Over Head and Ears. A love story

Front matter

OVER HEAD AND EARS. |l |f obf Storg. By DUTTON COOK, AUTHOR OF "SIK FELIX FOY, BART.;'' " HOBSON's CHOICE;" "pact. Foster's daughter," etc. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON : SAMPSON LOW, SON, & MABSTON, CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 1868. [The Bight of Translation is reserved.'] LONDON : PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. CONTENTS OF VOL. IT. CHAP. PAGE i. Alfred's brother . . . . . . . . . . 1 ii. after dinner .. .. .. .. .. 16 in. IN THE secret .. .. .. .. .. 26 TV. HOW WILL IT END?.. .. .. .. .. 33 V. DROP YOUR daggers! .. .. .. .. 43 VI. ADIEU ! .. .. .. .. .. .. 59 vn. backing oct . . . . . . . . . . 69 vm. off .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 85 IX. A LOCAL PRACTITIONER .. .. .. .. 100 X. MISS BROWN .. .. .. .. .. 107 XI. WHEN WILL IT BE? .. .. .. .. 118 XH.

WHO CAN IT BE? .. .. .. .. .. 129 XIII. NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS .. .. .. .. 138 XIV. A DDET .. .. .. .. .. .. 147 XV. A GREAT SECRET . . . . . . . . . . 156 XVI. NEW3 .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 166 XVII. GIVING WAY .. .. .. .. .. .. 172 xvni. poor mouse .. .. .. .. .. .. 184 xrx. ready money .. .. • .. .. .. 198 XX. MR. MOSS .. .. .. .. .. .. 206 xxi. brown's confession .. .. .. .. 213 xxn. BELLA'S MISSION .. .. .. .. .. 230 XXIU. MR. BROWN'S PATIENT .. .. .. .. 244 xxrv. a divided duty .. .. .. .. .. 259 XXV. DESPATCHES FROM CANADA . . . . . . . . 273 XXVI. MOUSE'S BRAVERY . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter I

Alfred's brother. " To think of my forgetting you, Mouse !" quoth Mr. Rudd. " Well, that was rather too bad of me, wasn't it, now ? But you don't know who that gentleman sitting over there is, do you ? Or did Mary tell you beforehand? I suppose she did. It's Mr. Waring:' the brother of our friend, Mr. Alfred. You remember our friend, Mr. Alfred ? I should think so, indeed. We all know Mr. Alfred, don't we, Mouse? And does Mr. Waring know who you are ? I dare say not. How should he ? That little girl, Mr. Waring," he continued, turning to Frankland, and pointing out " Mouse " with the carving-knife — " and a very good little girl she is, too, though I say it— she's my grand child, she is : the daughter of my poor dear girl Patty, who's been dead this many a long year now. Mouse VOL. II. b was born in Calcutta, weren't you, Mouse ? and came over here — such a tiny little thing — ever so long ago, and has stayed here ever since ; as what else could she do, poor little soul, seeing as she'd lost her father and mother, and had only got her old grandfather left, and her aunt Mary, yonder, to look after her and take care of her ?

And precious sick they've both got of her, haven't they, Mouse ? And glad enough they'd be, wouldn't they, Mouse, if she'd just pack up all her traps and trot back to Calcutta again as soon as may be ?" " Mouse knows you're only joking, father," Miss Rudd said, simply, rendering a somewhat superfluous interpretation of the old man's bantering speech. " If she did trot back to Calcutta, Mouse might make pretty sure who'd trot after her in double quick time to bring her back again." " It wouldn't be me I'll go bail," said Mr. Rudd. '• Do you think it would, Mouse ?" " Yes, I think it would," a silvery, light-toned voice made answer. " Well, perhaps you're right, Mouse ; perhaps you're right," laughed Mr. Rudd. "You see, Mr. Waring, that little girl twists me round her fingers. I'm not master in my own house.

