MINING OPERATIONS.
No sooner was the Churchills' wedding safely over than all further
reason for keeping on the establishment at Bissett Grange was at an
end, and the party broke up at once. Sir Marmaduke went straight
to Paris, and took up his quarters at Meurice's, according to his
annual custom, to the disgust of Gumble, who detested all things
"forring" with that pious horror always to be found in the British
serving-class. The old gentleman knew Paris better perhaps than he
knew London, and was thoroughly well known in the best circles of
Parisian society; his eccentricity, _quelque chose bizarre_, which
distinguished him from the ordinary run of English visitors, made him
popular with the young people, while his perfectly polished manner to
women, the unmistakable not-to-be-acquired high-breeding of the true
gentleman, combined with his ready wit and biting sarcasm, both
expressed in perfect French, rendered him a favourite with his
coevals. To the Faubourg and its inhabitants, however, his visits were
principally confined; he had never yielded allegiance to the Imperial
Court, and used to speak of it and its august head in a very
disparaging manner. "Gad, sir!" he would say in the smoke-room of
Meurice's, after his return from the Français or from some grand
reception,--"Gad, sir! I've a very low opinion of your what d'ye call
him?--your Emperor! met him often when he was in England,--at Gore
House, and two or three other places; always found him a silent,
moody, stupid fellow--that's it! a stupid fellow, by Jove!--tries to
make out that he holds his tongue to think the more; like the monkey,
you know. My belief is, that he's so deuced quiet because he's got
nothing to say. And his surroundings, my dear fellow! his
surroundings, awful! De Rossignol, who was a billiard-marker or a
singer at a _café chantant_, or something of that kind; Oltenhaus, the
financier, who is a Polish Jew, of the worst stamp; and O'Malley, the
Marshal, a mere Irish adventurer! That is not the sort of stuff for
Courts, sir!--the sweepings of the Boulevard theatres, the Juden-Gasse
at Frankfort, and the long-sword, saddle, bridle, whack-fol-de-rol,
and all the rest of it, of the bold dragoon! _Vieille école bonne
école_ is a good maxim, by Jove! They mayn't be clever; but they're
gentle-people at least, and that's not saying a little for them!"
So the old gentleman growled to the little select circle round him,
enjoying himself meanwhile in the highest degree. Perhaps one of the
most gratifying results of his sojourn in Paris he could not have
explained, though at the same time he was, however unconsciously,
keenly sensible of it; it was that he had Gumble at his mercy. So
desolate, so bored, so completely used up was that great man, that he
looked forward to the time of his master's retiring for the night, and
getting up in the morning, as the only two happy periods in his
Parisian existence. All the toilet-ceremonies, before held by him in
deep disgust, were now lingered over with the utmost fondness, and
every scrap of gossip was brought forward in the chance of its
provoking a discussion, and protracting the period when the valet
should be again relegated to the company of the French and German
waiters and pert ladies'-maids, who scoffed at Gumble's old-fashioned
ways and stories. Of course there were other gentlemen's gentlemen
installed with their masters at Meurice's; but they were all much
younger than Gumble; and when their "governors" were not expected home
till late, beguiled the weary hours with pleasant dances at the Salle
Valentino, or suchlike resorts. But Gumble was a little too old, and
a great deal too insular, to enjoy these recreations. Once indeed he
had been persuaded into attending one of these public balls; but the
sight of his deep white choker, straight-brushed whiskers aid solemn
old mug, had such an effect on the dancers,--Jules utterly missing his
great bound in the _cavalier seul_, and Eulalie failing to touch her
_vis-à-vis_ shoulder with her toe in the _en avant deux_,--that he was
requested to confine his _tristesse_ to some other place; and as he
was really not amused, he willingly consented. So, after that, he
remained at Meurice's, generally sitting solitary in a crowd of
chattering French servants, beguiling the time sometimes by
speculating how long his master would live, and what he would leave
him at his death; whether a greengrocer's or a public-house would be
the most profitable business to undertake with Sir Marmaduke's legacy;
whether he could get any thing for the recipe of some wonderful
boot-varnish which he alone possessed; sometimes by reading a shilling
novel of fashionable life, or nodding dreamily over the _Times_ of the
previous day. One night, as he was attending his master to bed, he
brought forth a special bit of news which he had reserved.
