chelsea buns
iolet seemed afraid (and yet why should she be?) to come near me, after mark’s communication; and, as my dear mother could ill spare me, i kept close house. we now felt the blessing of having a discreet and godly minister for our inmate; for master blower read and prayed much with my mother, and comforted her greatly by his discoursings. i likewise derived benefit from the good seed he scattered, which fell, as it were, into ground much softened by heavy rain.
when i was able and inclined to step 57across to violet, i found only master armytage in the shop; who said to me with some shortness, “you will find my daughters within,—i wish your father would find something more profitable for your cousin to do, than to be always in our parlour, a-hindering of business.”
i knew mark was not there just then, at any rate, having left him at home; and, stepping into master armytage’s back-room, i only found there a pale, gentle-looking girl, with large, brown eyes, diligently putting shop-marks to a box of new ribbons. i knew her for kitty, though her return home was news to me; and, having not much to say to a stranger, i asked her how she liked the bridge. she said, “not at all; i have been used to look upon trees and fields, and miss the green; the 58noises make my head ache, and my mother keeps me so close to my work, that i pine for fresh air.” i said, “sure there is enough of it blowing through that open window from the river!”
“do you call it fresh?” said she, rather contemptuously. “i do not, i can tell you! instead of being scented with cows’ breath and new-mown hay, it comes from tan-yards and butchers’ shops.”
when violet came in, she blushed very red, but we only spoke of indifferent subjects: and, strange as it was of two such close intimates, we never, from that time forward, had any closer communication. perhaps it was her fault, perhaps it was mine: or perhaps, no fault of either, but a just and becoming sense of what was best for two modest girls in our new relation. for, though it needed not to 59be supposed that she knew anything of what was passing in my mind, i am persuaded that she did.
and thus the families fell apart; and mark never renewed his confidences to me after that first evening; and, if he had moments of keen pleasure now and then, i am persuaded he had hours of pain he had never known before. for violet was capricious and coquettish, and sometimes would vex him by being unreasonable and hard to please: at other times, by laying herself out to please others, as master braidfoot, and their lodger master clarke. and though she gave out to mark that this was only for a feint, to draw off the attention of her father and mother from himself, yet sometimes it was certainly with no other purpose than to plague him, and at other times, i fear, with no better purpose than to please 60herself; and i know it cost him many a tear.
poor mark! how my heart ached for him, and swelled against her, when i found him one evening with his arms on the table, and his head on his arms, and saw, when he looked up, that he had been crying. he rose, and looked out of window, and said, “has it done raining yet? i think i have been asleep!” but i knew he had not.
all his money now went in fine clothes for himself, and presents for her; so that if he needed a little purse against his marriage day, he was not going the way to fill it.
there was great talk among the young people, about this time, of an excursion up the river, to eat buns and drink whey at chelsea. i was invited to join them, but declined, on account of my mother: 61but mark was to go, and could think of nothing else. i washed and starched his collar and bands myself, and sewed a new lace on his hat. he wore a plain silver-grey cloth suit, which was sober, but very becoming, for he never affected strong contrasts, like my father. knowing he was fond of a flower in his button-hole, but was pressed for time to get one, i gave a little girl a penny to run down to the market for the best moss-rose she could buy, and gave it him myself. he thanked me most pleasantly for it, and looked so comely and cheerful, that when he went forth, i could not help standing just behind the window-blind, to look after him, and to see the gay party set out from master armytage’s. first, a boy was sent forward, with a great basket full of veal-pies and other dainties; then came out master armytage, with mistress 62glossop, who had condescended to join the party, and wore a peach-blossom silk, with pea-green ribbons. then mistress armytage, with a little basket covered up, no doubt containing something very precious; and hugh braidfoot by himself, with his hands in his pockets, as if he expected to be asked to carry it, and did not mean to offer, walking a little in advance of her; then violet, looking sweet! between mark and master clarke—(i know she liked having two better than one, whatever might be her value for either;) and then kitty, who by rights should have had one or other of them, slowly following with master and mistress benskin. i observed her to be a very little lame, but nothing to speak of.
well! the day was fine, the water looked lovely, there was nothing to prevent their having a most charming party 63of pleasure, unless it were their own fault. i thought of them many times, as i sat quietly weaving hair at my mother’s bedside; and fancied them floating on the river, landing under tall trees, rambling among meadows, sitting on the grass, eating and drinking in the shade, and scattering in small parties. i fancied what i should do and feel if i were violet, and how mark would comport himself, and what he would say: but, when i looked on my mother’s pain-worn face, i did not wish to change places.
they did not come home till very late; much too late. i had persuaded my father to go to bed, and let me sit up for mark, for fear of disturbing my mother. he said dolly might as well sit up too; however, she proved heavy to sleep, so i sent her to bed.
and looked on the bridge
then i sat at my window, which was 64over master blower’s sitting-room, and looked out on the bridge. the harvest-moon, brightly shining, made our side of the way as light as day, but master armytage’s side was in deep shade. i heard st. magnus’s clock, and st. paul’s, and st. mary overy’s, strike eleven. then i saw some dark figures coming along in the shade, and stop at master armytage’s door, and knock up the maid, who, after long delay, came sleepily to the door with a candle. then the others, who had been talking, but not much, like people who were very tired after too long a day’s pleasure, said “good-night;” and i saw hugh braidfoot shake hands with the girl on his arm, and step across to his own door in the broad moonshine. master and mistress benskin had gone home before, and let themselves in with the house-key. i counted those that 65entered master armytage’s, and only made out his own family. mark had doubtless seen mistress glossop to her own door, as was right and fitting. for him, then, i must expect to wait a good while longer: and i did wait a good while; till all the clocks struck twelve. just as they had done striking, i heard and knew his step, and opened the door without his knocking.
