The Five-Minute Marriage (3 page)

With that she collected up her music and left, for she had already overstayed her time by more than a quarter of an hour, and she was becoming momentarily more anxious to return to her mother.

“
Ah, there goes a lass in a million,
”
said Mr. Browty, gazing after her with unmixed respect.
“
Strong-minded—clever—and real high-class looks into the bargain! You
’
d have to beat over half England to find her equal. It was a lucky day for our family, Lyddy, when I picked Miss Carteret to be your singing teacher.
”

“
Yes, Papa,
”
said Lydia.

Philadelphia hurried home, stopping in Brewer Street market to buy the promised neck of lamb, and again at Mme. Lumiere
’
s for the almond cakes. Mme. Lumiere, like many of the residents of Soho, was an
émigré
Frenchwoman who had left Paris during the Terror, and had prospered so well with her pastrycook
’
s business during the following twenty-odd years that she had long since abandoned any thought of returning to her native land. It was from Madame
’
s brother, Christophe Lumiere, that Delphie had learned her music; he was a distinguished composer and conductor who, since he stood in high favor at the court of Louis XVI, had been obliged to escape with his sister. For many years he had been the lodger of Mrs. Carteret, whose husband had left her just sufficient money to buy a small house in Soho and rent out most of its rooms to support herself and her child. The rents had also sufficed to send Philadelphia for a period to an Academy for Young Ladies in Chiswick. But M. Lumi
e
re had died and misfortunes had then overtaken the Carterets; debts had piled up, and Mrs. Carteret had, in the end, been obliged to sell the house and move to their present accommodation. The money from the sale, which would, in the normal course, probably have provided for the mother and daughter
’
s needs for several years, had been almost entirely consumed by the expenses of Mrs. Carteret
’
s illness, and a frighteningly small sum now stood between them and complete destitution.

Philadelphia sometimes trembled, waking in the night, at the thought of what would become of them should she herself, through any mischance, lose her capacity to earn. Suppose she too were to fall ill? Or be run over by a carriage or abducted in the streets of London—such occurrences were not unknown. What would Mrs. Carteret do then? Even before her illness she had been somewhat feckless, and wholly lacking in any qualification to earn her own living; her only accomplishment was the cutting out of very beautiful paper spills, but the sale of such articles would barely suffice to keep the pair in candles.

Mrs. Carteret herself had never been troubled by anxieties as to the future.

“
My dear child, pray do not be forever fussing and fretting and spoiling your looks over these trifling considerations! Of course you will presently make an eligible match, and then all our troubles will be over. For I will say this—although you have unfortunately inherited your father
’
s cautious, prosy, down-to-earth, pinchpenny temperament, you have luckily taken from
me
the Penistone family looks, and
those
are not to be sneezed at; you must be worthy of the first consideration in any circles in the land!
”

“
But, dearest Mamma—we don
’
t move in any circles in the land! We don
’
t even move in a segment of a circle!
”
said Delphie, who had learned a little Geometry as well as the Use of the Globes at Miss Pinkerton
’
s Academy in Chiswick.

“
Never mind that, child! It is true—if only you could be presented at Court—how advantageous that would be. But still, I do not despair of some gentleman of breeding and discrimination observing you as you pass by in the street. So do not let me see those desponding looks, any more—but hold your, head up straight, and walk with elegance. You will see, all those hours that I made you spend on the backboard will presently bring their reward! In fact it would do no harm if you were to lie down
now
upon the backboard for half an hour!
”

“
Never mind the backboard, Mamma. I am more likely soon to be upon the shelf! Do not forget that I am three and twenty!
”

“
No, impossible, how
can
you be? I am sure you must be mistaken. Though it is true,
”
sighed Mrs. Carteret,
“
that I was only sixteen when I eloped with your dearest Papa. In any case, Philadelphia, your looks are in the bone,
a
nd not such as will fade in your twenties; I by no means despair of your forming an eligible connection, even now.
”

Philadelphia herself had no such certainty; nor was she even sure that she wished to marry. Certainly she had never, among the respectable tradesmen, exiled French, and down-at-heels gentry who formed the Carterets
’
principal acquaintance, encountered the man whom she felt she would be able to love. Her main ambition was centered on saving enough to start a small music school by which she could keep herself and her mother in modest comfort. But with Mrs. Carteret
’
s frail health and awkward propensity for disbursing money and running into debt, such hopes were slender indeed.