"House full here, sir," said he, as he was mixing the old gentleman's
evening draught.
"Ah!" growled Sir Marmaduke. "God bless my soul, pack of people come
over by the rail devilish cheap, and all that sort of thing. Poor dear
old diligences kept the place dear; that was one comfort. Full, eh?
Any body I know?"
"Capting Currer, from the Forring Office, come in to-night, sir; saw
he had a white shammy-leather bag with him, sir--"
"Ah! Queen's messenger off to-morrow morning to Smyrna or Kamschatka,
or some infernal place. Any body else?"
"Miss Lexden come, sir; but we was full here, just full; so she have
gone next door to the Windsor, sir. Only Withers with her, sir; no one
else. Must miss Miss Barbara, sir--Mrs. Churchill, sir--I shouldn't
think, sir."
"What the devil business is it of yours? What right have you to think
about it? There now; be off! Good night."
"Bless my soul!" said the old gentleman, when he was left alone. "I'm
deuced glad Susan didn't get in here, or she'd have led me a pretty
life. I suppose I must call on her to-morrow morning. Deuced
unpleasant 'talk there'll be--Barbara, and all the rest of it. Poor
girl! Susan--too hard--come round at last;" and musing in this way Sir
Marmaduke fell asleep.
When, in the course of the next day, he called upon Miss Lexden, he
found that lady in the highest spirits. "I knew you were here, Sir
Marmaduke," said she. "I've had Cabanel here;--you recollect little
Cabanel? Spanish-looking little fellow with black eyes; was an attaché
when the Walewskis were in London; and he saw you at the duchess's
last week. You're going there to-morrow of course? How well you look!
that's the climate, you know, and the style of life; so much better
than in that wretched old island of ours."
"What news do you bring from that wretched old island of ours?" asked
the old gentleman.
"News? none; not a scrap, positively not a scrap; nobody in town, not
a soul. I didn't wait there above a day, but came through at once."
"You did not stop long enough to see the Churchills, I suppose?"
"The--eh? I beg your pardon, I did not catch the name."
"The Churchills."
"Churchills!" echoed Miss Lexden, with the greatest deliberation;
"Churchills! I have not the least idea who you mean."
"Ah!" said Sir Marmaduke, through his closed teeth. "No, of course
not; you don't recollect your own brother's child, even when there's
no one in town. If it had been in the season, I could not have
attempted to suggest any thing so horribly low; but I thought perhaps,
that when there was not a soul in town, as you said, you might have
thought of the girl who is of your blood, and who has been, as it
were, your daughter for ten years." And the old gentleman stamped his
stick on the floor, and looked fiercely across at his cousin.
"O--h!" said Miss Lexden, perfectly calmly. "I didn't follow you at
first; now I see. It seems strange to me that a man with your
knowledge of the world, Marmaduke Wentworth,--more especially with
your knowledge of me, derived in times past, when you had full
opportunity of making yourself acquainted with my character,--should
have imagined that I should for an instant have altered in my purpose
as regards my niece Barbara. What is there to induce me to swerve one
atom from--"
"What?" interrupted Sir Marmaduke; "What? Old age, Susan Lexden! You
and I are two old people, who ought to be thankful to have been left
here so long; and not to bear malice and all sorts of miserable hatred
in our old age, more especially to our own kindred. You're vexed with
Barbara, not unnaturally, as you'd set your heart upon seeing her
married to a rich man; but that's over now, and so make the best of
it. Her husband's a good fellow and a gentleman; so what more do you
want?"
"What more!" exclaimed the old lady; "what more! Freedom from this
style of conversation; permission to go my own way without comment or
impertinent suggestion. I use the adjective advisedly; I claim my
right to visit those whom I like, to ignore those whom I dislike,
without such remarks from those who I distinctly say have no right to
make them. And, however old I may be, I am not yet sufficiently in my
dotage to show affection, kindness, no, nor even recognition, to those
who have wilfully disregarded my desires."
