THE AUNT.
Albert Egerton now became the constant companion of the fashionable
acquaintances whom he had accidentally picked up—or rather, who had
cunningly picked up _him_.
He dined with them at Long's;—he formed with them parties to eat fish at
Greenwich and Blackwall;—he became a member of Crockford's;—and every
day he lost considerable sums to them in one shape of gambling or
another.
They had ascertained that he was possessed, on coming of age a few weeks
previously, of the handsome fortune of sixty thousand pounds; and they
determined to appropriate the best portion of it to their own uses.
The Honourable Colonel Cholmondeley most obligingly acted as his Mentor
in the choice of magnificent furnished apartments in Stratton
Street;—Lord Dunstable was kind enough to purchase two thorough-breds
for him, the price being _only_ eight hundred guineas—a little
transaction by which his lordship quietly pocketed three hundred as his
own commission;—Mr. Chichester thought it no trouble to select a rare
assortment of wines at one of the most fashionable merchants of the West
End, and actually carried his good-nature so far as to see them
carefully stowed away in the young dupe's cellar;—and Sir Rupert
Harborough generously surrendered to him his cast-off mistress.
The four friends also conceived so violent an attachment towards Mr.
Egerton, that they never lost sight of him. They managed matters so well
that he had no time for compunctious reflections; for they invariably
made him drunk ere they took him home to his bed; and when he awoke in
the morning, the obliging Mr. Chichester was sure to be already there to
give him sherry and soda-water.
Then Harborough would drop in to breakfast; and while Egerton was
performing the duties of the toilette, Dunstable and Cholmondeley were
sure to make their appearance.
Perhaps Egerton would complain of headach.
"Don't talk of headach, my dear fellow," Lord Dunstable exclaimed: "you
were quite sober last night in comparison with me. My losses were
terrific! A thousand to Cholmondeley—fifteen hundred to Chichester—and
double as much to Harborough."
"It is very strange that I seldom win any thing," observed Egerton on
one of these occasions: "and yet we can't all lose. Some one must be the
gainer."
"Every one has his turn, my dear boy," cried Harborough. "But what shall
we do to-day? Any thing going on at Tattersall's, Colonel?"
"Nothing particular," was the reply, lazily delivered. "Suppose we have
some claret and cigars for an hour or two, and then play a rub of
billiards till dinner-time. Of course we all dine together this
evening."
"Oh! of course," chimed in Lord Dunstable. "What do you think the Duke
of Highgate said of us all yesterday, Egerton?"
"I know not what he could have said of you," was the answer; "but I am
sure he could have said nothing of me—for he cannot be aware that there
is such a person in existence."
"Nonsense, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Dunstable: "you are as well known
now in the fashionable world as any one of us. Every body is speaking of
you; and it will be your own fault if you do not marry an heiress. We
must introduce you at Almack's in due course. But I was speaking about
my friend the Duke. His Grace met me yesterday as I was on my way to
join you all at the Clarendon: and when I told him where I was going, he
said with a laugh, 'Ah! I call you five the _Inseparables_!'—and away he
went."
Egerton was profoundly gratified with the absurd flattery thus
constantly poured in his ear; and as he really possessed a handsome
person, he saw no difficulty in carrying out the idea of marrying an
heiress.
And this same belief has proved fatal to thousands and thousands of
young men placed in the same situation as Albert Egerton. They pursue a
career of reckless extravagance and dissipation, buoying themselves up
with the hope that when their present resources shall have passed away,
it will be the easiest thing possible to rebuild their fortunes by means
of marriage.
A month slipped away, and Egerton found himself on intimate terms with
many "men about town"—one of the most popular members at Crockford's—a
great favourite in certain titled but not over-particular families,
where there were portionless daughters to "get off," and at whose house
Lord Dunstable enjoyed the _entrée_—and the pride and delight (as he
believed) of his four dear friends who had done so much for him!
And sure enough they had done a great deal in his behalf; for he had
already sold out twenty thousand pounds, or one third of his entire
fortune; but he was purposely kept in such an incessant whirl of
excitement, pleasure, dissipation, and bustle, that he had no time for
reflection.
One morning—it was about eleven o'clock—the young man awoke with aching
head and feverish pulse, after the usual night's debauch; and it
happened that none of his dear friends had yet arrived.
Egerton rang the bell for some white wine and soda-water to assuage the
burning thirst which oppressed him; and when his livery-boy, or "tiger,"
appeared with the refreshing beverage, the young rake learnt that a lady
was waiting to see him in the drawing-room.
"A lady!" exclaimed Egerton: "who the deuce can she be?"
"She is a stout, elderly lady, sir," said the tiger.
"And did she give no name?" inquired Egerton, beginning to suspect who
his visitor was.
