Mord Em'ly/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX.
A bright morning, and everybody and everything in South London singing cheerfully. Elderly birds in cages, cocking one eye and looking up at the sky, on being hung outside windows straightway began an air of which they had nearly forgotten the tune; the people hurrying along the pavements hummed or whistled; shopkeepers chatted with their rivals genially, as though no such thing as competition existed. The cab horse which conveyed Mord Em'ly and Gilliken and Miss Mitchell in a hansom to the city was at first so light-hearted as to be a little inclined to dance, but the driver had Puritanical views, and checked this at the outset.
"You ain't a circus," said the driver severely, "you're a keb 'orse. Kindly be'ave as such."
The driver's sternness was increased by the remarks of the few other cabmen, who, passing near him, saw the bright face of Mord Em'ly peering out, and behind her the other two ladies. Some of these said, in tones of reproof, "What, three of em?" whilst others leaned towards him and said reassuringly, "It's awright, old man. I sha'n't say nothing to the missus." When, at the top of London Road, Mord Em'ly insisted upon getting out for a moment to kiss the Obelisk, the driver became quite gloomy, and had doubts in regard to the payment of his fare. These fears were ungrounded. Mord Em'ly, at Liverpool Street Station, paid him out of a square new purse, and the driver, astonished into cordiality, wished her a prosperous journey. Mord Em'ly patted the horse, and the horse intimated as well as it could that it begged to second the resolution moved by its honourable friend, the driver.
They had a second-class compartment to themselves in the special train, which took them leisurely through Stratford and Canning Town to the docks station, and Miss Mitchell found herself called upon to furnish the entire conversation. This gave Miss Mitchell no inconvenience, insomuch as she had a new idea of answering a matrimonial advertisement, which she had run to earth in a Sunday paper. Miss Mitchell took off her pince-nez, and read it to Mord Em'ly and to Gilliken, and pointed out that as for being tall, as required in the advertisement, nobody could call five-foot-three short, and if it came to that she could easily wear higher heels to her boots; that if she was anything she was most certainly accomplished; domesticated she had been called over and over again; in regard to a bright disposition, she thought everyone would acknowledge that it would be hard in New Cross to find her equal. Mord Em'ly held Gilliken's hand beneath the lieutenant's blue serge cloak, and agreed. She was looking out with eagerness as the train strolled in a roundabout way eastward, looking out at London receding into distance as though anxious to impress it indelibly upon her mind; anxious to retain for ever her last impression of the dear town.
At the Gallions station, commotion.
A line of Lascar sailors (at the sight of whom Miss Mitchell screamed, fearing a plot for her abduction) in their blue gaberdines, white trousers, and turbans, attacked the special, and bore off through the giant Customs House the hand luggage of passengers to the China, waiting in the docks on the other side. Their number happened to be insufficient, and some passengers hurried about distractedly with their bags, and others appealed from the open carriage-doors; the general impression being that there was not a moment to spare, whereas, in point of fact, the China was in no hurry, and did not propose to move out to the dock gates for at least another hour. Someone spoke to Mord Em'ly.
"Do you mind holding my baby for one moment? I want to get my bag down."
Mord Em'ly, complying with this request, took the chubby-faced infant, who peeped out of his elaborate head-gear and laughed at her, whilst his parent found a portmanteau.
"Thank you, so much. And now, if I can find a porter—"
"Let me carry him," said Mord Em'ly. "All my luggage is on board."
"Are you going by the China?"
"If I 'ave luck," said Mord Em'ly. She looked up at the young mother's pretty, half-veiled face. "But 'scuse me! Surely you wasn't once the secretary of the Home that married—"
"Oh, but I was," said the young secretary cheerfully. "and I believe I remember you, altered though you are."
"Going second-class?"
"Second-class."
"Thanks be," said Mord Em'ly, with delight, to Gilliken, as she went through the Customs shed, the amused infant in her arms, "thanks be, I'm going to 'ave company."
Bustle and confusion at the two gangways leaning against the second-class part of the upper deck; much shouting by busy Lascars; a mixing up of passengers and friends, who, indeed, in the case of women-folk, were already embracing each other so fervently that the work of distinguishing was difficult. When it had been borne in upon these that the China was not going to start instantly, they became more composed, and agreed not to block the progress of the other passengers and friends and loaded Lascars at the top of the gangways. A calm, brown-faced ayah in her white robe, who was the serenest and the most resourceful woman on board, found Mord Em'ly's berth for her; and when Miss Gilliken and Miss Mitchell had sufficiently congratulated Mord Em'ly upon this, they returned by the steep steps to the upper deck, and watched the late passengers climbing hurriedly the gangways; noted the huge baskets, containing bars of silver, which were craned up from the platform below,and received by the China and placed in a safe pocket deep down; glanced at the captain and chief officers, away with the first-class passengers, lifting their gold-trimmed caps and prophesying optimistically in regard to the voyage. The three young women said but little. Even Miss Mitchell was silent now, and it was a relief when the young secretary came up on deck with her son. That young man struggled to be free on catching sight of Mord Em'ly, and, once in her possession, chuckled at everything, as though under the impression that each remark she made represented a crystallisation of all the finest jokes in the world. The young secretary's husband had, it seemed, been appointed to a berth in Melbourne; she was going out there to live with him, and her delight at meeting Mord Em'ly was only exceeded by the open satisfaction of her son and heir.
