly for ten years, and met the same answer.
Proprietor died, the cows turned to ox-beef, and were eaten in London
along with flour and a little turmeric, and washed down with Spanish
licorice-water, salt, gentian and a little burned malt. Widow
inherited, made hay, and refused F. the meadow because her husband had
always refused him. But in the tenth year of her siege she assented,
for the following reasons: _primo,_ she had said "no" so often
the word gave her a sense of fatigue; _secundo,_ she liked
variety, and thought a change for the worse must be better than no
change at all.

Her tenant instantly cut a channel from the upper part of the stream
into his garden, and brought the brook into the lawn, made it write an
S upon his turf, then handed it but again upon the meadow "none the
worse," his own comment. These things could be done in the
country--_jadis._

It cost Mrs. Bazalgette a struggle to admire the garden and borrowed
stream--they were so pretty. She made the struggle and praised all.
Lucy, walking behind the pair, watched them with innocent
satisfaction. "How fast they are making friends," thought she,
mistaking an armistice for an alliance.

"Since the place is so fortunate as to please you, you will stay a
week with me, madam, at least."

"A week! No, Mr. Fountain; I really admire your courtesy too much to
abuse it."

"Not at all; you will oblige me."

"I cannot bring myself to think so."

"You may believe me. I have a selfish motive."

"Oh, if you are in earnest."

"I will explain. If you are my guest for a week, that will give me a
claim to be yours in turn." And he bent a keen look upon the lady, as
much as to say, "Now I shall see whether you dare let me spy on you as
you are doing on me."

"I propose an amendment," said Mrs. Bazalgette, with a merry air of
defiance: "for every day I enjoy here you must spend two beneath my
roof. On this condition, I will stay a week at Font Abbey."

"I consent," said Mr. Fountain, a little sharply. He liked the
bargain. "I must leave you to Lucy for a minute; I have some orders to
give. I like _my_ guests to be comfortable." With this he retired
to his study and pondered. "What is she here for? it is not affection
for Lucy; that is all my eye, a selfish toad like her. (How agreeable
she can make herself, though.) She heard I was out, and came here to
spy directly. That was sharp practice. Better not give her a chance of
seeing my game. I disarmed her suspicion by asking her to stay a week,
aha! Well, during that week Talboys must not come, that is all; aha!
my lady, I won't give those cunning eyes of yours a chance of looking
over my hand." He then wrote a note to Talboys, telling him there was
a guest at Font Abbey, a disagreeable woman, "who makes mischief
whenever she can. She would be sure to divine our intentions, and use
all her influence with Lucy to spite me. You had better stay away till
she is gone." He sent this off by a servant, then pondered again.

"She suspects something; then that is a sign she has her own designs
on Lucy. Hum! no. If she had, she would not have invited me to her
house. She invited me directly and cheerfully--!"

Mrs. Bazalgette walked and sat with an arm round Lucy's waist, and
told her seven times before dinner how happy she was at the prospect
of a quiet week with her. In the evening she yawned eleven times. Next
day she asked Lucy who was coming to dinner.

"Nobody, dear."

"Nobody at all?"

"I thought you would perhaps not care to have our tete-a-tete
interrupted yet."

"Oh, but I should like to explore the natives too."

"I will give uncle a hint, dear." The hint was given very delicately,
but the malicious senior had a perverse construction ready
immediately.

"So this is her mighty affection for you. Can't get through two days
without strangers."

"Uncle," said Lucy, imploringly, "she is so used to society, and she
has me all day; we ought to give her some little amusement at night."

"Well, I can't make up parties now; my friends are all in London. She
only wants something to flirt with. Send for David Dodd."

"What, for her to flirt with?"

"Yes; he is a handsome fellow; he will serve her turn."

"For shame, uncle; what would Mr. Bazalgette say? Poor aunt, she is a
coquette now."

"And has been this twenty years."

"Now I was thinking--Mr. Talboys?"

"Talboys is not at home; she must be content with lower game. She
shall bring down David."

Lucy hesitated. "I don't think she will like Mr. Dodd, and I am sure
he will not like her."

"How can you know that?"

"He is so honest. He will not understand a woman of the world and her
little in--sin-- No, I don't mean that."

"Well, if he does not understand her he may like her."

"Aunt, he has made me ask the Dodds to tea, and I am afraid you will
not like them."

