The Money Moon - Jeffery Farnol
The black brows of Mr. Cassilis met in a sudden frown, he tossed his
whip aside, and took a sudden quick stride towards the recumbent Bellew
with so evident an intention, that Small Porges shrank instinctively
further within the encircling arm.
But, at that psychic moment, very fortunately for all concerned, there
came the sound of a quick, light step, and Anthea stood between them.
"Mr. Cassilis!--Mr. Bellew!" she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed, and her
bosom heaving with the haste she had made, "pray whatever does
this mean?"
Bellew rose to his feet, and seeing Cassilis was silent, shook his head
and smiled:
"Upon my word, I hardly know, Miss Anthea. Our friend Mr. Cassilis seems
to have got himself all worked up over the--er--sale, I fancy--"
"The furniture!" exclaimed Anthea, and stamped her foot with vexation.
"That wretched furniture! Of course you explained your object in buying
it, Mr. Bellew?"
"Well, no,--we hadn't got as far as that."
Now when he said this, Anthea's eyes flashed sudden scorn at him, and
she curled her lip at him, and turned her back upon him:
"Mr. Bellew bought my furniture because he intends to set up
house-keeping--he is to be married--soon, I believe."
"When the moon is at the full!" nodded Bellew.
"Married!" exclaimed Mr. Cassilis, his frown vanishing as if by magic.
"Oh, indeed--"
"I am on my way to the hop-gardens, if you care to walk with me, Mr.
Cassilis?" and, with the words, Anthea turned, and, as he watched them
walk away, together,--Bellew noticed upon the face of Mr. Cassilis an
expression very like triumph, and, in his general air, a suggestion of
proprietorship that jarred upon him most unpleasantly.
"Why do you frown so, Uncle Porges?"
"I--er--was thinking, nephew."
"Well, I'm thinking, too!" nodded Small Porges, his brows knitted
portentously. And thus they sat, Big, and Little Porges, frowning in
unison at space for quite a while.
"Are you quite sure you never told my Auntie Anthea that you were going
to marry her?" enquired Small Porges, at last.
"Quite sure, comrade,--why?"
"Then how did she know you were going to marry her, an' settle down?"
"Marry--her, and settle down?"
"Yes,--at the full o' the moon, you know."
"Why really--I don't know, my Porges,--unless she guessed it."
"I specks she did,--she's awful' clever at guessing things! But, do you
know--"
"Well?"
"I'm thinking I don't just like the way she smiled at Mr. Cassilis, I
never saw her look at him like that before,--as if she were awful' glad
to see him, you know; so I don't think I'd wait till the full o' the
moon, if I were you. I think you'd better marry her--this afternoon."
"That," said Bellew, clapping him on the shoulder, "is a very admirable
idea,--I'll mention it to her on the first available opportunity,
my Porges."
But the opportunity did not come that day, nor the next, nor the next
after that, for it seemed that with the approach of the "Hop-picking"
Anthea had no thought, or time, for anything else.
Wherefore Bellew smoked many pipes, and, as the days wore on, possessed
his soul in patience, which is a most excellent precept to follow--in
all things but love.
CHAPTER XX
_Which relates a most extraordinary conversation_
In the days which now ensued, while Anthea was busied out of doors and
Miss Priscilla was busied indoors, and Small Porges was diligently
occupied with his lessons,--at such times, Bellew would take his pipe
and go to sit and smoke in company with the Cavalier in the great
picture above the carved chimney-piece.
A right jovial companion, at all times, was this Cavalier, an optimist
he, from the curling feather in his broad-brimmed beaver hat, to the
spurs at his heels. Handsome, gay, and debonair was he, with lips
up-curving to a smile beneath his moustachio, and a quizzical light in
his grey eyes, very like that in Bellew's own. Moreover he wore the
knowing, waggish air of one well versed in all the ways of the world,
and mankind in general, and, (what is infinitely more),--of the Sex
Feminine, in particular. Experienced was he, beyond all doubt, in their
pretty tricks, and foibles, since he had ever been a diligent student of
Feminine Capriciousness when the "Merry Monarch" ruled the land.
