Produced by Les Bowler
THE BEDFORD-ROW CONSPIRACY
By William Makepeace Thackeray
Contents.
I. Of the loves of Mr. Perkins and Miss Gorgon, and of the two
great factions in the town of Oldborough.
II. Shows how the plot began to thicken in or about Bedford Row.
III. Behind the scenes.
Note:
A story of Charles de Bernard furnished the plot of
“The Bedford-Row Conspiracy.”
THE BEDFORD-ROW CONSPIRACY
CHAPTER I.
OF THE LOVES OF MR. PERKINS AND MISS GORGON, AND OF THE TWO GREAT
FACTIONS IN THE TOWN OF OLDBOROUGH.
“My dear John,” cried Lucy, with a very wise look indeed, “it must and
shall be so. As for Doughty Street, with our means, a house is out of
the question. We must keep three servants, and Aunt Biggs says the taxes
are one-and-twenty pounds a year.”
“I have seen a sweet place at Chelsea,” remarked John: “Paradise Row,
No. 17,--garden--greenhouse--fifty pounds a year--omnibus to town within
a mile.”
“What! that I may be left alone all day, and you spend a fortune in
driving backward and forward in those horrid breakneck cabs? My darling,
I should die there--die of fright, I know I should. Did you not say
yourself that the road was not as yet lighted, and that the place
swarmed with public-houses and dreadful tipsy Irish bricklayers? Would
you kill me, John?”
“My da-arling,” said John, with tremendous fondness, clutching Miss
Lucy suddenly round the waist, and rapping the hand of that young person
violently against his waistcoat,--“My da-arling, don't say such things,
even in a joke. If I objected to the chambers, it is only because you,
my love, with your birth and connections, ought to have a house of your
own. The chambers are quite large enough and certainly quite good enough
for me.” And so, after some more sweet parley on the part of these
young people, it was agreed that they should take up their abode,
when married, in a part of the House number One hundred and something,
Bedford Row.
It will be necessary to explain to the reader that John was no other
than John Perkins, Esquire, of the Middle Temple, barrister-at-law, and
that Miss Lucy was the daughter of the late Captain Gorgon, and Marianne
Biggs, his wife. The Captain being of noble connections, younger son of
a baronet, cousin to Lord X----, and related to the Y---- family, had
angered all his relatives by marrying a very silly pretty young woman,
who kept a ladies'-school at Canterbury. She had six hundred pounds
to her fortune, which the Captain laid out in the purchase of a sweet
travelling-carriage and dressing-case for himself; and going abroad with
his lady, spent several years in the principal prisons of Europe, in one
of which he died. His wife and daughter were meantime supported by the
contributions of Mrs. Jemima Biggs, who still kept the ladies'-school.
At last a dear old relative--such a one as one reads of in
romances--died and left seven thousand pounds apiece to the two sisters,
whereupon the elder gave up schooling and retired to London; and the
younger managed to live with some comfort and decency at Brussels,
upon two hundred and ten pounds per annum. Mrs. Gorgon never touched
a shilling of her capital, for the very good reason that it was placed
entirely out of her reach; so that when she died, her daughter found
herself in possession of a sum of money that is not always to be met
with in this world.
Her aunt the baronet's lady, and her aunt the ex-schoolmistress, both
wrote very pressing invitations to her, and she resided with each for
six months after her arrival in England. Now, for a second time, she had
come to Mrs. Biggs, Caroline Place, Mecklenburgh Square. It was under
the roof of that respectable old lady that John Perkins, Esquire, being
invited to take tea, wooed and won Miss Gorgon.
Having thus described the circumstances of Miss Gorgon's life, let us
pass for a moment from that young lady, and lift up the veil of mystery
which envelopes the deeds and character of Perkins.
Perkins, too, was an orphan; and he and his Lucy, of summer evenings,
when Sol descending lingered fondly yet about the minarets of the
Foundling, and gilded the grassplots of Mecklenburgh Square--Perkins,
I say, and Lucy would often sit together in the summer-house of that
pleasure-ground, and muse upon the strange coincidences of their life.
Lucy was motherless and fatherless; so too was Perkins. If Perkins was
brotherless and sisterless, was not Lucy likewise an only child? Perkins
was twenty-three: his age and Lucy's united, amounted to forty-six; and
it was to be remarked, as a fact still more extraordinary, that while
Lucy's relatives were AUNTS, John's were UNCLES. Mysterious spirit of
love! let us treat thee with respect and whisper not too many of thy
secrets. The fact is, John and Lucy were a pair of fools (as every young
couple OUGHT to be who have hearts that are worth a farthing), and were
ready to find coincidences, sympathies, hidden gushes of feeling, mystic
unions of the soul, and what not, in every single circumstance that
occurred from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof, and in
the intervals. Bedford Row, where Perkins lived, is not very far from
Mecklenburgh Square; and John used to say that he felt a comfort that
his house and Lucy's were served by the same muffin-man.
