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Title: Love Me Little, Love Me Long Author: Charles Reade Edition: 10 Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII Release Date: November, 2003 [Etext #4607] [Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on February 18, 2002] The Project Gutenberg Etext of Love Me Little, Love Me Long, by Charles Reade This file should be named lvltt10.txt or lvltt10.zip Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, lvltt11.txt VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, lvltt10a.txt Etext by James Rusk, jrusk@mac-email.com Charles Reade web site: http://www.blackmask.com/jrusk/
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Love Me Little, Love Me Long by Charles Reade
PREFACE SHOULD these characters, imbedded in carpet incidents, interest the public at all, they will probably reappear in more potent scenes. This design, which I may never live to execute, is, I fear, the only excuse I can at present offer for some pages, forming the twelfth chapter of this volume.
CHAPTER I. NEARLY a quarter of a century ago, Lucy Fountain, a young lady of beauty and distinction, was, by the death of her mother, her sole surviving parent, left in the hands of her two trustees, Edward Fountain, Esq., of Font Abbey, and Mr. Bazalgette, a merchant whose wife was Mrs. Fountain's half-sister. They agreed to lighten the burden by dividing it. She should spend half the year with each trustee in turn, until marriage should take her off their hands. Our mild tale begins in Mr. Bazalgette's own house, two years after the date of that arrangement. The chit-chat must be your main clue to the characters. In life it is the same. Men and women won't come to you ticketed, or explanation in hand. "Lucy, you are a great comfort in a house; it is so nice to have some one to pour out one's heart to; my husband is no use at all."
"Aunt Bazalgette!" "In that way. You listen to my faded illusions, to the aspirations of a nature too finely organized, ah! to find its happiness in this rough, selfish world. When I open my bosom to him, what does he do? Guess now--whistles." "Then I call that rude." "So do I; and then he whistles more and more." "Yes; but, aunt, if any serious trouble or grief fell upon you, you would find Mr. Bazalgette a much greater comfort and a better stay than poor spiritless me." "Oh, if the house took fire and fell about our ears, he would come out of his shell, no doubt; or if the children all died one after another, poor dear little souls; but those great troubles only come in stories. Give me a friend that can sympathize with the real hourly mortifications of a too susceptible nature; sit on this ottoman, and let me go on. Where was I when Jones came and interrupted us? They always do just at the interesting point." Miss Fountain's face promptly wreathed itself into an expectant smile. She abandoned her hand and her ear, and leaned her graceful person toward her aunt, while that lady murmured to her in low and thrilling tones--his eyes, his long hair, his imaginative expressions, his romantic projects of frugal love; how her harsh papa had warned Adonis off the premises; how Adonis went without a word (as pale as death, love), and soon after, in his despair, flung himself--to an ugly heiress; and how this disappointment had darkened her whole life, and so on. Perhaps, if Adonis had stood before her now, rolling his eyes, and his phrases hot from the annuals, the flourishing matron might have sent him to the servants' hall with a wave of her white and jeweled hand. But the melody disarms this sort of brutal criticism--a woman's voice relating love's young dream; and then the picture--a matron still handsome pouring into a lovely virgin's ear the last thing she ought; the young beauty's eyes mimicking sympathy; the ripe beauty's soft, delicious accents--purr! purr! purr! Crash overhead! a window smashed aie! aie! clatter! clatter! screams of infantine rage and feminine remonstrance, feet pattering, and a general hullabaloo, cut the soft recital in two. The ladies clasped hands, like guilty things surprised. Lucy sprang to her feet; the oppressed one sank slowly and gracefully back, inch by inch, on the ottoman, with a sigh of ostentatious resignation, and gazed, martyr-like, on the chandelier. "Will you not go up to the nursery?" cried Lucy, in a flutter. "No, dear," replied the other, faintly, but as cool as a marble slab; "you go; cast some of your oil upon those ever-troubled waters and then come back and let us try once more." Miss Fountain heard but half this sentence; she was already gliding up