Hence, it became customary for Bellew to sit with him, and smoke, and
take counsel of this "preux chevalier" upon the unfortunate turn of
affairs. Whereof ensued many remarkable conversations of which the
following, was one:
BELLEW: No sir,--emphatically I do not agree with you. To be sure, you
may have had more experience than I, in such affairs,--but then, it was
such a very long time ago.
THE CAVALIER: (Interrupting, or seeming to)!!!
BELLEW: Again, I beg to differ from you, women are not the same to-day
as they ever were. Judging by what I have read of the ladies of your
day, and King Charles's court at Whitehall,--I should say--not. At
least, if they are, they act differently, and consequently must
be--er--wooed differently. The methods employed in your day would be
wholly inadequate and quite out of place, in this.
THE CAVALIER: (Shaking his head and smirking,--or seeming to)!!!
BELLEW: Well, I'm willing to bet you anything you like that if you were
to step down out of your frame, change your velvets and laces for
trousers and coat, leave off your great peruke, and wear a derby hat
instead of that picturesque, floppy affair, and try your fortune with
some Twentieth Century damsel, your high-sounding gallantries, and
flattering phrases, would fall singularly flat, and you would be
promptly--turned down, sir.
THE CAVALIER: (Tossing his love-locks,--or seeming to)!!!
BELLEW: The "strong hand," you say? Hum! History tells us that William
the Conqueror wooed his lady with a club, or a battle-axe, or something
of the sort, and she consequently liked him the better for it; which was
all very natural, and proper of course, in her case, seeing that hers
was the day of battle-axes, and things. But then, as I said before,
sir,--the times are sadly changed,--women may still admire strength of
body, and even--occasionally--of mind, but the theory of "Dog, woman,
and walnut tree" is quite obsolete.
THE CAVALIER: (Frowning and shaking his head,--or seeming to)!!!
BELLEW: Ha!--you don't believe me? Well, that is because you are
obsolete, too;--yes sir, as obsolete as your hat, or your boots, or your
long rapier. Now, for instance, suppose I were to ask your advice in my
own case? You know precisely how the matter stands at present, between
Miss Anthea and myself. You also know Miss Anthea personally, since you
have seen her much and often, and have watched her grow from childhood
into--er--glorious womanhood,--I repeat sir glorious womanhood. Thus,
you ought to know, and understand her far better than I,--for I do
confess she is a constant source of bewilderment to me. Now, since you
do know her so well,--what course should you adopt, were you in
my place?
THE CAVALIER: (Smirking more knowingly than ever,--or seeming to)!!!
BELLEW: Preposterous! Quite absurd!--and just what I might have
expected. Carry her off, indeed! No no, we are not living in your bad,
old, glorious days when a maid's "No" was generally taken to mean
"Yes"--or when a lover might swing his reluctant mistress up to his
saddle-bow, and ride off with her, leaving the world far behind. To-day
it is all changed,--sadly changed. Your age was a wild age, a violent
age, but in some respects, perhaps, a rather glorious age. Your advice
is singularly characteristic, and, of course, quite impossible,
alas!--Carry her off, indeed!
Hereupon, Bellew sighed, and turning away, lighted his pipe, which had
gone out, and buried himself in the newspaper.
CHAPTER XXI
_Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, and the third finger of the left
hand_
So Bellew took up the paper. The house was very quiet, for Small Porges
was deep in the vexatious rules of the Multiplication Table, and
something he called "Jogafrey," Anthea was out, as usual, and Miss
Priscilla was busied with her numerous household duties. Thus the
brooding silence was unbroken save for the occasional murmur of a voice,
the jingle of the housekeeping keys, and the quick, light tap, tap, of
Miss Priscilla's stick.
Therefore, Bellew read the paper, and let it be understood that he
regarded the daily news-sheet as the last resource of the utterly bored.
Now presently, as he glanced over the paper with a negative interest his
eye was attracted by a long paragraph beginning:
At St. George's, Hanover Square, by the Right Reverend the Bishop
of----, Silvia Cecile Marchmont, to His Grace the Duke of Ryde,
K.G., K.C.B.
