a shadow on the house
h! how dreary now seemed the house! its light and its life were gone. the unseen presence of love no longer gladdened it, and the shadow of death was slowly creeping on.
violet came to pour out her wretchedness and her self-reproaches to me as soon as she heard what had happened. she declared she could never be happy again—she could never cease thinking of him. i told her it would be very wicked of her now, to think of him in the way she meant, any more. for saying which, i 76suppose she was offended at me; for she did not come near me again for a good while.
i don’t suppose tears are often shed over thick slices of bride-cake, with sugar and almonds an inch deep, such as violet and i received (tied up with such vulgar white satin knots!) from mistress glossop, now, alas! mistress blenkinsop. when i took it up to my mother, she turned away her head, and said with her gentle smile, “you may give my share to dolly,—perhaps she will like it to dream upon.”
i said, “i don’t believe dolly will touch it;” however, there i was mistaken. she said, “law, mistress cherry, i’m sure mistress is very good.... i grudge the eating of it, too; for ’tis an unseemly match, i calls it; but, there,—one don’t get such cake as this every day!”
when i repeated this saying to my 77mother, she said, “she belongs to the glossop school, cherry, that never can forbear.”
mistress blenkinsop would have been glad, i fancy, to show off her young husband on the bridge; but she received no encouragement; and as for mark, who had certainly intended to pique violet, he was now as wretched as herself, to judge from his looks, as reported to us by one or two who had seen something of what was going on. happy or unhappy, he never came near us, on business or pleasure; and as my father dropped the connexion, which was more to his loss than mistress blenkinsop’s, we now saw nothing of one another. for i scarce went out at all; but now and then mistress benskin would let fall how she had met the blenkinsops going to such and such a place of public resort; he looking 78ashamed and tired of his companion; and she as fine as the rainbow. for she would not only see funamble turk, and pay her shilling to ride round hyde park, but intrude herself among the quality in mulberry garden, i warrant her!
about this time master armytage died. thereby his family sustained great loss, not only of a kind husband and father, but of worldly goods; for the widow only got a third of the worth of the business, and the son, who was married and not very friendly with her, choosing to live on the premises and carry on the concern, she and her daughters presently went into an exceeding small house in the borough, where they opened a little shop that did not answer very well. after a while, violet, unused to such scant living, was glad to come back as shopwoman to her brother, whose wife had no turn for 79business; but it went sore against her to be second in the house where she had hitherto been always treated like first; and also it was a grievance to her to live among a family of young children. these trials fretted her till they impaired her beauty, making her grow peevish and thin.
meantime, her younger sister took plain-work when she could get it; and the benskins and hugh braidfoot supplied her with what they could, which she accepted gratefully; though, in her father’s life-time, it would have quite affronted mistress armytage that her girls should set a stitch for either of them. but times were altered now; she was unable even to keep a servant; and, one day, when i looked in upon her, i noticed so many little symptoms of poverty, that, on repeating them to my mother, she made 80me put up a variety of little presents for her, and take them to her with her old neighbour’s love.
when i reached her house, i found her on her knees, scouring the door-step with such zeal and noise, that i could not at first make her hear my voice, or 81become sensible of my presence. when she did, she did not appear particularly glad to see me, but pulled her pail out of my way, and said, “oh!—you’ll find kitty within—kitty! kitty!”
and just within the door, sure enough, was kitty standing with her back to me, before master braidfoot, who was seated, with a fringed glove in his hand, and holding forth to her very earnestly. he had sent her a box of gloves to fringe, and i suppose she had not trimmed them to his mind, for she was hanging her head, and looking very uncomfortable. as soon as he saw me, he brought his discourse to a finish by saying, “of which, more anon;” and nodding a good-bye to me, stepped over mistress armytage’s pail, and walked off. mistress armytage now came in, taking off her apron in a great bustle; and seemingly 82much more glad to see me than she had been just before. and she received my mother’s presents in mighty good part, especially the brandy-cherries, which had been put in quite as an after-thought, saying they would make a pretty little dish for supper. i thought she and kitty had been more in the way of bread-and-cheese suppers now, but made no comment. some people would as soon die as not try to be thought genteel.
when i had nearly reached home, i saw mark coming along the bridge, in a hesitating, reluctant sort of way. when he saw me, he stepped out more briskly, and came up, holding out his hand.
“cherry,” said he, lowering his voice, “my old lady and i had almost a tiff this morning, because she wanted you and my uncle to come and eat some of the first green peas of the season 83with us, and i told her i did not think you would. but, will you?”
“thank you kindly,” said i, “but my mother is so ill, we have no heart to go anywhere now.”
“i knew it was so,” said he, looking relieved; “but you will not think me unfeeling, i hope, for putting the question?”
“oh no, i think it very kind of you,” said i; “i take it as i know it was meant. won’t you come in? we have seen nothing of you for a long time.”
“thank you, not just now,” said he; “good-bye.” and walked off as if he were in a great hurry.
when i returned to my dear mother, she said, “cherry, i’m sure you will be amused when i tell you what i have been dreaming about,—i dreamed you were married!”
84i said, “dear mother, if you take to dreaming, and my father to presaging, there’ll be nothing left to be surprised about!”
“ah, well,” said she, gently smiling, “but this was a very pretty, pleasant dream—you were married to a person a good deal older than yourself, but very much to your own mind, notwithstanding, and were living like a lady, with everything genteel and comfortable about you.”
i smiled to cover a sigh; and kissing her thin hand, said, “may you live, dear mother, to see it.”