“have you had a pleasant day?” said i.
i looked at him as i spoke, and shall never forget his face!
—“good-night,” said he shortly; “we’ll talk it over to-morrow,”—
and impatiently took from my hands his candle, which i was trying to light for him at mine. but it had been snuffed too short, and would not light as readily as he wished; which made him curse it 66in a low, deep voice. i had never heard him swear before.
“mark,” said i, looking anxiously at him, “you are ill.”
“no, i’m not,” said he abruptly; “good-night. thank you for sitting up for me.”
“i’m not at all tired,” said i, “and there’s some supper for you in the kitchen. let us go there, and have a little chat over the pleasures of the day—you don’t look sleepy.”
from white he turned to deep red.
“the day has not been so pleasant as you suppose,” said he huskily; “you have been better and happier at your mother’s bedside. i wish there were more such as you in the world. good-night, dear, good cherry!”
—and sprang up stairs without another word, taking two steps at a time. i went to bed, but not to sleep; i could 67not get his strange look and manner out of my head.
the next morning, at breakfast-time, mark did not appear. dolly said he had gone out early. my father was angry, and sent across the way for him, knowing he was but too often at master armytage’s. but dolly brought back word they had seen nothing of him. then we concluded he had gone for an early walk, as was often his custom, and had outstayed his time. however, we breakfasted without him at length, and still he did not come back.
“confound that boy,” said my patient father at last—(thus, the fault of one party provoked the sin of another,)—“it’s plaguy tiresome of him to be playing truant this morning, of all days in the year, for i have pressing business in eastcheap.”
68“leave me in charge of the shop, father,” said i,—“my mother’s cough is quiet, now she is dozing; and i shall hear her bell.”
“well, i suppose i must,” said he very reluctantly; “but i shall trounce master mark well for his conduct when i see him next, he may rely upon it!”
so he left me in charge; and my loved mother being in a kind of lethargic slumber, which often lasted many hours, i left the doors open between us, and sat in the shop. as fate would have it, not a single customer looked in the whole time my father was away; which was lucky, though we did not feel very thankful, in usual, for this falling-off in business. before he returned, mark came in, and beckoned me into the parlour.
“what is the matter?” said i, with a violently beating heart.
69“i’ve done it!” said he breathlessly.
“done what?” said i.
“married!” said he: and hid his face in his hands.
“dear mark, how imprudent!” i exclaimed affectionately; “what will the armytages say?”
“what will they, indeed!” repeated he, “violet especially! she drove me to it!”
“violet? drove you to marry her?” i cried.—it sounded so strange!
“oh, cherry! what will you say? it makes me shudder to tell you!” he rapidly said; “nothing but that girl’s incorrigible coquetry could have made me break with her as i did; and then reproaches led to taunts, and taunts to threatenings, till bad led to worse, and she twitted me with my poverty, and i told her i could be a richer man 70in twenty-four hours than her father, and look down upon them all, and she dared me to it, and said a better man than me was waiting for her, and so—temptation to be revenged on her came in my way, and—i’ve married mistress glossop!”
“oh, mark!”
—“nay, cherry, don’t give way so,” said he, beginning to shed tears himself when he saw me weeping bitterly,—“love is not a man’s whole life, and what i’ve tasted of it hasn’t made me very happy. i’ve stepped into a famous business, and i shall have a quiet fireside, and a capital table, and kind looks if not pretty ones, and—a done thing can’t be undone: so there’s an end on’t!”
then, fancying he heard my father’s step, though ’twas only master blower’s, 71he hastily exclaimed, “you must tell my uncle—good-bye, cherry!” and hurried out of the house.
when he was gone, i sat in a kind of stupor.... married? and to such a wife!—how could he?—how could she? ... and this increased my amazement, for he had been beside himself with anger and jealousy, and hardly knew what he was doing,—but that she, cool, collected, and at her time of life, could have closed with his proposals without the delay of a single day!—how disgusting!—ah, she was afraid of losing him!
—immersed in these sad thoughts, with my hands clasped on my lap, i was unaware of my father’s return till he stood before me. i started.
“has mark returned?” cried he.
“he came back, and is again gone,” said i.
72“the young rascal!” exclaimed my father very passionately; “what does he mean by this outrageous conduct? i’ve a great mind to lock the door against him when he comes back!”
“father, he will never come back!—he is married! ... married to mistress glossop.”
and, trying to speak composedly, all would not do; the tears rained from my eyes.
my father remained perfectly mute. i could understand his amazement, his vexation, by my own; accompanied, as i knew it must be in his case, by great anger. i expected every moment to hear some violent expression of indignation: he had been so unusually displeased with him already for what was comparatively a trifle.
all at once, i found myself folded in 73his arms. he did not say a word; but the longer he held me, the more and more i felt that his hopes for me had been ruined as well as mine, that his schemes and visions of the future were all dispersed and overclouded, that he knew something of what was passing within me, and felt sympathy without having the power of expressing it.
“well,—” said he, releasing me at last,—and i saw that his eyes were wet,—“man proposes, but god disposes. we’ve had an escape from this young man. ungrateful young fellow! and blind to his own interest, too, for i could have done better for him, cherry, than he knows of. but—he deserves his fate. a miserable one it will be! he’ll never prosper!”
“oh, father! don’t prophesy against him! we need not wish him ill.”
74“i don’t wish him ill,” returned he, “but he’ll come to no good. he has done for himself in this marriage. and so, cherry, you’ll see!”