Further comment is needless. A more honest, simple, clever,
warm-hearted, soft, whimsical, romantical, high-spirited young fellow
than John Perkins did not exist. When his father, Doctor Perkins, died,
this, his only son, was placed under the care of John Perkins, Esquire,
of the house of Perkins, Scully, and Perkins, those celebrated attorneys
in the trading town of Oldborough, which the second partner, William
Pitt Scully, Esquire, represented in Parliament and in London.
All John's fortune was the house in Bedford Row, which, at his father's
death, was let out into chambers, and brought in a clear hundred a
year. Under his uncle's roof at Oldborough, where he lived with thirteen
red-haired male and female cousins, he was only charged fifty pounds
for board, clothes, and pocket-money, and the remainder of his rents
was carefully put by for him until his majority. When he approached
that period--when he came to belong to two spouting-clubs at Oldborough,
among the young merchants and lawyers'-clerks--to blow the flute nicely,
and play a good game at billiards--to have written one or two smart
things in the Oldborough Sentinel--to be fond of smoking (in which act
he was discovered by his fainting aunt at three o'clock one morning)--in
one word, when John Perkins arrived at manhood, he discovered that he
was quite unfit to be an attorney, that he detested all the ways of his
uncle's stern, dull, vulgar, regular, red-headed family, and he vowed
that he would go to London and make his fortune. Thither he went, his
aunt and cousins, who were all “serious,” vowing that he was a lost boy;
and when his history opens, John had been two years in the metropolis,
inhabiting his own garrets; and a very nice compact set of apartments,
looking into the back-garden, at this moment falling vacant, the prudent
Lucy Gorgon had visited them, and vowed that she and her John should
there commence housekeeping.
All these explanations are tedious, but necessary; and furthermore, it
must be said, that as John's uncle's partner was the Liberal member for
Oldborough, so Lucy's uncle was its Ministerial representative.
This gentleman, the brother of the deceased Captain Gorgon, lived at the
paternal mansion of Gorgon Castle, and rejoiced in the name and title of
Sir George Grimsby Gorgon.
He, too, like his younger brother, had married a lady beneath his own
rank in life; having espoused the daughter and heiress of Mr. Hicks, the
great brewer at Oldborough, who held numerous mortgages on the Gorgon
property, all of which he yielded up, together with his daughter
Juliana, to the care of the baronet.
What Lady Gorgon was in character, this history will show. In person,
if she may be compared to any vulgar animal, one of her father's heavy,
healthy, broad-flanked, Roman-nosed white dray-horses might, to the
poetic mind, appear to resemble her. At twenty she was a splendid
creature, and though not at her full growth, yet remarkable for strength
and sinew; at forty-five she was as fine a woman as any in His Majesty's
dominions. Five feet seven in height, thirteen stone, her own teeth and
hair, she looked as if she were the mother of a regiment of Grenadier
Guards. She had three daughters of her own size, and at length, ten
years after the birth of the last of the young ladies, a son--one
son--George Augustus Frederick Grimsby Gorgon, the godson of a royal
duke, whose steady officer in waiting Sir George had been for many
years.
It is needless to say, after entering so largely into a description
of Lady Gorgon, that her husband was a little shrivelled wizen-faced
creature, eight inches shorter than her Ladyship. This is the way of
the world, as every single reader of this book must have remarked; for
frolic love delights to join giants and pigmies of different sexes in
the bonds of matrimony. When you saw her Ladyship in flame-coloured
satin and gorgeous toque and feathers, entering the drawing-room, as
footmen along the stairs shouted melodiously, “Sir George and Lady
Gorgon,” you beheld in her company a small withered old gentleman, with
powder and large royal household buttons, who tripped at her elbow as a
little weak-legged colt does at the side of a stout mare.
The little General had been present at about a hundred and twenty
pitched battles on Hounslow Heath and Wormwood Scrubs, but had never
drawn his sword against an enemy. As might be expected, therefore, his
talk and tenue were outrageously military. He had the whole Army List by
heart--that is, as far as the field-officers: all below them he scorned.
A bugle at Gorgon Castle always sounded at breakfast, and dinner: a gun
announced sunset. He clung to his pigtail for many years after the army
had forsaken that ornament, and could never be brought to think much of
the Peninsular men for giving it up. When he spoke of the Duke, he used
to call him “MY LORD WELLINGTON--I RECOLLECT HIM AS CAPTAIN WELLESLEY.”
