CHAPTER XXI.

SERGEANT SMITH, V.C.

IN the ensuing few months, save of course from the clique of “saved” ladies whom we left in the last chapter upon charitable thoughts intent, Evelyn Manwaring won golden opinions from all the inmates of the stately old Palace. No one could even see her without being struck by her grace and beauty, or fascinated by her lustrous eyes; no one could speak to her without being charmed by her quiet good sense, by the innocence of her nature, and by the sweetness and simplicity of her disposition. Her tender, considerate respect delighted the old; and her girlish buoyancy of spirits and bright cheerfulness--which, as her last great sorrow became more distant, began to assert itself more and more--charmed the young. The good Duchess learned to love her almost as a daughter; the Miss Hazelhursts could not make enough of her; Miss Strong found the assistant she had longed for in her works of charity; and poor, paralytic old Lady Stratton, who lived under the clock, and was cross and sour, felt her lonely life brightened when the girl came, as she often did, to read aloud to her. Even the fast daughters of the Countess of Quorndon, the Ladies Skandaliza and Coreopsis Corker, were awed by the gentle girl’s innocence and purity, and avowed they must be “good” when she was present. And the stronger sex? To a man, they were her devoted slaves. Sir Hercules Clarion, K.C.B., General Sir T. Blazer Brown, Lord Frederic Fitzfoodles, however much they differed on other points, were all agreed that Evelyn was perfection. Even Admiral Grogrum emancipated himself from Lady M’Adam, quarrelled with Lady Lavinia, snubbed Miss Scheimes, told the great Moodle to mind his own business, and declared that he “was doosed sure there wasn’t a girl on earth to compare with Miss Manwaring.” As to the younger men--sons, nephews, and other relations of the inmates of the Palace, who, holding offices in Town, came down to spend their Sundays with their friends--they were all over head and ears in love with her, and Lieutenant Sprattles, a young fellow with small brains but a tender heart, grew almost desperate on her account, and refused no one knows what gorgeous offers the Duke of Ribblesdale made him in secret, to consent to an exchange of regiments. It was fortunate, however, for the Duke that Jack Sprattles proved so obdurate, for in a few months an event took place which at all events broke the somewhat monotonous life of the dwellers at Hampton Court. The troop of the Hussars which, under Captain Conger and Lieutenant Sprattles, had for a considerable time been quartered at the barracks, was suddenly moved to Brighton, and its place was taken by a troop of the Fortieth Dragoons, a most distinguished regiment now quartered at Hounslow, and but just returned from India.