Passing swiftly through the Baggotts
’
millinery establishment, Delphie stopped to make the promised purchase of pale-gray jaconet from Jenny, who greeted her with a beaming smile.

“
There you are back then, Miss Delphie! I just stepped upstairs, half an hour agone, with a bowl of bread-jelly, and peeked through the crack, like you said, but she was fast; I could just see her blessed head on the pillow; so I didn
’
t disturb her, but came right down again. She hasn
’
t stirred once, not all the while you
’
ve been out; not a whisper have we heard from her.
”

Much relieved at this news, Delphie thanked Miss Baggott, paid for the jaconet with some of her fee from Mr. Browty (who always settled on the nail), and ran upstairs. Opening the door softly, she laid her purchases on a small table which did duty as both kitchen and dining table, then stole into the farther room to see how her mother did.

For a moment she, too, was deceived and thought Mrs. Carteret lay sleeping on the bed; then, approaching closer, she saw with deep dismay that the lace nightcap had been cunningly drawn over a rolled-up nightgown, and the bedclothes pulled together to make it appear as if a sleeping person lay under them. But the bed was empty; and also cold; it must have been unoccupied for at least an hour.

With speed
born
of experience, Delphie scanned her mother
’
s wardrobe, and her anxiety was greatly aggravated by the discovery that Mrs. Carteret must have gone out in her tabby silk and an embroidered India-muslin shawl—very insufficient covering for a barely convalescent invalid on a cold April day.

Trying to quell her agitation, Delphie ran down the stairs again. Both Miss Baggotts were now in the shop, and, addressing them in somewhat desperate accents, Delphie informed them that her mother had gone out.

The sisters were aghast.

“
She
’
s not run out
again?
Are you certain, Miss Delphie? Have you looked behind the curtain—behind the sopha? I
’
d be ready to swear I
’
d not taken my eyes off the stair the whole blessed afternoon!
”
Jenny declared agitatedly.

“
You forget, Sister, the time the funeral passed by and you was so anxious to run out and discover whose it was!
”
Miss Anne tartly reminded her sister.
“
And it was just then that I was obliged to go to the stock room for a new bale of sprig-muslin
—
depend on it, that must have been when Missus must ha
’
cut and run for it!
”

Despairingly, Philadelphia remembered that she had passed a funeral procession herself, at the top of Greek Street, very shortly after leaving home. If her mother had managed to slip out while the cortege was passing the Baggott establishment, she must have been gone for a very long time, and there would be little use in hunting for her among the streets close at hand. There were a dozen places she might have reached by this time—the Pantheon Bazaar in Grafton House, where she might take it into her head to order a hundred yards of Irish poplin for housemaids
’
dresses
—
or Mudie
’
s library, where she might bespeak the most expensive new publications—or Bond Street, which offered a terrifying range of temptations to a lady who seemed to have completely forgotten her penurious situation. Or there was another Mecca, more dangerous still. To this resort of enterprising and disengaged females, Philadelphia first turned her steps. It was in Orchard Street, and was known as Heiresses
’
Haven, though in fact its proper appellation was Duvivier
’
s Tea and Domino Salon. Here ladies of somewhat doubtful respectability and others with too much time on their hands repaired to drink Bohea and play ecarte and preference, and here it was that Mrs. Carteret, during the previous year, had contrived to expend a larger and larger proportion of their slender resources.

So it was with a failing heart that Delphie climbed the familiar narrow stairs, and looked around the somewhat shabbily furnished rooms.

“
Has my mother been here?
”
she inquired of Mme. Duvivier, who was presiding at the table nearest the entrance. Madame was a formidable-looking lady in a sky-blue turban, enough diamonds to buy up Kensington Palace, if they had been real, and a highly powdered countenance. She gave Delphie a very sharp look.