So Sir Marmaduke retired worsted from the conflict, and contented
himself with writing a letter to Major Stone, bidding that worthy:
take the first opportunity of a visit to town to ascertain how
Churchill and Barbara were getting on.
* * * * *
Mr. Beresford, after leaving Bissett, went for a short visit to a
bachelor friend with a shooting-box in Norfolk; and after enjoying
some excellent sport, and nearly boring himself to death, in the
company of his host and a few hard-drinking sporting squires of the
neighbourhood, returned to town--to his lodgings in South Audley
Street, and to his daily routine of life. He did not at all dislike
London in the autumn, when he had no calls to make; when he could wear
out his old clothes; could smoke in the streets at any hour without
loss of dignity; could get a little quiet reading and a little quiet
play-going; and need not fear the admonitory missives of duns, who
concluded that all their customers were, or ought to be, out of town
at that dull season. Moreover, he had not spent all of the last two
hundred pounds he had borrowed, and had received his October quarter's
salary; so that, on the whole, he was in very good case, and came
smiling radiantly into Simnel's room on the first morning after his
return. Mr. Simnel, as usual, had a pile of papers before him; but he
pushed them aside at Beresford's entrance; rose up, welcomed him; and
placing his back against the mantelpiece, at once entered into
conversation.
"Well, Mr. Commissioner," he commenced; "so you've got back to the
hive, eh? and now I suppose you mean to remain and let one of the
other hard-worked members of the Board have a little rest, eh?"
"Yes," replied Beresford; "I'm a fixture now for a long time; I must
take to the collar, and stick to it; but you, old fellow,--do you mean
to say you've been here all this blessed time?"
"I've not moved away yet," said Simnel; "some one must do the work,
you know," he added with a meaning grin.
"Yes, I knew, of course; and a deuced hard grind you've had of it. But
you'll go away now, I suppose?"
"No; I shall run down to Leicestershire and get a little hunting next
month perhaps that is, if I can get away; and I might take a
fortnight in Paris at Christmas, just to avoid the 'God bless yous!'
and 'Happy years!' and other jackass congratulations, which I hate and
abominate."
"Genial creature!" said Beresford, regarding him with great
complacency "what's the news?"
"That's just what I should ask you," retorted Simnel; "there's no news
here. Sir Hickory has been to the Lakes, and 'my lady' was much
pleased with Ullswater; which is more, I should think, than Ullswater
was with 'my lady,' always supposing Ullswater to have any taste. Old
Peck has slept as much as usual but has not devoted as much time as he
generally does to his get-up, and has consequently been rather red and
rusty about his beard. O'Scanlon has been dying for your return, that
he may get away; and the men in the Office are just the same as ever.
Oh, by the way, I see that marriage has come off?"
"Which marriage?"
"That man Churchill, who was staying with you at old Wentworth's, has
married that dashing girl--what was her name--?--Lexden!"
"Yes; and the _other_ marriage has come off. Old Schröder is one flesh
now with Miss Townshend; that's a nice thing to think of, isn't it?"
"Ay, I heard of that too; saw it in the paper of course; but beyond
that, one of the young fellows here, Pringle, had cards; he's a
connexion, or something of the sort."
"Yes; they've taken a thundering big house in Saxe-Coburg Square,--in
the new South-Kensington district, you know,--and are coming out
heavily. There's a dinner there on Thursday, to which I'm asked; and a
reception afterwards. It's a bad time of year; but there _may_ be some
new fillies trotted out, you know."
"Ah! you've done nothing more in that matter, I suppose? no one on
hand just now! no combination of money and beauty, as Jack Palmer
says, when he rides with Schwarzchild into the City?"
"None! I've had no chance; but I should think this wouldn't be a bad
opening. They are a tremendously well-tinned set at Schröder's; and
he's safe to ask no women who are not enormously ingotted. With such
girls, unaccustomed to any thing but what was Paddington and is now
Tyburnia, one might have a chance, for they've seen nothing decent
yet, you know. Your stock-brokering gent is a hopeless beast!" And Mr.