"And I'm going to look after you, young man," said Mord Em'ly to the baby, with severity, "and see that you behave like a perfect gentleman, and not go flirting with the other lady passengers."
"Birra—birra—birra," remarked the baby delightedly.
"Oh, it's no use contradicting me, sir," said Mord Em'ly; "I know all about you. You're a sossy old radical, that's what you are; a sossy, sossy, sossy old radical."
"Glug-glug-glug," said the baby argumentatively.
"Don't tell me it isn't your fault," said Mord Em'ly. "It is your fault, and well you know it. You go making eyes to every lady you see, you say things to 'em that you ought not to, you don't care a bit whether they break their 'earts or not, and then you 'ave the impudence to laugh in their face. Oh, yes, you do. Don't argue with me, sir; I know your character only too well. You're a desperate old scamp, that's what you are, so I don't deceive you."
Mord Em'ly pinched the baby's nose, and the baby so much enjoyed being rallied in this manner that he nearly kicked himself out of her arms. Below, a rattling bell sounded, and the farewells commenced. A second bell with a deep tone boomed presently a warning.
"Now for the shore, please. Now for the shore."
One of the gangways let down by the shouting Lascars, the other filled by descending friends. The China seemed to be bestirring itself; the black-faced men who had been peeping from doorways descended to the engine-room; yet another bell rang, this time with an imploring tone, that begged the friends not to run the risk of being carried out and away to Gibraltar.
Miss Mitchell took out her handkerchief, and gave to the docks a fierce scent of lavender water.
"Farewell," said Miss Mitchell. "Sorry to leave London, ain't you?"
"Wish I could take it with me."
"You'll come back some day, I lay a penny.
"Hope so," said Mord Em'ly.
"And don't forget to send us some of your wedding-cake."
The word "cake" had a curious effect on the small baby in Mord Em'ly's arms. He plunged, and kicked, and wriggled, and punched.
"Steady on, young prize-fighter," protested Mord Em'ly. "Hit someone your own size. See what you've been and done? You've made Mord Em'ly pretty nearly cry."
The baby was grieved at this, and apologised in the handsomest manner by putting his chubby little arms around her neck, and giving her a very damp kiss.
"Now we're chums again," said Mord Em'ly. She turned to Miss Mitchell. "You shall 'ave the wedding-cake all right. I'll remember. Good-bye."
"I shall put it under me pillow," called out Miss Mitchell over her shoulder, as she went down the gangway. I don't profess to be superstitious, but still—"
"Goo'-bye, Gilliken."
"Goo'-bye, Mord Em'ly."
They kissed each other so many times that the baby interposed, and, to prevent argument, they both kissed him, and then he seemed more contented. The young mother shook hands with Lieutenant Gilliken, and took charge, temporarily, of her baby, who complained in very strong terms of being thus parted, although for only a few moments, from his new friend. Miss Gilliken having retied the strings of her black straw bonnet with hands that trembled, made her way, with Mord Em'ly, through the crowd at the top of the gangway.
"I shall think—think of you, dear," said Miss Gilliken brokenly. "I daresay you won't mind feeling that you're not forgotten over here in London. And very likely, when you kneel down at night, you'll try sometimes to remember—"
"I sha'n't forget nothing," replied Mord Em'ly stoutly, but her under lip not quite under control. "Say good-bye to father for me, and drop me and 'Enry a line to say how he's getting on."
"Now, ladies, if you please."
"Give me another kiss," said Mord Em'ly.
The passengers lined the upper deck, and watched their friends below on the quay, Some endeavoured to shout messages to each other whilst the China made up her mind to start cautiously out of the docks, but the task was difficult, because the breeze intercepted and blew the words away southward to the broad river. Nevertheless when the last gangway down, the huge ship finally decided to move, shouted farewells went up, and some of them evaded the mischievous efforts of the wind. Mord Em'ly stood at the side between the omniscient ayah and the young secretary; the young secretary's baby, perched on her shoulder, waved gracious farewells to his native country with one chubby hand, with the other he tugged sportively at a stray wisp of Mord Em'ly's hair. This, perhaps, was why there were tears in her eyes as the voice of Miss Gilliken came across from the quay.
"Go' bless you, Mord Em'ly!"
THE END.
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