ou cannot, dearest, blame my folly, or wonder at my extravagance, more than i do myself,” were the concluding words of clemence, as, with the timidity of a child acknowledging a fault, she laid on the desk before her husband the heavy bill of madame la voye.
mr. effingham opened it in silence. if his young wife had ventured to raise her downcast eyes to his face, she would have viewed there, not anger, not sorrow, but a peculiar and unpleasing expression which flitted across it for a moment, as a bat wheels suddenly between us and the twilight sky, visible for a space so brief that we can hardly say that we have seen it. as it was, clemence only heard the words of her husband, as he folded the paper, and placed it in his desk, “fifty pounds more or less—what matters it! you may leave this for me to settle.”
not one syllable of reproach, not even a hint of displeasure! what intense gratitude glowed in the heart of clemence, deepening, if possible, the fervour of her love for the most noble, the most generous of men! but when she attempted to express something of what she felt, mr. effingham suddenly changed the subject; it appeared to be irksome, almost irritating to him to receive the grateful thanks of his wife.
the evening closed far more joyously to clemence than the morning had begun. her husband’s presence, as usual, sufficiently protected her from insolence on the part of his family. a pert reply from vincent to a question asked by his step-mother, drew upon him such a stern reproof from mr. effingham, that the boy was for the time effectually silenced. captain thistlewood had walked off all his fierce indignation, and finding that the domestic tempest had subsided into an apparent calm, he made no attempt to stir up the sleeping elements of discord, but, on the contrary, exerted himself to spread around him the atmosphere of good-humour in which he himself habitually lived. his flow of conversation was almost incessant. having on that day ascended to the ball of st. paul’s, and explored the depths of the thames tunnel, he was equally primed, as he termed it, for the highest or the deepest subjects. he had been wandering over a great part of london, from the stately squares of the west end to the crowded thoroughfares of the east; he had seen skating on the serpentine, horses sliding and struggling up holborn hill, and described all with the same minuteness and zest with which he might have portrayed peculiarities in the manners and customs of some island of our antipodes.
“this merry old sailor must be as deceitful as mrs. effingham herself,” thought vincent. “if i had not heard that he was a bully and a savage, i should have thought him an uncommonly jolly old chap!”
“i took an omnibus back,” said captain thistlewood; “for what with the ‘getting up stairs’ at st. paul’s, and the walking about for hours in the streets, i found myself tolerably well tired. that reminds me,” he turned towards vincent,—“that reminds me of the riddle, ‘what is always tired, yet always goes on?’ will you guess it? bad hand at riddles—eh? it is a wheel, to be sure; so that brings me back to my omnibus.
“we were a pretty full party in it, now one dropping in, then another out,—men of business from the city, clerks from the bank; one i noticed with a broad-brimmed hat, another with a smart new tile, cocked roguishly on the side of the head. they talk” (here he addressed himself to louisa) “of telling the character of a man by the bumps on his head: i think that one might tell something by the style of his hat; he has a choice in one thing, and not in the other. well, presently the man who stands on the door-step puts his head into the conveyance. ‘gentlemen and ladies,’ says he, ‘have a care of your purses; there’s two of the swell-mob in the ’bus.’ so, as you may imagine, we gen’lmen and ladies (the ladies consisting of one good fat old dame opposite me, with a well-stuffed bag on her arm, or rather on her knee) looked awkwardly round on our companions, half smiling, as if to say, ‘which of us are the thieves?’ i thought that the fat dame opposite kept rather a suspicious eye upon me, and held her hand tight over the opening of her big bag, afraid that some one should feloniously make off with her sandwiches or sausages. presently the man with the new hat, dashing neck-tie, sparkling pin, and diamond studs to match, puts his hand into his pocket: ‘i’ve a large sum about me,’ he mutters half to himself, half as if apologizing to us for depriving us of the pleasure of his society, and out he pops with all convenient speed. then he in the broad-brim gives signs of following; he was at the very inner end of the omnibus, and had to push past us all to get out. ‘i’ve a thousand pounds on my person,’ says he, and so gets down, off, and away! i could not help saying to my old lady, ‘there are more purses than two the safer for the discretion of these good gentleman: depend on’t, we’ve now nothing more to fear from the two dangerous members of the swell society!’”