He swore fearfully in conversation, was most regular at church, and
regularly read to his family and domestics the morning and evening
prayer; he bullied his daughters, seemed to bully his wife, who led him
whither she chose; gave grand entertainments, and never asked a friend
by chance; had splendid liveries, and starved his people; and was
as dull, stingy, pompous, insolent, cringing, ill-tempered a little
creature as ever was known.
With such qualities you may fancy that he was generally admired in
society and by his country. So he was: and I never knew a man so
endowed whose way through life was not safe--who had fewer pangs of
conscience--more positive enjoyments--more respect shown to him--more
favours granted to him, than such a one as my friend the General.
Her Ladyship was just suited to him, and they did in reality admire
each other hugely. Previously to her marriage with the baronet, many
love-passages had passed between her and William Pitt Scully, Esquire,
the attorney; and there was especially one story, a propos of certain
syllabubs and Sally-Lunn cakes, which seemed to show that matters had
gone very far. Be this as it may, no sooner did the General (Major
Gorgon he was then) cast an eye on her, than Scully's five years' fabric
of love was instantly dashed to the ground. She cut him pitilessly,
cut Sally Scully, his sister, her dearest friend and confidante, and
bestowed her big person upon the little aide-de-camp at the end of a
fortnight's wooing. In the course of time their mutual fathers died;
the Gorgon estates were unencumbered: patron of both the seats in the
borough of Oldborough, and occupant of one, Sir George Grimsby Gorgon,
Baronet, was a personage of no small importance.
He was, it scarcely need to be said, a Tory; and this was the reason
why William Pitt Scully, Esquire, of the firm of Perkins and Scully,
deserted those principles in which he had been bred and christened;
deserted that church which he had frequented, for he could not bear to
see Sir George and my Lady flaunting in their grand pew;--deserted, I
say, the church, adopted the conventicle, and became one of the most
zealous and eloquent supporters that Freedom has known in our time.
Scully, of the house of Scully and Perkins, was a dangerous enemy. In
five years from that marriage, which snatched from the jilted solicitor
his heart's young affections, Sir George Gorgon found that he must
actually spend seven hundred pounds to keep his two seats. At the next
election, a Liberal was set up against his man, and actually ran
him hard; and finally, at the end of eighteen years, the rejected
Scully--the mean attorney--was actually the FIRST Member for Oldborough,
Sir George Grimsby Gorgon, Baronet, being only the second!
The agony of that day cannot be imagined--the dreadful curses of Sir
George, who saw fifteen hundred a year robbed from under his very
nose--the religious resignation of my Lady--the hideous window-smashing
that took place at the “Gorgon Arms,” and the discomfiture of the pelted
Mayor and Corporation. The very next Sunday, Scully was reconciled to
the church (or attended it in the morning, and the meeting twice in the
afternoon), and as Doctor Snorter uttered the prayer for the High Court
of Parliament, his eye, the eye of his whole party--turned towards Lady
Gorgon and Sir George in a most unholy triumph. Sir George (who always
stood during prayers, like a military man) fairly sank down among the
hassocks, and Lady Gorgon was heard to sob as audibly as ever did little
beadle-belaboured urchin.
Scully, when at Oldborough, came from that day forth to church. “What,”
said he, “was it to him? were we not all brethren?” Old Perkins,
however, kept religiously to the Squaretoes congregation. In fact, to
tell the truth, this subject had been debated between the partners,
who saw the advantage of courting both the Establishment and the
Dissenters--a manoeuvre which, I need not say, is repeated in almost
every country town in England, where a solicitor's house has this kind
of power and connection.
Three months after this election came the races at Oldborough, and the
race-ball. Gorgon was so infuriated by his defeat, that he gave “the
Gorgon cup and cover,” a matter of fifteen pounds. Scully, “although
anxious,” as he wrote from town, “anxious beyond measure to preserve
the breed of horses for which our beloved country has ever been famous,
could attend no such sports as these, which but too often degenerated
into vice.” It was voted a shabby excuse. Lady Gorgon was radiant in her
barouche and four, and gladly became the patroness of the ball that was
to ensue; and which all the gentry and townspeople, Tory and Whig, were
in the custom of attending. The ball took place on the last day of the
races. On that day, the walls of the market-house, the principal public
buildings, and the “Gorgon Arms Hotel” itself, were plastered with the
following:--
“Letter from our distinguished representative, William P. Scully,
Esquire, etc., etc.
“HOUSE OF COMMONS: June 1, 18--.