Beresford shrugged his shoulders, and then looked down at his feet, as
though Capel Court lay beneath them.
"You're going to the dinner?" asked Simnel.
"Going, my dear fellow! if you had been staying for the last month, as
I have, with Jim Coverdale, you wouldn't ask the question. No better
fellow than Jim breathes, and there's always capital sport to be got
at his place; but the cooking is something indescribably atrocious.
One always feels inclined, when he asks you what you'd like for
dinner, to use the old _mot_, and say, '_Chez vous, monsieur, on
mange, mais on ne dîne pas_.' After a month's experience of
Coverdale's cook, I am looking forward with eager anticipation to the
performances of such an artist as Schröder will probably employ."
"I should think," said Mr. Simnel, after a minute's pause--"I should
think it probable that Mr. Townshend will be there."
"First dinner after his daughter's marriage," said Beresford. "Duty,
by Jove Of course he will."
"If he is there, I want you to do me a favour," said Simnel, quietly.
"And that is--?" asked Beresford, in whose ears the word 'favour'
always rang with a peculiar knell.
"A very slight one, and involving very little trouble to you; else,
you may take your oath, I know you too well to expect you'd grant it,"
said Simnel, with some asperity. "No! I merely want you, in the course
of conversation, and when you have fully secured Mr. Townshend's
attention, to introduce, no matter how, the name of a firm--Pigott and
Wells."
"Pigott and Wells!" repeated Beresford, mechanically.
"Pigott and Wells. Should he ask you any thing farther, you will
remember that it is the name of a cotton firm in Combcardingham; and
take care that it fits into your story. That's all!"
"It won't get me into any row, will it?" asked the cautious
commissioner; "you're such a tremendously sly old _diplomate_, such an
infernal old Machiavel, that I am always afraid of your getting me
into a mess."
"Sweet innocent! you need not fear. There's no harm in the name. Of
course, it depends upon yourself how you bring it in."
And Mr. Beresford, with a vivid recollection of owing eight hundred
pounds to Mr. Simnel, undertook the commission.
About the same time Mr. Schröder's domestic arrangements were being
discussed under the same roof, in No. 120.
"What are you going to do on Thursday night, Jim?" asked Mr. Pringle
of Mr. Prescott.
"Nothing," said Mr. Prescott.
"Then don't," said Mr. Pringle. "It don't answer and it don't pay.
I've got a card for a party in Saxe-Coburg Square, and I'll take you
if you like to come."
"But I don't like to come. I'm sick of all your parties, with the same
grinning and bowing nonsense, the same bosh talked, the same wretched
routine from first to last. Who are the people?"
"Now, what a duffer you are!" said Mr. Pringle; "first you declaim in
the strongest virtuous indignation against all parties, and then you
ask who the people are! Well; they are connexions of mine. Old
Townshend, my godfather, who's an old beast, and who never gave me any
thing except a tip of half-a-crown once when I was going to school,
has married his daughter--deuced pretty girl she is too--to a no-end
rich City party--Schröder by name. And Mrs. Schröder is 'at home' on
Thursday evening, 'small and early;' and I've got a card, and can take
you. There's a dinner-party first, I hear, but I'm not asked to that."
"What a pity!" said Prescott; "your true philosopher only goes to
dinners. Balls and receptions are well enough when one is very young;
but they soon pall. There is in them an insincere glitter, a spurious
charm, which--"
"Yes, thank ye," interrupted Mr. Pringle; "for which see _Pelham
passim_, or the collected works of the late Lord Byron. Much obliged;
but I subscribe to Mudie's; and would sooner read the sentiments in
the original authors. What I want to know is, whether you'll come?"
"No, then."
"Yes, you will. I know you, you old idiot, and all the reason for your
moping,--as though that would advance the cause one bit. Yes, you
will. We'll dine at Simpson's; have a quiet weed in my chambers; dress
there; and go into the vortex together."