In which the Major neither yields his Money nor his Life
Early next morning Pendennis’s shutters were opened by Morgan, who
appeared as usual, with a face perfectly grave and respectful, bearing
with him the old gentleman’s clothes, cans of water, and elaborate
toilet requisites.
“It’s you, is it?” said the old fellow from his bed. “I shan’t take you
back again, you understand.”
“I ave not the least wish to be took back agin, Major Pendennis,” Mr.
Morgan said, with grave dignity, “nor to serve you nor hany man. But as
I wish you to be comftable as long as you stay in my house, I came up
to do what’s nessary.” And once more, and for the last time, Mr. James
Morgan laid out the silver dressing-case, and strapped the shining
razor.
These offices concluded, he addressed himself to the Major with an
indescribable solemnity, and said: “Thinkin’ that you would most likely
be in want of a respectable pusson, until you suited yourself, I spoke
to a young man last night, who is ’ere.”
“Indeed,” said the warrior in the tent-bed.
“He ave lived in the fust famlies, and I can wouch for his
respectability.”
“You are monstrous polite,” grinned the old Major. And the truth is,
that after the occurrences of the previous evening, Morgan had gone out
to his own Club at the Wheel of Fortune, and there finding Frosch, a
courier and valet just returned from a foreign tour with young Lord
Cubley, and for the present disposable, had represented to Mr. Frosch,
that he, Morgan, had “a devil of a blow hup with his own Gov’nor, and
was goin’ to retire from the business haltogether, and that if Frosch
wanted a tempory job, he might probbly have it by applying in Bury
Street.”
“You are very polite,” said the Major, “and your recommendation, I am
sure, will have every weight.”
Morgan blushed; he felt his master was ‘a-chaffin’ of him.’ “The man
have awaited on you before, sir,” he said with great dignity. “Lord De
la Pole, sir, gave him to his nephew young Lord Cubley, and he have
been with him on his foring tour, and not wishing to go to Fitzurse
Castle, which Frosch’s chest is delicate, and he cannot bear the cold
in Scotland, he is free to serve you or not, as you choose.”
“I repeat, sir, that you are exceedingly polite,” said the Major. “Come
in, Frosch—you will do very well—Mr. Morgan, will you have the great
kindness to——”
“I shall show him what is nessary, sir, and what is customry for you to
wish to ave done. Will you please to take breakfast ’ere or at the
Club, Major Pendennis?”
“With your kind permission, I will breakfast here, and afterwards we
will make our little arrangements.”
“If you please, sir.”
“Will you now oblige me by leaving the room?”
Morgan withdrew; the excessive politeness of his ex-employer made him
almost as angry as the Major’s bitterest words. And whilst the old
gentleman is making his mysterious toilet, we will also modestly
retire.
After breakfast, Major Pendennis and his new aide-de-camp occupied
themselves in preparing for their departure. The establishment of the
old bachelor was not very complicated. He encumbered himself with no
useless wardrobe. A bible (his mother’s), a road book, Pen’s novel
(calf elegant), and the Duke of Wellington’s Despatches, with a few
prints, maps, and portraits of that illustrious general, and of various
sovereigns and consorts of this country, and of the General under whom
Major Pendennis had served in India, formed his literary and artistical
collection: he was always ready to march at a few hours’ notice, and
the cases in which he had brought his property into his lodgings some
fifteen years before, were still in the lofts amply sufficient to
receive all his goods. These, the young woman who did the work of the
house, and who was known by the name of Betty to her mistress, and of
“Slavey” to Mr. Morgan, brought down from their resting-place, and
obediently dusted and cleaned under the eyes of the terrible Morgan.
His demeanour was guarded and solemn; he had spoken no word as yet to
Mrs. Brixham respecting his threats of the past night, but he looked as
if he would execute them, and the poor widow tremblingly awaited her
fate.
Old Pendennis, armed with his cane, superintended the package of his
goods and chattels, under the hands of Mr. Frosch, and the Slavey
burned such of his papers as he did not care to keep; flung open doors
and closets until they were all empty; and now all boxes and chests
were closed, except his desk, which was ready to receive the final
accounts of Mr. Morgan.
That individual now made his appearance, and brought his books. “As I
wish to speak to you in privick, peraps you will ave the kindness to
request Frosch to step downstairs,” he said, on entering.
“Bring a couple of cabs, Frosch, if you please—and wait downstairs
until I ring for you,” said the Major. Morgan saw Frosch downstairs,
watched him go along the street upon his errand, and produced his books
and accounts, which were simple and very easily settled.
“And now, sir,” said he, having pocketed the cheque which his
ex-employer gave him, and signed his name to his book with a flourish,
“and now that accounts is closed between us, sir,” he said, “I porpose
to speak to you as one man to another”—(Morgan liked the sound of his
own voice; and, as an individual, indulged in public speaking whenever
he could get an opportunity, at the Club, or the housekeeper’s
room)—“and I must tell you, that I’m in possession of certing
infamation.”
“And may I inquire of what nature, pray?” asked the Major.
“It’s valuble information, Major Pendennis, as you know very well. I
know of a marriage as is no marriage—of a honourable Baronet as is no
more married than I am; and which his wife is married to somebody else,
as you know too, sir.”
Pendennis at once understood all. “Ha! this accounts for your
behaviour. You have been listening at the door, sir, I suppose,” said
the Major, looking very haughty; “I forgot to look at the keyhole when
I went to that public-house, or I might have suspected what sort of a
person was behind it.”
