REVEALS AN ABOMINABLE PLOT OF THE BROTHERS COGGLESBY
A lively April day, with strong gusts from the Southwest, and long
sweeping clouds, saluted the morning coach from London to Lymport.
Thither Tailordom triumphant was bearing its victim at a rattling pace,
to settle him, and seal him for ever out of the ranks of gentlemen:
Society, meantime, howling exclusion to him in the background: “Out of
our halls, degraded youth: The smiles of turbaned matrons: the sighs of
delicate maids; genial wit, educated talk, refined scandal, vice in
harness, dinners sentineled by stately plush: these, the flavour of
life, are not for you, though you stole a taste of them, wretched
impostor! Pay for it with years of remorse!”
The coach went rushing against the glorious high wind. It stirred his
blood, freshened his cheeks, gave a bright tone of zest to his eyes, as
he cast them on the young green country. Not banished from the breath
of heaven, or from self-respect, or from the appetite for the rewards
that are to follow duties done! Not banished from the help that is
always reached to us when we have fairly taken the right road: and that
for him is the road to Lymport. Let the kingdom of Gilt Gingerbread
howl as it will! We are no longer children, but men: men who have
bitten hard at experience, and know the value of a tooth: who have had
our hearts bruised, and cover them with armour: who live not to feed,
but look to food that we may live! What matters it that yonder
high-spiced kingdom should excommunicate such as we are? We have rubbed
off the gilt, and have assumed the command of our stomachs. We are men
from this day!
Now, you would have thought Evan’s companions, right and left of him,
were the wretches under sentence, to judge from appearances. In
contrast with his look of insolent pleasure, Andrew, the moment an eye
was on him, exhibited the cleverest impersonation of the dumps ever
seen: while Mr. Raikes was from head to foot nothing better than a moan
made visible. Nevertheless, they both agreed to rally Evan, and bid him
be of good cheer.
“Don’t be down, Van; don’t be down, my boy,” said Andrew, rubbing his
hands gloomily.
“I? do I look it?” Evan answered, laughing.
“Capital acting!” exclaimed Raikes. “Try and keep it up.”
“Well, I hope you’re acting too,” said Evan.
Raikes let his chest fall like a collapsing bellows.
At the end of five minutes, he remarked: “I’ve been sitting on it the
whole morning! There’s violent inflammation, I’m persuaded. Another
hour, and I jump slap from the summit of the coach!”
Evan turned to Andrew.
“Do you think he’ll be let off?”
“Mr. Raikes? Can’t say. You see, Van, it depends upon how Old Tom has
taken his bad luck. Ahem! Perhaps he’ll be all the stricter; and as a
man of honour, Mr. Raikes, you see, can’t very well—”
“By Jove! I wish I wasn’t a man of honour!” Raikes interposed, heavily.
“You see, Van, Old Tom’s circumstances”—Andrew ducked, to smother a
sort of laughter—“are now such that he’d be glad of the money to let
him off, no doubt; but Mr. Raikes has spent it, I can’t lend it, and
you haven’t got it, and there we all are. At the end of the year he’s
free, and he—ha! ha! I’m not a bit the merrier for laughing, I can tell
you.”
Catching another glimpse of Evan’s serious face, Andrew fell into
louder laughter; checking it with doleful solemnity.
Up hill and down hill, and past little homesteads shining with yellow
crocuses; across wide brown heaths, whose outlines raised in Evan’s
mind the night of his funeral walk, and tossed up old feelings dead as
the whirling dust. At last Raikes called out:
“The towers of Fallowfield; heigho!”
And Andrew said:
“Now then, Van: if Old Tom’s anywhere, he’s here. You get down at the
Dragon, and don’t you talk to me, but let me go in. It’ll be just the
hour he dines in the country. Isn’t it a shame of him to make me face
every man of the creditors—eh?”
Evan gave Andrew’s hand an affectionate squeeze, at which Andrew had to
gulp down something—reciprocal emotion, doubtless.
“Hark,” said Raikes, as the horn of the guard was heard. “Once that
sound used to set me caracoling before an abject multitude. I did
wonders. All London looked on me! It had more effect on me than
champagne. Now I hear it—the whole charm has vanished! I can’t see a
single old castle. Would you have thought it possible that a small
circular bit of tin on a man’s person could produce such changes in
him?”
