The Gordian knot; a story of good and of evil

Front matter

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(Qornell Uniuecatty SIthrarg

Contents

CHAPTEE PA6E

i. some introductions 1

ii. the manager's fete 10

Chapter I. Some Intboductions

The first time that Philip Arundel saw Miss Spencer was in the. course of a, fete given, on the bank of the Thames, by the manager of one of the opera-houses. But the first time that I saw little Margaret Spencer was nine years earlier, and at the door of a dissenters' chapel in a pleasant town in Shropshire.

In days when there were miles in England, the little quiet borough, St. Oscars, was nearly two hundred miles from the great noisy city, London. Now it is about six hours away, and these, I am told, seem at least twelve to any traveller who is not rich enough to take his seat on first-class cushions. The hard boards, keen draughts, and general misery of the inferior carriages lead him, let us hope, to reflect upon his un worthiness in not having deserved — and consequently obtained — the blessings of riches, and induce him to register his vow that, should -he survive the journey, he will devote himself with renewed energy to the struggle of life. If petulant philanthropists object to the deduction of this moral from the sufferings of the humbler traveller under our present locomotive arrangements, I am very sorry, but have no other that could be at all acceptable to respectability.

In the time when I first knew St. Oscars, we went thither by his Majesty's mail — red coach — red guard — red driver — four spanking horses, which during the night were changed, as it seemed to the aroused sleeper, every five minutes — snorting horn at the turnpikes and in the towns — horribly cold feet in the morning — very high fares — extortionate fees — good refreshment on the road' — and everybody heartily glad when the business was over. Those are the items which chiefly compose my recollections of the long journey, but as I went up and down several times, it would not be difficult to remember that one coachman told stupid stories with much good-nature and desire to lighten the way for you ; that a particular guard kept a private Erench horn, and when we were away from towns would perform the then fashionable melody wedded to Mr. Bayley's hankering for existence in another and a butterfly world ; that at one or two inns there were one or two pretty girls, or girls whose fresh and cheerful faces looked pretty to people who were bored with ugly or sulky fellowtravellers ; that there was a good deal of honest excitement in the PART I. b rapid motion, when the horses were sprung over a hard bit of road, and the blood was stirred and the eye brightened by a pace at which did the slowest of railway drivers now dare to crawl, he would be saluted by howls of disapprobation from his plebeian passengers, while their betters would sit devising venomous beginnings for accusing letters to The Times. These incidents are not worth a great deal, but there was one good feature in the old mode of travelling, and the only one which can reasonably be urged in its favour. You saw England. When you dived into the smoky hearts of her manufacturing counties, or rattled into the decorous capitals of her garden provinces, when you took hamlet, or borough, or cathedral city in your way, when you were only careering along her noble roads and catching church, hill, or river as you passed, you were gaining an idea of the face of the mother-land. And the few minutes of Stoppage in the towns were, to any one who knew how to use them, invaluable opportunities for fixing the town in memory for the rest bf one's life. All this is over, and we have a far better system instead (especially for first-class passengers); but even with the best corner in the railway carriage, the rug over one's knees, the strapful of books on the untenanted cushion before you, the newspaper, duly paper-knifed at the station, and all the comfort of the journey, one confesses to wincing as the train passes the board inscribed with the name of some fine old town, which one is not likely to make a journey to see, but which, taken on the road, would have linked itself to historical reminiscences, and made itself one of the illustrations to one's private edition of the Chapter of Kings.

St. Oscars has probably been altered since those days. I have heard something of a new church, a literary institution, a botanic garden, a newspaper, and other innovations. I can only say that I hope the St. Oscarians are happier for the change. I do not know why they should be. We did remarkably well in my time, with the old church and without the improvements. The church was damp, and one in which it was difficult to hear ; but the good vicar preached short sermons, and bad ones, so that we got away soon and lost little. He did not like preaching, that is a lamentable fact, but he liked visiting the sick, and helping the poor, and seeing the children enjoy themselves. The evangelical minister of the next parish thought the Doctor's chances in the next world were indifferent ; but Very few of us agreed with him, and every dissenter put up a shutter on the day of the vicar's funeral, and a Particular-Baptist, also a stonemason, offered a beautiful slab of marble for the mural tablet. As for our reading, people read the books they had, and then read them again — and so did the late Lord Dudley and Ward, protesting against being told to buy new books. But we knew all that was going on. Several of us joined to take a London paper, and it arrived in the middle of the day after its publication, quite soon enough for any good news it had to tell. Besides, there were the county papers, Whig and Tory — but we did not think much of them, for we knew the editors, and distrusted the Whig's arguments because his father had been bankrupt, and disbelieved much that the Tory said because he had a wooden leg — editors should be more mysterious. We certainly had no botanic garden, and indeed one of our stock stories, at which

«very one laughed, was directed against a great lady neighbour, Who had spoken of a red daisy (quite correctly) as a bellis figbulom, and the St. Oscarians must have changed much if they admire wooden tickets with barbarous Latin polysyllables tied to inoffensive shrubs. Indeed, they must have altered a great deal if they support a local newspaper, for we never did anything that was 'worth telling, or that ■we thought so. It is the new generation of vestrymen and municipal lawgivers that require verbatim shorthand accounts (a great deal fuller than the Parliamentary reports) of their squabbles about the hearthstones for cleaning the church steps, and brooms to cleanse the pig-market. We could fight over these things too, and could impute motives, and be as offensive and abusive as our successors, but we did not have our quarrelling written down and printed, as is now the custom with provincial councils. As I have said, St. Oscars must have altered. One thing which I have heard convinces me of the fact even more than any df the evidence I have cited. We had two public clocks in the place — one the church-clock, and the other a clock on the town-hall. The consecrated works were confided to one clockmaker, and the secular wheels to another. Less than five minutes' walk took you from one building to the other, but there was always more than five minutes' difference between the clocks. The reason of this was that the two artificers hated each other, and each kept his time at a hostile distance from that of the other. The clerical regulator would never recognise the existence of the other one, and it was merely to annoy the poor old man that he was sometimes asked to explain the discrepancy; but the irreligious horologist, not being appointed for life, was obliged to be at once more civil and more scientific, and boldly declared that he kept his clock five minutes ahead of the church to allow for the difference of longitude. We — some of us — may not have been altogether satisfied with the reason, but we permitted both directors to keep what time they liked, and good-naturedly made the necessary allowance in our appointments. Now St. Oscars has an illuminated dial, with punctuality laid on from the railway station. I am certain that I should not know the place again.

It was during my residence at St. Oscars that I made the acquaintance of a little girl, whose subsequent history has since been, by a .singular series of accidents, constantly brought before me. It seems ■convenient, for the better understanding her story, that I should here tell, as briefly as I can, some circumstances which did not come to my knowledge for several years later.

Margaret Spencer was the child of an officer in the service of the East India Company. Her father, born shortly before the beginning of the century, had joined his regiment in time to witness the last defeat of Holkar, and had borne part in the subsequent war with the Burmese. Where so much heroism was manifested whenever the English soldier was permitted to close with his enemy, it might have been forgiven to Armandale Spencer that he did not seek the difficult work of distinguishing himself amid such men as the victors of Rangoon. Despatches did not mention him, but private letters from brother officers occasionally did, though not in language one would

b2 altogether desire to register in one's family annals. Assuredly not in such letters as find their way from the tent to the newspaper — those words fresh from the battle-field — words which the proud father, with a swelling heart, vainly strives to read aloud in his husky and choking voice to girls who listen with eager eyes and heightened colour — while the mother stifles her sobs and prays, silently. Nevertheless, Indian officers, writing home to masculine friends, had a good deal to say about Armandale Spencer.

First came the story of his marriage, and the unhesitating comments, made by gentlemen who had no time to select their language, upon the foolishness of Captain Spencer, up to that period supposed to be a thorough man of the world, not to say as wary a hand as ever took care, at a card party, to sit down sober and rise up a winner. This accomplished Captain, armed at all points, had surrendered to a girl of eighteen, who had been imported to Calcutta by a benevolent relative, and whose culpable inanity her doll-beauty could not redeem. Captain Spencer, then about four-and-thirty, met, wooed, and married Miss Featherleigh, and the officers who wrote home scoffed when they mentioned the match. There was matter for scoff, indeed — but they did not know why it was so.

In due time Mrs. Captain Spencer, nSe Featherleigh, presented her husband with a daughter — presented, however, by the means of a brief note written by a doctor, and carried by a black postman. The father was certainly not in waiting to receive his newly-robed first-born from the patronizing nurse, and to lay it upon the bosom of the pale and happy mother. Spencer was xxp the country, and on some mysterious errand, which made it difficult to trace him, and Margaret was six weeks old before her father heard that a daughter was born to him. When he did hear it, moreover, he exhibited no particular thankfulness, and as he happened to be smoking, in company with a native gentleman of opulence, the Captain lit his next cheroot with the doctor's note.

The officers continued to write (according to their natures) either flippant or severe things about Captain Spencer, and his society was not so much coveted by his friends as that of an agreeable man of the world, with an exceedingly pretty young wife, usually appears to be. Curious stories came afloat, and kept afloat, and Spencer did not seem to be at any pains to sink them. Among them were odd rumours as to the way in which he made his money. For he did make a great deal of money, and remitted it to London through his agents — facts which no man can keep secret where Orientals are about him. Now, we know what a captain can earn in his military vocation, and how much he is likely to be able to remit in eight or ten years to his brother, a merchant in London. Armandale Spencer remitted about twelve thousand pounds.

His brother, the merchant in London, was his senior by fifteen years. This fact was a great misfortune for Armandale Spencer; not that he lost any inheritance thereby, for the father of the two brothers (little Margaret's grandfather) had dissipated his property, in the most gentlemanlike manner, in pursuits largely in esteem at the period of the Eegency, and had departed this life as much mourned as is usual when the deceased have made such efforts to deserve the tears of their posterity. But the seniority had caused Armandale Spencer to repose entire belief in his brother Robert, and though faith in anything or anybody was by no means Captain Spencer's weakness,' he had never conquered his childish reverence for his elder relation. The case would probably have been different had the brothers lived nearer, and Spencer's acquired knowledge of the world had shown him how far superior he was to Robert in what the world calls wisdom. It was a pity that Armandale's only characteristic in the least deserving of respect should have led him into a course sadly opposed to the interests of his little daughter.

When Margaret was about four years old, two events of great importance to her took place. Her mamma ran away with a gentleman in the Company's Civil Service, and the little girl herself was remitted to England, to the care of Mr. and Mrs. Spencer, the elder brother and his wife.

The officers, in writing home, did not express any surprise that Mrs. Spencer had eloped, but some of them were a little astonished that a civilian should have carried her off, and others that a civilian, whose intellectual qualifications were supposed to be somewhat high, could have seen anything in so foolish a piece of prettiness. Everybody agreed that it was a good thing for the child that she had a rich uncle and aunt to receive her at home, and then the subject dropped — for Lord Auckland came out, and gave the Europeans several other things to talk about. I have for the present little more to tell of two persons of whom I have hitherto been able to tell nothing good — I mean Margaret's parents.

The ayah who had charge of little Margaret on her way home (as she was taught to call it) had given her Eastern imagination some licence, in depicting, for the comfort and happiness of her child, the luxurious household into which she was to be received. Her papa's lordly brother, a great man, and his noble wife, a lovely woman, would be waiting on the shore in a beautiful carriage, to welcome Margaret and her nurse, and take them away to a splendid house, where the plates would be of gold and the chairs of silver, and where she would pass her days like a little queen, lying on soft cushions, hearing loVely music, and playing with toys which would be new every day. A disappointment was in store for the young lady. The long voyage was over, the vessel was safe in the dock (the Southampton Railway was then uninvented), and the ayah and her charge were uncared for. The other voyagers, eager for English homes, had departed, one by one, or in groups, and none without a kind word and kiss for the pretty little girl whose high spirits and gentleness had won all their hearts on the way. At such a time the most considerate traveller is restless and anxious to be about his own business, but several passengers had tarried to offer a home to the little girl until her relatives could be sent for, and great indignation was expressed at the neglect with which the latter had behaved. The ship had been telegraphed long before, and Mr. Spencer, as a merchant, must have been aware of it, or ought to have been. Lady M'Cullombich (who had gone out

6 THE GOEDIAK KNOT.

much as poor Mrs. Aranandale Spencer had done, and had married nearly as soon, but by the help of good principles and high cheek-bones Sad escaped any such peril as>the other lady had undergone, and had come back to. prepare a home for her rich old Scotch husband!) — this, -worthy and defiant woman all but carried off Margaret by force, and would have done it, but for the gallant resistance of the Hindoo body-guard. The ayah, whom Margaret insisted upon calling Boosey, because that was the name of a bearer in a treasured story-book by Mrs. Sherwood — and Margaret did not in the least care about its being a man's name, — had by dint of repeating her imaginative sketch of the prospect in store for her young lady brought herself to believe in it. The faithful Boosey, therefore, insisted on sticking to the ship.

" Well, when the captain turns you over the side, and you haven't got a home to go to s Maggie, make Boosey take a coach, and drive to a house in Bussell-square that's all covered with scaffold poles. Russell' square, mind — but I'll tell somebody with a better memory."

And the excellent woman bustled away to leave her orders, and then returning; and giving Margaret a robust kiss, bustled away to her coach.

