The Devil's Garden by W. B. Maxwell

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"Did you come up by the nine o'clock train? How long have you been
waiting here?"

"Oh, don't bother about me. I'm nothing. It's you I want to hear
about."

Then they sat side by side on the narrow little bed, he with his arm
firmly clasped round her waist, and she nestling against him with her
face hidden on his breast.

"Mav, my bird, I can't never leave you again. I've bin just a lost dog
without you. Did you start before you got my Sunday letter?"

"Yes."

"Every day I wrote--didn't I?--just like the old time. But I've a bone
to pick with you, young lady. What d'ye mean by not writing to me more
regular? Not even so much as a post-card these last three days!"

"Will--I, I couldn't. I was too anxious while it all remained in
suspense."

"Yes, but you might have sent me a card. I told you cards would
satisfy me. I was thinking of you off and on all yesterday. I can tell
you it was just about the longest day of my life. Did you and Auntie
go to church?"

"No. Oh, don't ask questions about me--when I'm dying for a full
account of it."

He asked no more questions. After stooping to kiss the fragrant coil
of hair above her forehead, he burst out into his joyous tale of
triumph.

"It was Mr. Barradine that did the trick for me;" and with enthusiasm
he narrated the gloriously opportune arrival of "the friend at court."
Indeed his enthusiasm was so great that he could not keep still while
speaking. He got off the bed, and walked about the room, brandishing
his arms. "He's just a tip-topper. If you could have been there to
hear him, you wouldn't 'a' left off crying yet. I tell you I was
fairly overcome myself. It was the _way_ he did it. 'Of course,' he
said, 'I want my friend to come out of it as I honestly believe he
deserves.' They couldn't stand up against him half a minute. But, mind
you, Mav;" and Dale stopped moving, and spoke solemnly, "he's aged
surprising these last few years. He's more feeble like than ever one
would think, seeing him on his horse. I mean, his bodily frame. The
int'lect's more powerful, I should make the guess, than ever it
was.... And mind you, here's another thing, Mav;" and he spoke even
more solemnly. "All this is going to be a lesson to me. I've worn my
considering cap most of the time I've been away from you--and, Mav,
I'm going to lay to heart the fruits of my experience. All's well that
ends well, old lady. But once bit, twice shy; and in the future I'm
going to trim my sails so's to avoid another such an upset." He came
back to the bed, and sat beside her again. "I shan't be too proud to
say the gray mare's the better horse when it comes to steering through
the etiquette book, and I mean to mend my manners by Mav's advice."

"My dear Will--my true husband--I'm so glad to think it's ended as we
wished."

Her joy in his joy was beautiful to see. Though her pretty eyes were
flooded by sudden tears, her whole face was shining with happiness;
and she pressed both her hands against him, and raised her lips to his
lips with the rapid movements of a child that craves a caress from its
loved and venerated guardian.

"There," he said, after a long hug. "Now use your hanky, and let's be
jolly--and begin to enjoy ourselves. You and I are going to have the
best treat this evening that London can provide. But I think that, now
you've come, I'll do my duty first, and then throw myself into the
pleasure without alloy. What's his address?"

"Whose address?"

"Mr. Barradine's."

"How do you mean? His address here, in London?"

Yes."

"Number 181, Grosvenor Place."

"Ah, I thought it was the Place--and yet I couldn't feel sure it
wasn't the Square. Now you shall tie my tie for me."

And, getting out a new collar, he told her that he would go to thank
Mr. Barradine there and then. He would be less than no time fulfilling
this act of necessary politeness, and while he was away she was to see
the people of the house and get a proper married couple's bedroom in
lieu of this bachelor's crib. Mavis, however, thought that Dale was
mistaken in supposing the ceremonious call necessary or even
advisable, and she gently tried to dissuade him from carrying out his
purpose. She considered that a carefully written letter would be a
better method of communication to employ in thanking their grand ally.
But Dale was obstinate. He said that in this one matter he knew best.
It was between him and Mr. Barradine now--a case of man to man.

"He'll look for it, Mav, and would take a very poor opinion of me if I
hadn't the manhood to go straight and frank, and say 'I thank you.'
Trust your old William for once more, Mav;" and he laughed merrily. "I
tell you what I felt I wanted to do at the G.P.O. was a leaf out of
the Roman history--that is, to kneel down to him and say, 'Put your
hand on William Dale's head, sir, for sign and token, and take his
service from this day forward as your bondsman and your slave.' But I
shan't say that;" and again he laughed. "I shall simply say, 'Mr.
Barradine, sir, I thank you for what you've done for me and for the
kind and open way you done it.' So much he will expect, and the rest
he will understand."