Take warning by me, sir, and don't you ever become a grandfather ; not if you can help it." Mr. Rudd here resumed his carving operations. "A little bit of fat? and a nice bit of brown ? Nonsense— nonsense." Frankland was for passing the plate to Miss Rudd or to the young lady who answered to the name of " Mouse." " We help you first because you're a visitor, don't you see ; be sides you've had a long walk up the hill. The mutton cuts uncommon nice and tender. I do hope it will eat so. And I think it's done quite to a turn. Now, doctor, you like it cut thick, I know, and plenty of it, that's your style." And the old man, who stood up as he carved, the steam from the dish somewhat dim ming his spectacles the while, and who followed the course of his knife with many unconscious facial con tortions, occasionally protruding his tongue, after the manner of schoolboys employed upon the involved curvatures of capital letters, next proceeded to supply the plate of his other guest, Mr. Brown.

Frankland ate his dinner in some amazement, accusing himself of very dense stupidity. How un just he had been to his brother ! How could he for one moment have conceived it possible that Miss Rudd was the object' of Alfred's love ! How com pletely at fault he had been in the whole matter! At last, then, he was in the presence of the real writer of the letter found in his brother's pocket. The thing was clear enough now. It was not difficult now to account for Alfred's imprudence and obstinacy, and all that had seemed hitherto so strange in his conduct. Looking across the table at the young lady who answered to the name of Mouse, Frankland perceived explanation of much that had puzzled him previously : justification in great part for Alfred's mysterious doings. And it was noteworthy that he at once thought of her as a " young lady:" no longer as a "young person, poor but respectable," as it had formerly amused him to consider and speak of her.

The question which had arisen as to Alfred's " marrying beneath him " no more presented itself for Frankland's consideration, was apparently answered and dismissed by the mere personal coming upon the scene of Mouse herself. Even the conditions he had, in discussing the matter with Alfred, dwelt upon with some insistence, in rela tion to " birth, parentage, education, manners, and mode of life," lost their moment and value in his eyes. It might still be that Mouse could not pass a satisfactory examination on these heads. But then, contemplating her, who could dream of subjecting her to a test of any kind ? "We call her 'Mouse,' you see," Mr. Rudd ex plained presently, " because she's such a quiet little body. I'm sure I don't know how she first got the name ; but it seemed to suit her ; and somehow it stuck to her, as nicknames, you know, will stick to people when they suit 'em ; and she got calling her self ' Mouse ' and ' Mousey ' when she was quite a little thing. ' Mouse wants her dinner,' she'd say, or ' Mouse is tired,' or ' Mousey wants to go to by-by ;' who could help calling her Mouse after that ?

And now she's grown up to be a big girl, she's ' Mouse ' still ; and I suppose she'll remain ' Mouse ' now to the end of the chapter. She was always one of the quiet ones. Never cried when she was quite a little 'un ; not even when they put her in the tub and washed her, though there's children I've known as makes the deuce's own row when that happens to 'em. But she was never one for kicking up a noise, Mouse wasn't. Al ways, as good as gold for quiet. Even now you can't hardly hear her move about, she's such a light quiet step of her own, and she creeps about the place for all the world like a mouse. I tell her sometimes it's quite a mercy she hasn't got whiskers and a tail. A great cat, I do believe, will some day pounce upon her and make an end of her. ' Netta's ' her proper name ; at least that's short for ' Antoinetta,' what she was christened.

My poor girl Patty was rather fine in her notions ; she liked a good mouthful of a name. I'm rather one for short names myself — 'Sue,' and ' Sal,' and ' Bet,' and such like ; they serve my turn well enough ; but Patty wouldn't hear of the child being called any of them, so she christened the little thing ' Antoinetta ' — Antoinetta Joyce — that's your right name, what your godfathers and godmothers gave you at your baptism, ain't it, Mouse ? We call her ' Netta ' sometimes for a bit, but somehow we generally find ourselves dropping back to ' Mouse ' again. Joyce was a very good fellow. You remember Ned Joyce, don't you, Brown ? a very good fellow, but sickly in health. I was very fond of poor Ned Joyce, and so was my poor girl Patty ; and a very good husband he was to her, and a very good son-in law he was to me.

He was a sort of surveyor and ' arkitec ' by profession, and clever at it too. He per suaded hisself there was a kind of a opening for him out in India. But bless you he hadn't the consti tootion for it. India was one too many for him, India was. He didn't live long out there. And my poor girl Patty, she never got over it ; she sickened and got ailing like : she soon followed him, and left the little one for me and Mary to look after. Mouse can't remember much about it; she was quite a infant when her parents was took from her. But we've done what we could for her ; I think I may say as we've done our dooty by her. There's few things as I wouldn't have done for my poor girl Patty's sake. She's school -learning, has Mouse. She can play the pianner-forty and sing, can't you, Mouse ? and parley-voo with the best of 'em, can't you, Mouse ?

I dare say she'll give you a specimen or two of her cleverness after dinner. Now Ann, hurry along with that beer, there's a good girl. Fill Mr. Waring's glass. Don't slop it out ; hold up the jug and put a head on the beer, as though you were going to drink it yourself — that's right. You'll find that a tidy brew of beer, I think, Mr. Waring. We get it from the public close by. Now Brown, are you ready for some more mutton? Don't spare the jint ; but I needn't tell you that. You're not one of those as spares themselves victuals, are you, Brown ? No, you're not ; and no fool either." Frankland could not but look across the table now and then at Mouse as her grandfather furnished, after his own fashion, particulars concerning her, her parentage and education. Each time he looked he was conscious that the gaze of Mouse's large, dark, lash-shadowed eyes had been only the previous in stant withdrawn with a start from intent contempla tion of himself, and turned modestly downward upon the tablecloth; and as he looked his admiration grew.

It was grateful to the artistic perception of the beautiful in contour and proportion latent within him, if not very highly cultivated, or, often, very openly demonstrated, to note the little finely formed head perfectly poised upon the slender throat ; the graceful sloping lines of the shoulders, and the com pact waist which owed nothing of its smallness to un natural compression. Mouse, it was evident, was addressed and regarded as a child by both her grandfather and her aunt ; her very nickname conveyed an infantine impression of her. And certainly she bore about her a child look, though she was now, probably, some sixteen or seventeen years old. Not that she was low in stature, or that her figure, her youth notwithstanding, was unrounded or unformed ; but as may be observed in the subjects of certain of Greuze's pictures, her face was child-like from deli cacy of lineament and innocence of expression, while at the same time her form was womanly and perfect.

She was not, however, endowed with those blonde glories of golden tresses and azure eyes, creamy brows and glowing cheeks which generally adorn Greuze's beauties. Her complexion was of that transparent pale darkness which oftentimes distinguishes the Indian-born child of English parents. Her hair was of a soft brown hue — mouse-coloured, Frankland chose to consider it, for he was bent upon discovering in the young lady further and more fanciful resem blances to the diminutive creature with which she had been compared, and whose name had been assigned to her. Yes, he thought, and she has the tapering chin, such as Reynolds loved to paint, and gave to his Muscipula, surely meaning her to look mouse like ; and then the broad low brow and the large luminous startled eyes ; the dainty limbs, little dusky hands and supple fingers ; the curious sensitiveness to sound and observation which makes her shrink from a voice raised too loudly or from a gesture of too great suddenness ; the mobile glances that dart hither and thither, and observe everything while they rest nowhere ; the quickness and keenness of pulsation which seem to make the throbbing of her heart visible on the surface, and impart a sort of exquisitely musical vibration to her every tone and accent, — decidedly she is very like a mouse, mused Frankland, and is rightly called so.

She was simply attired : in light soft muslin, with no other ornament than a thin chain of Indian wrought gold round her neck. Did Alfred's locket hang from it? Frankland asked himself. No; not visibly, at any rate. Her hair was plainly braided ; and being of a very fine silky quality it sat closely, disguising its real abundance and showing well the shape of her head. It was not wound round horse hair pads, or frizzed and teased into the dusty door mat style of coiffure which has been the vogue of late. " Mouse is looking but pale and poorly, don't you think, doctor?" Miss Rudd inquired of Mr. Brown. She always addressed him as " doctor," regardless of the distinctions drawn by medical colleges between the titles to be borne by physicians and by general practitioners. " I think Miss does look a little pale," said Mr. Brown.