Below followed a full, true, and particular account of the ceremony
which, it seemed, had been graced by Royalty. George Bellew read it half
way through, and--yawned,--positively, and actually, yawned, and
thereafter, laughed.
"And so, I have been in Arcadia--only three weeks! I have known Anthea
only twenty-one days! A ridiculously short time, as time goes,--in any
other place but Arcadia,--and yet sufficient to lay for ever,
the--er--Haunting Spectre of the Might Have Been. Lord! what a
preposterous ass I was! Baxter was quite right,--utterly, and completely
right! Now, let us suppose that this paragraph had read: 'To-day, at St.
George's, Hanover Square, Anthea Devine to--' No no,--confound it!" and
Bellew crumpled up the paper, and tossed it into a distant corner. "I
wonder what Baxter would think of me now,--good old faithful John. The
Haunting Spectre of the Might Have Been,--What a preposterous ass!--what
a monumental idiot I was!"
"Posterous ass, isn't a very pretty word, Uncle Porges,--or continental
idiot!" said a voice behind him, and turning, he beheld Small Porges
somewhat stained, and bespattered with ink, who shook a reproving
head at him.
"True, nephew," he answered, "but they are sometimes very apt, and in
this instance, particularly so."
Small Porges drew near, and, seating himself upon the arm of Bellew's
chair, looked at his adopted uncle, long, and steadfastly.
"Uncle Porges," said he, at last, "you never tell stories, do you?--I
mean--lies, you know."
"Indeed, I hope not, Porges,--why do you ask?"
"Well,--'cause my Auntie Anthea's 'fraid you do."
"Is she--hum!--Why?"
"When she came to 'tuck me up,' last night, she sat down on my bed, an'
talked to me a long time. An' she sighed a lot, an' said she was 'fraid
I didn't care for her any more,--which was awful' silly, you know."
"Yes, of course!" nodded Bellew.
"An' then she asked me why I was so fond of you, an' I said 'cause you
were my Uncle Porges that I found under a hedge. An' then she got more
angrier than ever, an' said she wished I'd left you under the hedge--"
"Did she, my Porges?"
"Yes; she said she wished she'd never seen you, an' she'd be awful' glad
when you'd gone away. So I told her you weren't ever going away, an'
that we were waiting for the Money Moon to come, an' bring us the
fortune. An' then she shook her head, an' said 'Oh! my dear,--you
mustn't believe anything he says to you about the moon, or anything
else, 'cause he tells lies,'--an' she said 'lies' twice!"
"Ah!--and--did she stamp her foot, Porges?"
"Yes, I think she did; an' then she said there wasn't such a thing as a
Money Moon, an' she told me you were going away very soon, to get
married, you know."
"And what did you say?"
"Oh! I told her that I was going too. An' then I thought she was going
to cry, an' she said 'Oh Georgy! I didn't think you'd leave me--even for
him.' So then I had to s'plain how we had arranged that she was going to
marry you so that we could all live happy ever after,--I mean, that it
was all settled, you know, an' that you were going to speak to her on
the first--opportunity. An' then she looked at me a long time an' asked
me--was I sure you had said so. An' then she got awful' angry indeed,
an' said 'How dare he! Oh, how dare he!' So a course, I told her you'd
dare anything--even a dragon,--'cause you are so big, an' brave, you
know. So then she went an' stood at the window, an' she was so angry she
cried,--an' I nearly cried too. But at last she kissed me 'Good night'
an' said you were a man that never meant anything you said, an' that I
must never believe you any more, an' that you were going away to marry a
lady in London, an' that she was very glad, 'cause then we should all be
happy again she s'posed. So she kissed me again, an' tucked me up, an'
went away. But it was a long, long time before I could go to sleep,
'cause I kept on thinking, an' thinking s'posing there really wasn't any
Money Moon, after all! s'posing you were going to marry another lady in
London!--You see, it would all be so--frightfully awful, wouldn't it?"
