Between the Dark and the Daylight. Richard Marsh
Mr. Holman pointed with his thumb--
"There be a public over there."
I admitted that there was.
"Here's a shilling for you--mind you're quickly back. Perhaps Mr. Poltifen would like to come with you."
Mr. Poltifen declined.
"I am a teetotaller. I have never touched alcohol in any form."
I felt that Mr. Poltifen regarded both myself and my proceedings with austere displeasure. When all had alighted, my aunt, proceeding to number the party, discovered that one was missing; also, who it was.
"Where is Matthew Holman?"
"He's--he's gone across the road to--to see the time."
"To see the time! There's a clock up over the station there. What do you mean?"
"The fact is, my dear aunt, that feeling thirsty he has gone to get something to drink."
"To drink! But he signed the pledge on Monday!"
"Then, in that case, he's broken it on Wednesday. Come, let's get inside the station; we can't stop here; people will wonder who we are."
"Thomas, we will wait here for Matthew Holman. I am responsible for that man."
"Certainly, my dear aunt; but if we remain on the precise spot on which we are at present planted, we shall be prosecuted for obstruction. If you will go into the station, I will bring him to you there."
"Where are you going to take us now?"
"To the Crystal Palace."
"But--we have seen nothing of London."
"You'll see more of it when we get to the Palace. It's a wonderful place, full of the most stupendous sights; their due examination will more than occupy all the time you have to spare."
Having hustled them into the station, I went in search of Mr. Holman. "The converted drunkard" was really enjoying himself for the first time. He had already disposed of four threepennyworths of rum, and was draining the last as I came in.
"Now, sir, if you was so good as to loan me another shilling, I shouldn't wonder if I was to have a nice day, after all."
"I dare say. We'll talk about that later on. If you don't want to be lost in London, you'll come with me at once."
I scrambled them all into a train; I do not know how. It was a case of cram. Selecting an open carriage, I divided the party among the different compartments. My aunt objected; but it had to be. By the time that they were all in, my brow was damp with perspiration. I looked around. Some of our fellow-passengers wore ribbons, about eighteen inches wide, and other mysterious things; already, at that hour of the day, they were lively. The crowd was not what I expected.
"Is there anything on at the Palace?" I inquired of my neighbour. He laughed, in a manner which was suggestive.
"Anything on? What ho! Where are you come from? Why, it's the Foresters' Day. It's plain that you're not one of us. More shame to you, sonny! Here's a chance for you to join."
Foresters' Day! I gasped. I saw trouble ahead. I began to think that I had made a mistake in tearing off to the Crystal Palace in search of solitude. I had expected a desert, in which my aunt's friends would have plenty of room to knock their heads against anything they pleased. But Foresters' Day! Was it eighty or a hundred thousand people who were wont to assemble on that occasion? I remembered to have seen the figures somewhere. The ladies and gentlemen about us wore an air of such conviviality that one wondered to what heights they would attain as the day wore on.
We had a delightful journey. It occupied between two and three hours--or so it seemed to me. When we were not hanging on to platforms we were being shunted, or giving the engine a rest, or something of the kind. I know we were stopping most of the time. But the Foresters, male and female, kept things moving, if the train stood still. They sang songs, comic and sentimental; played on various musical instruments, principally concertinas; whistled; paid each other compliments; and so on. Jane and Ellen were in the next compartment to mine--as usual, glued together; how those two girls managed to keep stuck to each other was a marvel. Next to them was the persevering Daniel Dyer. In front was a red-faced gentleman, with a bright blue tie and an eighteen-inch-wide green ribbon. He addressed himself to Mr. Dyer.
"Two nice young ladies you've got there, sir."
Judging from what he looked like at the back, I should say that Mr. Dyer grinned. Obviously Jane and Ellen tittered: they put their heads together in charming confusion. The red-faced gentleman continued--
"One more than your share, haven't you, sir? You couldn't spare one of them for another gentleman? meaning me."
"You might have Jane," replied the affable Mr. Dyer.
"And which might happen to be Jane?"
Mr. Dyer supplied the information. The red-faced gentleman raised his hat. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss; hope we shall be better friends before the day is over."
My aunt, in the compartment behind, rose in her wrath.
"Daniel Dyer! Jane! How dare you behave in such a manner!"
The red-faced gentleman twisted himself round in his seat.
"Beg pardon, miss--was you speaking to me? If you're alone, I dare say there's another gentleman present who'll be willing to oblige. Every young lady ought to have a gent to herself on a day like this. Do me the favour of putting this to your lips; you'll find it's the right stuff."
Taking out a flat bottle, wiping it upon the sleeve of his coat, he offered it to my aunt. She succumbed.
When I found myself a struggling unit in the struggling mass on the Crystal Palace platform, my aunt caught me by the arm.
"Thomas, where have you brought us to?"
"This is the Crystal Palace, aunt."
"The Crystal Palace! It's pandemonium! Where are the members of our party?"
That was the question. My aunt collared such of them as she could lay her hands on. Matthew Holman was missing. Personally, I was not sorry. He had been "putting his lips" to more than one friendly bottle in the compartment behind mine, and was on a fair way to having a "nice day" on lines of his own. I was quite willing that he should have it by himself. But my aunt was not. She was for going at once for the police and commissioning them to hunt for and produce him then and there.
"I'm responsible for the man," she kept repeating. "I have his ticket."
"Very well, aunt--that's all right. You'll find him, or he'll find you; don't you trouble."
But she did trouble. She kept on troubling. And her cause for troubling grew more and more as the day went on. Before we were in the main building--it's a journey from the low level station through endless passages, and up countless stairs, placed at the most inconvenient intervals--Mrs. Penna was hors de combat. As no seat was handy she insisted on sitting down upon the floor. Passers-by made the most disagreeable comments, but she either could not or would not move. My aunt seemed half beside herself. She said to me most unfairly,
"You ought not to have brought us here on a day like this. It is evident that there are some most dissipated creatures here. I have a horror of a crowd--and with all the members of our party on my hands--and such a crowd!"
"How was I to know? I had not the faintest notion that anything particular was on till we were in the train."
"But you ought to have known. You live in London."
"It is true that I live in London. But I do not, on that account, keep an eye on what is going on at the Palace. I have something else to occupy my time. Besides, there is an easy remedy--let us leave the place at once. We might find fewer people in the Tower of London--I was never there, so I can't say--or on the top of the Monument."
"Without Matthew Holman?"