“You are a donkey to wear it,” said Evan.
“I pledged my word as a gentleman, and thought it small, for the
money!” said Raikes. “This is the first coach I ever travelled on,
without making the old whip burst with laughing. I’m not myself. I’m
haunted. I’m somebody else.”
The three passengers having descended, a controversy commenced between
Evan and Andrew as to which should pay. Evan had his money out; Andrew
dashed it behind him; Evan remonstrated.
“Well, you mustn’t pay for us two, Andrew. I would have let you do it
once, but—”
“Stuff!” cried Andrew. “I ain’t paying—it’s the creditors of the
estate, my boy!”
Evan looked so ingenuously surprised and hurt at his lack of principle,
that Andrew chucked a sixpence at a small boy, saying,
“If you don’t let me have my own way, Van, I’ll shy my purse after it.
What do you mean, sir, by treating me like a beggar?”
“Our friend Harrington can’t humour us,” quoth Raikes. “For myself, I
candidly confess I prefer being paid for”; and he leaned contentedly
against one of the posts of the inn till the filthy dispute was
arranged to the satisfaction of the ignobler mind. There Andrew left
them, and went to Mrs. Sockley, who, recovered from her illness, smiled
her usual placid welcome to a guest.
“You know me, ma’am?”
“Oh, yes! The London Mr. Cogglesby!”
“Now, ma’am, look here. I’ve come for my brother. Don’t be alarmed. No
danger as yet. But, mind! if you attempt to conceal him from his lawful
brother, I’ll summon here the myrmidons of the law.”
Mrs. Sockley showed a serious face.
“You know his habits, Mr. Cogglesby; and one doesn’t go against any one
of his whimsies, or there’s consequences: but the house is open to you,
sir. I don’t wish to hide him.”
Andrew accepted this intelligent evasion of Tom Cogglesby’s orders as
sufficient, and immediately proceeded upstairs. A door shut on the
first landing. Andrew went to this door and knocked. No answer. He
tried to open it, but found that he had been forestalled. After
threatening to talk business through the key-hole, the door was
unlocked, and Old Tom appeared.
“So! now you’re dogging me into the country. Be off; make an
appointment. Saturday’s my holiday. You know that.”
Andrew pushed through the doorway, and, by way of an emphatic reply and
a silencing one, delivered a punch slap into Old Tom’s belt.
“Confound you, Nan!” said Old Tom, grimacing, but friendly, as if his
sympathies had been irresistibly assailed.
“It’s done, Tom! I’ve done it. Won my bet, now,” Andrew exclaimed. “The
women—poor creatures! What a state they’re in. I pity ’em.”
Old Tom pursed his lips, and eyed his brother incredulously, but with
curious eagerness.
“Oh, Lord! what a face I’ve had to wear!” Andrew continued, and while
he sank into a chair and rubbed his handkerchief over his crisp hair,
Old Tom let loose a convinced and exulting, “ha! ha!”
“Yes, you may laugh. I’ve had all the bother,” said Andrew.
“Serve ye right—marrying such cattle,” Old Tom snapped at him.
“They believe we’re bankrupt—owe fifty thousand clear, Tom!”
“Ha! ha!”
“Brewery stock and household furniture to be sold by general auction,
Friday week.”
“Ha! ha!”
“Not a place for any of us to poke our heads into. I talked about
‘pitiless storms’ to my poor Harry—no shelter to be had unless we go
down to Lymport, and stop with their brother in shop!”
Old Tom did enjoy this. He took a great gulp of air for a tremendous
burst of laughter, and when this was expended and reflection came, his
features screwed, as if the acidest of flavours had ravished his
palate.
“Bravo, Nan! Didn’t think you were man enough. Ha! ha! Nan—I say—eh?
how did ye get on behind the curtains?”
The tale, to guess by Andrew’s face, appeared to be too strongly
infused with pathos for revelation.
“Will they go, Nan, eh? d’ ye think they’ll go?”
“Where else can they go, Tom? They must go there, or on the parish, you
know.”
“They’ll all troop down to the young tailor—eh?”
“They can’t sleep in the parks, Tom.”
“No. They can’t get into Buckingham Palace, neither—’cept as
housemaids. ’Gad, they’re howling like cats, I’d swear—nuisance to the
neighbourhood—ha! ha!”