"Well, if I don't we must try some more natives to-morrow. Who are
they?" Lucy told her. "Pretty people to ask to meet me," said she,
loftily. This scorn dissolved in course of the evening. Lucy, anxious
her guests should be pleased with one another, drew the Dodds out,
especially David--made him spin a yarn. With this and his good looks
he so pleased Mrs. Bazalgette that it was the last yarn he ever span
during her stay. She took a fancy to him, and set herself to captivate
him with sprightly ardor.

David received her advances politely, but a little coldly. The lady
was very agreeable, but she kept him from Lucy; he hardly got three
words with her all the evening. As they went home together, Eve
sneered: "Well, you managed nicely; it was your business to make
friends with that lady."

"With all my heart."

"Then why didn't you do what she bid you?"

"She gave me no orders that I heard," said the literal first mate.

"She gave you a plain hint, though."

"To do what?"

"To do what? stupid! Why, to make love to her, to be sure."

"Why, she is a married woman?"

"If she chooses to forget that, is it your business to remember it?"

"And if she was single, and the loveliest in the world, how could I
court her when my heart is full of an angel?"

"If your heart is full, your head is empty. Why, you see nothing."

"I can't see why I should belie my heart."

"Can't you? Then I can. David, in less than a month Miss Fountain goes
to this lady and stays a quarter of a year: she told me so herself.
Oh, my ears are always open in your service ever since I did agree to
be as great a fool as you are. Now don't you see that if you can't get
Mrs. Bazalgette to invite you to her house, you must take leave of the
other here forever?"

"I see what you mean, Eve; how wise you are! It is wonderful. But what
is to be done? I am bad at feigning. I can't make love to her."

"But you can let her make love to you: is that an effort you feel
equal to? and I must do the rest. Oh, we have a nice undertaking
before us. But, if boys will cry for fruit that is out of their reach,
and their silly sisters will indulge them--don't slobber _me."_

"You are such a dear girl to fight for me so a little against your
judgment."

"A little, eh? Dead against it, you mean. Don't look so blank, David;
you are all right as far as me. When my heart is on your side you can
snap your fingers at my judgment."

David was cheered by this gracious revelation.

Eve was a tormenting little imp. She could not help reminding him
every now and then that all her maneuvers and all his love were to end
in disappointment. These discouraging comments had dashed poor David's
spirits more than once; but he was beginning to discover that they
were invariably accompanied or followed by an access of cheerful zeal
in the desperate cause--a pleasing phenomenon, though somewhat
unintelligible to this honest fellow, who had never microscoped the
enigmatical sex.

Mrs. Bazalgette reproached Lucy: "You never told me how handsome Mr.
Dodd was."

"Didn't I?

"No. He is the handsomest man I ever saw."

"I have not observed that, but I think he is one of the worthiest."

"I should not wonder," said the other lady, carelessly. "It is clear
you don't appreciate him here. You half apologized to me for inviting
him."

"That was because you are such a fashionable lady, and the Dodds have
no such pretensions."

"All the better; my taste is not for sophisticated people. I only put
up with them because I am obliged. Why, Lucy, you ought to know how my
heart yearns for nature and truth; I am sure I have told you so often
enough. An hour spent with a simple, natural creature like Captain
Dodd refreshes me as a cooling breeze after the heat and odors of a
crowded room."

"Miss Dodd is very natural too--is she not?"

"Very. Pertness and vulgarity are natural enough--to some people."

"My uncle likes her the best of the two."

"Then your uncle is mad. But the fact is, men are no judges in such
cases; they are always unjust to their own sex, and as blind to the
faults of ours as beetles."

"But surely, aunt, she is very arch and lively."

"Pert and fussy, you mean."

"Pretty, at all events? Rather?"

"What, with that snub nose!!?"

Lucy offered to invite other neighbors; Mrs. Bazalgette replied she
didn't want to be bothered with rurality. "You can ask Captain Dodd,
if you like; there is no need to invite the sister."

"Oh yes, I must; my uncle likes her the best."

"But _I_ don't; and I am only here for a day or two."

"Miss Dodd would be hurt. It would be unkind--discourteous."

"No, no. She watches him all the time like a little dragon."

_"Apres?_ We have no sinister designs on Mr. Dodd, have we?" and
something unusually keen flashed upon Aunt Bazalgette out of the tail
of the quiet Lucy's eye.

Mrs. Bazalgette looked cross. "Nonsense, Lucy; so tiresome! Can't we
have an agreeable person without tacking on a disagreeable one?"

"Aunt," said Lucy, pathetically, "ask me anything else in the world,
but don't ask me to be rude, for _I can't."_

"Well, then, you are bound to entertain her, since she is your choice,
and leave me mine."

