A TEA-PARTY.
Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round;
And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups
That cheer, but not inebriate, wait on each,
Thus let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Cowper's _Task_.
The approach of the cold and rainy season had now so far thinned the
company at the Well, that, in order to secure the necessary degree of
crowd upon her tea-nights, Lady Penelope was obliged to employ some
coaxing towards those whom she had considered as much under par in
society. Even the Doctor and Mrs. Blower were graciously smiled
upon--for their marriage was now an arranged affair; and the event was
of a nature likely to spread the reputation of the Spa among wealthy
widows, and medical gentlemen of more skill than practice. So in they
came, the Doctor smirking, gallanting, and performing all the bustling
parade of settled and arranged courtship, with much of that grace
wherewith a turkey-cock goes through the same ceremony. Old Touchwood
had also attended her ladyship's summons, chiefly, it may be supposed,
from his restless fidgety disposition, which seldom suffered him to
remain absent even from those places of resort of which he usually
professed his detestation. There was, besides, Mr. Winterblossom, who,
in his usual spirit of quiet epicurism and self-indulgence, was, under
the fire of a volley of compliments to Lady Penelope, scheming to secure
for himself an early cup of tea. There was Lady Binks also, with the
wonted degree of sullenness in her beautiful face, angry at her husband
as usual, and not disposed to be pleased with Lord Etherington for being
absent, when she desired to excite Sir Bingo's jealousy. This she had
discovered to be the most effectual way of tormenting the Baronet, and
she rejoiced in it with the savage glee of a hackney coachman, who has
found a _raw_, where he can make his poor jade feel the whip. The rest
of the company were also in attendance as usual. MacTurk himself was
present, notwithstanding that he thought it an egregious waste of hot
water, to bestow it upon compounding any mixture saving punch. He had of
late associated himself a good deal with the traveller; not that they by
any means resembled each other in temper or opinions, but rather because
there was that degree of difference betwixt them which furnished
perpetual subject for dispute and discussion. They were not long, on the
present occasion, ere they lighted on a fertile source of controversy.
"Never tell me of your points of honour," said Touchwood, raising his
voice altogether above the general tone of polite conversation--"all
humbug, Captain MacTurk--mere hair-traps to springe woodcocks--men of
sense break through them."
"Upon my word, sir," said the Captain, "and myself is surprised to hear
you--for, look you, sir, every man's honour is the breath of his
nostrils--Cot tamn!"
"Then, let men breathe through their mouths, and be d--d," returned the
controversialist. "I tell you, sir, that, besides its being forbidden,
both by law and gospel, it's an idiotical and totally absurd practice,
that of duelling. An honest savage has more sense than to practise
it--he takes his bow or his gun, as the thing may be, and shoots his
enemy from behind a bush. And a very good way; for you see there can, in
that case, be only one man's death between them."
"Saul of my body, sir," said the Captain, "gin ye promulgate sic
doctrines amang the good company, it's my belief you will bring somebody
to the gallows."
"Thank ye, Captain, with all my heart; but I stir up no quarrels--I
leave war to them that live by it. I only say, that, except our old,
stupid ancestors in the north-west here, I know no country so silly as
to harbour this custom of duelling. It is unknown in Africa, among the
negroes--in America."
"Don't tell me that," said the Captain; "a Yankee will fight with
muskets and buck-shot, rather than sit still with an affront. I should
know Jonathan, I think."
"Altogether unknown among the thousand tribes of India."
"I'll be tamned, then!" said Captain MacTurk. "Was I not in Tippoo's
prison at Bangalore? and, when the joyful day of our liberation came,
did we not solemnize it with fourteen little affairs, whereof we had
been laying the foundation in our house of captivity, as holy writ has
it, and never went farther to settle them than the glacis of the fort?
By my soul, you would have thought there was a smart skirmish, the
firing was so close; and did not I, Captain MacTurk, fight three of them
myself, without moving my foot from the place I set it on?"
"And pray, sir, what might be the result of this Christian mode of
giving thanks for your deliverance?" demanded Mr. Touchwood.
"A small list of casualties, after all," said the Captain; "one killed
on the spot, one died of his wounds--two wounded severely--three ditto
slightly, and little Duncan Macphail reported missing. We were out of
practice, after such long confinement. So you see how we manage matters
in India, my dear friend."
"You are to understand," replied Touchwood, "that I spoke only of the
heathen natives, who, heathen as they are, live in the light of their
own moral reason, and among whom ye shall therefore see better examples
of practical morality than among such as yourselves; who, though calling
yourselves Christians, have no more knowledge of the true acceptation
and meaning of your religion, than if you had left your Christianity at
the Cape of Good Hope, as they say of you, and forgot to take it up when
you come back again."