"No, sir," was the answer. "I assured her that you were not up yet, and
that you never received any one at so early an hour; but she declared
that you would see _her_; and I was obliged to show her into the
drawing-room."
"Ah! it must be my aunt, then!" muttered Egerton to himself. "Bring me
up some hot-water this minute, you young rascal:"—fashionable upstarts
always vent their annoyances upon their servants;—"and then go and tell
the lady that I will be with her in five minutes."
The tiger disappeared—returned with the hot-water—and then departed once
more, to execute the latter portion of his master's orders.
Egerton felt truly wretched and ashamed of himself when he surveyed his
pale cheeks and haggard eyes in the glass, and thought of the course
which he had lately been pursuing. But then he remembered the flattery
of his fashionable friends, and soothed his remorseful feelings by the
idea that he was on intimate terms with all the "best men about town,"
was a member of Crockford's, and had the _entrée_ of several families of
distinction.
Moreover, when he was shaved and washed,—oiled and perfumed,—and attired
in a clean shirt, black trousers, red morocco slippers, and an elegant
dressing-gown, his appearance was so much more satisfactory to himself
that he felt quite equal to the task of encountering his relative.
He accordingly proceeded, with a smile upon his lips and an easy
unconstrained manner, to the drawing-room, where a respectable,
motherly-looking, stout old lady was anxiously awaiting him.
"My dear Albert," she exclaimed, as he entered the apartment, "what have
you been doing with yourself this last month, that you never come near
us—no, not even on Sundays, as you used to do?"
And, while she spoke, the good-natured woman made a motion as if she
were anxious to embrace her nephew; but he—well aware that it is
improper to give way to one's feelings in the fashionable
world—retreated a step or two, and graciously allowed his aunt to shake
the tip of his fore-finger.
"Lor, Albert, how strange you are!" exclaimed the baffled relative. "But
do tell me," she continued, quietly resuming her seat, "what you _have_
been doing with yourself. Why did you leave your nice little lodging in
Budge Row? why do you never come near us? why have you moved up into
this part of the town? and why didn't you even write to tell us where
you was living? If it hadn't been for Storks, your stock-broker, I
shouldn't have known how to find you out; but he gave me your address."
"Storks!" murmured Egerton, turning very pale. "Did he tell you—any
thing——"
"Oh! yes," continued the aunt, speaking with great volubility; "he told
me that you had sold out a power of money;—but when he saw that I was
annoyed, he assured me that it could only be for some good purpose. And
it is so, Albert dear—isn't it?"
"Certainly—to be sure, aunt—Oh! certainly," stammered the young man, as
he glanced uneasily towards the door.
"Well, now—I am glad of that, Albert," said the old lady, apparently
relieved of a serious misgiving. "I said to your eldest cousin Susannah
Rachel, says I, '_Albert is a good young man—quiet—steady—and firm in
his resolve to follow in the footsteps of his dear lamented
father_':—here the aunt wiped her eyes;—'_and_,' says I, '_if he has
sold out fifteen or twenty thousand pounds, depend, upon it he has
bought a nice snug little estate; and he means to surprise us all by
asking us to dine with him some Sunday at his country-house._' Am I
right, Albert dear?"
"Oh! quite right, aunt," exclaimed the young man, overjoyed to find that
his dissipated courses were unknown to his relatives. "And that was the
reason why I did not go near you—nor yet write to you. But have a little
patience—and, in a few weeks, I promise you and my cousins a pleasant
day——"
"Well, well—I don't want to penetrate into your little secrets, you
know," interrupted the aunt. "But how late you get up. Why, it is near
twelve, I declare; and I rose this morning before day-light."
"I was detained last evening——"
"Ah! by your man of business, no doubt," cried the voluble old lady.
"Many papers to read over and sign—contracts to make—leases to
consider—deeds to study—Oh! I understand it all; and I am delighted,
Albert, to find you so prudent."
"It is quite necessary, my dear aunt," said Egerton, in a hurried and
nervous tone, for a thundering double-knock at that moment reverberated
through the house. "But I am afraid—that is, I think—some one is coming,
who——"
"Oh! never mind me, dear Al," observed the old lady. "I shall just rest
myself for half an hour or so, before I take the omnibus back to the
Pavement."
"Certainly, my dear aunt—but——"
The door opened; and Lord Dunstable entered the room.
"Ah! my dear Egerton!" he exclaimed, rushing forward, with out-stretched
hand, to greet his young friend: but, perceiving the lady, who had risen
from the sofa, he stopped short, and bowed to her with distant
politeness—for it struck him at the moment that she might be a
washerwoman, or the mother of Egerton's servant, or a shirt-maker, or
some such kind of person.
