AT SOOTYTHORN.
Not many days after the little events narrated in the preceding chapter,
Mr. Philip Stanburne awoke in a small bedroom on the second floor of the
Thorn Inn, or Thorn Hotel, at Sootythorn. It was a disagreeable, stuffy
little room; and an extensive four-poster covered fully one-half the
area of the floor. There was the usual wash-hand stand, and close to the
wash-hand stand a chair, and on the chair the undress uniform of a
militia officer. Philip Stanburne lay in the extensive four-poster, and
contemplated the military equipment, of which the most brilliant
portions were the crimson sash, and the bright, newly gilded hilt of a
handsome sword. As it was only the undress uniform, there was nothing
particularly striking in the dress itself, which consisted of a plain
dark-blue frock-coat, and black trowsers with narrow red seam.
Nevertheless, Captain Stanburne felt no great inclination to invest his
person with what looked very like a disguise. His instincts were by no
means military; and the idea of marching through the streets of
Sootythorn with a drawn sword in his hand had little attraction for him.
When he drew up his blind, the view from the window was unpleasantly
different from the view that refreshed his eye every morning at
Stanithburn Peel. The Thorn Inn was higher than most of the houses in
Sootythorn, and Philip Stanburne had a view over the roofs. Very smoky
they all were, and still smokier were the immense chimney-stalks of the
cotton-mills. "One, two, three, four," began Philip, aloud, as he
counted the great chimneys, and he did not stop till he had counted up
to twenty-nine. The Thorn Inn was just in the middle of the town, and
there were as many on the other side--a consideration which occurred to
Philip Stanburne's reflective mind, as it sometimes occurs to very
philosophical people to think about the stars that are under our feet,
on the other side of the world.
"What a dirty place it is!" thought Philip Stanburne. "I wish I had
never come into the militia. Fancy me staying a month in such a smoky
hole as this! I wish I were back at the Peel. And just the nicest month
in the year, too!" However, there he was, and it was too late to go
back. He had to present himself at the orderly-room at half-past nine,
and it was already a quarter to nine.
On entering the coffee-room of the hotel he found half-a-dozen gentlemen
disguised like himself in military apparel, and engaged in the business
of breakfast. He did not know one of them. He knew few people,
especially amongst the Protestant gentry; and he literally knew nobody
of the middle class in Sootythorn except Mr. Garley the innkeeper, and
one or two tradesmen.
Philip had no sooner entered the coffee-room than Mr. Garley made his
appearance with that air of confidence which distinguished him. Mr.
Garley was not Philip Stanburne's equal in a social point of view, but
he was immensely his superior in _aplomb_ and knowledge of the world.
Thus, whilst Captain Stanburne felt slightly nervous in the presence of
the gentlemen in uniform, and disguised his nervousness under an
appearance of lofty reserve, Mr. Garley, though little accustomed to the
sight of military men, or of gentlemen wearing the appearance of
military men, was no more embarrassed than in the presence of his old
friends the commercials. "Good morning, Captain Stanburne," said Mr.
Garley; "good morning to _you_, sir; 'ope you slep well; 'ope you was
suited with your room."
Philip muttered something about its being "rather small."
"Well, sir, it _is_ rather small, as you say, sir. I could have wished
to have given you a better, but you see, sir, I kep the best room in the
'ouse for the Curnle; and then there was the majors, and his lordship
here, Captain Lord Henry Ughtred, had bespoke a good room more than six
weeks ago; so you see, sir, I wasn't quite free to serve you quite so
well as I could have wished. Sorry we can't content _all_ gentlemen,
sir. What will you take to breakfast, Captain Stanburne? Would you like
a boiled hegg, new-laid, or a little fried 'am, or shall I cut you some
cold meat; there's four kinds of cold meat on the sideboard, besides a
cold beefsteak-pie?"
As he finished his sentence, Mr. Garley drew a chair out, the seat of
which had been under the table, and, with a mixture of servility and
patronage (servility because he was temporarily acting the part of a
waiter, patronage because he still knew himself to be Mr. Garley of the
Thorn Hotel), he invited Philip Stanburne to sit down. The other
gentlemen at the table had not been engaged in a very animated
conversation, and they suspended it by mutual consent to have a good
stare at the new-comer. For it so happened that these men were the swell
clique, which had for its head Captain Lord Henry Ughtred, and for its
vice-captain the Honorable Fortunatus Brabazon; and the swell clique had
determined in its own corporate mind that it would have as little to do
with the snobs of Sootythorn as might be. It was apprehensive of a great
influx of the snob element into the regiment. There was a belief or
suspicion in the clique that there existed cads even amongst the
captains; and as the officers had not yet met together, a feeling of
great circumspection predominated amongst the members of the clique.
Philip Stanburne ventured to observe that it was a fine morning; but
although his next neighbor admitted that fact, he at once allowed the
conversation to drop. Mr. Garley had given Philip his first cup of tea;
but, in his temporary absence, Philip asked a distinguished member of
the swell clique for a second. The liquid was not refused, yet there was
something in the manner of giving it which might have turned the hottest
cup of tea in Lancashire to a lump of solid ice. At length Lord Henry
Ughtred, having for a length of time fixed his calm blue eyes on Philip
(they were pretty blue eyes, and he had nice curly hair, and a general
look of an overgrown Cupid), said,--
"Pray excuse me; did I not hear Mr. Garley say that your name was
Stanburne?"
"Yes, my name is Stanburne."
"Are you Colonel Stanburne's brother, may I ask?"
"No; the Colonel has no brothers."