"Py Cot! and I can tell you, sir," said the Captain, elevating at once
his voice and his nostrils, and snuffing the air with a truculent and
indignant visage, "that I will not permit you or any man to throw any
such scandal on my character.--I thank Cot, I can bring good witness
that I am as good a Christian as another, for a poor sinner, as the best
of us are; and I am ready to justify my religion with my sword--Cot
tamn!--Compare my own self with a parcel of black heathen bodies and
natives, that were never in the inner side of a kirk whilst they lived,
but go about worshipping stocks and stones, and swinging themselves upon
bamboos, like peasts, as they are!"
An indignant growling in his throat, which sounded like the
acquiescence of his inward man in the indignant proposition which his
external organs thus expressed, concluded this haughty speech, which,
however, made not the least impression on Touchwood, who cared as little
for angry tones and looks as he did for fine speeches. So that it is
likely a quarrel between the Christian preceptor and the peacemaker
might have occurred for the amusement of the company, had not the
attention of both, but particularly that of Touchwood, been diverted
from the topic of debate by the entrance of Lord Etherington and
Mowbray.
The former was, as usual, all grace, smiles, and gentleness. Yet,
contrary to his wonted custom, which usually was, after a few general
compliments, to attach himself particularly to Lady Binks, the Earl, on
the present occasion, avoided the side of the room on which that
beautiful but sullen idol held her station, and attached himself
exclusively to Lady Penelope Penfeather, enduring, without flinching,
the strange variety of conceited _bavardage_, which that lady's natural
parts and acquired information enabled her to pour forth with
unparalleled profusion.
An honest heathen, one of Plutarch's heroes, if I mistake not,[II-E]
dreamed once upon a night, that the figure of Proserpina, whom he had
long worshipped, visited his slumbers with an angry and vindictive
countenance, and menaced him with vengeance, in resentment of his having
neglected her altars, with the usual fickleness of a polytheist, for
those of some more fashionable divinity. Not that goddess of the
infernal regions herself could assume a more haughty or more displeased
countenance than that with which Lady Binks looked from time to time
upon Lord Etherington, as if to warn him of the consequence of this
departure from the allegiance which the young Earl had hitherto
manifested towards her, and which seemed now, she knew not why, unless
it were for the purpose of public insult, to be transferred to her
rival. Perilous as her eye-glances were, and much as they menaced, Lord
Etherington felt at this moment the importance of soothing Lady Penelope
to silence on the subject of the invalid's confession of that morning,
to be more pressing than that of appeasing the indignation of Lady
Binks. The former was a case of the most urgent necessity--the latter,
if he was at all anxious on the subject, might, he perhaps thought, be
trusted to time. Had the ladies continued on a tolerable footing
together, he might have endeavoured to conciliate both. But the
bitterness of their long-suppressed feud had greatly increased, now that
it was probable the end of the season was to separate them, in all
likelihood for ever; so that Lady Penelope had no longer any motive for
countenancing Lady Binks, or the lady of Sir Bingo for desiring Lady
Penelope's countenance. The wealth and lavish expense of the one was no
longer to render more illustrious the suit of her right honourable
friend, nor was the society of Lady Penelope likely to be soon again
useful or necessary to Lady Binks. So that neither were any longer
desirous to suppress symptoms of the mutual contempt and dislike which
they had long nourished for each other; and whoever should, in this
decisive hour, take part with one, had little henceforward to expect
from her rival. What farther and more private reasons Lady Binks might
have to resent the defection of Lord Etherington, have never come with
certainty to our knowledge; but it was said there had been high words
between them on the floating report that his lordship's visits to
Shaws-Castle were dictated by the wish to find a bride there.
Women's wits are said to be quick in spying the surest means of avenging
a real or supposed slight. After biting her pretty lips, and revolving
in her mind the readiest means of vengeance, fate threw in her way young
Mowbray of St. Ronan's. She looked at him, and endeavoured to fix his
attention with a nod and gracious smile, such as in an ordinary mood
would have instantly drawn him to her side. On receiving in answer only
a vacant glance and a bow, she was led to observe him more attentively,
and was induced to believe, from his wavering look, varying complexion,
and unsteady step, that he had been drinking unusually deep. Still his
eye was less that of an intoxicated than of a disturbed and desperate
man, one whose faculties were engrossed by deep and turbid reflection,
which withdrew him from the passing scene.
"Do you observe how ill Mr. Mowbray looks?" said she, in a loud
whisper; "I hope he has not heard what Lady Penelope was just now saying
of his family?"
