HIGH LIFE ABOVE STAIRS, A LITTLE BELOW THE MARK--FASHION FRENCH, VIRTUE,
AND ALL THAT.
Six o'clock was now near at hand, and Mrs Turnbull entered the
drawing-room in full dress. She certainly was a very handsome woman,
and had every appearance of being fashionable; but it was her language
which exposed her. She was like the peacock. As long as she was silent
you could but admire the plumage, but her voice spoilt all. "Now, Mr
Turnbull," said she, "I wish to _h_explain to you that there are certain
_h_improprieties in your behaviour which I cannot put _h_up with,
particularly that _h_of talking about when you were before the mast."
"Well, my dear, is that anything to be ashamed of?"
"Yes, Mr Turnbull, that _h_is--one _h_always sinks them ere particulars
in fashionable society. To wirtuperate in company a'n't pleasant, and
_H_i've thought of a plan which may _h_act as an _h_impediment to your
vulgarity. Recollect, Mr T, when_h_ever I say that _H_i've an
'eadache, it's to be a sign for you to 'old your tongue; and, Mr T,
_h_oblige me by wearing kid gloves all the evening."
"What! at dinner time, my dear?"
"Yes, Mr T, at dinner time; your 'ands are not fit to be touched."
"Well, I recollect when you thought otherwise."
"When, Mr T? 'ave I not often told you so?"
"Yes, lately; but I referred to the time when one Poll Bacon of Wapping
took my hand for better or for worse."
"Really, Mr T, you quite shock me. My name was Mary, and the Bacons
are a good old _H_inglish name. You 'ave their _h_arms quartered on the
carriage in right o' me. That's something, I can tell you."
"Something I had to pay for pretty smartly, at all events."
"The payment, Mr T, was on account of granting _h_arms to you, who
never _'ad_ any."
"And never wished for them. What do I care for such stuff?"
"And when you did choose, Mr Turnbull, you might have consulted me,
instead of making yourself the laughing-stock of Sir George Naylor and
all the 'eralds. Who but a madman would have chosen three harpoons
_saluims_, and three barrels _couchants_, with a spouting whale for a
crest? Just to point out to everybody what should _h_ever be buried in
_h_oblivion; and then your beastly motto--which I _would have_
changed--_`Blubber for ever_!' Blubber indeed! _h_enough to make _h_any
one _blubber_ for ever."
"Well, the heralds told me they were just what I ought to have chosen,
and very apposite, as they termed it."
"They took your money and laughed at you. Two pair of griffins, a lion,
half-a-dozen leopards, and a hand with a dagger, wouldn't 'ave cost a
farthing more. But what can you _h_expect from an _'og_?"
"But if I was _cured_, I should be what you _were--Bacon_."
"I won't _demean_ myself, Mr Turnbull."
"That's right, my dear, don't; there's no curing you. Recollect the
motto you chose in preference to mine."
"Well, and a very proper one--`_Too much familiarity breeds contempt_'--
is it not so, Master Faithful?"
"Yes, madam, it was one of our copies at school."
"I beg your pardon, sir, it was my _h_own _h_invention."
Rap, tap, rap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
"Mr and Mrs Peters, of Petercumb Hall," announced the butler. Enter
Mrs Peters first, a very diminutive lady, and followed by Mr Peters,
six feet four inches without his shoes, deduct for stooping and curved
shoulders seven inches. Mr Peters had retired from the Stock Exchange
with a competence, bought a place, named it Petercumb Hall, and set up
his carriage. Another knock, and Mr and Mrs Drummond were announced.
Compliments exchanged, and a pastile lighted by Mrs Turnbull.
"Well, Drummond," said Mr Turnbull, "what are coals worth now?"
"Mr Turnbull, I've got such an _'eadache_."
This was of course a matter of condolence from all present, and a
stopper upon Mr Turnbull's tongue.
Another sounding rap, and a pause. "Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue
coming up." Enter Monsieur and Madame de Tagliabue. The former, a
dapper little Frenchman, with a neat pair of legs, and stomach as round
as a pea. Madame sailing in like an outward-bound East Indiaman, with
studding sails below and aloft; so large in her dimensions, that her
husband might be compared to the pilot-boat plying about her stern.
"Charmee de vous voir, Madame Tom-bulle. Vous vous portez bien;
n'est-ce pas?"
"_Ve_," replied Mrs Turnbull, who thus exhausted her knowledge of the
French language while the Monsieur tried in vain, first on one side, and
then on the other, to get from under the lee of his wife and make his
bow. This was not accomplished until the lady had taken possession of a
sofa, which she filled most comfortably.
Who these people were, and how they lived, I never could find out: they
came in a fly from Brentford.