"Ah, true, true; I had forgotten. Of _course_, I knew Stanburne had no
brothers. Indeed, he told me he'd no relations--or something of the
kind. You're not a relation of his, I presume; you don't belong to his
family, do you?"
Philip Stanburne, in these matters, had very much of the feeling of a
Highland chief. He was the representative of the Stanburnes, and the
Colonel was head of a younger branch only. So when he was asked in this
way whether he belonged to the Colonel's family, he at once answered
"no," seeing that the Colonel belonged to _his_ family, not he to the
Colonel's. He was irritated, too, by the tone of his questioner; and,
besides, such a relationship as the very distant one between himself and
Colonel Stanburne was rather a matter for poetical sentiment than for
the prose of the outer world.
Mr. Garley only made matters worse by putting his word in. "Beg pardon,
Captn Stanburne, but I've always 'eard say that your family was a
younger branch of the Wendrum family."
"Then you were misinformed, for it isn't."
"Perhaps it isn't just clearly traced out, sir," said Mr. Garley,
intending to make himself agreeable; "but all the old people says so. If
I was you, sir, I'd have it properly traced out. Mr. Higgin, the spinner
here, got his pedigree traced out quite beautiful. It's really a very
'andsome pedigree, coats of arms and all. Nobody would have thought Mr.
Higgin 'ad such a pedigree; but there's nothin' like tracin' and
studyin', and 'untin' it all hup."
Philip Stanburne was well aware that his position as chief of his house
was very little known, and that he was popularly supposed to descend
from some poor cadet of Wenderholme; but it was disagreeable to be
reminded of the popular belief about him in this direct way, and in the
hearing of witnesses before whom he felt little disposed to abate one
jot of his legitimate pretensions. However, pride kept him silent, even
after Mr. Garley's ill-contrived speech, and he sought a diversion in
looking at his watch. This made the others look at their watches also;
and as it was already twenty-five minutes after nine, they all set off
for the orderly-room, the swell clique keeping together, and Philip
Stanburne following about twenty yards in the rear.
The streets of Sootythorn were seldom very animated at ten o'clock in
the morning, except on a market-day; and though there was a great deal
of excitement amongst the population of the town on the subject of the
militia, that population was safely housed in the fifty-seven factories
of Sootythorn, and an officer might pass through the streets in
comparative comfort, free from the remarks which would be likely to
assail him when the factories loosed. With the exception of two or three
urchins who ran by Philip's side, and stared at him till one of them
fell over a wheelbarrow, nothing occurred to disturb him. As the
orderly-room was very near, Captain Stanburne thought he had time to buy
a pocket-book at the bookseller's shop, and entered it for that purpose.
Whilst occupied with the choice of his pocket-book he heard a soft voice
close to him.
"Papa wishes to know if you have got Mr. Blunting's Sermons on Popery."
"No, Miss Stedman, we haven't a copy left, but we can order one for Mr.
Stedman if he wishes it. Perhaps it would be well to order it at once,
as there has been a great demand for the book, and it is likely to be
out of print very soon, unless the new edition is out in time to keep up
the supply. Four editions are exhausted already, and the book has only
been out a month or two. We are writing to London to-day; shall we order
the book for you, Miss Stedman?"
The lady hesitated a little, and then said, "Papa seemed to want it very
much--yes, you can order it, please."
There was something very agreeable to Philip Stanburne's ear in what he
had heard, and something that grated upon it harshly. The tone of the
girl's voice was singularly sweet. It came to him as comes a pure
unexpected perfume. It was amongst sounds what the perfume of violets is
amongst odors, and he longed to hear it again. What had grated upon him
was the word "Popery;" he could not endure to hear his religion called
"Popery." Still, it was only the title of some Protestant book the girl
had mentioned, and she was not responsible for it--she could not give
the book any other title than its own. Philip Stanburne was examining a
quantity of morocco contrivances (highly ingenious, most of them) in a
glass case in the middle of the shop, and he turned round to look at the
young lady, but she had her back to him. She was now choosing some
note-paper on the counter. Her dress was extremely simple--white muslin,
with a little sprig; and she wore a plain straw bonnet--for in those
days women _did_ wear bonnets. It was evident that she was not a
fashionable young lady, for her whole dress showed a timid lagging
behind the fashion.
When she had completed her little purchases Miss Stedman left the shop,
and Captain Stanburne was disappointed, for she had given him no
opportunity of seeing her face; but just as he was leaving she came
back in some haste, and they met rather suddenly in the doorway. "I beg
your pardon," said the Captain, making way for her--and then he got a
look at her face. The look must have been agreeable to him, for when he
saw a little glove lying on the mat in the doorway, he picked it up
rather eagerly and presented it to the fair owner. "Is this your glove,
Miss--Miss Stedman?"
Now Miss Stedman had never in her life been spoken to by a gentleman in
military uniform, with a sword by his side, and the fact added to her
confusion. It was odd, too, to hear him call her Miss Stedman, but it
was not disagreeable, for he said it very nicely. There is an art of
pronouncing names so as to turn the commonest of them into titles of
honor; and if Philip had said "your ladyship," he could not have said it
more respectfully. So she thanked him for the glove with the warmth
which comes of embarrassment, and she blushed, and he bowed, and they
saw no more of each other--that day.
It was a poor little glove--a poor little cheap thread glove; but all
the finest and softest kids that lay in their perfumed boxes in the
well-stocked shops of Sootythorn,--all the pale gray kids and pale
yellow kids which the young shopmen so strongly recommended as "suitable
for the present season,"--were forgotten in a month, whereas Alice
Stedman's glove was remembered for years and years.