"Unless he hears it from you, my lady," answered Mr. Touchwood, who,
upon Mowbray's entrance, had broken off his discourse with MacTurk, "I
think there is little chance of his learning it from any other person."
"What is the matter?" said Mowbray, sharply, addressing Chatterly and
Winterblossom; but the one shrunk nervously from the question,
protesting, he indeed had not been precisely attending to what had been
passing among the ladies, and Winterblossom bowed out of the scrape with
quiet and cautious politeness--"he really had not given particular
attention to what was passing--I was negotiating with Mrs. Jones for an
additional lump of sugar to my coffee.--Egad, it was so difficult a
piece of diplomacy," he added, sinking his voice, "that I have an idea
her ladyship calculates the West India produce by grains and
pennyweights."
The innuendo, if designed to make Mowbray smile, was far from
succeeding. He stepped forward, with more than usual stiffness in his
air, which was never entirely free from self-consequence, and said to
Lady Binks, "May I request to know of your ladyship what particular
respecting my family had the honour to engage the attention of the
company?"
"I was only a listener, Mr. Mowbray," returned Lady Binks, with evident
enjoyment of the rising indignation which she read in his countenance;
"not being queen of the night, I am not at all disposed to be answerable
for the turn of the conversation."
Mowbray, in no humour to bear jesting, yet afraid to expose himself by
farther enquiry in a company so public, darted a fierce look at Lady
Penelope, then in close conversation with Lord Etherington,--advanced a
step or two towards them,--then, as if checking himself, turned on his
heel, and left the room. A few minutes afterwards, and when certain
satirical nods and winks were circulating among the assembly, a waiter
slid a piece of paper into Mrs. Jones's hand, who, on looking at the
contents, seemed about to leave the room.
"Jones--Jones!" exclaimed Lady Penelope, in surprise and displeasure.
"Only the key of the tea-caddie, your ladyship," answered Jones; "I will
be back in an instant."
"Jones--Jones!" again exclaimed her mistress, "here is enough"--of tea,
she would have said; but Lord Etherington was so near her, that she was
ashamed to complete the sentence, and had only hope in Jones's quickness
of apprehension, and the prospect that she would be unable to find the
key which she went in search of.
Jones, meanwhile, tripped off to a sort of housekeeper's apartment, of
which she was _locum tenens_ for the evening, for the more ready supply
of whatever might be wanted on Lady Penelope's night, as it was called.
Here she found Mr. Mowbray of St. Ronan's, whom she instantly began to
assail with, "La! now, Mr. Mowbray, you are such another gentleman!--I
am sure you will make me lose my place--I'll swear you will--what can
you have to say, that you could not as well put off for an hour?"
"I want to know, Jones," answered Mowbray, in a different tone, perhaps,
from what the damsel expected, "what your lady was just now saying about
my family."
"Pshaw!--was that all?" answered Mrs. Jones. "What should she be
saying?--nonsense--Who minds what she says?--I am sure I never do, for
one."
"Nay, but, my dear Jones," said Mowbray, "I insist upon knowing--I must
know, and I _will_ know."
"La! Mr. Mowbray, why should I make mischief?--As I live, I hear some
one coming! and if you were found speaking with me here--indeed, indeed,
some one is coming!"
"The devil may come, if he will!" said Mowbray, "but we do not part,
pretty mistress, till you tell me what I wish to know."
"Lord, sir, you frighten me!" answered Jones; "but all the room heard it
as well as I--it was about Miss Mowbray--and that my lady would be shy
of her company hereafter--for that she was--she was"----
"For that my sister was _what_?" said Mowbray, fiercely, seizing her
arm.
"Lord, sir, you terrify me!" said Jones, beginning to cry; "at any rate,
it was not I that said it--it was Lady Penelope."
"And what was it the old, adder-tongued madwoman dared to say of Clara
Mowbray?--Speak out plainly, and directly, or, by Heaven, I'll make
you!"
"Hold, sir--hold, for God's sake!--you will break my arm," answered the
terrified handmaiden. "I am sure I know no harm of Miss Mowbray; only,
my lady spoke as if she was no better than she ought to be.--Lord, sir,
there is some one listening at the door!"--and making a spring out of
his grasp, she hastened back to the room in which the company were
assembled.
Mowbray stood petrified at the news he had heard, ignorant alike what
could be the motive for a calumny so atrocious, and uncertain what he
were best do to put a stop to the scandal. To his farther confusion, he
was presently convinced of the truth of Mrs. Jones's belief that they
had been watched, for, as he went to the door of the apartment, he was
met by Mr. Touchwood.
"What has brought you here, sir?" said Mowbray, sternly.