"Terribly dreadfully awful, my Porges."
"But you never _do_ tell lies,--do you, Uncle Porges?"
"No!"
"An'--there _is_ a Money Moon, isn't there?"
"Why of course there is."
"An' you _are_ going to marry my Auntie Anthea in the full o' the moon,
aren't you?"
"Yes, my Porges."
"Why then--everything's all right again,--so let's go an' sit under the
hay-stack, an' talk 'bout ships."
"But why of ships?" enquired Bellew, rising.
"'Cause I made up my mind, this morning, that I'd be a sailor when I
grow up,--a mariner, you know, like Peterday, only I'd prefer to have
both my legs."
"You'd find it more convenient, perhaps."
"You know all 'bout oceans, an' waves, and billows, don't you Uncle
Porges?"
"Well, I know a little."
"An' are you ever sea-sick,--like a 'landlubber?'"
"I used to be, but I got over it."
"Was it a very big ship that you came over in?"
"No,--not so very big, but she's about as fast as anything in her class,
and a corking sea-boat."
"What's her name?"
"Her name?" repeated Bellew, "well, she was called the--er 'Silvia.'"
"That's an awful' pretty name for a ship."
"Hum!--so so,--but I have learned a prettier, and next time she puts out
to sea we'll change her name, eh, my Porges?"
"We?" cried Small Porges, looking up with eager eyes, "do you mean you'd
take me to sea with you,--an' my Auntie Anthea, of course?"
"You don't suppose I'd leave either of you behind, if I could help it,
do you? We'd all sail away together--wherever you wished."
"Do you mean," said Small Porges, in a suddenly awed voice, "that it
is--your ship,--your very own?"
"Oh yes-"
"But,--do you know, Uncle Porges, you don't look as though you had a
ship--for your very own, somehow."
"Don't I?"
"You see, a ship is such a very big thing for one man to have for his
very own self. An' has it got masts, an' funnels, an' anchors?"
"Lots of 'em."
"Then, please, when will you take me an' Auntie Anthea sailing all over
the oceans?"
"Just so soon as she is ready to come."
"Then I think I'd like to go to Nova Zembla first,--I found it in my
jogafrey to-day, an' it sounds nice an' far off, doesn't it?"
"It does, Shipmate!" nodded Bellew.
"Oh! that's fine!" exclaimed Small Porges rapturously, "you shall be the
captain, an' I'll be the shipmate, an' we'll say Aye Aye, to each
other--like the real sailors do in books,--shall we?"
"Aye, aye Shipmate!" nodded Bellew again.
"Then please, Uncle Por--I mean Captain,--what shall we name our
ship,--I mean the new name?"
"Well, my Porges,--I mean, of course, shipmate,--I rather thought of
calling her--Hallo!--why here's the Sergeant."
Sure enough, there was Sergeant Appleby sitting under the shade of "King
Arthur"--but who rose, and stood at attention as they came up.
"Why Sergeant, how are you?" said Bellew, gripping the veteran's hand.
"You are half an hour before your usual time, to-day,--nothing wrong,
I hope?"
"Nothing wrong, Mr. Bellew, sir--I thank you. No, nothing wrong, but
this--is a--memorable occasion, sir. May I trouble you to--step behind
the tree with me--for half a moment, sir?"
Suiting the action to the word, the Sergeant led Bellew to the other
side of the tree, and there, screened from view of the house, he, with a
sudden, jerky movement, produced a very small leather case from his
pocket, which he handed to Bellew.
"Not good enough--for such a woman--I know, but the best I could afford,
sir!" said the Sergeant appearing profoundly interested in the leaves
overhead, while Bellew opened the very small box.
"Why--it's very handsome, Sergeant!" said Bellew, making the jewels
sparkle in the sun,--"anyone might be proud of such a ring."
"Why, it did look pretty tidy--in the shop, sir,--to me, and Peterday.
My comrade has a sharp eye, and a sound judgment in most things,
sir--and we took--a deal of trouble in selecting it. But now--when it
comes to--giving it to _Her_,--why it looks--uncommon small, and
mean, sir."