“
No—Mrs. Carteret has
not
been here, Miss—not this afternoon. If she had, it would have been my painful duty to remind her that she is owing five guineas on account of—
”

“
Thank you! I cannot give it you at the moment,
”
said Philadelphia hastily.
“
But I will see that you are paid within the week.
”

“
Stop, Miss—stop!
”
exclaimed Mme. Duvivier as she turned to leave.

“
I cannot stop; my mother is at this instant somewhere in the streets and likely to catch her death from chills,
”
Delphie called back, and ran down the stairs.

Next she went to Bond Street, and investigated all its jewelers and hat shops, incurring the various coarse remarks and incivilities to which an unescorted lady in London was liable; these, however, she turned off with such a practiced air of haughty, cool reserve that none of the accosting males dared pursue their advances any further.

But she did not find Mrs. Carteret. One or two of the jewelers were known to her, for it was in their emporiums that she had been obliged to dispose of some of her mother
’
s few last good pieces; but they all denied having set eyes on her mother.

Nor, apparently, had Mrs. Carteret ordered any provisions at Fordham
’
s, in Piccadilly—which was something of a relief—nor had she been to Hatchard
’
s bookshop nor to Allardyce
’
s library.

Delphie began to fear that she must have taken the opposite direction; once or twice in the delirium of her illness she had been heard to murmur that she
“
must very soon pay a visit to my brokers in the City
”
; no such brokers, to the best of Delphie
’
s knowledge, existed; certainly Mrs. Carteret had had dealings with none in the last fifteen years, but if she had taken it into her head to proceed in the direction of Threadneedle Street or Petty Cury, the hope of discovering her was scanty indeed, for the older part of London was such a warren of small thoroughfares that a person might be lost within them for weeks on end.

To add to Delphie
’
s despair, a thin rain was beginning to fall.

“
Perhaps she may take a hackney cab home,
”
Delphie thought. The expense would be a crippling addition to their strained exchequer, but better that than the poor lady should be soaked through in her flimsy silk and muslin.

Delphie herself was insufficiently equipped for a wetting, and she turned homeward, somewhat hopelessly scanning the Oxford Street shops and the stalls of Brewer Street market again as she passed. Most of the stall-holders knew her, but none of them were able to give her tidings of her quarry.

At last, very despondent, she arrived back at the rooms in Greek Street and saw at once, from Miss Anne
’
s downcast look and Miss Jenny
’
s expression of guilty despair, that her mother had not returned while she herself had been out.

“
Should we inform the constables?
”
quavered Jenny.
“
She has not been out for so long since her illness! Indeed and indeed I
’
m sorry, Miss Delphie—I could beat my head in the dust for shame
—
but there! What good would that do?
”

“
Not the least bit of good in the world!
”
snapped Miss Anne.
“
You had better by far brew Miss Delphie a cup of Bohea; she looks worn to a thread-paper.
”

“
I do not like to call in the constables unless the case seems desperate,
”
said Delphie, gratefully accepting the proffered beverage, which was indeed welcome, for she had had nothing since her scanty breakfast of one piece of bread and butter.
“
I know Mamma would be dreadfully ashamed and overset to think we had taken such a step. I will wait a little longer. When I have drunk my tea I shall put on a pelisse and search around Seven Dials and Drury Lane; I have not yet looked in that direction, knowing Mamma
’
s preference for the more fashionable part of London.
”

“
Oh, no, Miss Delphie, you didn
’
t ought to think of going out again!
”
scolded Jenny.
“
Why, you are quite fagged out already
—
white as cheesecloth, ain
’
t she, Sister, and your bonnet all soaked. That straw will never be good for anything after this!
”

“
But I must go out,
”
said Delphie.
“
I cannot bear to think of her, perhaps lost, somewhere in this downpour
”
—for the rain had come on more heavily and was turning to a real spring deluge.

Out, despite all their remonstrances, she went, clad in a worn old tartan pelisse, and wearily made a reconnaissance of Charing Cross, Covent Garden, and Drury Lane, even going so far east as Hol
born
and Chancery Lane. Once or twice she thought what a fortunate occurrence it was that many of the families whose children were her pupils had at present gone out of town for the Easter Holiday; at least it meant that lessons were few and far between. Her income, in consequence, was sadly depleted, but no indignant pupils were being deprived of their tuition while she scoured the streets for her straying parent.

