The Three Clerks I

THE THREE CLERKS

felt sure that he should return there again to renew the degradation from which he had suffered this night. Indeed, what else could he do now? He had, as it were, solemnly plighted his troth to the girl before a third person who had brought them together, with the acknowledged purpose of witnessing that ceremony. He had, before Mrs. Davis, and before the girl herself, heard her spoken of as his wife, and had agreed to the understanding that such an arrangement was a settled thing. What else had he to do now but to return and complete his part of the bargain? What else but that, and be a wretched, miserable, degraded man for the rest of his days; lower, viler, more contemptible, infinitely lower, even than his brother clerics at the office, whom in his pride he had so much despised?

He walked from Norfolk Street into the Strand, and there the world was still alive, though it was now nearly one o’clock. The debauched misery, the wretched outdoor midnight revelry of the world was there, streaming in and out from ginpalaces, and bawling itself hoarse with horrid, discordant, screech-owl slang. But he went his way unheeding and uncontaminated. Now, now that it was useless, he was thinking of the better things of the world; nothing now seemed worth his grasp, nothing now seemed pleasurable, nothing capable of giving joy, but what was decent, good, reputable, cleanly, and polished. How he hated now that lower world with which he had for the last three years condescended to pass so much of his time! how he hated himself for his own vileness! He thought of what Alaric was, of what Norman was, of what he himself might have been — he that was praised by Mrs. Woodward

321

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

for his talent, he that was encouraged to place himself among the authors of the day! He thought of all this, and then he thought of what he was — the affianced husband of Norah Geraghty!

He went along the Strand, over the crossing under the statue of Charles on horseback, and up Pall Mall East till he came to the opening into the park under the Duke of York’s column. The London night world was all alive as he made his way. From the Opera Colonnade shrill voices shrieked out at him as he passed, and drunken men coming down from the night supper-houses in the Haymarket saluted him with affectionate cordiality. The hoarse waterman from the cabstand, whose voice had perished in the night air, croaked out at him the offer of a vehicle; and one of the night beggar-women who cling like burrs to those who roam the street a these unhallowed hours still stuck to him, as she had done ever since he had entered the Strand.

‘Get away with you,’ said Charley, turning at the wretched creature in his fierce anger; ‘get away, or I’ll give you in charge.’ ‘That you may never know what it is to be in misery your-

self!’ said the miserable Irishwoman.

‘If you follow me a step farther I’ll have you locked up,’ said Charley.

‘Oh, then, it’s you that have the hard heart,’ said she; ‘and it’s you that will suffer yet.’

Charley looked round, threw her the odd halfpence which he had in his pocket, and then turned down towards the column. The woman picked up her prize, and, with a speedy blessing, took herself off in search of other prey.

322

THE THREE CLERKS

His way home would have taken him up Waterloo Place, but the space round the column was now deserted and quiet, and sauntering there, without thinking of what he did, he paced up and down between the Clubs and the steps leading into the park. There, walking to and fro slowly, he thought of his past career, of all the circumstances of his life since his life had been left to his own control, and of the absence of all hope for the future.

What was he to do? He was deeply, inextricably in debt. That wretch, M’Ruen, had his name on bills which it was impossible that he should ever pay. Tradesmen held other bills of his which were either now over-due, or would very shortly become so. He was threatened with numerous writs, any one of which would suffice to put him into gaol. From his poor father, burdened as he was with other children, he knew that he had no right to expect further assistance. He was in debt to Norman, his best, he would have said his only friend, had it not been that in all his misery he could not help still thinking of Mrs. Woodward as his friend.

And yet how could his venture to think longer of her, contaminated as he now was with the horrid degradation of his acknowledged love at the ‘Cat and Whistle!’ No; he must think no more of the Woodwards; he must dream no more of those angel eyes which in his waking moments had so often peered at him out of heaven, teaching him to think of higher things, giving him higher hopes than those which had come to him from the working of his own unaided spirit. Ah! lessons taught in vain! vain hopes! lessons that had come all too late! hopes that had been cherished only to be deceived!

323

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

had been engaged in completing the memoirs of ‘Crinoline and Macassar.’

‘Well, Charley,’ they asked, one and all, as soon as he reached the Cottage, ‘have you got the story? Have you brought the manuscript? Is it all finished and ready for that dreadful editor?’

Charley produced a roll, and Linda and Katie instantly pounced upon it.

‘Oh! it begins with poetry,’ said Linda.

‘I am so glad,’ said Katie. ‘Is there much poetry in it, Charley? I do so hope there is.’

‘Not a word of it,’ said Charley; ‘that which Linda sees is a song that the heroine is singing, and it isn’t supposed to be written by the author at all.’

‘I’m so sorry that there’s no poetry,’ said Katie. ‘Can’t you write poetry, Charley?’

‘At any rate there’s lots of love in it,’ said Linda, who was turning over the pages.

‘Is there?’ said Katie. ‘Well, that’s next best; but they should go together. You should have put all your love into verse, Charley, and then your prose would have done for the funny parts.’

‘Perhaps it’s all fun,’ said Mrs. Woodward. ‘But come, girls, this is not fair; I won’t let you look at the story till it’s read in full committee.’ And so saying, Mrs. Woodward took the papers from her daughters, and tying them up, deposited them safe in custody. ‘We’ll have it out when the tea-things are gone.’