"Hoitie toitie," answered the traveller, "why, how came _you_ here, if
you go to that, squire?--Egad, Lady Penelope is trembling for her
souchong, so I just took a step here to save her ladyship the trouble of
looking after Mrs. Jones in person, which, I think, might have been a
worse interruption than mine, Mr. Mowbray."
"Pshaw, sir, you talk nonsense," said Mowbray; "the tea-room is so
infernally hot, that I had sat down here a moment to draw breath, when
the young woman came in."
"And you are going to run away, now the old gentleman is come in?" said
Touchwood--"Come, sir, I am more your friend than you may think."
"Sir, you are intrusive--I want nothing that you can give me," said
Mowbray.
"That is a mistake," answered the senior; "for I can supply you with
what most young men want--money and wisdom."
"You will do well to keep both till they are wanted," said Mowbray.
"Why, so I would, squire, only that I have taken something of a fancy
for your family; and they are supposed to have wanted cash and good
counsel for two generations, if not for three."
"Sir," said Mowbray, angrily, "you are too old either to play the
buffoon, or to get buffoon's payment."
"Which is like monkey's allowance, I suppose," said the traveller, "more
kicks than halfpence.--Well--at least I am not young enough to quarrel
with boys for bullying. I'll convince you, however, Mr. Mowbray, that I
know some more of your affairs than what you give me credit for."
"It may be," answered Mowbray, "but you will oblige me more by minding
your own."
"Very like; meantime, your losses to-night to my Lord Etherington are no
trifle, and no secret neither."
"Mr. Touchwood, I desire to know where you had your information?" said
Mowbray.
"A matter of very little consequence compared to its truth or falsehood,
Mr. Mowbray," answered the old gentleman.
"But of the last importance to me, sir," said Mowbray. "In a word, had
you such information by or through means of Lord Etherington?--Answer me
this single question, and then I shall know better what to think on the
subject."
"Upon my honour," said Touchwood, "I neither had my information from
Lord Etherington directly nor indirectly. I say thus much to give you
satisfaction, and I now expect you will hear me with patience."
"Forgive me, sir," interrupted Mowbray, "one farther question. I
understand something was said in disparagement of my sister just as I
entered the tea-room?"
"Hem--hem--hem!" said Touchwood, hesitating. "I am sorry your ears have
served you so well--something there _was_ said lightly, something that
can be easily explained, I dare say;--And now, Mr. Mowbray, let me speak
a few serious words with you."
"And now, Mr. Touchwood, we have no more to say to each other--good
evening to you."
He brushed past the old man, who in vain endeavoured to stop him, and,
hurrying to the stable, demanded his horse. It was ready saddled, and
waited his orders; but even the short time that was necessary to bring
it to the door of the stable was exasperating to Mowbray's impatience.
Not less exasperating was the constant interceding voice of Touchwood,
who, in tones alternately plaintive and snappish, kept on a string of
expostulations.
"Mr. Mowbray, only five words with you--Mr. Mowbray, you will repent
this--Is this a night to ride in, Mr. Mowbray?--My stars, sir, if you
would but have five minutes' patience!"
Curses, not loud but deep, muttered in the throat of the impatient
laird, were the only reply, until his horse was brought out, when,
staying no farther question, he sprung into the saddle. The poor horse
paid for the delay, which could not be laid to his charge. Mowbray
struck him hard with his spurs so soon as he was in his seat--the noble
animal reared, bolted, and sprung forward like a deer, over stock and
stone, the nearest road--and we are aware it was a rough one--to
Shaws-Castle. There is a sort of instinct by which horses perceive the
humour of their riders, and are furious and impetuous, or dull and
sluggish, as if to correspond with it; and Mowbray's gallant steed
seemed on this occasion to feel all the stings of his master's internal
ferment, although not again urged with the spur. The ostler stood
listening to the clash of the hoofs, succeeding each other in thick and
close gallop, until they died away in the distant woodland.
"If St. Ronan's reach home this night, with his neck unbroken," muttered
the fellow, "the devil must have it in keeping."
"Mercy on us!" said the traveller, "he rides like a Bedouin Arab! but in
the desert there are neither trees to cross the road, nor cleughs, nor
linns, nor floods, nor fords. Well, I must set to work myself, or this
gear will get worse than even I can mend.--Here you, ostler, let me have
your best pair of horses instantly to Shaws-Castle."
"To Shaws-Castle, sir?" said the man, with some surprise.
"Yes--do you not know such a place?"
"In troth, sir, sae few company go there, except on the great ball day,
that we have had time to forget the road to it--but St. Ronan's was
here even now, sir."
"Ay, what of that?--he has ridden on to get supper ready--so, turn out
without loss of time."
"At your pleasure, sir," said the fellow, and called to the postilion
accordingly.