"How d'ye do, sir?" said the aunt, in acknowledgment of the bow; and,
resuming her seat, she observed, "I find it very warm for the time of
year. But then I was scrooged up in an omnibus for near an hour—all
packed as close as herrings in a barrel; and that's not pleasant—is it,
sir?"
"By no means, madam," answered Dunstable, in a cold tone; while Egerton
bit his lips—at a loss what to do.
"Well—it is _not_ pleasant," continued the garrulous lady. "And now,
when I think of it, I have a call to make in Aldgate to-day; and so,
when I leave here, I shall take a Whitechapel 'bus. Nasty place that
Aldgate, sir?"
"Really, madam, I never heard of it until now," said Lord Dunstable,
with marvellous stiffness of manner.
"Never heard of Aldgate, sir?" literally shouted the lady. "Why, you
must be very green in London, then."
"I know no place east of Temple Bar, madam," was the cold reply. "I am
aware that there _are_ human habitations on the other side; and I could
perhaps find my way to the Bank—but nothing more, madam, I can assure
you."
And he turned towards Egerton, who was pretending to look out of the
window.
"Well—I never!" exclaimed the lady, now eyeing the nobleman with
sovereign contempt.
"My dear aunt," said Egerton, desperately resolved to put an end if
possible to this awkward scene; "allow me to introduce my friend Lord
Dunstable: Lord Dunstable—Mrs. Bustard."
"Oh! delighted at the honour!" cried the nobleman, instantly conquering
his surprise at this announcement of the relationship existing between
his young friend and the vulgar lady who complained of having been
"scrooged up in an omnibus:"—"proud, madam, to form your acquaintance!"
And his features instantly beamed with smiles—a relaxation from his
former chilling manner, which appeared like a sudden transition from the
north pole to the tropics.
On her side, the aunt had started up from the sofa, quite electrified by
the mention of the magic words—"LORD DUNSTABLE;" and there she stood,
cruelly embarrassed, and bobbing up and down in a rapid series of
curtseys at every word which the nobleman addressed to her. For this was
the first time in her life that she had ever exchanged a syllable with a
Lord, unless it were with a Lord Mayor on one or two occasions—but that
was only "cakes and gingerbread" in comparison with the excitement of
forming the acquaintance of a real Lord whose title was not the
temporary splendour of a single year.
"I really must apologise, my dear madam," said the nobleman, now
speaking in the most amiable manner possible, "for having affected ere
now not to know anything of the City. I cannot fancy how I could have
been so foolish. As for the Mansion House, it is the finest building in
the world; and Lombard Street is the very focus of attraction. With
Aldgate I am well acquainted; and a pleasant spot it is, too. The
butchers' shops in the neighbourhood must be quite healthy for
consumptive people. Then you have Whitechapel, madam;—fine—wide—and
open: the Commercial Road—delightful proof of the industry of this great
city;—and, best of all, there is the Albion in Aldersgate Street,—where,
by the by, Egerton," he added, turning towards his friend, "we will all
dine to-day, if you like."
"Oh! yes—certainly," said Egerton, smiling faintly.
But Dunstable was too good a judge to show that he even perceived the
honest vulgarity of his friend's aunt: he accordingly seated himself
near her upon the sofa, and rattled away, in the most amiable manner
possible, upon the delights of the City. He then listened with great
apparent interest to the long story which the old lady told him,—how she
kept a haberdashery warehouse on the Pavement, and did a very tidy
business,—how she had five daughters all "well-edicated gals as could
be, and which was Albert's own first cousins,"—how her late husband had
once been nearly an alderman and quite a sheriff,—how she and her
deceased partner dined with the Lord Mayor "seven years ago come next
November,"—how she had been lately plundered of three hundred pounds'
worth of goods by a French Marchioness, who turned out to be an English
swindler,—and how she strongly suspected that young Tedworth Jones, the
only son of the great tripe-man in Bishopsgate Street Without, was
making up to her third daughter, Clarissa Jemima.
To all this, we say, Lord Dunstable listened with the deepest interest;
and, at the conclusion, he expressed a hope that if the anticipated
match did come off between Mr. Tedworth Jones and Miss Clarissa Jemima
Bustard, he should have the honour of receiving an invitation on the
happy occasion.
Even Egerton himself was rendered more comfortable by the distinguished
politeness with which his aunt was treated; but he was not the less
delighted when she rose and took her departure.
As soon as the door was shut behind her, Dunstable hastened to observe,
"There goes an estimable woman—I can vouch for it! What would England's
commerce be without such industrious, plodding, intelligent persons as
your aunt? Egerton, my boy, you ought to be proud of her—as I am of her
acquaintance. But there is Chichester's knock, I'll swear!"
In a few moments the gentleman alluded to made his appearance; and the
scene with the aunt was soon forgotten.
The day was passed in the usual profitless manner; and the greater
portion of the night following was spent in gaming and debauchery.