“no,” said she, “i know i shall not do that—my time is growing very short now; but yet i shall leave you in peace, cherry,—i am so certain of your doing well. i don’t mean because of this foolish dream.”
85“as for doing well,” said i, “god’s blessing generally rests on the child of many prayers, ... but if by doing well, you mean marrying well, do you think that is the only way i can be happy?”
“no,” said she, after a pause, “i do not. i think there is no other happiness equal to it, where the parties are well assorted, and are good to the core; but much depends upon each other, and much upon themselves; so much, that it had often been better for them they had never met.”
“and as so few are good to the core,” said i, “perhaps the balance of happiness may not lie on the side you think.”
“perhaps not,” said she, “but every one hopes to be the exception.—however,” she added, after another pause, “these 86things are not of our ordering; and whatever be the happier lot, it is certain we cannot secure it unless it be appointed us, whether for ourselves or for those we dearly love. it may be god’s will that you shall be cherry curling all your days, in spite of my dream, and in spite of your being fitted for happiness in another state; but that it is his purpose to make you happy in yourself, whatever you are, i feel as sure of as that i see you now.”
when i told her what satisfaction the brandy-cherries had given, she smiled quietly, and said, “the same woman, still!—you shall take her some potted salmon to-morrow.”
i did so; but did not, this time, find the widow cleaning her door-step. she had gone to market; the shop was empty, and i walked through it into the 87little parlour beyond. here i again came upon kitty and hugh braidfoot: she was sitting this time, and he standing, and, the moment she saw me, she snatched away her hand from him, which he was holding, and ran up stairs. i felt very awkward, and was retreating without a word; but he, turning about upon me with a sort of homely, manly dignity, a mixture of placid and resolute in his manner that i never saw before, and which became him very well, held out his hand to me, and said, “you see, cherry, how it is to be. there’ll soon be a wedding in this house. the old lady has meant there should be, all along; but what though? shall a man that knows his own mind be stayed from it for fear of playing into a managing woman’s hands? had the widow been less eager, the thing 88might have been sooner brought about; however, you and i have known her longer than yesterday—she’s kitty’s mother; and enough’s said!”
i wished him joy, and said i thought he and kitty would be very happy together. then, setting down my mother’s little gift on the table, i turned to go away. “what’s that?” said he. “only a little potted salmon for mistress armytage,” said i. “i’ll call kitty down,” said he; and going to the stair-foot, he called “kitty! kitty!” but she did not answer; and giving me a knowing smile, he said, “i don’t think she’ll come down while we are both here.”—“i’m going,” said i; “but here comes mistress armytage from market.” “oh, then, i’m going too!” cried he, laughing and catching up his hat. “i’ve no mind to break the news to the widow, so come your 89ways, cherry, we’ll walk to the bridge together; don’t look behind you.”... “’tis pity o’ my life,” continued he, smiling, when we had walked a little way together, “that respect her i cannot; for you see, cherry, a man can never respect a woman whom he sees trying to draw him in! he may walk into her trap with his eyes open, and let her save him some trouble, but respect her or trust her, is out of his power. first, she wanted to have me for violet: that would not do—then, kitty was kept out of sight till she found i would not have the other; but as soon as she found i liked the youngest sister best, poor violet was put in the shade, and kitty’s turn came. ’tis ill to speak this way of one’s mother-in-law elect; i hope she’ll breed no trouble between us when she’s mother-in-law in earnest; 90i should like to pension the old gentlewoman off, but that can’t well be; so we must let her have the run of the house, and try to make her comfortable as long as she lets us be so.”
then, turning to a more agreeable subject, he sang kitty’s praises; and, reaching his own door, hoped she and i should be good neighbours. “your father and you must come to the wedding-dinner,” said he; “we may not have as many good things as the blenkinsops had, but i fancy ’twill be a cheerfuller dinner.”
when i told my mother the news, she took it very composedly, but i observed her eyelids give one little, involuntary movement, that betrayed more surprise than she was willing to show. “ah, my dear mother,” thought i, “another of your little castles in the 91air for me has been thrown down, i fear. this was, no doubt, the hero of the dream, who was to make me so comfortable! what a lucky thing that i care not a rush for him!” however, we never said a word to one another on the subject.
so the wedding took place, and my father and i were at the dinner, which consisted of every nicety that money could procure; for mistress armytage said that hugh braidfoot should have all his favourite dishes, and she took care to have her own, whether they corresponded or not. so there was roast pig and pickled salmon, calf’s head and green goose, lobster salad and marrow-bones, and more sweets than i ever saw out of a pastry-cook’s shop. as some things were in season and others were not, the latter, though sweet in the mouth, were 92bitter in digestion; i mean, to master braidfoot when he came to pay the bills. and then mistress armytage, ashamed of having exceeded becoming limits, went about to several of the tradesmen, who were hugh braidfoot’s personal friends, and who already were displeased enough at not having been invited to the feast; and she incensed them the more by trying to get them to lower their bills, which they thought and called excessive mean. thereby, mistress armytage got into bad odour, and kitty came in for her share, and shed her first tears after marriage upon it, which i wish had been her last. however, master braidfoot laughed the matter off, in a jovial, careless sort of a way; and went round himself and paid every one in full, and made friends with them with a few merry sayings; so peace was restored, that time.