the stairs. She opened the nursery door, and there stood in the middle of the room "Original Sin." Its name after the flesh was Master Reginald. It was half-past six, had been baptized in church, after which every child becomes, according to polemic divines of the day, "a little soul of Christian fire" until it goes to a public school. And there it straddled, two scarlet cheeks puffed out with rage, soft flaxen hair streaming, cerulean eyes glowing, the poker grasped in two chubby fists. It had poked a window in vague ire, and now threatened two females with extinction if they riled it any more. The two grown-up women were discovered, erect, but flat, in distant corners, avoiding the bayonet and trusting to their artillery. "Wicked boy!" "Naughty boy!" (grape.) "Little ruffian!" etc. And hints as to the ultimate destination of so. sanguinary a soul (round shot). "Ah! here's miss. Oh, miss, we are so glad you are come up; don't go anigh him, miss; he is a tiger." Miss Fountain smiled, and went gracefully on one knee beside him. This brought her angelic face level with the fallen cherub's. "What is the matter, dear?" asked she, in a tone of soft pity. The tiger was not prepared for this: he dropped his poker and flung his little arm round his cousin's neck. "I love YOU. Oh! oh! oh!" "Yes, dear; then tell me, now--what is the matter? What have you been doing?" "Noth--noth--nothing--it's th--them been na--a--agging me!" "Nagging you?" and she smiled at the word and a tiger's horror of it. "Who has been nagging you, love?" "Th--those--bit--bit--it." The word was unfortunately lost in a sob. It was followed by red faces and two simultaneous yells of remonstrance and objurgation. "I must ask you to be silent a minute," said Miss Fountain, quietly. "Reginald, what do you mean by--by--nagging?" Reginald explained. "By nagging he meant--why--nagging." "Well, then, what had they been doing to him?" No; poor Reginald was not analytical, dialectical and critical, like certain pedanticules who figure in story as children. He was a terrible infant, not a horrible one. "They won't fight and they won't make it up, and they keep nagging," was all could be got out of him.
"Come with me, dear," said Lucy, gravely. "Yes," assented the tiger, softly, and went out awestruck, holding her hand, and paddling three steps to each of her serpentine glides. Seated in her own room, tiger at knee, she tried topics of admonition. During these his eyes wandered about the room in search of matter more amusing, so she was obliged to bring up her reserve. "And no young lady will ever marry you." "I don't want them to, cousin; I wouldn't let them; you will marry me, because you promised." "Did I?" "Why, you know you did--upon your honor; and no lady or gentleman ever breaks their word when they say that; you told me so yourself," added he of the inconvenient memory. "Ah! but there is another rule that I forgot to tell you." "What is that?" "That no lady ever marries a gentleman who has a violent temper." "Oh, don't they?" "No; they would be afraid. If you had a wife, and took up the poker, she would faint away, and die--perhaps!" "Oh, dear!" "I should." "But, cousin, you would not _want_ the poker taken to you; you never nag." "Perhaps that is because we are not married yet." "What, then, when we are, shall you turn like the others?" "Impossible to say." "Well, then" (after a moment's hesitation), "I'll marry you all the same." "No! you forget; I shall be afraid until your temper mends." "I'll mend it. It is mended now. See how good I am now," added he, with self-admiration and a shade of surprise. "I don't call this mending it, for I am not the one that offended you; mending it is promising me never, never to call naughty names again. How would you like to be called a dog?" "I'd kill 'em."