He was equally determined to despatch a telegram giving the good news
to Mrs. Petherick at North Ride Cottage, and he became almost huffy
when Mavis again suggested that a letter would meet the case.

"I don't understand you, Mav. You seem now as if you were for
belittling everything. I'm not going to spare sixpence to keep your
aunt on tenterhooks for course of post."

Mr. Barradine's town mansion stood in a commanding corner position,
with its front door in the side street; and from the glimpse that Dale
obtained of its hall, its staircase, and its vast depth, he judged
that it was quite worthy of the owner of that noble countryseat, the
Abbey House.

The servants were at first doubtful as to the propriety of admitting
him. They said their master was at home, but they did not know if he
could receive visitors.

"He won't refuse to see me," said Dale confidently. "Tell him it's Mr.
Dale of Rodchurch, and won't detain him two minutes."

"Very good," said the principal servant gravely. "But I can't disturb
him if he's resting."

"Oh, if he's resting," said Dale, "I'll wait. I'll make my time his
time--whether convenient to me or not." Then they led him down a
passage, past a cloak-room and a lavatory, to a small room right at
the back of the house.

Perhaps the room seemed small only by reason of its great height.
Dale, waiting patiently, examined his surroundings with curious
interest. There were two old-fashioned writing-tables--one looking as
if it was never used, and the other looking busy and homelike, with a
cabinet full of every conceivable sort of notepaper, trays full of
pens, and little candles to be lighted when one desired to affix
seals. On a roundabout conveniently near there were books of reference
that included the current volume of the _London Post Office
Directory_. The sofas and chairs were upholstered in dark green
leather, the chimney-piece was of carved marble, a few ancient and
rather dismal pictures hung almost out of sight on the walls; and
generally, the room would have produced an impression of a repellent
and ungenial kind of pomp, if it had not been for the extremely human
note struck by the large assortment of photographs.

These were dabbed about everywhere--in panels above the chair rail, in
screens and silver frames, on the writing-table, and loose and
unframed on the mantel-shelf. They were nearly all portraits of
women--and some nice attractive bits among them, as Dale thought;
young and cheeky ones, too, that he guessed were actresses and not
nieces or cousins. He smiled tolerantly. These photographs brought to
his mind a nearly forgotten fancy of his own, together with echoes of
the local gossip. Round Rodchurch the talk ran that the Right
Honorable gentleman was still a rare one for the ladies. "And why
not?" thought Dale. A childless old widower may keep up that sort of
game as long as he likes, or as long as he can, without wounding any
one's feeling. It wasn't as if her ladyship had been still alive.

"Sir, I hope I have not disturbed you; but I couldn't be easy till I'd
cordially and heartily thanked you." Mr. Barradine had come in, and
Dale fired off his brief set speeches. But instinct almost immediately
told him that once more Mavis had been right and he wrong. Mr.
Barradine was not expecting or desiring a personal call.

"Not worth mentioning. Nothing at all." He said these things
courteously, but there was a coldness in his tone that quite froze the
visitor. He seemed to be saying really: "Now look here, I have had
quite enough bother about you; and please don't let me have any more
of it."

"Then, sir, I thank you--and--er--that's all."

"Very glad if--" Mr. Barradine made the same gesture that Dale had
seen a few hours ago: a wave of the right hand. But to Dale it seemed
that it was different now, that it indicated languor and haughtiness;
indeed, it seemed that the whole man was different. Could this be the
advocate who had spoken up so freely for a friend in trouble? All the
majesty and the force, as well as the generous friendliness, had
disappeared. The face, the voice, the whole bearing belonged to
another man. The tired eyes had not a spark of fire in them; those
puffy bags of loose flesh, that hung between the outer corners of the
cheekbones and the thin birdlike nose, were so ugly as to be
disfiguring; the mouth, instead of looking soft and kind, although
proud, now appeared to close in the unbending lines of a very obdurate
self-esteem. This new aspect of his patron made Dale stammer
uncomfortably; and he felt something akin to humiliation in lieu of
the fine glow of gratitude with which he had come hurrying from the
Euston Road.

"Then my duty--and my thanks--and I'll say good afternoon, sir."

He had pulled himself together and spoken these last words ringingly,
and now grasping Mr. Barradine's hand he gave it a mercilessly severe
squeeze.