“MY DEAR HEELTAP,--You know my opinion about horseracing, and though
I blame neither you nor any brother Englishman who enjoys that manly
sport, you will, I am sure, appreciate the conscientious motives
which induce me not to appear among my friends and constituents on the
festival of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th instant. If _I_, however, cannot
allow my name to appear among your list of stewards, ONE at least of the
representatives of Oldborough has no such scruples. Sir George Gorgon is
among you: and though I differ from that honourable Baronet on more than
ONE VITAL POINT, I am glad to think that he is with you. A gentleman, a
soldier, a man of property in the county, how can he be better employed
than in forwarding the county's amusements, and in forwarding the
happiness of all?
“Had I no such scruples as those to which I have just alluded, I must
still have refrained from coming among you. Your great Oldborough
common-drainage and inclosure bill comes on to-morrow, and I shall be AT
MY POST. I am sure, if Sir George Gorgon were here, he and I should
on this occasion vote side by side, and that party strife would be
forgotten in the object of our common interest--OUR DEAR NATIVE TOWN.
“There is, however, another occasion at hand, in which I shall be
proud to meet him. Your ball is on the night of the 6th. Party
forgotten--brotherly union--innocent mirth--beauty, OUR DEAR TOWN'S
BEAUTY, our daughters in the joy of their expanding loveliness, our
matrons in the exquisite contemplation of their children's bliss--can
you, can I, can Whig or Tory, can any Briton be indifferent to a scene
like this, or refuse to join in this heart-stirring festival? If there
BE such let them pardon me--I, for one, my dear Heeltap, will be among
you on Friday night--ay, and hereby invite all pretty Tory Misses, who
are in want of a partner.
“I am here in the very midst of good things, you know, and we old folks
like A SUPPER after a dance. Please to accept a brace of bucks and a
turtle, which come herewith. My worthy colleague, who was so liberal
last year of his soup to the poor, will not, I trust, refuse to taste
a little of Alderman Birch's--'tis offered on my part with hearty
goodwill. Hey for the 6th, and vive la joie!
“Ever, my dear Heeltap, your faithful
“W. PITT SCULLY.
“P.S.--Of course this letter is STRICTLY PRIVATE. Say that the venison,
etc. came from a WELL-WISHER TO OLDBOROUGH.”
This amazing letter was published, in defiance of Mr. Scully's
injunctions, by the enthusiastic Heeltap, who said, bluntly, in a
preface, “that he saw no reason why Mr. Scully should be ashamed of his
action, and he, for his part, was glad to let all friends at Oldborough
know of it.”
The allusion about the Gorgon soup was killing: thirteen paupers in
Oldborough had, it was confidently asserted, died of it. Lady Gorgon,
on the reading of this letter, was struck completely dumb; Sir George
Gorgon was wild. Ten dozen of champagne was he obliged to send down to
the “Gorgon Arms,” to be added to the festival. He would have stayed
away if he could, but he dared not.
At nine o'clock, he in general's uniform; his wife in blue satin and
diamonds; his daughters in blue crape and white roses; his niece, Lucy
Gorgon, in white muslin; his son, George Augustus Frederick Grimsby
Gorgon, in a blue velvet jacket, sugar-loaf buttons, and nankeens,
entered the north door of the ballroom, to much cheering, and the sound
of “God save the King!”
At that very same moment, and from the south door, issued William Pitt
Scully, Esquire, M.P., and his staff. Mr. Scully had a brand-new blue
coat and brass buttons, buff waistcoat, white kerseymere tights, pumps
with large rosettes, and pink silk stockings.
“This wool,” said he to a friend, “was grown on Oldborough sheep,
this cloth was spun in Oldborough looms, these buttons were cast in
an Oldborough manufactory, these shoes were made by an Oldborough
tradesman, this HEART first beat in Oldborough town, and pray Heaven may
be buried there!”
Could anything resist a man like this? John Perkins, who had come down
as one of Scully's aides-de-camp, in a fit of generous enthusiasm,
leaped on a whist-table, flung up a pocket-handkerchief, and
shrieked--“SCULLY FOR EVER!”
Heeltap, who was generally drunk, fairly burst into tears, and the grave
tradesmen and Whig gentry, who had dined with the Member at his inn, and
accompanied him thence to the “Gorgon Arms,” lifted their deep voices
and shouted “Hear!” “Good!” “Bravo!” “Noble!” “Scully for ever!” “God
bless him!” and “Hurrah!”
The scene was tumultuously affecting; and when young Perkins sprang down
from the table and came blushing up to the Member, that gentleman said,
“Thank you, Jack! THANK you, my boy! THANK you,” in a way which made
Perkins think that his supreme cup of bliss was quaffed; that he had but
to die: for that life had no other such joy in store for him. Scully
was Perkins's Napoleon--he yielded himself up to the attorney, body and
soul.