"There, you see--then how can you expect poor nurse to like it?" "You don't understand, cousin--Tom said to George the groom that Mrs. Jones was an--old--stingy--b--" "I don't want to hear anything about Tom." "He is such a clever fellow, cousin. So I think, if Jones is an old one, those two that keep nagging me must be young ones. What do you think yourself?" asked Reginald, appealing suddenly to her candor. "And no doubt it was Tom that taught you this other vulgar word 'nagging,'" was the evasive reply. "No, that was mamma." Lucy colored, wheeled quickly, and demanded severely of the terrible infant: "Who is this Tom?" "What! don't you know Tom?" Reginald began to lose a grain of his respect for her. "Why, he helps in the stables; oh, cousin, he is such a nice fellow!" "Reginald, I shall never marry you if you keep company with grooms, and speak their language." "Well!" sighed the victim, "I'll give up Tom sooner than you." "Thank you, dear; now I _am_ flattered. One struggle more; we must go together and ask the nurses' pardon." "Must we? ugh!" "Yes--and kiss them--and make it up." Reginald made a wry face; but, after a pause of solemn reflection, he consented, on condition that Lucy would keep near him, and kiss him directly afterward. "I shall be sure to do that, because you will be a good boy then." Outside the door Reginald paused: "I have a favor to ask you, cousin--a great favor. You see I am so very little, and you are so big; now the husband ought to be the biggest." "Quite my own opinion, Reggy." "Well, dear, now if you would be so kind as not to grow any older till I catch you up, I shall be so very, very, very much obliged to you, dear." "I will try, Reggy. Nineteen is a very good age. I will stay there as long as my friends will let me." "Thank you, cousin." "But that is not what we have in hand."
The nurses were just agreeing what a shame it was of miss to take that little vagabond's part against them, when she opened the door. "Nurse, here is a penitent--a young gentleman who is never going to use rude words, or be violent and naughty again." "La! miss, why, it is witchcraft--the dear child--soon up and soon down, as a boy should." "Beg par'n, nurse--beg par'n, Kitty," recited the dear child, late tiger, and kissed them both hastily; and, this double formula gone through, ran to Miss Fountain and kissed her with warmth, while the nurses were reciting "little angel," "all heart," etc. "To take the taste out of my mouth," explained the penitent, and was left with his propitiated females; and didn't they nag him at short intervals until sunset! But, strong in the contemplation of his future union with Cousin Lucy, this great heart in a little body despised the pins and needles that had goaded him to fury before. Lucy went down to the drawing-room. She found Mrs. Bazalgette leaning with one elbow on the table, her hand shading her high, polished forehead; her grave face reflecting great mental power taxed to the uttermost. So Newton looked, solving Nature. Miss Fountain came in full of the nursery business, but, catching sight of so much mind in labor, approached it with silent curiosity. The oracle looked up with an absorbed air, and delivered itself very slowly, with eye turned inward. "I am afraid--I don't think--I quite like my new dress." "That _is_ unfortunate." "That would not matter; I never like anything till I have altered it; but here is Baldwin has just sent me word that her mother is dying, and she can't undertake any work for a week. Provoking! could not the woman die just as well after the ball?" "Oh, aunt!" "And my maid has no more taste than an owl. What on earth am I to do?" "Wear another dress." "What other can I?" "Nothing can be prettier than your white mousseline de soie with the tartan trimming." "No, I have worn that at four balls already; I won't be known by my colors, like a bird. I have made up my mind to wear the jaune, and I will, in spite of them all; that is, if I can find anybody who cares enough for me to try it on, and tell me what it wants." Lucy offered at once to go with her to her room and try it on. "No--no--it is so cold there; we will do it here by the fire. You will