Still the nurse and her child remained, and no one came to receive them. They were permitted to stay on board until long after the lastpassenger had left, and the unlading had commenced, and yet no messenger from the house of gold plates and silver chairs. The ayah was shocked, and saddened, and sometimes infuriate. But Margaret was too much amused with all that she saw, and with the new world into which she had come, to feel her position very acutely. During the day she rushed about the vessel, enjoying the confusion which had succeeded to the order and regularity of the voyage, and at night she said her prayers, crawled into her bed, and was fondled to sleep by her affectionate nurse, who little thought she was doing wrong in hushing her Christian ehild with a song chanted at heathen festivals in honour of the Goddess of Flowers. But the poor ayah was to make speedy atonement for her impiety.

On the third clay from the departure of the kindhearted Lady M'Cullombieh, there was a disembarkation which greatly interested Margaret. This was the landing from the vessel of a tiger of considerable size and much beauty. He had been imported by an enthusiastic Fellow of the Zoological Society, who designed a worthy present to his associate beast-fanciers. He, more mindful of his expected guest than the Spencers had been of theirs, hurried up from the north as soon as the ship was telegraphed, and hastened to the docks to welcome his growling bargain. Mr. Mungle (he has since twice changed his name, and each time, I am happy to say, for an estate, so he will hardly be recognised) came on board to superintend the transfer of his property from the ship to the van. Margaret and the delighted old gentleman were friends in a minute.

" So you have seen rny tiger, young lady, and you like him ?"

" "No. I do not like him much, but I hope he is going to have a good home."

1HE GOKM&N KNOT. 7

" A capital one. You must ask your papa and mamma to let you come, and see him."

" Ah ! they are in India, but I will ask my uncle and aunt.'*

" And what are thieir names, my love ? I will send them word when, Mr. Tiger will be at home to you."

" The same name as mine."

" But you have not told me that."

" My name is Margaret Spender— but my uncle and aunt are not called Margaret, you know, but Mr. and Mrs. Robert Spencer."

" Eh," said the old gentleman, rather sharply. " Where do they live?"'

" I don't know," replied Margaret, " but. Boosey knows."

" And who is Boosey?"

" That is," said the child, pointing to the ayah, who was watching the tiger's cage, as it was forced along the deck-. She was watching it, and its occupant, with no friendly eye — the native, and especially the native woman, regards the beast of the jungle as an enemy to whom no quarter should be given, and Boosey was intolerant of the system of making a pet of such a prisoner.

" A fine tiger," said Mr. Mungle,, crossing to where she stood.

" A fine devil,," returned the Hindoo, in a low voice. " Shoot him, and burn his head."

" You. cruel woman," exclaimed the indignant Mr. Mungle. " I don't believe that you are fit to, be entrusted with the care of a child,"

" What Miss Maggie think T said the ayah, looking affectionately at her charge, who, in reply, clasped one dark hand fondly in two little white ones.

" Well," said Mr. Mungle, who could not help being appeased by this loving demonstration, " but you ought to love all God's creatures, and not talk of destroying them,"

" Much love for tiger — locking him up in a small cage," said the nurse. " He is thankful."

" Ah !" said the naturalist, " but you don't understand, my good woman. We wish to admire the wonderful works of Providence, and —steady there !" he exclaimed, as the men who were bringing the cage on let it strike rather violently against the bulwark. He was, perhaps, not altogether sorry at finding an excuse for not finishing the argument.

" Devil well out of the ship,'' muttered the ayah.

" But see, how splendid his eyes are, Boosey," said Margaret. " And there was a growl for you ! Is not he in a rage with the men for carrying him about ?" And she ran forward, in perfect fearlessness, to obtain a better view of the sayage. His furious stare fell on her, and the ayah rushed up to drag her out of the, influence of what the Hindoo believed to.be an evil eye. Boosey had drawn back Margajet a few paoes, when one of the rollers on which the cage was moved slipped from its place, the cage received another violent shock, and the next moment . there, was a wild cry among the men as they retreated in terror. The woodwork had partially given, way, and the tiger's paws were forcing an opening.

The maddened ayah saw, or fancied she saw, that the savage's eyes ■were still fixed on her child, and it was with a cry scarcely less wild than the yell with which the beast, the next instant, writhed himself into freedom, that she clutched Margaret, and thrust her to the head of the cabin stairs. The tiger made his bound at the same instant, and had the ayah been an English servant, with all the same devotion, she could not have interposed in time to save the fair little head. But her earnest love inspired a singular effort, and the lithe frame of the Hindoo seemed to curl, as it were, around the body of the child, end the brute's paw descended as he passed. Another moment, and the Englishmen found their hearts, and with what weapons they could snatch, rushed with one fierce shout at the animal, who, appalled at their charge, sprang over the side of the vessel.