Whilst this scene was going on under one chandelier of the ballroom,
beneath the other scarlet little General Gorgon, sumptuous Lady Gorgon,
the daughters and niece Gorgons, were standing surrounded by their Tory
court, who affected to sneer and titter at the Whig demonstrations which
were taking place.
“What a howwid thmell of whithkey!” lisped Cornet Fitch, of the
Dragoons, to Miss Lucy, confidentially. “And the--the are what they call
Whigth, are they? He! he!”
“They are drunk, ----me, --drunk, by ----!” said the General to the
Mayor.
“WHICH is Scully?” said Lady Gorgon, lifting her glass gravely (she was
at that very moment thinking of the syllabubs). “Is it that tipsy man in
the green coat, or that vulgar creature in the blue one?”
“Law, my Lady,” said the Mayoress, “have you forgotten him? Why, that's
him in blue and buff.”
“And a monthous fine man, too,” said Cornet Fitch. “I wish we had him in
our twoop--he'th thix feet thwee, if he'th an inch; ain't he, Genewal?”
No reply.
“And heavens! Mamma,” shrieked the three Gorgons in a breath, “see, one
creature is on the whist-table. Oh, the wretch!
“I'm sure he's very good-looking,” said Lucy, simply.
Lady Gorgon darted at her an angry look, and was about to say something
very contemptuous, when, at that instant, John Perkins's shout taking
effect, Master George Augustus Frederick Grimsby Gorgon, not knowing
better, incontinently raised a small shout on his side.
“Hear! good! bravo!” exclaimed he; “Scully for ever! Hurra-a-a-ay!” and
fell skipping about like the Whigs opposite.
“Silence, you brute you!” groaned Lady Gorgon; and seizing him by the
shirt-frill and coat-collar, carried him away to his nurse, who, with
many other maids of the Whig and Tory parties, stood giggling and
peeping at the landing-place.
Fancy how all these small incidents augmented the heap of Lady Gorgon's
anger and injuries! She was a dull phlegmatic woman for the most part,
and contented herself generally with merely despising her neighbours;
but oh! what a fine active hatred raged in her bosom for victorious
Scully! At this moment Mr. Perkins had finished shaking hands with his
Napoleon--Napoleon seemed bent upon some tremendous enterprise. He was
looking at Lady Gorgon very hard.
“She's a fine woman,” said Scully, thoughtfully; he was still holding
the hand of Perkins. And then, after a pause, “Gad! I think I'll try.”
“Try what, sir?”
“She's a DEUCED fine woman!” burst out again the tender solicitor. “I
WILL go. Springer, tell the fiddlers to strike up.”
Springer scuttled across the room, and gave the leader of the band a
knowing nod. Suddenly, “God save the King” ceased, and “Sir Roger
de Coverley” began. The rival forces eyed each other; Mr. Scully,
accompanied by his friend, came forward, looking very red, and fumbling
two large kid gloves.
“HE'S GOING TO ASK ME TO DANCE,” hissed out Lady Gorgon, with a dreadful
intuition, and she drew back behind her lord.
“D---- it, madam, THEN DANCE with him!” said the General. “Don't you see
that the scoundrel is carrying it all his own way! ---- him! and ----
him! and ---- him!” (All of which dashes the reader may fill up with
oaths of such strength as may be requisite).
“General!” cried Lady Gorgon, but could say no more. Scully was before
her.
“Madam!” exclaimed the Liberal Member for Oldborough, “in a moment
like this--I say--that is--that on the present occasion--your
Ladyship--unaccustomed as I am--pooh, psha--WILL your Ladyship give me
the distinguished honour and pleasure of going down the country-dance
with your Ladyship?”
An immense heave of her Ladyship's ample chest was perceptible. Yards of
blond lace, which might be compared to a foam of the sea, were agitated
at the same moment, and by the same mighty emotion. The river of
diamonds which flowed round her Ladyship's neck, seemed to swell and to
shine more than ever. The tall plumes on her ambrosial head bowed down
beneath the storm. In other words, Lady Gorgon, in a furious rage,
which she was compelled to restrain, trembled, drew up, and bowing
majestically, said,--
“Sir, I shall have much pleasure.” With this, she extended her hand.
Scully, trembling, thrust forward one of his huge kid-gloves, and led
her to the head of the country-dance. John Perkins--who I presume
had been drinking pretty freely, so as to have forgotten his ordinary
bashfulness--looked at the three Gorgons in blue, then at the pretty
smiling one in white, and stepping up to her, without the smallest
hesitation, asked her if she would dance with him.