Lucy acquiesced softly.

David, tutored by his sister, now tried to seem interested in her who
came between him and Lucy, and a miserable hand he made of this his
first piece of acting. Luckily for him, Mrs. Bazalgette liked the
sound of her own voice; and his good looks, too, went a long way with
the mature woman. Lucy and Eve sat together at the tea-table; Mr.
Fountain slumbered below; Arthur was in the study, nailed to a novel;
Eve, under a careless exterior, watched intently to find out if Lucy,
under a calm surface, cared for David at all or not, and also watched
for a chance to serve him. She observed a certain languor about the
young lady, but no attempt to take David from the coquette. At last,
however, Lucy did say demurely, "Mr. Dodd seems to appreciate my
aunt."

"Don't you think it is rather the other way?"

"That is an insidious question, Miss Dodd. I shall make no admissions;
but I warn you she is a very fascinating woman."

"My brother is greatly admired by the ladies, too."

"Oh, since I praised my champion, you have a right to praise yours.
But he will get the worst in that little encounter."

"Why so?

"Because my sprightly aunt forgets the very names of her conquests
when once she has thoroughly made them."

"She will never make this one; my brother carries an armor against
coquettes."

"Ay, indeed; and pray what may that be?" inquired Lucy, a little
quizzingly.

"A true and deep attachment."

"Ah!"

"And if you will look at him a little closer you will see that he
would be glad to get away from that old flirt; but David is very
polite to ladies."

Lucy stole a look from under her silken lashes, and it so happened
that at that very moment she encountered a sorrowful glance from David
that said plainly enough, I am obliged to be here, but I long to be
there. She received his glance full in her eyes, absorbed it blandly,
then lowered her lashes a moment, then turned her head with a sweet
smile toward Eve. "I think you said your brother was engaged."

"No."

"I misunderstood you, then."

"Yes." Eve uttered this monosyllable so dryly that Lucy drew back, and
immediately turned the conversation into chit-chat.

It had not trickled above ten minutes when an exclamation from David
interrupted it. The young ladies turned instinctively, and there was
David flushing all over, and speaking to Mrs. Bazalgette with a
tremulous warmth, that, addressed as it was to a pretty woman, sounded
marvelously like love-making.

Lucy turned her crest round a little haughtily, and shot such a glance
on Eve. Eve read in it a compound of triumph and pique.

David came to Eve one morning with parchments in his hand and a merry
smile. "Eureka!"

"You're another," said Eve, as quick as lightning, and upon
speculation.

"I have made Mr. Fountain's pedigree out," explained David.

"You don't say so! won't he be pleased?"

"Yes. Do you think _she_ will be pleased?"

"Why not? She will look pleased, anyway. I say, don't you go and tell
them the whole county was owned by the Dodds before Fountain, or
Funteyn, or Font, was ever heard of."

"Hardly. I have my own weaknesses, my lass; I've no need to adopt
another man's."

"Bless my soul, how wise you are got! So sudden, too! You shouldn't
surprise a body like that. Lucky I'm not hysterical. Now let me think,
David--Solomon, I mean--no, you shall keep this discovery back awhile;
it may be wanted." She then reminded him that the Fountains were
capricious; that they had dropped him for a week, and eight again; if
so, this might be useful to unlock their street door to him at need.

"Good heavens, Eve, what cunning!"

"David, when I have a bad cause in hand, I do one of two things: I
drop it, or I go into it heart and soul. If my zeal offends you, I can
retire from the contest with great pleasure."

"No! no! no! no! no! If you leave the helm I shall go ashore
directly"--dismay of David; grim satisfaction of his imp.

This matter settled, David asked Eve if she did not think Master
Nelson (Mr. Fountain's new ward) was a very nice boy.

"Yes; and I see he has taken a wonderful fancy to you."

"And so have I to him; we have had one or two walks together. He is to
come here at twelve o'clock to-day."

"Now why couldn't you have asked me first, David? The painters are
coming into the house to-day; and the paperers, and all, and we can't
be bothered with mathematics. You must do them at Font Abbey." Eve was
a little cross. David only laughed at her; but he hesitated about
making a school-house of Font Abbey--it would look like intruding.

"Pooh! nonsense," said Eve; "they will only be too glad to take
advantage of your good-nature."

"He is an orphan," said David, doggedly.

However, the lesson was given at Font Abbey, and after it Master
Nelson came bounding into the drawing-room to the ladies.

"Oh, Lucy, Mr. Dodd is such a beautiful geometrician! He has been
giving me a lesson; he is going to give me one every day. He knows a
great deal more than my last tutor." On this Master Nelson was
questioned, and revealed that a friendship existed between him and Mr.
Dodd such as girls are incapable of (this was leveled at Lucy); being
cross-examined as to the date of this friendship, he was obliged to
confess that it had only existed four days, but was to last to death.

"But, Arthur," said Lucy, "will not this take up too much of Mr.
Dodd's time? I think you had better consult Uncle Fountain before you
make a positive arrangement of the kind."

"Oh, I have spoken to my guardian about it, and he was _so_
pleased. He said that would save him a mathematical tutor."

"Oh, then," said Mrs. Bazalgette, "Mr. Dodd is to teach mathematics
gratis."

"My friend is a gentleman," was the timid reply. (Juveniles have a
pomposity all their own, and exquisitely delicious.*) "We read
together because we like one another, and that is why we walk together
and play together; if we were to offer him money he would throw it at
our heads." Mr. Arthur then relaxed his severity, and, condescending
once more to the familiar, added: "And he has made me a kite on
mathematical principles--such a whacker--those in the shops are no
use; and he has sent his mother's Bath chair on to the downs, and he
is going to show me the kite draw him ten knots an hour in it--a knot
means a mile, Lucy--so I can't stay wasting my time here; only, if you
want to see some fun for once in your lives, come on the downs in
about an hour--will you? Oh yes! do come!"

* Read the Oxford Essays.

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Bazalgette, sharply.

"Excuse us, dear," said Lucy in the same breath.

"Well, Lucy," said Mrs. Bazalgette, "am I wrong about your uncle's
selfishness! I have tried in vain ever since I came here to make you
see it where _you_ were the only sufferer."

"Not quite in vain, aunt," said Lucy sadly; "you have shown me defects
in my poor uncle that I should never have discovered."

Mrs. Bazalgette smiled grimly.

"Only, as you hate him, and I love him, and always mean to love him,
permit me to call his defects 'thought-lessness.' _You_ can apply
the harsh term 'selfish-ness' to the most good-natured, kind,
indulgent--oh!"

"Ha! ha! Don't cry, you silly girl. Thoughtless? a calculating old
goose, who is eternally aiming to be a fox--never says or does
anything without meaning something a mile off. Luckily, his veil is so
thin that everybody sees through it but you. What do you think of his
_thought-less-ness_ in getting a tutor gratis? Poor Mr. Dodd!"

"I will answer for it, it is a pleasure to Mr. Dodd to be of service
to his little friend," said Lucy, warmly.

"How do you know a bore is a pleasure to Mr. Dodd?"

"Mr. Dodd is a new acquaintance of yours, aunt, but I have had
opportunities of observing his character, and I assure you all this
pity is wasted."

"Why, Lucy, what did you say to Arthur just now. You are contradicting
_yourself."_

"What a love of opposition I must have. Are you not tired of in-doors?
Shall we go into the village?"

"No; I exhausted the village yesterday."

"The garden?"

"No."

"Well, then, suppose we sketch the church together. There is a good
light."

"No. Let us go on the downs, Lucy."

"Why, aunt, it--it is a long walk."

"All the better."

"But we said 'No.'"

"What has that to do with it?"

Arthur was right; the kites that are sold by shops of prey are not
proportioned nor balanced; this is probably in some way connected with
the circumstance that they are made to sell, not fly. The monster
kite, constructed by the light of Euclid, rose steadily into the air
like a balloon, and eventually, being attached to the chair, drew Mr.
Arthur at a reasonable pace about half a mile over a narrow but level
piece of turf that was on the top of the downs. Q.E.D. This done,
these two patient creatures had to wind the struggling monster in, and
go back again to the starting point. Before they had quite achieved
this, two petticoats mounted the hill and moved toward them across the
plateau. At sight of them David thrilled from head to foot, and Arthur
cried, "Oh, bother!" an unjust ejaculation, since it was by his
invitation they came. His alarms were verified. The ladies made
themselves No. 1 directly, and the poor kite became a shield for
flirtation. Arthur was so cross.