"Damnation!" Under the horny grip, Mr. Barradine emitted a squeal of
pain. "Confound it--my good fellow--why the deuce can't you be
careful what you're doing?"

Mr. Barradine, very angry, was ruefully examining his hand; and Dale,
apologizing profusely, stared at it too. It was limp in texture,
yellowish white of color, with bluish swollen veins, some darkish
brown patches here and there, and slight glistening protuberances at
the knuckle joints-an old man's hand, so feeble that it could not bear
the least pressure, and yet decorated with a young man's fopperies.
Dale noticed the three rings on the little finger-one of gold, one of
silver, one of black metal, each with tiny colored gems in it--and
while heartily ashamed of his rustic violence, he felt a secret
contempt for its victim.

"That's all right." Mr. Barradine, although still wincing, had
recovered composure, and what he said now appeared to be an implied
excuse for the sharpness of his protest. "When you get to my time of
life, you'll perhaps know what gout means."

"Sorry you should be afflicted that way, sir," said Dale contritely.

Mr. Barradine had rung a bell, and a servant was standing at the door.

"Good day to you, Mr. Dale. You're going home, I suppose?"

"Not for a fortnight, sir."

"Ah! I hope to return to the Abbey on Thursday morning;" and quite
obviously Mr. Barradine now intended to gratify Dale by a few polite
sentences of small talk, and thus show him that his offense had been
pardoned. "Yes, I soon begin to pine for my garden. Friday, at latest,
sees me home again. I always call the Abbey home. No place like home,
Dale."

Dale going out, through the long passage to the hall, felt momentarily
depressed by a sense of humiliating failure in the midst of his
apparent success. If only he could have fought them and beaten them
alone, as a strong man fighting unaided, instead of being pulled
through the battle by that veinous, blotchy, ringed hand! However, he
promptly tried to banish all such vague discomfort from his mind.

All of it was gone when he got back to the lodging-house, and found
his wife established in their new room.

VI

"The Acadia Theater! So be it. They're all one to me."

Mavis had chosen this famous music hall because, as she explained,
Chirgwin was performing at it, and her aunt had always said that
Chirgwin was the most excruciatingly funny of all music-hall artists.

"So be it. Half a minute, though." Dale counting his money, dolefully
discovered that it had run very low indeed. "I begin to think we shall
have to cut down our treat a bit."

But Mavis swept away all difficulties. She had brought money--her very
own money--her little emergency hoard; and opening her handbag, and
tumbling inside it, she produced a five-pound note, and smilingly put
it on the dressing-table.

"Hulloa! There's more where that comes from." His quick ear had caught
the rustling sound inside the handbag. "There's other notes in there,
old lady;" and, laughing, he tried to snatch the bag from her. "How
much? Here's a miser, and no mistake."

"Never you mind how much your miser's got." Her lips were smiling, her
eyes shining, and with a happy laugh she sprang away from him. "Now,
no nonsense. Take me out, and make a fuss of me."

For a moment he stood still, admiring her. She was dressed in her very
best Sunday clothes, and, to his eye at least, she looked quite
entrancingly nice. Her straw hat was full of artificial roses that
any one might have sworn were real; her unbuttoned jacket disclosed
the delicate finery of a muslin blouse; her long skirt, held up so
gracefully by the unoccupied hand, was made of veritable silk. She
just looked tip-top--a picture--to the full as much a lady as the
young dames he had been lately observing; and yet, wonder of wonders,
she was his property.

"By Jupiter, I must have another hug--and then off we go."

"No," she said archly, and yet decidedly. "No more kisses till
bedtime. I'm all ready to show myself to company, and I don't wish to
be rumpled."

They rode like a gentleman and a lady in a hansom cab; they dined like
a duke and a duchess at the Criterion restaurant; and they were both
as happy and light-hearted as schoolboys on the first day of their
holidays. Like children they made silly little jokes which would have
been jokes to no one but themselves. He caused immoderate laughter in
her by assuming the airs of a man about town, by affecting a profound
knowledge of the French names for all the dishes on the table d'hote
menu, and by describing how offended he would now be if any one should
detect that he was not a regular London swell; and she, by whispered
criticism of a stout party at a distant table, sent such a convulsion
of mirth through him that he choked badly while drinking wine. He had
insisted on ordering the wine, and in making Mav take her share of it,
although she vowed that the unaccustomed stimulant would fly to her
head.

"Rot, old girl. You dip your beak in it--it's mostly froth and fizz,
and no more strength than the lager beer, as far as I can make out."