The young lady smilingly agreed. The great example of Scully and Lady
Gorgon was followed by all dancing men and women. Political enmities
were forgotten. Whig voters invited Tory voters' wives to the dance. The
daughters of Reform accepted the hands of the sons of Conservatism. The
reconciliation of the Romans and Sabines was not more touching than this
sweet fusion. Whack--whack! Springer clapped his hands; and the fiddlers
adroitly obeying the cheerful signal, began playing “Sir Roger de
Coverley” louder than ever.
I do not know by what extraordinary charm (nescio qua praeter solitum,
etc.), but young Perkins, who all his life had hated country-dances, was
delighted with this one, and skipped and laughed, poussetting, crossing,
down-the-middling, with his merry little partner, till every one of the
bettermost sort of the thirty-nine couples had dropped panting away, and
till the youngest Miss Gorgon, coming up to his partner, said in a loud
hissing scornful whisper, “Lucy, Mamma thinks you have danced quite
enough with this--this person.” And Lucy, blushing, starting back, and
looking at Perkins in a very melancholy way, made him a little curtsey,
and went off to the Gorgonian party with her cousin. Perkins was too
frightened to lead her back to her place--too frightened at first, and
then too angry. “Person!” said he: his soul swelled with a desperate
republicanism: he went back to his patron more of a Radical than ever.
He found that gentleman in the solitary tea-room, pacing up and down
before the observant landlady and handmaidens of the “Gorgon Arms,”
wiping his brows, gnawing his fingers--his ears looming over his stiff
white shirt-collar as red as fire. Once more the great man seized John
Perkins's hand as the latter came up.
“D---- the aristocrats!” roared the ex-follower of Squaretoes.
“And so say I! but what's the matter, sir?”
“What's the matter?--Why, that woman--that infernal, haughty,
straitlaced, cold-blooded brewer's daughter! I loved that woman, sir--I
KISSED that woman, sir, twenty years ago: we were all but engaged, sir:
we've walked for hours and hours, sir--us and the governess--I've got
a lock of her hair, sir, among my papers now; and to-night, would you
believe it?--as soon as she got to the bottom of the set, away she
went--not one word would she speak to me all the way down: and when I
wanted to lead her to her place, and asked her if she would have a glass
of negus, 'Sir,' says she, 'I have done my duty; I bear no malice: but
I consider you a traitor to Sir George Gorgon's family--a traitor and
an upstart! I consider your speaking to me as a piece of insolent
vulgarity, and beg you will leave me to myself!' There's her speech,
sir. Twenty people heard it, and all of her Tory set too. I'll tell you
what, Jack: at the next election I'll put YOU up. Oh that woman! that
woman!--and to think that I love her still!” Here Mr. Scully paused,
and fiercely consoled himself by swallowing three cups of Mrs. Rincer's
green tea.
The fact is, that Lady Gorgon's passion had completely got the better of
her reason. Her Ladyship was naturally cold, and artificially extremely
squeamish; and when this great red-faced enemy of hers looked tenderly
at her through his red little eyes, and squeezed her hand and attempted
to renew old acquaintance, she felt such an intolerable disgust at his
triumph, at his familiarity, and at the remembrance of her own former
liking for him, that she gave utterance to the speech above correctly
reported. The Tories were delighted with her spirit, and Cornet Fitch,
with much glee, told the story to the General; but that officer, who was
at whist with some of his friends, flung down his cards, and coming up
to his lady, said briefly,--
“Madam, you are a fool!”
“I will NOT stay here to be bearded by that disgusting man!--Mr. Fitch,
call my people.--Henrietta, bring Miss Lucy from that linendraper with
whom she is dancing. I will not stay, General, once for all.”
Henrietta ran--she hated her cousin: Cornet Fitch was departing. “Stop,
Fitch,” said Sir George, seizing him by the arm. “You are a fool, Lady
Gorgon,” said he, “and I repeat it--a ---- fool! This fellow Scully
is carrying all before him: he has talked with everybody, laughed with
everybody--and you, with your infernal airs--a brewer's daughter, by
----, must sit like a queen and not speak to a soul! You've lost me one
seat of my borough, with your infernal pride--fifteen hundred a year,
by Jove!--and you think you will bully me out of another. No, madam, you
SHALL stay, and stay supper too;--and the girls shall dance with every
cursed chimney-sweep and butcher in the room: they shall--confound me!”
Her Ladyship saw that it was necessary to submit; and Mr. Springer, the
master of the ceremonies, was called, and requested to point out
some eligible partners for the young ladies. One went off with a
Whig auctioneer; another figured in a quadrille with a very Liberal
apothecary; and the third, Miss Henrietta, remained.