At last the B's desire to occupy attention brought her to the verge of
trouble. Seeing David saying a word to Lucy, she got into the chair,
and went gayly off, drawn by the kite, which Arthur, with a mighty
struggle, succeeded in hooking to the car for her. Now, the plateau
was narrow, and the chair wanted guiding. It was easy to guide it, but
Mrs. Bazalgette did not know how; so it sidled in a pertinacious and
horrid way toward a long and steepish slope on the left side. She
began to scream, Arthur to laugh--the young are cruel, and, I am
afraid, though he stood perfectly neutral to all appearance, his heart
within nourished black designs. But David came flying up at her
screams--just in time. He caught the lady's shoulders as she glided
over the brow of the slope, and lifted her by his great strength up
out of the chair, which went the next moment bounding and jumping
athwart the hill, and soon rolled over and groveled in rather an ugly
way.

Mrs. Bazalgette sobbed and cried so prettily on David's shoulder, and
had to be petted and soothed by all hands. Inward composure soon
returned, though not outward, and in due course histrionics commenced.
First the sprain business. None of you do it better, ladies, whatever
you may think. David had to carry her a bit. But she was too wise to
be a bore. Next, the heroic business: _would_ be put down,
_would_ walk, possible or not; _would_ not be a trouble to
her kind friends. Then the martyr smiling through pain. David was very
attentive to her; for while he was carrying her in his arms she had
won his affection, all he could spare from Lucy. Which of you can tell
all the consequences if you go and carry a pretty woman, with her
little insinuating mouth close to your ears?

Lucy and Arthur walked behind. Arthur sighed. Lucy was _reveuse._
Arthur broke silence first. "Lucy!"

"Yes, dear."

"When is she going?"

"Arthur, for shame! I won't tell you. To-morrow."

"Lucy," said Arthur, with a depth of feeling, "she spoils
everything!!!"

Next morning ---- _come back?_ What for? _I will have the
goodness to tell you what she said in his ear?_ Why, nothing.

_You are a female reader?_ Oh! that alters the case. To attempt
to deceive you would be cowardly, immoral; it would fail. She sighed,
"My preserver!" at which David had much ado not to laugh in her face.
Then she murmured still more softly, "You must come and see me at my
home before you sail--will you not? I insist" (in the tone of a
supplicant), "come, promise me."

"That I will--with pleasure," said David, flushing.

"Mind, it is a promise. Put me down. Lucy, come here and make him put
me down. I _will not_ be a burden to my friends."

CHAPTER VIII.

THAT same evening, Mrs. Bazalgette, being alone with Lucy in the
drawing-room, put her arm round that young lady's waist, and lovingly,
not seriously, as a man might have been apt to do, reminded her of her
honorable promise--not to be caught in the net of matrimony at Font
Abbey. Lucy answered, without embarrassment, that she claimed no merit
for keeping her word. No one had had the ill taste to invite her to
break it.

"You are either very sly or very blind," replied Mrs. Bazalgette,
quietly.

"Aunt!" said Lucy, piteously.

Mrs. Bazalgette, who, by many a subtle question and observation during
the last week, had satisfied herself of Lucy's innocence, now set to
work and laid Uncle Fountain bare.

"I do not speak in a hurry, Lucy; a hint came round to me a fortnight
ago that you had an admirer here, and it turns out to be this Mr.
Talboys."

"Mr. Talboys?"

"Yes. Does that surprise you? Do you think a young gentleman would
come to Font Abbey three nights in a week without a motive?"

Lucy reflected.

"It is all over the place that you two are engaged."

Lucy colored, and her eyes flashed with something very like anger, but
she held her peace.

"Ask Jane else."

"What! take my servant into my confidence?"

"Oh, there is a way of setting that sort of people chattering without
seeming to take any notice. To tell the truth, I have done it for you.
It is all over the village, and all over the house."

"The proper person to ask must have been Uncle Fountain himself."

"As if he would have told me the truth."

"He is a gentleman, aunt, and would not have uttered a falsehood."

"Doctrine of chivalry! He would have uttered half a dozen in one
minute. Besides, why should I question a person I can read without.
Your uncle, with his babyish cunning that everybody sees through, has
given me the only proof I wanted. He has not had Mr. Talboys here once
since I came."

"Cunning little aunt! Mr. Talboys happens not to be at home; uncle
told me so himself."

"Simple little niece, uncle told you a fib; Mr. Talboys is at home.
And observe! until I came to Font Abbey, he was here three times a
week. You admit that. I come; your uncle knows I am not so unobservant
as you, and Mr. Talboys is kept out of sight."

"The proof that my uncle has deceived me," said Lucy, coldly, and with
lofty incredulity.

"Read that note from Miss Dodd!"

"What! you in correspondence with Miss Dodd?"

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