They raised "the two forms that had fallen on the deck, and Margaret, though terrified to a ghastly pallor, was found unhurt. But the ayah lay senseless, and severely wounded by the terrible stroke, apparently so effortless.

" God forgive me," said the naturalist, " for the words I used to her. We must remove her instantly to the nearest hospital."

Amid their own fear, the men had seen and comprehended the bravery of her deed, and they lifted her tenderly and admiringly. A sort of litter was hastily extemporised, and poor Boosey was conveyed to a neighbouring institution for the treatment of accidents. Margaret would have followed, but the naturalist took her hand.

" You shall come with me, my darling, and to-morrow we will see after the friends who seem to have forgotten you. At present I won't ask you a word about them."

And he took away the child, promising to send for her luggage. They reached his comfortable villa, in the Regent's Park, and from his wife Margaret received a mother's kindness.

This was her' welcome to England ; but it was not for some days that the discovery was made why no friends had met her. It involved another discovery of a far graver kind. A few weeks earlier Robert Spencer had become a bankrupt. And in the business which he had ruined the money entrusted to him by his brother Armandale had been invested. Margaret Spencer had not a shilling in the world.

That the interesting 'little girl should be adopted by the benevolent and childless couple under whose protection she had thus curiously been thrown, would be the natural course of a story. But, happily for Margaret, this destiny was not hers. A better training was in store for her than that which she would have received as the spoiled child of the home in the Regent's Park. The Spencers had a sister, who, when quite young, had married almost as young a country surgeon, and the match had been so displeasing to the vain and sanguine merchant, Robert, that he had not only dropped all intercourse with his sister, but had represented the marriage in so unfavourable a light to his brother in India, that Armandale followed his example, and Mrs. Captain Spencer was not even aware that she had a sister-in-law. That relative, however, came forward in the hour of trouble, and while Robert Spencer was hiding from his creditors, or fudging medical certificates that he was suffering from such diseases that his appearance

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to attend to his own affairs would inevitably slay him, his bewildered wife, though not an unkindly person, was easily induced to recognise Mrs. Cheriton's relationship, and to concede to her the charge of the little Indian girl. The Cheritons were settled at St. Oscars, and thither, after a short sojourn with her first friends (who were far more reluctant to give her up than her aunt had been), Margaret was taken, to be received as one of the children of the Cheriton household

Poor Boosey suffered much from her wounds, and more from a sense, which almost distracted the faithful pagan, that she was abandoning a solemn trust in leaving her charge in the hands of others. It was difficult for the authorities in the hospital to prevail upon her to submit to the treatment necessary to her restoration, and it was only after a visit from Margaret and her aunt that Boosey acquired any kind of self-command and patience. The assurance of the child that she was being well cared for and happy, and the gentle voice and manner of Mrs. Cheriton, did much towards assuaging the remorse of Boosey, whose last thought would have been the recollection that it was her own self-devotion that had laid her on the hospital couch. Mrs. Cheriton's promise was given that, as soon as the ayah had been completely restored to health, she should rejoin her young mistress, and thenceforth Boosey endured the confinement with more resolution. But it was a glad day for her when Mr. Mungle, who regarded himself as the proximate cause of her misfortune, came to remove her, and to arrange for her journey. His liberality, and that of his wife, were lavishly exhibited in Boosey's favour, and there was no compensation for her sufferings which he would not have been prepared to make, except one, which the Hindoo pressed upon him with an affectionate earnestness that greatly discomposed him. The tiger bad speedily been re-captured, and had been installed in a den in the Gardens ; and Boosey incessantly prayed to Mr. Mungle that he would take a gun there, shoot the animal, and burn his head. This proposition the excellent Fellow was obliged to resist, but Boosey had no other reason to complain that he did not make ample atonement for the disasters of which his taste had been the cause.

When I have said that Lady M'Cullombich was in due time written to, and informed that the little girl to whom she had shown her rough and ready kindness was in safe hands, as much of Margaret's history as connects itself with her voyage has been told. That voyage may be regarded as having had a fortunate termination, for though all the golden dreams with which the Indian had amused her child had been harshly dissipated, I hope to show that the realities among which she soon found herself united to give her a better and a happier home than that which Armandale Spencer had destined for her. The little Margaret was adopted into a religious family — a family of that kind, not so rare as cynics are good enough to allege, but still quite rare enough, where religion is not simply kept for use on Sundays from 10-45 a.m. to 1-10 p.m. It was so good an article that the Cheritons were not afraid of wearing it out by using it on work-days — but, on second thoughts, this statement seems to belong to a new chapter