“Hallo you, sir!” roared the little General to John Perkins, who was
passing by. John turned round and faced him.
“You were dancing with my niece just now--show us your skill now, and
dance with one of my daughters. Stand up, Miss Henrietta Gorgon--Mr.
What's-your-name?”
“My name,” said John, with marked and majestic emphasis, “is PERKINS.”
And he looked towards Lucy, who dared not look again.
“Miss Gorgon--Mr. Perkins. There, now go and dance.”
“Mr. Perkins regrets, madam,” said John, making a bow to Miss Henrietta,
“that he is not able to dance this evening. I am this moment obliged to
look to the supper; but you will find, no doubt, some other PERSON who
will have much pleasure.”
“Go to ----, sir!” screamed the General, starting up, and shaking his
cane.
“Calm yourself, dearest George,” said Lady Gorgon, clinging fondly to
him. Fitch twiddled his moustaches. Miss Henrietta Gorgon stared
with open mouth. The silks of the surrounding dowagers rustled--the
countenances of all looked grave.
“I will follow you, sir, wherever you please; and you may hear of me
whenever you like,” said Mr. Perkins, bowing and retiring. He heard
little Lucy sobbing in a corner. He was lost at once--lost in love; he
felt as if he could combat fifty generals! he never was so happy in his
life.
The supper came; but as that meal cost five shillings a head, General
Gorgon dismissed the four spinsters of his family homewards in the
carriage, and so saved himself a pound. This added to Jack Perkins's
wrath; he had hoped to have seen Miss Lucy once more. He was a steward,
and, in the General's teeth, would have done his duty. He was thinking
how he would have helped her to the most delicate chicken-wings and
blancmanges, how he WOULD have made her take champagne. Under the noses
of indignant aunt and uncle, what glorious fun it would have been!
Out of place as Mr. Scully's present was, and though Lady Gorgon and her
party sneered at the vulgar notion of venison and turtle for supper,
all the world at Oldborough ate very greedily of those two substantial
dishes; and the Mayor's wife became from that day forth a mortal
enemy of the Gorgons: for, sitting near her Ladyship, who refused the
proffered soup and meat, the Mayoress thought herself obliged to follow
this disagreeable example. She sent away the plate of turtle with a
sigh, saying, however, to the baronet's lady, “I thought, mem, that the
LORD MAYOR OF LONDON always had turtle to his supper?”
“And what if he didn't, Biddy?” said his Honour the Mayor; “a good
thing's a good thing, and here goes!” wherewith he plunged his spoon
into the savoury mess. The Mayoress, as we have said, dared not; but she
hated Lady Gorgon, and remembered it at the next election.
The pride, in fact, and insolence of the Gorgon party rendered every
person in the room hostile to them; so soon as, gorged with meat, they
began to find that courage which Britons invariably derive from their
victuals. The show of the Gorgon plate seemed to offend the people. The
Gorgon champagne was a long time, too, in making its appearance. Arrive,
however, it did. The people were waiting for it; the young ladies, not
accustomed to that drink, declined pledging their admirers until it
was produced; the men, too, despised the bucellas and sherry, and were
looking continually towards the door. At last, Mr. Rincer, the landlord,
Mr. Hock, Sir George's butler, and sundry others entered the room. Bang!
went the corks--fizz the foamy liquor sparkled into all sorts of glasses
that were held out for its reception. Mr. Hock helped Sir George and his
party, who drank with great gusto; the wine which was administered to
the persons immediately around Mr. Scully was likewise pronounced to
be good. But Mr. Perkins, who had taken his seat among the humbler
individuals, and in the very middle of the table, observed that all
these persons, after drinking, made to each other very wry and ominous
faces, and whispered much. He tasted his wine: it was a villanous
compound of sugar, vitriol, soda-water, and green gooseberries. At
this moment a great clatter of forks was made by the president's and
vice-president's party. Silence for a toast--'twas silence all.
“Landlord,” said Mr. Perkins, starting up (the rogue, where did his
impudence come from?) “have you any champagne of YOUR OWN?”
“Silence! down!” roared the Tories, the ladies looking aghast. “Silence,
sit down you!” shrieked the well-known voice of the General.
“I beg your pardon, General,” said young John Perkins; “but where COULD
you have bought this champagne? My worthy friend I know is going to
propose the ladies; let us at any rate drink such a toast in good wine.”
(“Hear, hear!”) “Drink her Ladyship's health in THIS stuff? I declare to
goodness I would sooner drink it in beer!”
No pen can describe the uproar which arose: the anguish of the
Gorgonites--the shrieks, jeers, cheers, ironic cries of “Swipes!” etc.,
which proceeded from the less genteel but more enthusiastic Scullyites.