But before the tea-things had come, an accident happened, which had been like to dismiss ‘Crinoline and Macassar’ alto-

326

THE THREE CLERKS

gether from the minds of the whole of the Woodward family. The young men had, as usual, dined in town, and therefore they were all able to spend the long summer evening out of doors. Norman’s boat was down at Hampton, and it was therefore determined that they should row down as far as Hampton Court Park and back. Charley and Norman were to row; and Mrs. Woodward agreed to accompany her daughters. Uncle Bat was left at home, to his nap and rum and water.

Norman was so expert a Thames waterman, that he was quite able to manage the boat without a steersman, and Charley was nearly his equal. But there is some amusement in steering, and Katie was allowed to sit between the tiller-ropes.

‘I can steer very well, mamma: can’t I, Harry? I always steer when we go to the island, and we run the boat straight into the little creek, only just broad enough to hold it.’ Katie’s visits to the island, however, were not so frequent as they had heretofore been, for she was approaching to sixteen years of age, and wet feet and draggled petticoats had lost some of their charms. Mrs. Woodward, trusting more to the experience of her two knights than to the skill of the lady at the helm, took her seat, and they went off merrily down the stream.

All the world knows that it is but a very little distance from Hampton Church to Hampton Court Bridge, especially when one has the stream with one. They were very soon near to the bridge, and as they approached it, they had to pass a huge barge, that was lazily making its way down to Brentford.

‘There’s lots of time for the big arch,’ said Charley. ‘Pull away then,’ said Harry.

327

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

They both pulled hard, and shot alongside and past the barge. But the stream was strong, and the great ugly mass of black timber moved behind them quicker than it seemed to do.

‘It will be safer to take the one to the left,’ said Harry. ‘Oh! there’s lots of time,’ said Charley.

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘do as I tell you and go to the left. — Pull your left hand a little, Katie.’

Charley did as he was bid, and Katie intended to do the same; but unfortunately she pulled the wrong hand. They were now very near the bridge, and the barge was so close to them as to show that there might have been danger in attempting to get through the same arch with her.

‘Your left hand, Katie, your left,’ shouted Norman; ‘your left string.’ Katie was confused, and gave first a pull with her right, and then a pull with her left, and then a strong pull with her right. The two men backed water as hard as they could, but the effect of Katie’s steering was to drive the nose of the boat right into one of the wooden piers of the bridge.

The barge went on its way, and luckily made its entry under the arch before the little craft had swung round into the stream before it; as it was, the boat, still clinging by its nose, came round with its stern against the side of the barge, and as the latter went on, the timbers of Norman’s wherry cracked and crumpled in the rude encounter.

The ladies should all have kept their seats. Mrs. Woodward did do so. Linda jumped up, and being next to the barge, was pulled up into it by one of the men. Katie stood bolt upright, with the tiller-ropes still in her hand, awe-struck at the misfortune she had caused; but while she was so standing, the stern of

328

THE THREE CLERKS

the boat was lifted nearly out of the water by the weight of the barge, and Katie was pitched, behind her mother’s back, head foremost into the water.

Norman, at the moment, was endeavouring to steady the boat, and shove it off from the barge, and had also lent a hand to assist Linda in her escape. Charley was on the other side, standing up and holding on by the piers of the bridge, keeping his eyes on the ladies, so as to be of assistance to them when assistance might be needed.

And now assistance was sorely needed, and luckily had not to be long waited for. Charley, with a light and quick step, passed over the thwarts, and, disregarding Mrs. Woodward’s scream, let himself down, over the gun-wale behind her seat into the water. Katie can hardly be said to have sunk at all. She had, at least, never been so much under the water as to be out of sight. Her clothes kept up her light body; and when Charley got close to her, she had been carried up to the piers of the bridge, and was panting with her head above water, and beating the stream with her little hands.

She was soon again in comparative safety. Charley had her by one arm as he held on with the other to the boat, and kept himself afloat with his legs. Mrs. Woodward leaned over and caught her daughter’s clothes; while Linda, who had seen what had happened, stood shrieking on the barge, as it made its way on, heedless of the ruin it left behind.

Another boat soon came to their assistance from the shore, and Mrs. Woodward and Katie were got safely into it. Charley returned to the battered wherry, and assisted Norman in extricating it from its position; and a third boat went to Linda’s

329

ANTHONY TROLLOPE

rescue, who would otherwise have found herself in rather an uncomfortable position the next morning at Brentford.

The hugging and kissing to which Katie was subjected when she was carried up to the inn, near the boat-slip on the Surrey side of the river, may be imagined; as may also the faces she made at the wineglassful of stiff brandy and water which she was desired to drink. She was carried home in a fly, and by the time she arrived there, had so completely recovered her life and spirits as to put a vehement negative on her mother’s proposition that she should at once go to bed.

‘And not hear dear Charley’s story?’ said she, with tears in her eyes. ‘And, mamma, I can’t and won’t go to bed without seeing Charley. I didn’t say one word yet to thank him for jumping into the water after me.’

It was in vain that her mother told her that Charley’s story would amuse her twice as much when she should read it printed; it was in vain that Mrs. Woodward assured her that Charley should come up to her room door; and hear her thanks as he stood in the passage, with the door ajar. Katie was determined to hear the story read. It must be read, if read at all, that Saturday night, as it was to be sent to the editor in the course of the week; and reading ‘Crinoline and Macassar’ out loud on a Sunday was not to be thought of at Surbiton Cottage. Katie was determined to hear the story read, and to sit very near the author too during the reading; to sit near him, and to give him such praise as even in her young mind she felt that an author would like to hear. Charley had pulled her out of the river, and no one, as far as her efforts could prevent it, should be allowed to throw cold water on him.

330