At the time of the march to Candahar, the newspapers, and even the despatches, had made frequent reference to the exploits of a wonderful Corporal Smith, who belonged to the gallant Fortieth. These exploits were now to have their reward. Her Majesty having determined to honour with a visit the Duchess of Ribblesdale, who had formerly held an office about the royal person, was further graciously pleased to express her intention of inspecting the troop of the Fortieth on the occasion of her visit, and of conferring the Victoria Cross at the same time upon the whilome Corporal Smith, who, upon his return to England, had been promoted to the rank of Sergeant. When the day appointed for the royal visit arrived, it was found that “the Queen’s weather” had for once deserted her. Never was there a wetter day; the rain fell in buckets, and the barrack court in front of the palace resembled a lake. At this unfortunate crisis of affairs somebody official suggested the happy idea that Her Majesty should inspect the troop, and present the decoration to Sergeant Smith, who had already arrived from Hounslow, in Cardinal Wolsey’s Hall. The Queen signified her assent to this proposal, and at the appointed time repaired to that noble chamber, where a chair of state was placed for her use upon the edge of the dais. In front of this, and below it, in the body of the Hall, the troopers were drawn up in a square, open at the upper end; and the Queen, standing on the step of the dais in front of her seat, commanded the Sergeant to be brought before her. Meanwhile, the dense crowd of spectators, which included almost all the inmates of the Palace, as well as many persons from outside, stood beyond the line of soldiers, and saw as much of the ceremony as they could. Those who were tall enough to see anything, were astonished at the personal beauty and youthful appearance of the Sergeant who had so distinguished himself. He seemed, in truth, little more than a boy in years, and was just such a ruddy stripling as he who, of old time, had done battle with Goliath of Gath. The young man advanced with kindling eyes, but modest demeanour, to the foot of the dais, and his Sovereign, stepping forward, addressed to him some gracious words expressive of her admiration and her appreciation of his noble conduct, and at the same time pinned the Cross of Honour upon his breast. At that moment a cry, half-scream, half-exclamation, was heard from the bottom of the Hall, which seemed to sound like the syllable “Wil----,” and then a stir and rustle occurred, which showed that something unusual had happened. The cry seemed to reach the ears of the young hero, who was observed by some of the bystanders to tremble and turn pale, but this was deemed by most to proceed from nervousness. Her Majesty, turning to an attendant, commanded him to ascertain what was the matter. “Only a lady had fainted in the crowd;” such was the report brought back to the Queen, who thereupon retired to the apartments of the Duchess of Ribblesdale, and shortly afterwards set out on her return journey to Windsor. It was Evelyn who had fainted. Accompanied by Miss Strong, she had come late into the Hall, and, unable from the crush to penetrate far, had to be content with standing on the edge of the crowd of spectators, where little or nothing could be seen. The Queen’s voice, however, as she addressed the young soldier, was distinctly heard through the vast chamber, and the next moment, owing to the sudden movement of the helmeted head of one of the dragoons drawn up in double line in front, Evelyn caught a momentary glimpse of the heroic young Sergeant. The effect upon her was electric--to her eyes he seemed the very living image of her lost brother, and in a moment of uncontrollable impulse she tried to utter his name, and in the act, fell fainting on the floor amidst the throng. Willing hands were at once ready to raise her and carry her into the cloisters, where consciousness returned, and the party, led by Miss Strong, then bore her upstairs, and laid her on the sofa in her own drawing-room. As sometimes happens after a severe fainting fit, the mind of Evelyn seemed deadened, and her recollection was hazy as to the events immediately preceding the attack. All she could say, in answer to the inquiries of Miss Strong, was, that she had imagined Sergeant Smith very strongly to resemble her brother, and that the shock which the sudden discovery of this likeness gave her occasioned her to fall to the ground. She now saw and regretted her weakness, but she could not help feeling an inward sense of satisfaction that one who had so merited the admiration of his Sovereign and fellow-countrymen should have resembled a brother whose character she deemed so noble. “Had he had the chance,” said Evelyn to her friend, “I think my poor brother would have acted as bravely and as well.”

Miss Strong took in the _Illustrated London News_, and when it came to hand the following Saturday, there was a charming portrait of Sergeant Wilfred Smith, V.C. Miss Strong remarked the coincidence of Christian names, which, if she was aware of it, had not struck her before; and although she was in the habit of lending the paper to her young neighbour, she on this occasion forwarded it straight off to the Soldiers’ Hospital at Malta, which was invariably its final destination. Truth to tell, Miss Strong, who was not of a romantic disposition, and had strong common sense, thought in her heart of hearts that Evelyn, who had confided everything to her, was just a wee bit superstitious on the subject of her drowned brother, and she felt that she would not herself do anything which might tend to foster that unwholesome feeling. The incident, however, of Evelyn’s fainting fit was not destined to pass without observation. It formed abundant subject for remark and discussion at a meeting of the Female Vehme-Gericht of Hampton Court on the following day.

“Really,” said Lady M’Adam, when the meeting had been duly constituted in her Ladyship’s drawing-room--“really, I have no patience with people who have so little command over their nerves as to faint away in the presence of Royalty; it looks like an insult to the Throne itself, or like rebellion, which we have the highest authority for saying is worse than witchcraft.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Lavinia, shrugging the inevitable shoulders; “but, dear Lady M’Adam, I fear it was much worse than that.”

“What! Worse than witchcraft?” ejaculated Lady M’Adam, in a hollow tone of voice; “really you frighten me.”

“Yes, dearest Lady M’Adam,” responded Lady Lavinia, “worse than that a great deal. My firm belief is that that girl is so puffed up with all that misplaced petting and injudicious putting forward by the poor dear Duchess, that she couldn’t bear to be--what d’ye call it?--oh! playing second thingummy, even for a moment, and that she screamed out, and threw herself down just on purpose to attract the attention of the men. What do _you_ think, my dearest Helen?”

Miss Scheimes, thus appealed to, nodded her head solemnly three several times (to the great peril of her front), and then said in oracular tones, “I fear it was much worse even than that!”