Presently dusk began to fall, early because of the rain, and Delphie was forced to acknowledge to herself that it was quite useless for her to continue the search; a few of London
’
s streets were now gaslit, but the majority were not; and in general the illumination was dim, flickering, and inadequate; there was no possible chance any longer of spotting the lost lady. Delphie herself, by this time, was soaked and shivering; all she could do was turn homeward once more.

There, the Baggott sisters received her with distressed and contrite looks; urged her to come into the back parlor, where they had built up a roaring fire, and revived her with what Miss Jenny called
“
a little drop of summat
‘
ot
”
—a very little brandy and a great deal of lemon, sugar, and hot water, which in the circumstances was highly welcome, for with all the hurrying and calling, searching and inquiring, Delphie
’
s throat had become very hoarse and sore.

“
If only you haven
’
t took cold your pore self!
”
said Jenny anxiously.
“
You didn
’
t ought to be running about in the rain, Miss Delphie, indeed you oughtn
’
t, for if you was to take a putrid sore throat, what
’
s to become of you? You can
’
t teach them blessed lambs to sing!
”
—a fear which Delphie herself entertained but did not dare acknowledge.

“
Oh, it is nothing—I am very strong,
”
she said, sneezing,
“
but poor Mama! I am worried to death about her. Now, I am afraid, I shall really have to inform the constabulary.
”

The sisters had shut up shop, in consideration of the wet weather, and the emergency, but just at this moment a faint tap was heard on the outer door.

“
Run, quick, Jenny!
”
said Miss Baggott.
“
Somebody
’
s out there
—
only think, perhaps some kind person has took Missus up!
”

Jenny flew to the door, and, opening it, cried out in a tone of
ecstasy
,
“
Lord, if it ain
’
t Missus herself, but oh! what a pickle she
’
s in! Lord bless us, ma
’
am, where
have
you been all this time, here
’
s Miss Delphie and all of us in such a pucker and a pelter over you—and you come in looking as if you
’
ve been drug backwards down the Fleet River!
”

“
Quick, bring the poor lady to the fire, Jenny, don
’
t stand there a-gabbling,
”
cried her sister.

Mrs. Carteret certainly was in a deplorable condition, the feathers on her bonnet hanging limply down her back, her hair all out of curl with wet, and her soaked clothes clinging to her
“
for all the world like a drowned rat
’
s fur,
”
as Miss Jenny said. She tottered to the fireplace, hardly seeming to know where she was, and sat down abruptly on an upright chair as if her stiff legs would hold her up no longer.

Sipping a hot toddy which Miss Anne quickly mixed for her, she gazed at her daughter and the Miss Baggotts vacantly over the rim of her cup. Her eyes were strangely bright, and there was a hectic flush on her cheekbones. Kettles for a mustard bath, Delphie thought rapidly, a hot brick for her bed, warm flannel to wrap round her chest
...
Will she survive this? Will the congestion return to her?

“
Mamma dear, where were you?
”
Delphie asked gently, as the spirit began to take its effect and a faint spark of understanding returned to Mrs. Carteret
’
s eyes.
“
Don
’
t you remember I implored you
not
to go out, because you are not well enough? What did you have to do that was so important, that I could not have done for you?
”

“
Where did I have to go?
”
quavered Mrs. Carteret at last.
“
Why—of course—need you ask?—of course I went to St. Paul
’
s!
”

“
S
t
.
Paul
’
s?
But that is over two miles from here—nearer three! You mean to say that you walked all that way? But why?
”

“
My dear Mamma would
always
go to evensong in St. Paul
’
s when she was in town—or so I understand,
”
said Mrs. Carteret firmly.

“
You walked all the way there? And all the way back?
”

“
In course I did! When I was young we thought nothing of a six
-
or seven-mile walk. It is not right in you to nag and reproach me, Philadelphia,
”
said her mother, with more spirit.
“
Particularly since it was you that I had in mind when I made the expedition.
”