find it in the large wardrobe, dear. Mind how you carry it. Lucy! lots of pins." Mrs. Bazalgette then rang the bell, and told the servant to say she was out if anyone called, no matter who. Meantime Lucy, impressed with the gravity of her office, took the dress carefully down from the pegs; and as it would have been death to crease it, and destruction to let its hem sweep against any of the inferior forms of matter, she came down the stairs and into the room holding this female weapon of destruction as high above her head as Judith waves the sword of Holofernes in Etty's immortal picture. The other had just found time to loosen her dress and lock one of the doors. She now locked the other, and the rites began. Well!!?? "It fits you like a glove." "Really? tell the truth now; it is a sin to tell a story--about a new gown. What a nuisance one can't see behind one!" "I could fetch another glass, but you may trust my word, aunt. This point behind is very becoming; it gives distinction to the waist." "Yes, Baldwin cuts these bodies better than Olivier; but the worst of her is, when it comes to the trimming you have to think for yourself. The woman has no mind; she is a pair of hands, and there is an end of her." "I must confess it is a little plain, for one thing," said Lucy. "Why, you little goose, you don't think I am going to wear it like this. No. I thought of having down a wreath and bouquet from Foster's of violets and heart's-ease--the bosom and sleeves covered with blond, you know, and caught up here and there with a small bunch of the flowers. Then, in the center heart's-ease of the bosom, I meant to have had two of my largest diamonds set--hush!" The door-handle worked viciously; then came rap! rap! rap! rap! "Tic--tic--tic; this is always the way. Who is there? Go away; you can't come here." "But I want to speak to you. What the deuce are you doing?" said through the keyhole the wretch that owned the room in a mere legal sense. "We are trying a dress. Come again in an hour." "Confound your dresses! Who is we?" "Lucy has got a new dress." "Aunt!" whispered Lucy, in a tone of piteous expostulation. "Oh, if it is Lucy. Well, good-by, ladies. I am obliged to go to London at a moment's notice for a couple of days. You will have done by when I come back, perhaps," and off went Bazalgette whistling, but
not best pleased. He had told his wife more than once that the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms of a house are the public rooms, and the bedrooms the private ones. Lucy colored with mortification. It was death to her to annoy anyone; so her aunt had thrust her into a cruel position. "Poor Mr. Bazalgette!" sighed she. "Fiddle de dee. Let him go, and come back in a better temper--set transparent; so then, backed by the violet, you know, they will imitate dewdrops to the life." "Charming! Why not let Olivier do it for you, as poor Baldwin cannot?" "Because Olivier works for the Claytons, and we should have that Emily Clayton out as my double; and as we visit the same houses--" "And as she is extremely pretty--aunt, what a generalissima you are!" "Pretty! Snub-nosed little toad. No, she is not pretty. But she is eighteen; so I can't afford to dress her. No. I see I shall have to moderate my views for this gown, and buy another dress for the flowers and diamonds. There, take it off, and let us think it calmly over. I never act in a hurry but I am sorry for it afterward--I mean in things of real importance." The gown was taken off in silence, broken only by occasional sighs from the sufferer, in whose heart a dozen projects battled fiercely for the mastery, and worried and sore perplexed her, and rent her inmost soul fiercely divers ways. "Black lace, dear," suggested Lucy, soothingly. Mrs. B. curled her arm lovingly round Lucy's waist. "Just beginning to think," said she, warmly. "And we can't both can we? But where can I get enough?" and her countenance, cheering coincidence had rendered seraphic, was once more doubt. "Why, you have yards of it." "Yes, but mine is all made up in some form or other, and it musses one's things so to pick them to pieces." "So it does, dear," replied Lucy, with gentle but genuine feeling. "It would only be for one night, Lucy--I should not hurt it, love--you would not like to fetch down your Brussels point scarf, and see how it would look, would you? We need not cut the lace, dear; we could tack it on again the next morning; you are not so particular as I am--you look well in anything." Lucy was soon seated denuding herself and embellishing her aunt. The latter reclined with grace, and furthered the work by smile and gesture. "You don't ask me about the skirmish in the nursery." "Their squabbles bore me, dear; but you can tell me who was the most what I was be mistaken, that the clouded with
in fault, if you think it worth while." "Reginald, then, I am afraid; but it is not the poor boy; it is the influence of the stable-yard; and I do advise and entreat you to keep him out of it." "Impossible, my dear; you don't know boys. The stable is their paradise. When he grows older his father must interfere; meantime, let us talk of something more agreeable." "Yes; you shall go on with your story. You had got to his look of despair when your papa came in that morning." "Oh, I have no time for anybody's despair just now; I can think of nothing but this detestable gown. Lucy, I suspect I almost wish I had made them put another breadth into the skirt." "Luncheon, ma'am." Lucy begged her aunt to go down alone; she would stay and work. "No, you must come to luncheo..."
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