“No?” said Lady M’Adam.

“No?” echoed Lady Lavinia.

“Yes!” responded Miss Scheimes; “unhappily I fear it was. Remember I was close to her in the crowd, and what did I see with my own, own eyes?” Miss Scheimes said this as if she was ordinarily in the habit of using other people’s eyes, but on this great occasion had condescended to use her own.

“What?” cried Lady M’Adam. “Don’t keep us in suspense, I beg. I trust, I sincerely trust it was nothing very disgraceful.”

“I fear, I greatly fear it was,” answered Miss Scheimes, solemnly. “I was standing close to her, remember, and I distinctly saw her fix her eyes, not on the dear Queen, who looked _so_ well in her black bonnet--not on the dear Queen, but on the soldier-man they were making such a fuss about, and then she stretched out her hands, and cried out, ‘Wil----’ and then down she went, flat as a somewhat tasteless fish they call a flounder. Can you put two and two together, dearest Lady Lavinia?”

Arithmetic was _not_ one of Lady Lavinia’s strong points, so, with her shoulders trembling like aspen leaves, she answered nervously, “I really _don’t_ feel positively certain, my love; but why do you ask such a very unusual question?”

“Because,” interposed Lady M’Adam, sternly, “any one who can put two and two together would know this at once, that Miss Manwaring had seen that man before.”

“Good Heavens!” cried Lady Lavinia.

“Oh! the mysteries of the unconverted heart!” cried the pork-merchant’s daughter.

“Yes, dear Lady M’Adam, you are right, as you always are; depend upon it, she had seen that man before,” pursued Miss Scheimes, judicially; “he is probably some old rustic lover. What was it she cried out too? ‘Will!’ and what is the name of the soldier-man? Why, Wilfred, to be sure! And pray, how did she know _that_? She must have known the man before, of course. But now for a proof positive. No sooner did the young woman blurt out his name before everyone in that brazen-faced and unseemly manner, than I distinctly saw the soldier-man himself turn pale--turn pale, and tremble like a leaf! What do you think of that? ‘Nervousness before the Queen,’ folks said; I know better. That’s all a pack of stuff and nonsense. It was conscience, that’s what it was! And now tell me, what do you think of that?”

“It is a wonderful chain of thingummy,” answered Lady Lavinia, drawing down her shoulders almost out of sight; “a wonderful chain of consumptive evidence--no, not consumptive either, that’s Ventnor and Madeira, and the River Era; but you know what I mean. But what a head you have, my dearest Helen; and how dreadful are the revelations you have made!”

“It’s an awful and instructive instance of human depravity, that’s what it is,” said Lady M’Adam; “but it’s providential that the mask is torn betimes from the face of that young Jezebel, and that we at last see her in the unregenerate nakedness of an unconverted heart. But what are we to _do_? that’s the question. I suppose it is our bounden duty to tell the poor deluded Duchess of her mistake.”

“Well, no,” said Lady Lavinia, after a pause; “with all due deference, dearest Lady M’Adam, to your greatly superior age and experience----”

“Not such a _great_ difference, Lady Lavinia, as you seem to suppose,” interrupted Lady M’Adam, snappishly.

“I’m sure I beg your pardon,” answered Lady Lavinia; “I was only going to say, that knowing the poor dear Duchess’s idiosyncrasies, and prejudices, and crazes, as we do, I think we had better wait----”

“And watch,” interrupted Miss Scheimes.

“Thank you, dearest Helen,” continued Lady Lavinia; “and watch--yes, watch and wait. Sir Thomas Clarion was saying only the other day that the Fortieth are likely to be moved here; then we shall perhaps see more, and be more in a position to move with effect. I shall tell Papfaddle--such a faithful creature!--to be on the look-out for the first soldier that goes up to Miss Manwaring’s apartments, and if I learn anything, you may depend on hearing from me. Now I must run away and dress for dinner.”

Lady Lavinia’s prudent counsels prevailed, and forthwith the Vehme-Gericht was dissolved.

“Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth; and the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.” So speaks the Inspired Word; but Luther having blasphemously termed the Epistle of S. James an “Epistle of Straw,” these very protestant ladies probably did not look on his inspired dictum as binding on their “consciences.”