Old Tom’s cruel laughter made Andrew feel for the unhappy ladies. He
stuck his forehead, and leaned forward, saying: “I don’t know—’pon my
honour, I don’t know—can’t think we’ve—quite done right to punish ’em
so.”
This acted like cold water on Old Tom’s delight. He pitched it back in
the shape of a doubt of what Andrew had told him. Whereupon Andrew
defied him to face three miserable women on the verge of hysterics; and
Old Tom, beginning to chuckle again, rejoined that it would bring them
to their senses, and emancipate him.
“You may laugh, Mr. Tom,” said Andrew; “but if poor Harry should find
me out, deuce a bit more home for me.”
Old Tom looked at him keenly, and rapped the table. “Swear you did it,
Nan.”
“You promise you’ll keep the secret,” said Andrew.
“Never make promises.”
“Then there’s a pretty life for me! I did it for that poor dear boy.
You were only up to one of your jokes—I see that. Confound you, Old
Tom, you’ve been making a fool of me.”
The flattering charge was not rejected by Old Tom, who now had his
brother to laugh at as well. Andrew affected to be indignant and
desperate.
“If you’d had a heart, Tom, you’d have saved the poor fellow without
any bother at all. What do you think? When I told him of our smash—ha!
ha! it isn’t such a bad joke—well, I went to him, hanging my head, and
he offered to arrange our affairs—that is—”
“Damned meddlesome young dog!” cried Old Tom, quite in a rage.
“There—you’re up in a twinkling,” said Andrew. “Don’t you see he
believed it, you stupid Old Tom? Lord! to hear him say how sorry he
was, and to see how glad he looked at the chance of serving us!”
“Serving us!” Tom sneered.
“Ha!” went Andrew. “Yes. There. You’re a deuced deal prouder than fifty
peers. You’re an upside-down old despot!”
No sharper retort rising to Old Tom’s lips, he permitted his brother’s
abuse of him to pass, declaring that bandying words was not his
business, he not being a Parliament man.
“How about the Major, Nan? He coming down, too?”
“Major!” cried Andrew. “Lucky if he keeps his commission. Coming down?
No. He’s off to the Continent.”
“Find plenty of scamps there to keep him company,” added Tom. “So he’s
broke—eh? ha! ha!”
“Tom,” said Andrew, seriously, “I’ll tell you all about it, if you’ll
swear not to split on me, because it would really upset poor Harry so.
She’d think me such a beastly hypocrite, I couldn’t face her
afterwards.”
“Lose what pluck you have—eh?” Tom jerked out his hand, and bade his
brother continue.
Compelled to trust in him without a promise, Andrew said: “Well, then,
after we’d arranged it, I went back to Harry, and begged her to have
poor Van at the house: told her what I hoped you’d do for him about
getting him into the Brewery. She’s very kind, Tom, ’pon my honour she
is. She was willing, only—”
“Only—eh?”
“Well, she was so afraid it’d hurt her sisters to see him there.”
Old Tom saw he was in for excellent fun, and wouldn’t spoil it for the
world.
“Yes, Nan?”
“So I went to Caroline. She was easy enough; and she went to the
Countess.”
“Well, and she—?”
“She was willing, too, till Lady Jocelyn came and took Miss Bonner home
to Beckley, and because Evan had written to my lady to fetch her, the
Countess—she was angry. That was all. Because of that, you know. But
yet she agreed. But when Miss Bonner had gone, it turned out that the
Major was the obstacle. They were all willing enough to have Evan
there, but the Major refused. I didn’t hear him. I wasn’t going to ask
him. I mayn’t be a match for three women, but man to man, eh, Tom?
You’d back me there? So Harry said the Major’d make Caroline miserable,
if his wishes were disrespected. By George, I wish I’d known, then.
Don’t you think it odd, Tom, now? There’s a Duke of Belfield the fellow
had hooked into his Company; and—through Evan I heard—the Duke had his
name struck off. After that, the Major swore at the Duke once or twice,
and said Caroline wasn’t to go out with him. Suddenly, he insists that
she shall go. Days the poor thing kept crying! One day, he makes her
go. She hasn’t the spirit of my Harry or the Countess. By good luck,
Van, who was hunting ferns for some friends of his, met them on Sunday
in Richmond Park, and Van took her away from the Duke. But, Tom, think
of Van seeing a fellow watching her wherever she went, and hearing the
Duke’s coachman tell that fellow he had orders to drive his master and
a lady hard on to the sea that night. I don’t believe it—it wasn’t
Caroline! But what do you think of our finding out that beast of a spy
to be in the Major’s pay? We did. Van put a constable on his track; we
found him out, and he confessed it. A fact, Tom! That decided me. If it
was only to get rid of a brute, I determined I’d do it, and I did.