"How much does it cost?"

"Shan't tell. Yes, I will," and he roared with laughter, "since it's
you that's paying for it. Best part of seven shillings."

"Oh, Will, it's _wicked_!"

"Bosh! This is the time of our lives;" and he chaffed her again about
being a secret capitalist. "Blow the expense. Let the money fly. And,
Mav, I on'y borrow it. This is all my affair really."

"No, no. You'll spoil half my pleasure if you don't let me pay."

But his money or her money--what did it matter? They two were one,
reunited after a cruel, most bitterly cruel separation; her face was
flushed with joy more than with wine, and her love poured out of her
eyes like a stream of light.

They walked from the restaurant to Leicester Square, arm in arm, proud
and joyous, enjoying the lamplight and noise, not minding the airless
heat; but when they reached the entrance of the music hall--where he
had stood gaping, solitary and sad, a few nights ago--Mavis met with
disappointment.

"Oh," she said, "what a shame! They've changed the bill. Chirgwin's
name is gone. He was acting here Friday night."

"How d'you know that?"

She followed him into the vestibule, and he asked her again while they
waited in the crowd by the ticket office.

"I read it in the paper. Aunt and I were talking of him; and I--I had
the curiosity to look at the advertisements--not dreaming that I
should come so near seeing him."

"Never mind," cried Dale, in his jovial, far-carrying voice; "there'll
be a many as good as him."

"Hush," she whispered. "If you talk like that, they'll know we come
from the country;" and she squeezed his arm affectionately. "I don't
mind a bit, dear--but there's no one so clever as Chirgwin. Really
there isn't."

She at once forgot her trifling disappointment. Placed side by side in
extravagantly expensive seats of the stately circle, surrounded by
ladies and gentlemen in evening dress, they both gave themselves
wholly to the pleasure of this unparalleled treat. All the early items
of a long program astounded or charmed him; and her enjoyment was
enhanced by recognizing how completely he had thrown off the
narrowness or prejudice of village life. Listening to his laughter at
almost indecent jokes, his ejaculations of wonder when conjurers
showed their skill, his enthusiastic clappings after acrobats had
proved their strength, she understood that all his natural sternness
was temporarily relaxed; he would not allow himself to be disturbed by
any semi-religious notions of propriety or impropriety; he was just a
jolly comrade for an evening's sport.

"Brayvo! Brayvo! By Jupiter--wouldn't 'a' credited it without the
evidence of my own eyes." The gorgeous curtains had just descended
upon a narrow parlor, which a Japanese necromancer had literally
filled to overflowing with colored cardboard boxes produced from the
interior of one single top hat. "See! Watch 'em, Mav." Footmen were
coming in front of the curtains to remove the plethora of cardboard
boxes. "They're real boxes, Mav."

Sweet music, happy laughter, brilliant light--the evening glided
entrancingly, like a dream in which neither Greenwich nor any other
time is kept.

During the interval before the ballet he took her out of the circle,
strolled with her up and down the promenade, and gave her an American
drink in a refreshment saloon. It was appallingly hot, and they were
both longing to quench their thirst with something big and cold. A
magnificent waiter brought them bigness and coldness in tall tumblers
with straws, and they sat on a velvet divan and sucked rapturously.

Standing or seated at tables, there were young bloods with white
waistcoats and cigarettes, and young ladies with rich gowns and
made-up faces; through a gilded doorway one had a vista of the
thronged promenade; the air was hot, exhausted, pungent with tobacco
smoke; and amid the chatter of voices, the clink of glasses, the
rustle of petticoats, one could only just hear the great orchestra
playing chords of some fantastic march.

Suddenly Mavis felt a vaguely pleasant confusion of mind, as though
the icily cold liquid, as she slowly absorbed it through the straw,
was freezing her intelligence. She could not for a few moments
understand what Dale was whispering at her ear.

"Between you and me and the post, Mav"--And he told her that,
according to his opinion, all these women parading up and down were no
better than they ought to be. They were of course, socially, much
higher than the common women of the streets, but he considered them to
be, morally, on the same level: although they did not accost
strangers, they were all willing to scrape acquaintance with any one
who looked as if he had money in his pocket. "Yes, London's a bit of
an eye-opener, old girl." Then he laughed behind his hand, and said
that she was probably the only respectable woman and virtuous wife in
the whole of the theater.

Mavis, although trying to listen, answered at random.

"Will, I do believe there's spirits in this stuff--yes, and strong
spirits too."