"A ruby, and two diamonds, and very fine stones, too, Sergeant!"
"So I made so bold as to--come here sir," pursued the Sergeant still
interested in the foliage above, "half an hour afore my usual time--to
ask you, sir--if you would so far oblige me--as to--hand it to her--when
I'm gone, sir."
"Lord, no!" said Bellew, smiling and shaking his head, "not on your
life, Sergeant! Why man it would lose half its value in her eyes if any
other than you gave it to her. No Sergeant, you must hand it to her
yourself, and, what's more, you must slip it upon her finger."
"Good Lord! sir!" exclaimed the Sergeant, "I could never do that!"
"Oh yes you could!"
"Not unless you--stood by me--a force in reserve, as it were, sir."
"I'll do that willingly, Sergeant."
"Then--p 'raps sir--you might happen to know--which finger?"
"The third finger of the left hand, I believe Sergeant."
"Here's Aunt Priscilla now," said Small Porges, at this juncture.
"Lord!" exclaimed the Sergeant, "and sixteen minutes afore her usual
time!"
Yes,--there was Miss Priscilla, her basket of sewing upon her arm, as
gentle, as unruffled, as placid as usual. And yet it is probable that
she divined something from their very attitudes, for there was a light
in her eyes, and her cheeks seemed more delicately pink than was their
wont. Thus, as she came toward them, under the ancient apple-trees,
despite her stick, and her white hair, she looked even younger, and more
girlish than ever.
At least, the Sergeant seemed to think so, for, as he met her look, his
face grew suddenly radiant, while a slow flush crept up under the tan of
his cheek, and the solitary hand he held out to her, trembled a little,
for all its size, and strength.
"Miss Priscilla, mam--" he said, and stopped. "Miss Priscilla," he began
again, and paused once more.
"Why--Sergeant!" she exclaimed, though it was a very soft little
exclamation indeed,--for her hand still rested in his, and so she could
feel the quiver of the strong fingers, "why--Sergeant!"
"Miss Priscilla,--" said he, beginning all over again, but with no
better success.
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Miss Priscilla, "I do believe he is going to
forget to enquire about the peaches!"
"Peaches!" repeated the Sergeant, "Yes, Priscilla."
"And--why?"
"'Cause he's brought you a ring," Small Porges broke in, "a very
handsome ring, you know, Aunt Priscilla,--all diamonds an' jewels, an'
he wants you to please let him put it on your finger--if you
don't mind."
"And--here it is!" said the Sergeant, and gave it into her hand.
Miss Priscilla stood very silent, and very still, looking down at the
glittering gems, then, all at once, her eyes filled, and a slow wave of
colour dyed her cheeks:
"Oh Sergeant!" she said, very softly, "Oh Sergeant, I am only a poor,
old woman--with a lame foot!"
"And I am a poor, old soldier--with only one arm, Priscilla."
"You are the strongest, and gentlest, and bravest soldier in all the
world, I think!" she answered.
"And you, Priscilla, are the sweetest, and most beautiful _woman_ in the
world, I _know!_ And so--I've loved you all these years, and--never
dared to tell you so, because of my--one arm."
"Why then," said Miss Priscilla, smiling up at him through her tears,
"if you do--really--think that,--why,--it's this finger, Sergeant!"
So the Sergeant, very clumsily, perhaps, because he had but the one
hand, slipped the ring upon the finger in question. And Porges, Big, and
Small, turning to glance back, as they went upon their way saw that he
still held that small white hand pressed close to his lips.
CHAPTER XXII
_Coming events cast their shadows before_
"I s'pose they'll be marrying each other, one of these fine days!" said
Small Porges as they crossed the meadow, side by side.
"Yes, I expect so, Shipmate," nodded Bellew, "and may they live long,
and die happy, say I."
"Aye, aye, Captain,--an' Amen!" returned Small Porges.
Now as they went, conversing of marriage, and ships, and the wonders,
and marvels of foreign lands,--they met with Adam who stared up at the
sky and muttered to himself, and frowned, and shook his head.