Strike came to me to get my name for a bill that night. ’Gad, he looked
blanker than his bill when he heard of us two bankrupt. I showed him
one or two documents I’d got ready. Says he: ‘Never mind; it’ll only be
a couple of hundred more in the schedule.’ Stop, Tom! he’s got some of
our blood. I don’t think he meant it. He is hard pushed. Well, I gave
him a twentier, and he was off the next night. You’ll soon see all
about the Company in the papers.”
At the conclusion of Andrew’s recital, Old Tom thrummed and looked on
the floor under a heavy frown. His mouth worked dubiously, and, from
moment to moment, he plucked at his waistcoat and pulled it down,
throwing back his head and glaring.
“I’ve knocked that fellow over once,” he said. “Wish he hadn’t got up
again.”
Andrew nodded.
“One good thing, Nan. He never boasted of our connection. Much obliged
to him.”
“Yes,” said Andrew, who was gladly watching Old Tom’s change of mood
with a quiescent aspect.
“Um!—must keep it quiet from his poor old mother.”
Andrew again affirmatived his senior’s remarks. That his treatment of
Old Tom was sound, he presently had proof of. The latter stood up, and
after sniffing in an injured way for about a minute, launched out his
right leg, and vociferated that he would like to have it in his power
to kick all the villains out of the world: a modest demand Andrew at
once chimed in with; adding that, were such a faculty extended to him,
he would not object to lose the leg that could benefit mankind so
infinitely, and consented to its following them. Then, Old Tom, who was
of a practical turn, meditated, swung his foot, and gave one grim kick
at the imaginary bundle of villains, discharged them headlong straight
into space. Andrew, naturally imitative, and seeing that he had now to
kick them flying, attempted to excel Old Tom in the vigour of his
delivery. No wonder that the efforts of both were heating: they were
engaged in the task of ridding the globe of the larger half of its
inhabitants. Tom perceived Andrew’s useless emulation, and with a sound
translated by “yack,” sent his leg out a long way. Not to be outdone,
Andrew immediately, with a still louder “yack,” committed himself to an
effort so violent that the alternative between his leg coming off, or
his being taken off his leg, was propounded by nature, and decided by
the laws of gravity in a trice. Joyful grunts were emitted by Old Tom
at the sight of Andrew prostrate, rubbing his pate. But Mrs. Sockley,
to whom the noise of Andrew’s fall had suggested awful fears of a
fratricidal conflict upstairs, hurried forthwith to announce to them
that the sovereign remedy for human ills, the promoter of concord, the
healer of feuds, the central point of man’s destiny in the
flesh—Dinner, was awaiting them.
To the dinner they marched.
Of this great festival be it simply told that the supply was copious
and of good quality—much too good and copious for a bankrupt host: that
Evan and Mr. John Raikes were formally introduced to Old Tom before the
repast commenced, and welcomed some three minutes after he had decided
the flavour of his first glass; that Mr. Raikes in due time preferred
his petition for release from a dreadful engagement, and furnished vast
amusement to the company under Old Tom’s hand, until, by chance, he
quoted a scrap of Latin, at which the brothers Cogglesby, who would
have faced peers and princes without being disconcerted, or performing
mental genuflexions, shut their mouths and looked injured, unhappy, and
in the presence of a superior: Mr. Raikes not being the man to spare
them. Moreover, a surprise was afforded to Evan. Andrew stated to Old
Tom that the hospitality of Main Street, Lymport,—was open to him.
Strange to say, Old Tom accepted it on the spot, observing, “You’re
master of the house—can do what you like, if you’re man enough,” and
adding that he thanked him, and would come in a day or two. The case of
Mr. Raikes was still left uncertain, for as the bottle circulated, he
exhibited such a faculty for apt, but to the brothers, totally
incomprehensible quotation, that they fled from him without leaving him
time to remember what special calamity was on his mind, or whether this
earth was other than an abode conceived in great jollity for his
life-long entertainment.