BEHIND THE SCENES.
In issuing from and leaving open the door of the inner room, Mr.
Crampton had bestowed upon Mr. Perkins a look so peculiarly arch, that
even he, simple as he was, began to imagine that some mystery was about
to be cleared up, or some mighty matter to be discussed. Presently
he heard the well-known voice of Lady Gorgon in conversation with his
uncle. What could their talk be about? Mr. Perkins was dying to know,
and--shall we say it?--advanced to the door on tiptoe and listened with
all his might.
Her Ladyship, that Juno of a woman, if she had not borrowed Venus's
girdle to render herself irresistible, at least had adopted a tender,
coaxing, wheedling, frisky tone, quite different from her ordinary
dignified style of conversation. She called Mr. Crampton a naughty man,
for neglecting his old friends, vowed that Sir George was quite hurt at
his not coming to dine--nor fixing a day when he would come--and added,
with a most engaging ogle, that she had three fine girls at home,
who would perhaps make an evening pass pleasantly, even to such a gay
bachelor as Mr. Crampton.
“Madam,” said he, with much gravity, “the daughters of such a mother
must be charming; but I, who have seen your Ladyship, am, alas! proof
against even them.”
Both parties here heaved tremendous sighs and affected to be wonderfully
unhappy about something.
“I wish,” after a pause, said Lady Gorgon--“I wish, dear Mr. Crampton,
you would not use that odious title 'my Ladyship:' you know it always
makes me melancholy.”
“Melancholy, my dear Lady Gorgon; and why?”
“Because it makes me think of another title that ought to have been
mine--ours (I speak for dear Sir George's and my darling boy's sake,
Heaven knows, not mine). What a sad disappointment it has been to my
husband, that after all his services, all the promises he has had, they
have never given him his peerage. As for me, you know--”
“For you, my dear madam, I know quite well that you care for no such
bauble as a coronet, except in so far as it may confer honour upon those
most dear to you--excellent wife and noble mother as you are. Heigho!
what a happy man is Sir George!”
Here there was another pause, and if Mr. Perkins could have seen what
was taking place behind the screen, he would have beheld little Mr.
Crampton looking into Lady Gorgon's face, with as love-sick a Romeo-gaze
as he could possibly counterfeit; while her Ladyship, blushing somewhat
and turning her own grey gogglers up to heaven, received all his words
for gospel, and sat fancying herself to be the best, most meritorious,
and most beautiful creature in the three kingdoms.
“You men are terrible flatterers,” continued she; “but you say right:
for myself I value not these empty distinctions. I am growing old, Mr.
Crampton,--yes, indeed, I am, although you smile so incredulously,--and
let me add, that MY thoughts are fixed upon HIGHER things than earthly
crowns. But tell me, you who are all in all with Lord Bagwig, are we
never to have our peerage? His Majesty, I know, is not averse; the
services of dear Sir George to a member of His Majesty's august family,
I know, have been appreciated in the highest quarter. Ever since the
peace we have had a promise. Four hundred pounds has Sir George spent at
the Heralds' Office (I myself am of one of the most ancient families
in the kingdom, Mr. Crampton), and the poor dear man's health is really
ruined by the anxious sickening feeling of hope so long delayed.”
Mr. Crampton now assumed an air of much solemnity.
“My dear Lady Gorgon,” said he, “will you let me be frank with you, and
will you promise solemnly that what I am going to tell you shall never
be repeated to a single soul?”
Lady Gorgon promised.
“Well, then, since the truth you must know, you yourselves have been in
part the cause of the delay of which you complain. You gave us two votes
five years ago; you now only give us one. If Sir George were to go up
to the Peers, we should lose even that one vote; and would it be common
sense in us to incur such a loss? Mr. Scully, the Liberal, would return
another Member of his own way of thinking; and as for the Lords, we
have, you know, a majority there.”
“Oh, that horrid man!” said Lady Gorgon, cursing Mr. Scully in her
heart, and beginning to play a rapid tattoo with her feet, “that
miscreant, that traitor, that--that attorney has been our ruin.”
“Horrid man, if you please, but give me leave to tell you that the
horrid man is not the sole cause of your ruin--if ruin you will call it.
I am sorry to say that I do candidly think Ministers believe that Sir
George Gorgon has lost his influence in Oldborough as much through his
own fault as through Mr. Scully's cleverness.”
“Our own fault! Good heavens! Have we not done everything--everything
that persons of our station in the county could do, to keep those
misguided men? Have we not remonstrated, threatened, taken away our
custom from the Mayor, established a Conservative apothecary--in
fact, done all that gentlemen could do? But these are such times, Mr.
Crampton: the spirit of revolution is abroad, and the great families of
England are menaced by democratic insolence.”
This was Sir George Gorgon's speech always after dinner, and was
delivered by his lady with a great deal of stateliness. Somewhat,
perhaps, to her annoyance, Mr. Crampton only smiled, shook his head, and
said--
“Nonsense, my dear Lady Gorgon--pardon the phrase, but I am a plain old
man, and call things by their names. Now, will you let me whisper in
your ear one word of truth? You have tried all sorts of remonstrances,
and exerted yourself to maintain your influence in every way, except the
right one, and that is--”
“What, in Heaven's name?”
“Conciliation. We know your situation in the borough. Mr. Scully's
whole history, and, pardon me for saying so (but we men in office know
everything), yours--”
Lady Gorgon's ears and cheeks now assumed the hottest hue of crimson.
She thought of her former passages with Scully, and of the days
when--but never mind when: for she suffered her veil to fall, and buried
her head in the folds of her handkerchief. Vain folds! The wily
little Mr. Crampton could see all that passed behind the cambric, and
continued--
“Yes, madam, we know the absurd hopes that were formed by a certain
attorney twenty years since. We know how, up to this moment, he boasts
of certain walks--”
“With the governess--we were always with the governess!” shrieked out
Lady Gorgon, clasping her hands. “She was not the wisest of women.”
“With the governess, of course,” said Mr. Crampton, firmly. “Do you
suppose that any man dare breathe a syllable against your spotless
reputation? Never, my dear madam; but what I would urge is this--you
have treated your disappointed admirer too cruelly.”
“What! the traitor who has robbed us of our rights?”
“He never would have robbed you of your rights if you had been more kind
to him. You should be gentle, madam; you should forgive him--you should
be friends with him.”
“With a traitor, never!”
“Think what made him a traitor, Lady Gorgon; look in your glass, and say
if there be not some excuse for him? Think of the feelings of the man
who saw beauty such as yours--I am a plain man and must speak--virtue
such as yours, in the possession of a rival. By heavens, madam, I think
he was RIGHT to hate Sir George Gorgon! Would you have him allow such a
prize to be ravished from him without a pang on his part?”
“He was, I believe, very much attached to me,” said Lady Gorgon, quite
delighted; “but you must be aware that a young man of his station in
life could not look up to a person of my rank.”
“Surely not: it was monstrous pride and arrogance in Mr. Scully. But
que voulez-vous? Such is the world's way. Scully could not help loving
you--who that knows you can? I am a plain man, and say what I think.
He loves you still. Why make an enemy of him, who would at a word be at
your feet? Dearest Lady Gorgon, listen to me. Sir George Gorgon and Mr.
Scully have already met--their meeting was our contrivance. It is for
our interest, for yours, that they should be friends. If there were two
Ministerial Members for Oldborough, do you think your husband's peerage
would be less secure? I am not at liberty to tell you all I know on this
subject; but do, I entreat you, be reconciled to him.”
And after a little more conversation, which was carried on by Mr.
Crampton in the same tender way, this important interview closed, and
Lady Gorgon, folding her shawl round her, threaded certain mysterious
passages and found her way to her carriage in Whitehall.
“I hope you have not been listening, you rogue?” said Mr. Crampton to
his nephew, who blushed most absurdly by way of answer. “You would have
heard great State secrets, if you had dared to do so. That woman is
perpetually here, and if peerages are to be had for the asking, she
ought to have been a duchess by this time. I would not have admitted her
but for a reason that I have. Go you now and ponder upon what you have
heard and seen. Be on good terms with Scully, and, above all, speak not
a word concerning our interview--no, not a word even to your mistress.
By the way, I presume, sir, you will recall your resignation?”
The bewildered Perkins was about to stammer out a speech, when his
uncle, cutting it short, pushed him gently out of the door.
* * *
At the period when the important events occurred which have been
recorded here, parties ran very high, and a mighty struggle for the
vacant Speakership was about to come on. The Right Honourable Robert
Pincher was the Ministerial candidate, and Sir Charles Macabaw was
patronised by the Opposition. The two Members for Oldborough of course
took different sides, the baronet being of the Pincher faction, while
Mr. William Pitt Scully strongly supported the Macabaw party.
It was Mr. Scully's intention to deliver an impromptu speech upon the
occasion of the election, and he and his faithful Perkins prepared
it between them: for the latter gentleman had wisely kept his uncle's
counsel and his own and Mr. Scully was quite ignorant of the conspiracy
that was brooding. Indeed, so artfully had that young Machiavel of a
Perkins conducted himself, that when asked by his patron whether he had
given up his place in the Tape and Sealing Wax Office, he replied that
“he HAD tendered his resignation,” but did not say one word about having
recalled it.
“You were right, my boy, quite right,” said Mr. Scully. “A man of
uncompromising principles should make no compromise.” And herewith he
sat down and wrote off a couple of letters, one to Mr. Hawksby, telling
him that the place in the Sealing-Wax Office was, as he had reason to
know, vacant; and the other to his nephew, stating that it was to be
his. “Under the rose, my dear Bob,” added Mr. Scully, “it will cost you
five hundred pounds; but you cannot invest your money better.”
It is needless to state that the affair was to be conducted “with the
strictest secresy and honour,” and that the money was to pass through
Mr. Scully's hands.
While, however, the great Pincher and Macabaw question was yet
undecided, an event occurred to Mr. Scully, which had a great influence
upon his after-life. A second grand banquet was given at the Earl of
Mantrap's: Lady Mantrap requested him to conduct Lady Gorgon to dinner;
and the latter, with a charming timidity, and a gracious melancholy look
into his face (after which her veined eyelids veiled her azure eyes),
put her hand into the trembling one of Mr. Scully and said as much as
looks could say, “Forgive and forget.”
Down went Scully to dinner. There were dukes on his right hand and earls
on his left; there were but two persons without title in the midst of
that glittering assemblage; the very servants looked like noblemen. The
cook had done wonders; the wines were cool and rich, and Lady Gorgon was
splendid! What attention did everybody pay to her and to him! Why WOULD
she go on gazing into his face with that tender imploring look? In
other words, Scully, after partaking of soup and fish (he, during their
discussion, had been thinking over all the former love-and-hate passages
between himself and Lady Gorgon), turned very red, and began talking to
her.
“Were you not at the opera on Tuesday?” began he, assuming at once the
airs of a man of fashion. “I thought I caught a glimpse of you in the
Duchess of Diddlebury's box.”
“Opera, Mr. Scully?” (pronouncing the word “Scully” with the utmost
softness). “Ah, no! we seldom go, and yet too often. For serious persons
the enchantments of that place are too dangerous. I am so nervous--so
delicate; the smallest trifle so agitates, depresses, or irritates me,
that I dare not yield myself up to the excitement of music. I am too
passionately attached to it; and, shall I tell you? it has such a
strange influence upon me, that the smallest false note almost drives me
to distraction, and for that very reason I hardly ever go to a concert
or a ball.”
“Egad,” thought Scully, “I recollect when she would dance down a matter
of five-and-forty couple, and jingle away at the 'Battle of Prague' all
day.”
She continued: “Don't you recollect, I do, with--oh, what regret!--that
day at Oldborough race-ball, when I behaved with such sad rudeness to
you? You will scarcely believe me, and yet I assure you 'tis the fact,
the music had made me almost mad. Do let me ask your pardon for my
conduct. I was not myself. Oh, Mr. Scully! I am no worldly woman; I
know my duties, and I feel my wrongs. Nights and days have I lain awake
weeping and thinking of that unhappy day--that I should ever speak so to
an old friend; for we WERE old friends, were we not?”
Scully did not speak; but his eyes were bursting out of his head, and
his face was the exact colour of a deputy-lieutenant's uniform.
“That I should ever forget myself and you so! How I have been longing
for this opportunity to ask you to forgive me! I asked Lady Mantrap,
when I heard you were to be here, to invite me to her party. Come, I
know you will forgive me--your eyes say you will. You used to look so in
old days, and forgive me my caprices THEN. Do give me a little wine--we
will drink to the memory of old days.”
Her eyes filled with tears; and poor Scully's hand caused such a
rattling and trembling of the glass and the decanter that the Duke
of Doldrum--who had been, during the course of this whispered
sentimentality, describing a famous run with the Queen's hounds at the
top of his voice--stopped at the jingling of the glass, and his tale
was lost for ever. Scully hastily drank his wine, and Lady Gorgon turned
round to her next neighbour, a little gentleman in black, between whom
and herself certain conscious looks passed.
“I am glad poor Sir George is not here,” said he, smiling.
Lady Gorgon said, “Pooh, for shame!” The little gentleman was no other
than Josiah Crampton, Esquire, that eminent financier, and he was now
going through the curious calculation before mentioned, by which you BUY
A MAN FOR NOTHING. He intended to pay the very same price for Sir George
Gorgon, too; but there was no need to tell the baronet so; only of this
the reader must be made aware.
While Mr. Crampton was conducting this intrigue, which was to bring a
new recruit to the Ministerial ranks, his mighty spirit condescended to
ponder upon subjects of infinitely less importance, and to arrange plans
for the welfare of his nephew and the young woman to whom he had made
a present of his heart. These young persons, as we said before, had
arranged to live in Mr. Perkins's own house in Bedford Row. It was of a
peculiar construction, and might more properly be called a house and
a half: for a snug little tenement of four chambers protruded from the
back of the house into the garden. These rooms communicated with the
drawing-rooms occupied by Mr. Scully; and Perkins, who acted as his
friend and secretary, used frequently to sit in the one nearest the
Member's study, in order that he might be close at hand to confer
with that great man. The rooms had a private entrance too, were newly
decorated, and in them the young couple proposed to live; the kitchen
and garrets being theirs likewise. What more could they need? We
are obliged to be particular in describing these apartments, for
extraordinary events occurred therein.
To say the truth, until the present period Mr. Crampton had taken no
great interest in his nephew's marriage, or, indeed, in the young man
himself. The old gentleman was of a saturnine turn, and inclined
to undervalue the qualities of Mr. Perkins, which were idleness,
simplicity, enthusiasm, and easy good-nature.
“Such fellows never do anything in the world,” he would say, and for
such he had accordingly the most profound contempt. But when, after
John Perkins's repeated entreaties, he had been induced to make the
acquaintance of Miss Gorgon, he became instantly charmed with her, and
warmly espoused her cause against her overbearing relations.
At his suggestion she wrote back to decline Sir George Gorgon's
peremptory invitation, and hinted at the same time that she had attained
an age and a position which enabled her to be the mistress of her own
actions. To this letter there came an answer from Lady Gorgon which we
shall not copy, but which simply stated that Miss Lucy Gorgon's conduct
was unchristian, ungrateful, unladylike, and immodest; that the Gorgon
family disowned her for the future, and left her at liberty to form
whatever base connections she pleased.
“A pretty world this,” said Mr. Crampton, in a great rage, when the
letter was shown to him. “This same fellow, Scully, dissuades my nephew
from taking a place, because Scully wants it for himself. This prude of
a Lady Gorgon cries out shame, and disowns an innocent amiable girl: she
a heartless jilt herself once, and a heartless flirt now. The Pharisees,
the Pharisees! And to call mine a base family, too!”
Now, Lady Gorgon did not in the least know Mr. Crampton's connection
with Mr. Perkins, or she would have been much more guarded in her
language; but whether she knew it or not, the old gentleman felt a huge
indignation, and determined to have his revenge.
“That's right, Uncle! SHALL I call Gorgon out?” said the impetuous young
Perkins, who was all for blood.
“John, you are a fool,” said his uncle. “You shall have a better
revenge: you shall be married from Sir George Gorgon's house, and you
shall see Mr. William Pitt Scully sold for nothing.” This to the veteran
diplomatist seemed to be the highest triumph which man could possibly
enjoy.
It was very soon to take place: and, as has been the case ever since the
world began, woman, lovely woman was to be the cause of Scully's fall.
The tender scene at Lord Mantrap's was followed by many others equally
sentimental. Sir George Gorgon called upon his colleague the very next
day, and brought with him a card from Lady Gorgon inviting Mr. Scully
to dinner. The attorney eagerly accepted the invitation, was received
in Baker Street by the whole amiable family with much respectful
cordiality, and was pressed to repeat his visits as country neighbours
should. More than once did he call, and somehow always at the hour when
Sir George was away at his club, or riding in the Park, or elsewhere
engaged. Sir George Gorgon was very old, very feeble, very much
shattered in constitution. Lady Gorgon used to impart her fears to Mr.
Scully every time he called there, and the sympathising attorney used to
console her as best he might. Sir George's country agent neglected the
property--his lady consulted Mr. Scully concerning it. He knew to a
fraction how large her jointure was; how she was to have Gorgon Castle
for her life; and how, in the event of the young baronet's death (he,
too, was a sickly poor boy), the chief part of the estates, bought by
her money, would be at her absolute disposal.
“What a pity these odious politics prevent me from having you for our
agent,” would Lady Gorgon say; and indeed Scully thought it was a pity
too. Ambitious Scully! what wild notions filled his brain. He used to
take leave of Lady Gorgon and ruminate upon these things; and when he
was gone, Sir George and her Ladyship used to laugh.
“If we can but commit him--if we can but make him vote for Pincher,”
said the General, “my peerage is secure. Hawksby and Crampton as good as
told me so.”
The point had been urged upon Mr. Scully repeatedly and adroitly. “Is
not Pincher a more experienced man than Macabaw?” would Sir George say
to his guest over their wine. Scully allowed it. “Can't you vote for
him on personal grounds, and say so in the House?” Scully wished he
could--how he wished he could! Every time the General coughed, Scully
saw his friend's desperate situation more and more, and thought how
pleasant it would be to be lord of Gorgon Castle. “Knowing my property,”
cried Sir George, “as you do, and with your talents and integrity, what
a comfort it would be could I leave you as guardian to my boy! But these
cursed politics prevent it, my dear fellow. Why WILL you be a Radical?”
And Scully cursed politics too. “Hang the low-bred rogue,” added Sir
George, when William Pitt Scully left the house: “he will do everything
but promise.”
“My dear General,” said Lady Gorgon, sidling up to him and patting him
on his old yellow cheek--“My dear Georgy, tell me one thing,--are you
jealous?”
“Jealous, my dear! and jealous of THAT fellow--pshaw!”
“Well, then, give me leave, and you shall have the promise to-morrow.”
* * *
To-morrow arrived. It was a remarkably fine day, and in the forenoon
Mr. Perkins gave his accustomed knock at Scully's study, which was only
separated from his own sitting-room by a double door. John had wisely
followed his uncle's advice, and was on the best terms with the
honourable Member.
“Here are a few sentences,” said he, “which I think may suit
your purpose. Great public services--undeniable merit--years of
integrity--cause of reform, and Macabaw for ever!” He put down the
paper. It was, in fact, a speech in favour of Mr. Macabaw.
“Hush,” said Scully, rather surlily; for he was thinking how
disagreeable it was to support Macabaw; and besides, there were clerks
in the room, whom the thoughtless Perkins had not at first perceived. As
soon as that gentleman saw them, “You are busy, I see,” continued he in
a lower tone. “I came to say that I must be off duty to-day, for I am
engaged to take a walk with some ladies of my acquaintance.”
So saying, the light-hearted young man placed his hat unceremoniously on
his head, and went off through his own door, humming a song. He was in
such high spirits that he did not even think of closing the doors of
communication, and Scully looked after him with a sneer.
“Ladies, forsooth,” thought he; “I know who they are. This precious girl
that he is fooling with, for one, I suppose.” He was right: Perkins was
off on the wings of love, to see Miss Lucy; and she and Aunt Biggs
and Uncle Crampton had promised this very day to come and look at the
apartments which Mrs. John Perkins was to occupy with her happy husband.
“Poor devil,” so continued Mr. Scully's meditations, “it is almost too
bad to do him out of his place; but my Bob wants it, and John's girl
has, I hear, seven thousand pounds. His uncle will get him another place
before all that money is spent.” And herewith Mr. Scully began conning
the speech which Perkins had made for him.
He had not read it more than six times,--in truth, he was getting it by
heart,--when his head clerk came to him from the front room, bearing
a card: a footman had brought it, who said his lady was waiting below.
Lady Gorgon's name was on the card! To seize his hat and rush downstairs
was, with Mr. Scully, the work of an infinitesimal portion of time.
It was indeed Lady Gorgon in her Gorgonian chariot.
“Mr. Scully,” said she, popping her head out of window and smiling in a
most engaging way, “I want to speak to you, on something very particular
INDEED”--and she held him out her hand. Scully pressed it most tenderly:
he hoped all heads in Bedford Row were at the windows to see him. “I
can't ask you into the carriage, for you see the governess is with me,
and I want to talk secrets to you.”
“Shall I go and make a little promenade?” said mademoiselle, innocently.
And her mistress hated her for that speech.
“No. Mr. Scully, I am sure, will let me come in for five minutes?”
Mr. Scully was only too happy. My Lady descended and walked upstairs,
leaning on the happy solicitor's arm. But how should he manage? The
front room was consecrated to clerks; there were clerks too, as ill-luck
would have it, in his private room. “Perkins is out for the day,”
thought Scully; “I will take her into his room.” And into Perkins's
room he took her--ay, and he shut the double doors after him too, and
trembled as he thought of his own happiness.
“What a charming little study,” said Lady Gorgon, seating herself. And
indeed it was very pretty: for Perkins had furnished it beautifully, and
laid out a neat tray with cakes, a cold fowl, and sherry, to entertain
his party withal. “And do you bachelors always live so well?” continued
she, pointing to the little cold collation.
Mr. Scully looked rather blank when he saw it, and a dreadful suspicion
crossed his soul; but there was no need to trouble Lady Gorgon with
explanations: therefore, at once, and with much presence of mind, he
asked her to partake of his bachelor's fare (she would refuse Mr. Scully
nothing that day). A pretty sight would it have been for young Perkins
to see strangers so unceremoniously devouring his feast. She drank--Mr.
Scully drank--and so emboldened was he by the draught that he actually
seated himself by the side of Lady Gorgon, on John Perkins's new sofa.
Her Ladyship had of course something to say to him. She was a pious
woman, and had suddenly conceived a violent wish for building a chapel
of ease at Oldborough, to which she entreated him to subscribe. She
enlarged upon the benefits that the town would derive from it, spoke
of Sunday-schools, sweet spiritual instruction, and the duty of all
well-minded persons to give aid to the scheme.
“I will subscribe a hundred pounds,” said Scully, at the end of her
Ladyship's harangue: “would I not do anything for you?”
“Thank you, thank you, dear Mr. Scully,” said the enthusiastic woman.
(How the “dear” went burning through his soul!) “Ah!” added she, “if
you WOULD but do anything for me--if you, who are so eminently, so truly
distinguished, in a religious point of view, would but see the truth
in politics too; and if I could see your name among those of the true
patriot party in this empire, how blest--oh! how blest should I be! Poor
Sir George often says he should go to his grave happy, could he but
see you the guardian of his boy; and I, your old friend (for we WERE
friends, William), how have I wept to think of you as one of those who
are bringing our monarchy to ruin. Do, do promise me this too!” And she
took his hand and pressed it between hers.
The heart of William Pitt Scully, during this speech, was thumping
up and down with a frightful velocity and strength. His old love, the
agency of the Gorgon property--the dear widow--five thousand a year
clear--a thousand delicious hopes rushed madly through his brain, and
almost took away his reason. And there she sat--she, the loved one,
pressing his hand and looking softly into his eyes.
Down, down he plumped on his knees.
“Juliana!” shrieked he, “don't take away your hand! My love--my only
love!--speak but those blessed words again! Call me William once more,
and do with me what you will.”
Juliana cast down her eyes and said, in the very smallest type,
“William!”
* * *
--when the door opened, and in walked Mr. Crampton, leading Mrs. Biggs,
who could hardly contain herself for laughing, and Mr. John Perkins, who
was squeezing the arm of Miss Lucy. They had heard every word of the two
last speeches.
For at the very moment when Lady Gorgon had stopped at Mr. Scully's
door, the four above-named individuals had issued from Great James
Street into Bedford Row.
Lucy cried out that it was her aunt's carriage, and they all saw Mr.
Scully come out, bare-headed, in the sunshine, and my Lady descend, and
the pair go into the house. They meanwhile entered by Mr. Perkins's own
private door, and had been occupied in examining the delightful rooms
on the ground-floor, which were to be his dining-room and library--from
which they ascended a stair to visit the other two rooms, which were to
form Mrs. John Perkins's drawing-room and bedroom. Now whether it was
that they trod softly, or that the stairs were covered with a grand new
carpet and drugget, as was the case, or that the party within were too
much occupied in themselves to heed any outward disturbances, I know
not; but Lucy, who was advancing with John (he was saying something
about one of the apartments, the rogue!)--Lucy started and whispered,
“There is somebody in the rooms!” and at that instant began the speech
already reported, “THANK YOU, THANK YOU, DEAR MR. SCULLY,” etc. etc.,
which was delivered by Lady Gorgon in a full clear voice; for, to do her
Ladyship justice, SHE had not one single grain of love for Mr. Scully,
and during the delivery of her little oration, was as cool as the
coolest cucumber.
Then began the impassioned rejoinder, to which the four listened on
the landing-place; and then the little “William,” as narrated above: at
which juncture Mr. Crampton thought proper to rattle at the door, and,
after a brief pause, to enter with his party.
“William” had had time to bounce off his knees, and was on a chair at
the other end of the room.
“What, Lady Gorgon!” said Mr. Crampton, with excellent surprise, “how
delighted I am to see you! Always, I see employed in works of charity”
(the chapel-of-ease paper was on her knees), “and on such an occasion,
too,--it is really the most wonderful coincidence! My dear madam, here
is a silly fellow, a nephew of mine, who is going to marry a silly girl,
a niece of your own.”
“Sir, I--” began Lady Gorgon, rising.
“They heard every word,” whispered Mr. Crampton eagerly. “Come forward,
Mr. Perkins, and show yourself.” Mr. Perkins made a genteel bow. “Miss
Lucy, please to shake hands with your aunt; and this, my dear madam, is
Mrs. Biggs, of Mecklenburgh Square, who, if she were not too old, might
marry a gentleman in the Treasury, who is your very humble servant.” And
with this gallant speech, old Mr. Crampton began helping everybody to
sherry and cake.
As for William Pitt Scully, he had disappeared, evaporated, in the
most absurd sneaking way imaginable. Lady Gorgon made good her retreat
presently, with much dignity, her countenance undismayed, and her face
turned resolutely to the foe.
* * *
About five days afterwards, that memorable contest took place in the
House of Commons, in which the partisans of Mr. Macabaw were so very
nearly getting him the Speakership. On the day that the report of the
debate appeared in the Times, there appeared also an announcement in the
Gazette as follows:--
“The King has been pleased to appoint John Perkins, Esquire, to be
Deputy-Subcomptroller of His Majesty's Tape Office and Custos of the
Sealing-Wax Department.”
Mr. Crampton showed this to his nephew with great glee, and was
chuckling to think how Mr. William Pitt Scully would be annoyed, who
had expected the place, when Perkins burst out laughing and said, “By
heavens, here is my own speech! Scully has spoken every word of it; he
has only put in Mr. Pincher's name in the place of Mr. Macabaw's.”
“He is ours now,” responded his uncle, “and I told you WE WOULD HAVE HIM
FOR NOTHING. I told you, too, that you should be married from Sir George
Gorgon's, and here is proof of it.”
It was a letter from Lady Gorgon, in which she said that, “had she known
Mr. Perkins to be a nephew of her friend Mr. Crampton, she never for
a moment would have opposed his marriage with her niece, and she
had written that morning to her dear Lucy, begging that the marriage
breakfast should take place in Baker Street.”
“It shall be in Mecklenburgh Square,” said John Perkins stoutly; and in
Mecklenburgh Square it was.
William Pitt Scully, Esquire, was, as Mr. Crampton said, hugely annoyed
at the loss of the place for his nephew. He had still, however, his
hopes to look forward to, but these were unluckily dashed by the coming
in of the Whigs. As for Sir George Gorgon, when he came to ask about his
peerage, Hawksby told him that they could not afford to lose him in the
Commons, for a Liberal Member would infallibly fill his place.
And now that the Tories are out and the Whigs are in, strange to say a
Liberal does fill his place. This Liberal is no other than Sir George
Gorgon himself, who is still longing to be a lord, and his lady is still
devout and intriguing. So that the Members for Oldborough have
changed sides, and taunt each other with apostasy, and hate each other
cordially. Mr. Crampton still chuckles over the manner in which he
tricked them both, and talks of those five minutes during which he
stood on the landing-place, and hatched and executed his “Bedford-Row
Conspiracy.”