"Good arternoon, Mr. Belloo sir,--an' Master Georgy!"
"Well, Adam, how are the hops?"
"'Ops sir,--there never was such 'ops,--no, not in all Kent, sir. All
I'm wishin' is that they was all safe picked, an' gathered. W'ot do you
make o' them clouds, sir,--over there,--jest over the p'int o' the
oast-house?"
Bellew turned, and cast a comprehensive, sailor-like glance in the
direction indicated.
"Rain, Adam, and wind,--and plenty of it!" said he.
"Ah! so I think, sir,--driving storm, and thrashing tempest!"
"Well, Adam?"
"Well, sir,--p'raps you've never seen w'ot driving rain, an' raging
wind, can do among the 'op-bines, sir. All I wish is that they 'ops was
all safe picked an' gathered, sir!" And Adam strode off with his eye
still turned heaven-ward, and shaking his head like some great bird
of ill-omen.
So the afternoon wore away to evening, and with evening, came Anthea;
but a very grave-eyed, troubled Anthea, who sat at the tea-table silent,
and preoccupied,--in so much, that Small Porges openly wondered, while
Miss Priscilla watched over her, wistful, and tender.
Thus, Tea, which was wont to be the merriest meal of the day, was but
the pale ghost of what it should have been, despite Small Porges' flow
of conversation, (when not impeded by bread and jam), and Bellew's
tactful efforts. Now while he talked light-heartedly, keeping carefully
to generalities, he noticed two things,--one was that Anthea made but a
pretence at eating, and the second, that though she uttered a word, now
and then, yet her eyes persistently avoided his.
Thus, he, for one, was relieved when tea was over, and, as he rose from
the table, he determined, despite the unpropitious look of things, to
end the suspense, one way or another, and speak to Anthea just so soon
as she should be alone.
But here again he was balked and disappointed, for when Small Porges
came to bid him good-night as usual, he learned that "Auntie Anthea" had
already gone to bed.
"She says it's a head-ache," said Small Porges, "but I 'specks it's the
hops, really, you know."
"The hops, my Porges?"
"She's worrying about them,--she's 'fraid of a storm, like Adam is. An'
when she worries,--I worry. Oh Uncle Porges!--if only my prayers can
bring the Money Moon--soon, you know,--very soon! If they don't bring it
in a day or two,--'fraid I shall wake up, one fine morning, an' find
I've worried, an' worried myself into an old man."
"Never fear, Shipmate!" said Bellew in his most nautical manner, "'all's
well that ends well,'--a-low, and aloft all's a-taunto. So just take a
turn at the lee braces, and keep your weather eye lifting, for you may
be sure of this,--if the storm does come,--it will bring the Money
Moon with it."
Then, having bidden Small Porges a cheery "Good-night"--Bellew went out
to walk among the roses. And, as he walked, he watched the flying wrack
of clouds above his head, and listened to the wind that moaned in fitful
gusts. Wherefore, having learned in his many travels to read, and
interpret such natural signs and omens, he shook his head, and muttered
to himself--even as Adam had done before him.
Presently he wandered back into the house, and, filling his pipe, went
to hold communion with his friend--the Cavalier.
And thus it was that having ensconced himself in the great elbow-chair,
and raised his eyes to the picture, he espied a letter tucked into the
frame, thereof. Looking closer, he saw that it was directed to himself.
He took it down, and, after a momentary hesitation, broke the seal,
and read:
Miss Devine presents her compliments to Mr. Bellew, and regrets to say
that owing to unforeseen circumstances, she begs that he will provide
himself with other quarters at the expiration of the month, being the
Twenty-third inst.
Bellew read the lines slowly, twice over, then, folding the note very
carefully, put it into his pocket, and stood for a long time staring at
nothing in particular. At length he lifted his head, and looked up into
the smiling eyes of the Cavalier, above the mantel.
"Sir," said he, very gravely, "it would almost seem that you were in the
right of it,--that yours is the best method, after all!" Then he knocked
the ashes from his pipe, and went, slowly, and heavily, up-stairs
to bed.