Mouse was a " Miss " in his eyes, though sometimes in his more playful moments he would call her " Missy." He had never felt himself at liberty — at any rate of late years — to make use of the young lady's nickname. Mouse's paleness, however, so many eyes being drawn towards it, speedily gave way to very bright blushes. " The poor child's been wanting her dinner, that's why she's pale. I don't wonder at it. I felt a terrible sinking myself for want of my victuals just before dinner," said Mr. Rudd; "and such a rumbling inside me, from mere emptiness, as you never heard. We shall all be better presently, that's one comfort, and Mouse among the rest of us. Let me give you some more mutton, my darling. There's nothing like roast mutton for bringing roses into people's cheeks. You won't, Mouse ?

The child eats nothing — a mere nothing. But she was never much of a knife and fork. Come, Mary, how are you getting on ? Don't be ashamed of your appetite because Mr. Waring's here. He won't think the worse of you for your having another cut of mutton, bless you." " Lor', father, how you do go on !" exclaimed Miss Rudd. Frankland could only say that he should entertain, if possible, a higher opinion of Miss Rudd for having " another cut of mutton." The entertainment was satisfactorily " topped with a pudden," to employ Mr. Rudd's phrase; "and a very good pudden too," as he avowed. "It does you credit, Mary." " Lor', father, there's no call to say who made the pudden," Miss Rudd observed, modestly deprecating all congratulation upon her culinary triumph. " I like to give credit where credit's doo," said her father.

"No one never need be ashamed of having made a pudden like that. It isn't every woman as can make a pudden, though there's many thinks they can. What do you say about it, Mr. Waring ?" Frankland pronounced the pudding to be ex cellent. " So it is," said Mr. Rudd. " It's Mary's making. And she took extra pains with it, I dare say, because she knew you were coming. There's what you may call more flavour about it than she lets us have when we're by ourselves — not but what she is a first-rate hand at a pudden most times." " Lor', father, that's enough about the pudden." "Why, you're never holding back from letting Mr. Waring know you made it, are you, Mary? He must have known as some one made it. Puddens don't grow on trees, you know. And I don't suppose as he gave me credit for making it, nor Mouse yonder — she's too young to know much about puddens beyond eating of 'em.

As for Ann, well, she may know how to make a pudden, perhaps, but I ain't sure as I should care to eat it when made. She'd leave something out as ought to be in, or she'd put something in as ought to be out. That's about what Ann's pudden would come to, I expect. Wouldn't it, Ann ?" Ann, the small servant — who had during dinner rendered assistance in the way of waiting, rather excellent in intention than in effect — received with perfect good temper this sally at the expense of her skill and usefulness in the kitchen. She even laughed outright. "Master's so jocular, you see, mum," she said, in an apologetic tone to Miss Rudd, who was looking a little shocked. So the dinner proceeded. " I'd have asked your sister, Brown," said Mr. Rudd, " to come and eat her dinner with us, only I know she's rather particular of a Sunday, and don't care about dining away from home."

" Yes, Elizabeth is rather particular about Sunday," Mr. Brown assented ; " and, you see, she goes to the schools between the services." " And she only gives you cold meat when you dine at home on Sunday — isn't that the plan, Brown ?" And Mr. Rudd winked humorously at Frankland, implying that it was for his amusement Brown was being addressed. " Well, yes," Mr. Brown made answer, " Elizabeth entertains objections to having any cooking in the house on a Sunday." " But cold meat don't quite suit your complaint, does it, Brown ?" " Well, no, Mr. Rudd. But I like Elizabeth to have her own way about the matter. She's house keeper, you know, and I don't interfere." " Still you like a hot jint of a Sunday, Brown, when you can get it — don't you ?" " Yes, Mr. Rudd, I do." " You're no fool, Brown.

