A Little World

As if performing some mysterious ceremony, Mr Bokes made the cork of a port-wine bottle “skreel” as he tortured it by forcing in a screw, and then brought it forth with a loud “fop,” holding it out, wet and blood-stained – grape – for the senior Gunterian to sniff at, and afterwards to the lieutenant, when the following solemn dialogue took place: —

“Twenty!” whispered Mr Bokes, solemnly.

“Twenty!” exclaimed the Gunterians, in duet.

“Twenty!” repeated Mr Bokes, with additional solemnity; and then he added, “Five bin.”

Speech ceased for a few moments, while Mr Bokes armed his guests with large claret-glasses, afterwards tenderly pouring forth the deep-hued generous mixture.

“Seeing as you’re both gentlemen,” said Mr Bokes, confidentially, “as goes into the best of society, I thought I should like to hear your opinions.”

“But you’ll join us?” said Gunter One to the speaker.

“Well, raylly, gentlemen,” hesitated Mr Bokes.

Gunter One set down his glass and pursed up his mouth, looking at Gunter Two, who also set down his untasted glass, folded his arms, and looked fiercely at the butler.

“Well, raylly, gentlemen,” said Mr Bokes, “if that’s it, I suppose I must;” and helping himself to a glass, the three took wine together, after the most approved fashion, but perhaps with an additional dignity.

Gunter One thought it a tolerably fruity wine.

Gunter Two considered that it wanted more age.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Gunter One; “for a light-bodied tawny wine, it’s fairish.”

“I think I’ll take another glass,” Mr Bokes, said Gunter Two, Gunter One following his example; and the butler filled their glasses, not forgetting his own; after which there was a discussion upon crust, and bees-wing, and vine-disease, when Mr Bokes dropt a hint about the finest glass of Madeira to be had in or out of London being likely to be on the way when the dinner was over.

The conversation was stopped by the ringing of a bell, and as James, footman, and Thomas, under-butler, were busy over other matters, Mr Bokes went to respond to the summons.

Five minutes had elapsed before the butler returned, in time to find the bottle perfectly empty, and the Gunters smacking their lips over the last drops in their glasses; when, no more being forthcoming, the gentlemen in white returned to the kitchen, sufficiently good-humoured for Number One to smile affably upon the cook, and Number Two to address the kitchenmaid as “My dear,” in asking for a wooden spoon.

The full resources of the Norwood establishment were brought out that night, and Jared Pellet of Duplex Street would have looked less dreamy, and rubbed his eyes, as he turned from the duet he was having with Monsieur Canau, with Janet, little Pine, and Patty for audience, could he have seen the dinner served in a dining-room that sparkled with candles, plate, and glass. Even the most ill-disposed of the guests acknowledged the repast to be a success, that is, as far as appearances went. There was only one failure – the smash made by one of the men of a dish of meringues, leaving a blank place upon the table. Wines, ices, attendance, all were good. There could not be a doubt of Mr Richard Pellet’s wealth, nor of the high position he occupied, not only in the city, but in the pleasant suburban district of Norwood.

The ladies had risen, and, amidst a pleasant rustling of silks, swept up-stairs; the gentlemen had drawn their chairs nearer together for the convenient passage of port-decanter and claret-jug, when Mr Bokes, the Norwood Pharaoh’s chief butler, whispered to his master that he was wanted.

“Indeed,” said Mr Richard Pellet, loudly, for he was delivering his opinion upon City affairs, “unless a similar crisis should arise, I give you my word of honour that it must be – Now, Bokes,” in an undertone, “what is it? What the deuce do you mean – at such a time? Who wants me?”

“Tall, stout woman, sir.”

“Lady?”

“No, not lady – woman, sir. Says she must see you, sir.”

“Must!” exclaimed Richard, scowling.

“Yes, sir, and will.”

“Tell her to call to-morrow; I’m engaged.”

