Gibbous House 78

The warm spring sun was making me feel most drowsy. The reporter, surprisingly, seemed able to bear the vacuum without filling it with questions; Miss Pardoner, being quite the most self-possessed woman I had ever had the fortune to meet, was contenting herself with a facade as enigmatic as that of any sphinx. I had learned, where safe, to take the balm of lethe where I could. Therefore, I cannot say if what I remembered next was truly dreaming or simple reverie: suffice to say it was faithful to memory – although who can say how faithful memory is to truth?

Arabella and I had had our secrets; of course we had. She had known me only as Moffat, after all, save for the few moments of credence she had given to Captain Crawford's existence, after his appearance on the dockside. I in my turn had but recently learned of the existence of a previous husband; viz. one Cadwallader. My feelings for her had not conformed to any ideal of romantic love, such as might be found in Lombardy troubadours' parchments. Though she did stir my passions, others had done so more violently. It were rather as though in Miss Arabella Coble a bond beyond consanguinity or sense could be found with my own obsessions. I knew it, and I knew it at once on the dockside the day that we met. My peculiar education and subsequent reading had introduced me to the idea of the human soul. It was my belief, that if such things existed and if they were the seat of compassion and other noble virtues, then I was deficient this essential part of humanity. The sense of a similar void in Miss Coble bound me to her more strongly than ever any vow of love could have done. She was a hollow woman, as I was a hollow man.

Truly, she showed no affection for the mite who was holding her hand on the day that we met. Do not think that she was cruel. The child was ever clothed and fed as well as we; but she received not a caress or buss that other mothers might casually have bestowed with every hour. I did not feel undue sympathy; the girl was nothing to me, of course.

Nevertheless, I was not prepared for the grieving after the episode with the lucifer matches.

We had being doing tolerable well with some business involving breach of promise. Mostly among gentlemen of trade, whilst we awaited one large fish that would set us up for some time.

One evening, during late summer 184_, Arabella and I were attending a programme of varieties in the song and supper club known as the Mogul Saloon, in Drury Lane. At the table adjoining was an oldish fellow of plain looks in the company of two rather younger male companions. The fellow was quite drunk, florid of cheek and rolling of eye in fact. The younger fellows' clothes were frayed and shining in parts, although the cut was good. I saw the one slap his patron on the back as his confederate began the dip for the older chap's valuables.

I dashed to the table and siezed the offender's hand. It was obvious to all what the two men had been about.

'Leave.' I urged him.' Unless you wish me to call the peelers?'

The two younger men made recourse to the coward's discretionary valour. The older man offered his hand:

'C-c-apital' he hiccoughed, ' Johnny Brougham, 5th Earl of B__________, call me Johnny, cahn't thank yew enough.'

I pumped his hand, thinking that he was correct in that, at least.

'Ah.. yew and yer lady could join me, p'raps, hmm?' he asked, with all the diffidence of his class.

'Allow me to introduce my sister Arabella,' I said, 'Captain Crawford, at your service.'