“’tis conscience that makes cowards of us all,” observed mr. effingham with a smile.
“it reminds me,” said clemence, “of an eastern tale of a merchant, who, having been robbed of a large quantity of cotton, and entertaining suspicions of the honesty of several of his acquaintance, invited all whom he doubted to a social meal. in the midst of his entertainment he suddenly exclaimed, with affected indignation, ‘why, what audacious rogues are these, to steal my cotton, and then every one come to my house with a bit of it sticking to his beard!’ in a moment several hands were raised, each thief laid hold of his own beard, and the merchant, by this involuntary confession, was enabled to single out those who had robbed him.”
“we leave all that sort of work to the detective police,” observed lady selina.
“yes, in old england,” replied captain thistlewood; “it is a different matter in some other countries that i have heard of, where the constables and the highwaymen form a kind of joint-stock company,—the robbers the active managers, the police the sleeping partners—ha! ha! ha! what was the book, clemence, in which we read that good story of the englishman in rome?” the eyes of vincent brightened at the idea of a story; he unconsciously edged his chair nearer to that of the captain.
“i do not recollect the story,” replied clemence; “let us by all means have it.”
“an englishman was on a visit to the city of rome, and he had been told that bandits were plentiful there as blackberries, and that a man there thought as little of cutting a throat as he would in france of cutting a caper, or a joke in the emerald isle. john bull had, therefore, been advised by no means to take his constitutionals after the sun had set.
“our friend, however, once received an invitation to an evening party, which he had a mind to accept; and, thinks he, ‘a stout heart and a good crab-tree cudgel will make me a match for any brigand that breathes!’ so he went to his party, took a cheerful glass (maybe did not confine himself to one), and then set out in the darkness to return to his lodging in rome. now, our englishman was a bold fellow, but that night he could not help thinking a little of what he had heard of stilettoes, and stabbing, and all that sort of thing. suddenly a man coming in an opposite direction knocked right up against him, and then hurried on with rapid step. our friend clapped his hand on his watch-pocket—never a watch was there!”
“the man must have robbed him!” exclaimed vincent.
“so thought our englishman, and he was not one to part with his property lightly. turning round sharp, he rushed after the fellow, overtook him, seized him by the throat, shouted, ‘oriuolo!—watch!’ in the best italian that he could muster, and was well rewarded when a watch was thrust into his hand by the half-throttled, gasping roman!”
“the robber had caught a tartar!” exclaimed vincent.
“the englishman went home in triumph. he could not help boasting a little of his exploit when he and his family met round the breakfast-table. ‘well, it is odd enough,’ said his sister, ‘but i could have been sure that i saw your watch hanging up in your room last evening after you had gone to your party.’ the englishman stared for a moment, clapped his hand to his forehead to catch the thought which suddenly darted across it, pulled out from his pocket the watch which he had taken from the italian—and lo! it was no more his than the clock at the horse-guards! he recollected that he had left his own watch at home, as a measure of precaution. so, instead of having been attacked, as he had imagined, by a brigand, he had played the brigand himself, and had actually robbed a poor fellow of his property, under the idea of recovering his own!”
vincent could not help laughing. “it is the first time,” he exclaimed, “that an english gentleman ever acted as a thief!”
“i wish that i could say as much, my boy,” observed captain thistlewood, slowly sipping his glass of port. “i’m sorry to say that i’ve met with pickpockets, even in the higher ranks of life, quite as dangerous as the gentlemen of the swell-mob in my omnibus. i’ve known a man, and one who drove his cabriolet too, go to a shop and order goods to the amount of hundreds of pounds, aware all the time that he had as little chance of paying for them as of discharging the national debt. i’ve met with another, looked upon as a man of honour, who built up a grand establishment upon the fortunes and credulity of others, who ate his turtle, and drank his claret,—ay, and asked his friends to share in the feast,—knowing all the time that he was spending the money of those who had confided their all to his care. such men are, in my eyes, pickpockets—heartless pickpockets—for they not only violate honesty, but abuse a trust, and add hypocrisy to theft!”
“let us adjourn to the drawing-room,” said mr. effingham abruptly, pushing back his chair from the table.