I wouldn't give a fig for a cold dinner of a Sunday. It don't seem to me natural. If you don't have a good dinner of a Sunday when are you to have it? That's what I say. Cold meat and pickles is all very well. I've nothing to say against them of a week-day, but — no, thank you — not of a Sunday. Then, a hot jint, please. That's my way. And I'll have it, please God, as long as I can. And you shall have it, Brown — and welcome — as often as you like to drop in of a Sunday." " You're very kind, I'm sure, Mr. Rudd," said the medical man, with humble gratitude. It was to be noted that although Mr. Rudd held his guest to be "worth a tidy sum," while he made no disguise whatever of his own poverty, and although, moreover, Mr. Brown was Mr. Rudd's landlord, with possibly some arrears due to him in regard to the rent of Bellevue Cottage, the old gentleman did not treat the doctor with any excess of respect on those accounts, but assumed rather a patronizing and superior air, questioned him at all times with great freedom, and was even inclined to view him de risively — as something of a butt ; Mr. Brown apparently not demurring at all the while to that method of dealing with him, but perfectly placid and satisfied.

He was in some sort armed so strong in dulness that he was insensible to bantering criticism, and no more hurt or affected by a joke than is a rhinoceros by a pin-prick. Then he was very shy and diffident ; and notwithstanding his maturity and his prosperous social position, he rarely spoke, or found himself addressed by others, without a feeling of some confusion and an increase of colour in his already full-hued cheeks. It was to be wondered at, perhaps, that his society should have recommended itself in any way to Mr. Rudd, who had so greatly the advantage of him in conversational promptness and fluency, and from the heights of his own volubility somewhat looked down upon his taciturn and unready friend. But then, in regard to society, living where he did, Mr. Rudd bad not much choice, and was constrained to be content with just such as he could obtain : society of some kind being very necessary to him.

And moreover the speakers are at all times to be found allying themselves with the speechless, if these latter will ouly permit as much. The orator naturally looks with favour on the mute, for of a certainty he cannot compete. There is no danger of demonstrative oppo sition from him ; and he can generally be persuaded to listen ; for what other role is open to him ? Mr. Brown was a good listener. He sat still and patient, open-eyed and open-mouthed, let Mr. Rudd be never so loquacious. And if he did not by vivid facial expression reflect the mood and tone and import of the speaker, registering his progress and chronicling his success as a model listener should, at any rate he did not venture to interrupt by a question, or to check by a yawn, or to damp by too obvious inatten tion. He endured with a patience that was unremit ting, however unintelligent.

Chapter II. After Dinner

After dinner black bottles were produced, and an array of tumblers. " A glass of hot grog, Mr. Waring, to settle the dinner — that's my way," said Mr. Rudd. "I ain't got any wine, or you should have it and welcome — you may be sure of that. But my means won't run to it, as I told you before, and so there's no more to be said about it. You'll find no humbug about me. nor no pretence, nor nothing of that sort. I'd give old port if I'd got it ; but I haven't, so here's Old Tom instead. And there's a good deal to be said for Old Tom, mind you. And I'll warrant that to be prime," —Mr. Rudd clasped the bottle fondly between his two hands — "as soft as milk. I don't know where you'd find better. That other bottle's ship's rum — very first-rate too. I got it from an old friend of mine — a sea-captain who's settled at Gravesend.

Just put your nose to it. A perfect flower-garden, I call it. Isn't it now ? You didn't forget the lemon, Mary ? That's right. I always like just a shaving of peel in my grog. Mouse won't take any, I know ; she's a water drinker. I make her take a sip nows and thens out of my tumbler, and the little thing makes a face after it for all the world as though I'd given her a black draught. Mary's for hot gin, with a lot of sugar. I know her tipple." " A very little, father ; only half a glass," said Miss Rudd, bashfully. " Pooh, pooh, my dear, have it strong while you're about it. It ain't worth any one's while to drink weak grog; it does you more harm than good. I hope the water's hot, Mr. Waring. It ought to be biling, by rights. Keep the kettle on the fire, Ann, we shall want some more water presently.