Mr Bokes bowed and left the room, and his master continued —

“Limited liability companies generally, gentlemen, are becoming the ruin of our land. I don’t believe in them. You never see my name down anywhere as a director. Why, I’ve had no less than four applications – no less than four, gentlemen – to sell my little bit of a business, so that it may be formed into a company, with your humble servant to act as manager, with a noble price, a noble salary, and no end of shares into the bargain. But no, gentlemen; I am determined – Now, Bokes,” impatiently, “what is it?”

“Woman, sir – will see you, sir,” whispered the butler; “says I was to say ‘Borton Street,’ sir, and ‘Gone!’”

So strange a pallor overspread Richard Pellet’s face that it was observed by all his guests, as, rising with a forced attempt at a smile, he asked them to excuse him for five minutes.

“If she should only have made her way here to-night!” ejaculated Richard Pellet, as he passed the dining-room door, perspiring profusely the while. “If she were but dead – if she were but dead!”

“What’s wrong?” whispered Alderman Espicier to his neighbour. “Pellet’s bank gone to the bad?”

“Writ, more likely,” said the other, charitably; and then they made a few pleasant comments upon the wine they were drinking, calculated its cost per dozen, wondered whether the epergne and ice-pails were silver or electro, but hardly liked to seek for the hall-marks, in case the host should return and find them so engaged. In short, during Richard Pellet’s absence, they looked upon everything in a truly commercial spirit, that might not have been quite agreeable to their host had he been aware of the proceedings.

Meanwhile, taking up a chamber candlestick, Richard Pellet had hurried into the library, where he found Mrs Walls, the woman from the Borton Street house – Ellen’s gaoler.

“Now!” he harshly exclaimed, “what is it?”

“Gone!” said the woman, abruptly.

“Who – what – Ellen?” stammered Richard, for he had clung to the doubt. “How? – when?”

“Do you want all that answered at once?” said the woman, in a cool insolent tone – the voice of one who might have taken her last cheque from her employer, or felt herself safe of her position.

“There! speak out; I’m busy – company,” exclaimed Richard, excitedly.

“Well,” said the woman, “I’ve nothing more to tell you, only that she is gone, and I don’t know how she managed it. Of course, my responsibility was at an end after the notice I had given you, and I considered that she was only staying to oblige you. But I never thought she would slip away, or I’d have watched her. P’raps she’s off again to see the little one – she has been talking to herself about it a good deal lately.”

“And you never watched her!” hissed Richard, standing with knitted brows and clenched fists before the woman.

“No,” she replied, coolly. “You took care only to pay me up to this morning, so it’s your affair now, Mr Herrisey.”

The last word was said with a meaning emphasis, which made Richard wince.

“How did you know I was staying here?” he said, more quietly.

“How did I know that you lived here!” laughed the woman; “you told me – at least, you took care to drop one of your cards one day, and to sign the cheque one day as Richard Pellet. Of course, when it was money, I wanted to know which was right – Herrisey or Pellet. It didn’t much matter to me, but I thought I’d know while I was about it. You may call yourself Smith if you like.”

Richard Pellet glared at the woman, as he thought of the trouble he had been at to keep a little separate banking account solely for this purpose, and then, unknown to himself, force of habit had made him make one payment according to custom. He was at the woman’s mercy, in spite of the precautions he thought he had taken, and no doubt she knew the whole of his affairs. Well, money would buy her, he thought; and then he was brought back from his short musing by the woman’s hard voice.

“If you choose to be mean, you must put up with the consequences; and what’s more, you ought to thank and pay me for coming to put you on your guard.”

“Do you think she – she knows that I live here?” said Richard, in a hoarse whisper.

The woman smiled contemptuously, as she replied —

“No, she don’t know it, poor mad thing! at least, I don’t think so. She kept to the name, too, right enough, and wouldn’t answer to the name of Pellet.”

“Of course not,” exclaimed Richard, fiercely; and then the two stood gazing in each other’s eyes for a minute before the woman spoke, saying, maliciously —