“This vulgarity is too much,” said Lady Gorgon, rising; and Mrs.
Mayoress and the ladies of the party did so too.
The General, two squires, the clergyman, the Gorgon apothecary and
attorney, with their respective ladies, followed her: they were plainly
beaten from the field. Such of the Tories as dared remained, and in
inglorious compromise shared the jovial Whig feast.
“Gentlemen and ladies,” hiccupped Mr. Heeltap, “I'll give you a toast.
'Champagne to our real--hic--friends,' no, 'Real champagne to our
friends,' and--hic--pooh! 'Champagne to our friends, and real pain to
our enemies,'--huzzay!”
The Scully faction on this day bore the victory away, and if the polite
reader has been shocked by certain vulgarities on the part of Mr.
Scully and his friends, he must remember imprimis that Oldborough was
an inconsiderable place--that the inhabitants thereof were chiefly
tradespeople, not of refined habits--that Mr. Scully himself had only
for three months mingled among the aristocracy--that his young friend
Perkins was violently angry--and finally, and to conclude, that the
proud vulgarity of the great Sir George Gorgon and his family was
infinitely more odious and contemptible than the mean vulgarity of the
Scullyites and their leader.
Immediately after this event, Mr. Scully and his young friend Perkins
returned to town; the latter to his garrets in Bedford Row--the former
to his apartments on the first floor of the same house. He lived here to
superintend his legal business: his London agents, Messrs. Higgs, Biggs,
and Blatherwick, occupying the ground floor; the junior partner, Mr.
Gustavus Blatherwick, the second flat of the house. Scully made no
secret of his profession or residence: he was an attorney, and proud of
it; he was the grandson of a labourer, and thanked God for it; he had
made his fortune by his own honest labour, and why should he be ashamed
of it?
And now, having explained at full length who the several heroes and
heroines of this history were, and how they conducted themselves in the
country, let us describe their behaviour in London, and the great events
which occurred there.
You must know that Mr. Perkins bore away the tenderest recollections
of the young lady with whom he had danced at the Oldborough ball, and,
having taken particular care to find out where she dwelt when in the
metropolis, managed soon to become acquainted with Aunt Biggs, and made
himself so amiable to that lady, that she begged he would pass all his
disengaged evenings at her lodgings in Caroline Place. Mrs. Biggs was
perfectly aware that the young gentleman did not come for her bohea
and muffins, so much as for the sweeter conversation of her niece, Miss
Gorgon; but seeing that these two young people were of an age when ideas
of love and marriage will spring up, do what you will; seeing that her
niece had a fortune, and Mr. Perkins had the prospect of a place, and
was moreover a very amiable and well-disposed young fellow, she thought
her niece could not do better than marry him; and Miss Gorgon thought
so too. Now the public will be able to understand the meaning of that
important conversation which is recorded at the very commencement of
this history.
Lady Gorgon and her family were likewise in town; but, when in the
metropolis, they never took notice of their relative, Miss Lucy: the
idea of acknowledging an ex-schoolmistress living in Mecklenburgh Square
being much too preposterous for a person of my Lady Gorgon's breeding
and fashion. She did not, therefore, know of the progress which sly
Perkins was making all this while; for Lucy Gorgon did not think it was
at all necessary to inform her Ladyship how deeply she was smitten
by the wicked young gentleman who had made all the disturbance at the
Oldborough ball.
The intimacy of these young persons had, in fact, become so close, that
on a certain sunshiny Sunday in December, after having accompanied Aunt
Biggs to church, they had pursued their walk as far as that rendezvous
of lovers, the Regent's Park, and were talking of their coming marriage,
with much confidential tenderness, before the bears in the Zoological
Gardens.
Miss Lucy was ever and anon feeding those interesting animals with buns,
to perform which act of charity she had clambered up on the parapet
which surrounds their den. Mr. Perkins was below; and Miss Lucy, having
distributed her buns, was on the point of following,--but whether from
timidity, or whether from a desire to do young Perkins an essential
service, I know not: however, she found herself quite unwilling to jump
down unaided.
“My dearest John,” said she, “I never can jump that.”
Whereupon John stepped up, put one hand round Lucy's waist; and as one
of hers gently fell upon his shoulder, Mr. Perkins took the other and
said,--
“Now jump.”
Hoop! jump she did, and so excessively active and clever was Mr. John
Perkins, that he jumped Miss Lucy plump into the middle of a group
formed of--
Lady Gorgon;
The Misses Gorgon;
Master George Augustus Frederick Grimsby Gorgon;
And a footman, poodle, and French governess: who had all been for two or
three minutes listening to the billings and cooings of these imprudent
young lovers.