Rum for you, Brown, I know, without asking, and a stiffish mixture — that*s your style. And now we're all mixed I tell you what we'll do. The weather's warm enough, I'm thinking. We'll sit out in the garden, under the mulberry-tree, and have a pipe. You'd better put on your hat, Mouse, or you'll be catching a fresh cold, and we shall have to be handing you over to the doctor again. And give Mr. Waring his hat, my dear ; and fetch me mine — the straw one ; or, stay, I'll make my handkerchief do." Thereupon Mr. VOL. II. c Rudd bound round his brow his red-cotton handkerchief, presenting an appearance which, if picturesque, was yet a little eccentric, and led the way from the dining-room into the garden. Soon the adjourned meeting was satisfactorily settled. Mixing with the fragrance of the fruit and the flowers arose the steam of hot tumblers and the smoke of tobacco.

" Now I call this out-and-out prime," quoth Mr. Rudd; "just the very thing for snugness and com fort. You see, the house shelters us from the wind, which is all in front, and one's warmed through with one's dinner. I can't fancy anything more pleasant." There was a shining, rosy suffusion, as of resplendent happiness, upon Mr. Rudd's face. His eyes beamed intense amiability through his glasses. Crowned with his red kerchief, a garden-chair his throne, his pipe his sceptre, and his tumbler of punch, by way of royal orb, in his hand, Mr. Rudd was conscious of a felicity that was imperial in its absoluteness. As he said himself: "I wouldn't change now with Louis Napoleon or the Sultan of Turkey. What more do I want ? I've my pipe and my glass, I've enjoyed my dinner, and I've got my family and my old friends around me."

He was evidently indifferent to the fact that bis acquaintance with Frankland was but of recent date. For the moment he counted the young man as an intimate of long standing. " What more can a fellow want ? I'm only sorry for them as ain't so comfortable ; and I suppose there's a many of 'em about. When I've had my own victuals I can always find time to feel for those poor folks as is obliged to be content with empty stomachs. However, if wish ing could fill 'em, they should be all full to bursting, I know that." Here Mr. Rudd loosened a button or two of his waistcoat, and, lulled by the completeness of his enjoyment, serenely closed his eyes, and seemed to doze a little. There was a pause for a few moments. Mr. Brown cleared his voice, and his potion of " ship's rum " having somewhat relaxed the bonds which ordinarily restricted his powers of speech, he with much diffi dence and hesitation ventured to address to Frankland a commonplace inquiry upon some temporary matter of political interest.

What did he think now ministers would do about reducing the income-tax, or altering its plan of assessment ? or did he suppose, now, it was true this story Mr. Brown had heard about increasing the parish rates all over the country ? — something of that kind. The sound of Mr. Brown's voice, however, as it laboured over this query roused Mr. Rudd from his repose. Probably it was not agreeable to him that his privileges as a speaker should be in any way encroached upon by Brown's attempting to start on his own account as a conversationalist. " No, Brown. None of that," he cried, abruptly, " no politics. We mustn't trouble Mr. Waring with anything of that sort. Mr. Waring knows a good bit more about politics nor you and me. He's sat in par liament has Mr. Waring ; so I've heard his brother Alfred tell.

I don't know as I quite agree with the side as he mostly voted with, so far as I can make out. Not that I'm given to caring much about politics now-a-days. They seem to be poor things to what they was once. Lord, the excitement there was about politics when I was a young man ! I was hot upon it, then, I was. An out-and-out Radical, bless you. ' Down with the bishops, and the Dook, and Bobby Peel, and all the lot of them !' ' The Bill, the whole Bill, and nothing but the Bill !' That was the sort of game then. I remember it all as though it was only yesterday. 'No taxes paid until the Bill's passed,' I used to shout then with the rest of them. Not as I was paying any taxes then myself. Lord ! the excitement there was. We was half mad most of us : ready to do any mortal thing, you know, in the way of mischief and kicking up a row.