"Oh, bosh. It's just a refresher. Mostly crushed ice, and a few drops
of sirup."

Mavis, however, was quite correct. At the bottom of the glass, and
below the light sirupy mixture, there lurked liqueurs of which the
potency was only rendered doubtful because of their low temperature.
The beginning of the long drink was absolutely delicious, so soothing
and so cooling; but at the end of it was as if one had filled one's
self with insidious quick-running flame.

Mavis put down her empty tumbler, and looked at it reproachfully.

"Will, it has made me come over all funny. My head's swimming."

When they got back to their seats and were watching the ballet, he too
felt the consequences of guileless straw-sucking; but with him the
after effects were entirely pleasurable. He felt invigorated,
peaceful, massively grand.

He sat placidly enjoying the beauty of the scene, the grace of the
dancers, the vibrations of the music. The stage was dark at first, and
one could merely make out that it pictured a wildly-imagined grove in
the land of dreams; then it grew brighter, and one saw preposterous
giant-flowers--foxgloves so big that when they opened there was a
human face in each quivering bell. And the flowers came out of the
earth and danced; children dressed up as birds, brown boys like
beetles, slim girls like butterflies, all came dancing, dancing; with
more light every moment, till the dazzle and the blaze seemed to drive
away the little people;--and then quite glorious forms appeared,
pirouetting, almost flying--pink-limbed houris, fairies, nymphs--"call
'em what you please--a fair knock-out."

"It makes me go round and round," whispered Mavis.

He sat grave and silent--just nodding his head in approval of all he
saw, not troubling to applaud any further, impassive as some Eastern
sultan for whom slaves and courtiers had made a mask.

Then gradually his mind seemed half to detach itself from the thraldom
of external objects. These novel sense impressions, pouring into him,
joined themselves to old memories, and, mingling, made up a fuller
stream of joy. He seemed to be able to think of five or six things at
once; but, as the undercurrent of every thought, there was the same
deep-flowing comfort, of which the source lay in his relief at the
escape from danger. Those fairies flashing about under the branches of
sham trees momentarily evoked the ancient haunting distress of his
youth, and out of this thought came the lofty conception of Mavis as
his guardian angel. How persistently the first of those fancies
lingered--after so many years! Bother the fairies or nymphs, or
whatever they were. Household angels are what a man wants to bring
him contentment; and keep him straight, day by day, and week by week.

Before the ballet was over, he became bored with it. Too long! Enough
is as good as a feast. They were singing now as well as dancing.

The massive, voluminously quiescent sensation induced by the liqueurs
had passed away, and in its place came increased weariness of the
spectacular entertainment. The light, and the music, and the
half-naked women, who still danced and pranced, were affecting his
nerves unpleasantly now. He looked away from the stage, and stared at
the audience. Behind him, as he knew, there were all those hussies
with painted faces offering themselves for hire. And wherever he
looked, he seemed to see evidences of amorous traffic. When you
examined it attentively, the entire audience seemed to resolve itself
into an endless repetition of the same small group of two persons of
two sexes, each soliciting the other's favor; a man and a woman
sitting close together, the couple, the factorial two--everywhere, all
round the circle, along the three visible rows of stalls, and again in
the private boxes. Those wealthy men in the boxes were unquestionably
accompanied by their mistresses and not by their wives or sisters.
Through the vibrating music and the super-heated atmosphere, on a
river of vivid light, they were all drifting fast toward the night of
love that each pair had arranged for itself.

And they too would have their night of love. He looked at his wife,
and felt his pulses stirred as much now as in the far-off days of
courtship--more, because then there was no experience of facts to
strengthen his imagination. He gently pressed her arm, and thrilled
at the mere contact. She was leaning back, fanning herself with her
program, and he observed the roundness and whiteness of her neck, the
flesh of her shoulder showing through the transparent sleeve of her
blouse, the moistness and warmth of her open lips.

Yet she had told him at Rodchurch Road Station that she was attractive
only to his eyes, and that she could never again arouse desire in
other men. What utter nonsense! She was simply adorable.

VII

They took a cab to drive back in, and he almost carried her up to
their bedroom. It was on the same floor as the other room, with the
same marvelous bird's-eye view of the starlit sky and the lamplit
town. He had got her to himself at last--here, high above the world,
half-way to heaven. There seemed to him something poetical, almost
sublime in their situation: they two alone, isolated, millions of
people surrounding them and no living creature able to interfere with
them.

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