Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book I

I sent her the box of pretty writing-paper on the thirtieth of December. I wrote inside the lid, “1899. A Happy New Year! Never answer any letters.”

The same evening, I received a New Year's card, representing a sailor in a boat, with “1899” painted on the bow. In the distance, a brig is rapidly sinking, a perfect wreck, but flying a flag, whereon is inscribed: “1898.” In the boat is a large bouquet of lilies. Underneath the picture are the words: “A Good and Happy New Year!” and my charmer had enclosed her father's card, and written thereon, with her own fair hand: “With Mr., Mrs., and Miss Arvel's best wishes.”

I really think they would have allowed me to set the girl up in business, or marry her, or anything, as long as there was money hanging to it. I think they would have sold her to me, or shut their eyes, if she was a rich man's mistress. Anything for money. My eyes being open, I found all this very curious and amusing.

ERIC ARVEL TO JACKY.

Sonis-sur-Marne. January 6, 1899.

My dear Jacky,

Many thanks for your letter, and for all the good wishes it contained. They are heartily reciprocated for you and yours.

We had a funny commencement to our New Year. At about three in the morning, we were woke by our unruly Bordeaux hound, who barked without ceasing. I went downstairs, and found that he had wanted to give us notice that the little bitch put into the warm kitchen with him in a box of her own, had given birth to a litter of puppies to the credit of Blackamoor, who is unmistakably represented. There are six puppies, three of each-one male and one female-the very image of their father. The latter pup is dead, but the male remains. The five which live are white, save one-the color and marking of your Smike and likely as a female to make a good match for him. Will you come down and see them on Sunday, taking breakfast with us?

Yours very truly,

ERIC ARVEL.

I began the New Year under the impression that Lilian Arvel would cease all communication with me after my frankly brutal speech of Boxing night, and would naturally, or rather, unnaturally, in this case, wean her father from me, as I was more and more convinced that she was the real mistress of the house.

I suppose I must have acknowledged the New Year's card by a polite note of seasonable greetings, as the above letter shows, and I was quite surprised to guess by what I read that I was still in Lilian's good graces. Had she not told her Pa? Or did they still think I was only an old miser; or at any rate, that I had enough for what they wanted, if I would only loosen my purse strings?

It mattered very little to me now. I looked upon the couple as a pleasing puzzle for my concupiscent curiosity to play with, and I resolved to follow up my quarry. I had nothing to lose. My great love was well-nigh dead. The lust still remained, although less. But I felt towards Lilian as a man feels towards any woman who pleases him; he desires her caresses, if he can get them, and if he cannot, he carries his manly cargo into another port.

I noted the success of the in-breeding mania. Here was a daughter of my Smike, covered by her father, and accidentally (?) coupled with her own brother, who is of course by her sire. To crown all, my genial friend wants Smike, the original Adam of the lot, to “line” one of the latest products of this incited canine incest.

I could not but desire to see what fresh developments awaited me out of such strange material as was to be found at the Villa Lilian.

I got the letter on Saturday morning, the seventh of January. I could not accede to their demand and go to them the next day, Sunday; the weekly day of recreation being sacred to my invalid companion, since I had left her bed about a year ago. And I was agreeably flattered to be invited on a Sunday to Sonis, as I knew that was the day when Lilian was entirely at liberty, the little workshop being shut.

I made up my mind to go at once and surprise them, as I knew they would be off to Nice in a few days. So I took the train after lunch and found no one at home but Mamma and the puppies. The latter were really very fine, and I urged the old lady to keep them, until they were two months old, and then sell them.

One looked exceptionally good, as far as I could judge from a six-day pup, and I was told that Lilian had said she intended to bring it up for Jacky. They were her litter, said Ma, and if they were sold, the money would be for her. My silly heart beat a trifle faster at this. So Lilian was not vexed. She rather admired my frankness, I guessed, and I felt certain she had some sort of respect for me and was fond of me in her own peculiar, hysterical way. I resolved in future not to spare her, but to treat her coolly and tell her, as near as possible, what I thought of her. If she liked to keep on with me, she could, but I did not want to play the languishing lover.

Lilian was in Paris, at her Father's bureau, helping him with some type-writing, which had to be done before his departure. It was arranged that Adèle was to go and fetch her daughter to do some shopping that afternoon. Would I go up to Paris with her? I agreed, and we went together. Mamma's conversation was all about Lilian and what a good, obedient girl she was; a splendid housewife, and domesticated. She spoke of her as if she was blest with every virtue.

I tried to draw her out about the affection of Mr. Arvel for Lilian, but she refused to follow me on that delicate ground, and I was too cautious to press it. Her talk was that of an old bawd, and I imagined that they all still had designs on Jacky. Mamma was very cunning. Under a veil of hearty maternal affection, she hid a deep, designing nature, and was difficult to get at.

I let her run on, agreeing politely with all she said, and cudgel my brains as I will, I cannot remember much of her conversation. It could not have been very important.

We soon arrived at the rue Vissot, which is a few minutes walk from the Eastern railway station, and found Lilian and her stepfather installed in the one room which formed his Paris bureau.

At the typewriter sat Lilian, bolt upright, visibly ill at her ease, and at her side, Papa, quite surprised to see me walk in with his mistress.

To my mind, they looked as if they had been indulging in an eager discussion, or making love. There was some heavily-written manuscript in front of them, but the last lines had been dry some time.

I explained my visit to Sonis, by saying that I was not free next day, having to go and fetch my bicycle, which I had left in the country, on the Orleans line, and could not lunch with them, but I had taken the liberty to run down and view the pups before the departure of the family for Nice.

I thanked Lilian in suitable terms for her offer of the pup, which I accepted, and she was very cold and over-polite. I was the same. I exaggerated my tone and watched Pa and Ma. They did not seem surprised, and according to their custom, they never interfered when Lilian and I were talking.

I was invited to dinner. I hesitated, and then turning suddenly round to my sulky love, I boldly said to her:

“Shall I?”

She started with surprise at being thus audaciously consulted in the presence of her father and mother, and visibly embarrassed, replied: