MR. PHILLIP’S MARRIED LIFE.
All Mr. Redgill’s calculations for worldly prosperity had hitherto
proved untrue.
Disappointed in his father’s affairs, he had married wholly and
solely for mere consideration of money.
But the smashing of Sir Andrew’s offices, and of the South Sea Bank,
in the general monetary “crash” which had suddenly and unexpectedly
come upon all the banks, had found him bereft of nearly every
friend, with no money, little credit, and a very gaily-inclined wife
to support.
Sir Andrew and lady had retired to their little country house
to reside, where they expected to be somewhat relieved from the
importunities of creditors.
And thus Mr. Redgill was left alone in his glory on the scene of his
bygone triumphs.
He knew not in which way to move to gain an income commensurate with
his habits and his wants.
An ordinary young man would have sought out and taken his spouse to
modest lodgings, the rates and expenses of which he might reasonably
expect to meet and readily defray.
Such economical ideas did not coincide with Phillip’s practice and
proverbial philosophy.
He boldly drove up to a first-class hotel, and, with the air of a
millionaire, selected elegant apartments, but without the remotest
idea as to when of how he should be able to pay for them.
He dined sumptuously every day, and drank expensive wines.
He smoked the very best cigars.
Found fault almost with everything, bullied and harassed the servants
beyond human endurance.
He strutted or lounged about, picking his teeth, and ogling the
ladies with all the airs and manners of an unlimitedly-credited
ambassador or Nabob.
By borrowing money from former associates and acquaintance, but
more with the manner of one who was conferring a favour rather than
begging one, he contrived to meet incidental expenses, and played
cards, and attended bear baitings with his former elegant manners,
but very adroitly contrived to postpone the adjustment of all bills
presented to him.
After two months’ residence at the hotel the polite and gentlemanly
proprietor presented his bill, and hinted at the desirability of
payment.
Phillip Redgill, Esq., towered into a fearful rage, strutted about,
spoke of his “honour,” credit and family, and left the hotel that
same day, telling the proprietor in an indifferent, but tragic
manner, to send in his bill to the “St. Charles Hotel,” where he
intended for the future to reside, intimating in a mildly ferocious
style that did he consider the proprietor to be a “gentleman” he
should feel no hesitation or compunction of conscience in treating
him to an ordeal of fire, ball, and brimstone over in Battersea, or
in the secluded Wormwood Scrubbs.
By such method of procedure Mr. Redgill and his “lady” lived for
several months during Charley Warbeck’s incarceration, and all he
did when bills were presented was to find fault, fall into a violent
passion, and go elsewhere, or anywhere where his name or appearance
would admit or credit him.
Everything has an end, and so had Redgill’s braggadocio and credit.
For the sake of past memories few would trouble his own personal
effects for debt; but at last he had fallen so low in the social
scale that he deserted the hotels, and sought accommodations for
himself and wife in private lodgings.
He “hated the noise and bustle of hotels and public thoroughfares,”
he said.
“Retirement and quiet suited him best.”
So that although he frequented card rooms and the like, little
altered from his former style of dress and manner, his “whereabouts”
were a mystery to all.
Nor could the most urgent importunities make him disclose his
lodgings.
How he maintained himself no one was bold enough to inquire.
He was frequently seen in the company of rich young men desirous of
seeing and being initiated into the mysteries of the town.
Many said, or rather whispered, that Phillip was nothing better than
a card “sharper” and general blackleg.
These, of course, were only very distant rumours.
None were bold enough to publicly retail such reports for fear of
Phillip’s ungovernable anger, and his frequent allusions to the
number of men he had “stabbed” or shot in his brief career upon the
town.
Certain it is, Mr. Redgill was more frequently seen handling cards
than his prayer book, and a thousand times to one oftener seen in the
bear gardens than in church, and, as officers will occasionally talk,
Redgill was styled in general terms as “a man about town” “who knew
a thing or two,” and “could generally in the season average £20 per
night” at cards.
Whatever his “averages” might be, it is in point blank evidence that
he gave his wife but little—nay, very little.
What with general neglect, harsh words, frequent blows, and general
ruffianism, poor Fanny led but an unamiable life, and frequently
begged for death as a release from her sufferings.
Sir Andrew’s visits to the City were few and far between.
Whenever he “ran up” by coach, he passed through the streets in a
shadowy manner, without the slightest ambition, apparently, to be
recognized by any of his former friends.
He was an “unsuccessful man,” and had involved many in losses with
that of his own.
Hence, for the sake of peace and quiet, he adopted every little
expedient of which he was master to shun his many creditors and
acquaintance.
“I have secured my little country-house from the wreck of all my
bygone wealth,” he sometimes would say; “let me live in peace.”
The “retired” gentleman need not have had recourse to any stratagem
to avoid those who once had known him.
His present appearance was so altered, he had become so thin
and cadaverous, and his attire withal was so “seedy” and out of
fashion, that few would ever have recognized in him the spruce and
scrupulously-attired Sir Andrew McTurk of former days, who could
boast of having taken “risk” for almost fabulous sums.
It was not the welfare of his only daughter Fanny, or of Phillip
Redgill, his promising son in-law, which occasioned his visits to
town.
He hated both of them so intensely that he could not mention them
without plunging himself into a fearful rage and stammering out a
volley of oaths.
His real motive was pure infatuation—to see if there was any earthly
prospect of beginning business again, in some shape or form.
City life had become so necessary to his existence that he seemed to
loath the green fields and meadows, and sighed to be once more in
the dusty streets round about the Exchange, or up in offices again,
handling paper or counting gold.
Old as he was, and far past the meridian of life, the ruling passion
for money was still strong in him.
Little temptation, perhaps, would have been requisite to prompt him
again to nefarious deeds should the “chance” present itself.
Phillip’s wife had casually heard of these visits of her father to
the City, and sought every opportunity to see him.
She did not desire assistance, but wished to beg his forgiveness
for what she had done, and resolved that if he still betrayed any
affection for her, she would beg of him to take her to his home,
far from the City, and far from the ill-treatment and brutality
of Phillip her husband, whose daily and increasing unkindness and
neglect were killing her.
While in waiting for her father, at the corner of St. Paul’s
churchyard, Phillip met her.
Being partly intoxicated, he abused her in unmeasured terms, and bade
her go home instantly, at the same time irreparably wounding her
womanly pride by inhuman epithets and accusations.
In tears she stood in the public street, leaning against a lamp-post
for support, when who should pass at the moment but Augustus
Fumbleton, Esq., who, in despair at his loss of the captivating Miss
Clara, had been consoling himself with a serene contemplation of the
numerous tombstones in the churchyard, near the railings of which
Mrs. Phillip Redgill stood sobbing.
Fumbleton addressed the afflicted lady in a very respectful manner,
and proffered to assist her home.
His gallantry and amiability so won upon Fanny, that she sobbingly
consented, and he was generous enough to call a conveyance, and saw
her safely to her own door.
A few days subsequent to this incident, Redgill and Charley Warbeck
met near the Exchange.
The former waited until the latter had passed into a bye street, when
he accosted him.
Phillip’s manner was so cordial and hearty, as fully to disarm all
suspicions which Charley might have formed of him.
Phillip “was intensely sorry” to hear of his misfortune, and swore
roundly that _he_ had been the first to petition the king for his
pardon and release, and that “the chief judge had said to him” and
“he had said to the chief judge” &c., so that Charles began to
imagine Phillip was a very “good fellow” and not so bad as he had
imagined.
Phillip knew perfectly well where Charles lived and promised to call,
particularly when young Warbeck casually remarked that there were
apartments vacant which Dame Worthington desired to let to a man and
wife without family.
The interview concluded by Redgill asking Charley to take some
brandy, and begging the loan of “five pounds for a day or two,” a
request which Charley was not foolish enough to grant him.