“I may have my schemes as you may have yours, I suppose,” answered
Morgan. “I may get my information, and I may act on that information,
and I may find that information valuble as anybody else may. A poor
servant may have a bit of luck as well as a gentleman, mayn’t he? Don’t
you be putting on your aughty looks, sir, and comin’ the aristocrat
over me. That’s all gammon with me. I’m an Englishman, I am, and as
good as you.”
“To what the devil does this tend, sir? and how does the secret which
you have surprised concern me, I should like to know?” asked Major
Pendennis, with great majesty.
“How does it concern me, indeed! how grand we are! How does it concern
my nephew, I wonder? How does it concern my nephew’s seat in Parlyment:
and to subornation of bigamy? How does it concern that? What, are you
to be the only man to have a secret, and to trade on it? Why shouldn’t
I go halves, Major Pendennis? I’ve found it out too. Look here! I ain’t
goin’ to be unreasonable with you. Make it worth my while, and I’ll
keep the thing close. Let Mr. Arthur take his seat, and his rich wife,
if you like; I don’t want to marry her. But I will have my share, as
sure as my name’s James Morgan. And if I don’t——”
“And if you don’t, sir—what?” Pendennis asked.
“If I don’t, I split, and tell all. I smash Clavering, and have him and
his wife up for bigamy—so help me, I will! I smash young Hopeful’s
marriage, and I show up you and him as makin’ use of this secret, in
order to squeeze a seat in Parlyment out of Sir Francis, and a fortune
out of his wife.”
“Mr. Pendennis knows no more of this business than the babe unborn,
sir,” cried the Major, aghast. “No more than Lady Clavering, than Miss
Amory does.”
“Tell that to the marines, Major,” replied the valet; “that cock won’t
fight with me.”
“Do you doubt my word, you villain?”
“No bad language. I don’t care one twopence’a’p’ny whether your word’s
true or not. I tell you, I intend this to be a nice little annuity to
me, Major: for I have every one of you; and I ain’t such a fool as to
let you go. I should say that you might make it five hundred a year to
me among you, easy. Pay me down the first quarter now and I’m as mum as
a mouse. Just give a note for one twenty-five. There’s your cheque-book
on your desk.”
“And there’s this too, you villain,” cried the old gentleman. In the
desk to which the valet pointed was a little double-barrelled pistol,
which had belonged to Pendennis’s old patron; the Indian
commander-in-chief, and which had accompanied him in many a campaign.
“One more word, you scoundrel and I’ll shoot you, like a mad dog.
Stop—by Jove, I’ll do it now. You’ll assault me, will you? You’ll
strike at an old man, will you, you lying coward? Kneel down and say
your prayers, sir, for by the Lord you shall die.”
The Major’s face glared with rage at his adversary, who looked
terrified before him for a moment, and at the next, with a shriek of
“Murder!” sprang towards the open window, under which a policeman
happened to be on his beat. “Murder! Police!” bellowed Mr. Morgan.
To his surprise, Major Pendennis wheeled away the table and walked to
the other window, which was also open. He beckoned the policeman. “Come
up here, policeman,” he said, and then went and placed himself against
the door.
“You miserable sneak,” he said to Morgan; “the pistol hasn’t been
loaded these fifteen years, as you would have known very well, if you
had not been such a coward. That policeman is coming, and I will have
him up, and have your trunks searched; I have reason to believe that
you are a thief, sir. I know you are. I’ll swear to the things.”
“You gave ’em to me—you gave ’em to me!” cried Morgan.
The Major laughed. “We’ll see,” he said; and the guilty valet
remembered some fine lawn-fronted shirts—a certain gold-headed cane—an
opera-glass, which he had forgotten to bring down, and of which he had
assumed the use along with certain articles of his master’s clothes,
which the old dandy neither wore nor asked for.
Policeman X entered; followed by the seared Mrs. Brixham and her
maid-of-all-work, who had been at the door and found some difficulty in
closing it against the street amateurs, who wished to see the row. The
Major began instantly to speak.
“I have had occasion to discharge this drunken scoundrel,” he said.
“Both last night and this morning he insulted and assaulted me. I am an
old man and took up a pistol. You see it is not loaded, and this coward
cried out before he was hurt. I am glad you are come. I was charging
him with taking my property, and desired to examine his trunks and his
room.”
“The velvet cloak you ain’t worn these three years, nor the weskits,
and I thought I might take the shirts, and I—I take my hoath I intended
to put back the hopera-glass,” roared Morgan, writhing with rage and
terror.
“The man acknowledges that he is a thief,” the Major said, calmly. “He
has been in my service for years, and I have treated him with every
kindness and confidence. We will go upstairs and examine his trunks.”
In those trunks Mr. Morgan had things which he would fain keep from
public eyes. Mr. Morgan, the bill-discounter, gave goods as well as
money to his customers. He provided young spendthrifts with snuff boxes
and pins and jewels and pictures and cigars, and of a very doubtful
quality those cigars and jewels and pictures were. Their display at a
police-office, the discovery of his occult profession, and the exposure
of the Major’s property, which he had appropriated, indeed, rather than
stolen,—would not have added to the reputation of Mr. Morgan. He looked
a piteous image of terror and discomfiture.
“He’ll smash me, will he?” thought the Major. “I’ll crush him now, and
finish with him.”
But he paused. He looked at poor Mrs. Brixham’s scared face; and he
thought for a moment to himself that the man brought to bay and in
prison might make disclosures which had best be kept secret, and that
it was best not to deal too fiercely with a desperate man.
“Stop,” he said, “policeman. I’ll speak with this man by himself.”
“Do you give Mr. Morgan in charge?” said the policeman.
“I have brought no charge as yet,” the Major said, with a significant
look at his man.
“Thank you, sir,” whispered Morgan, very low.
“Go outside the door, and wait there, policeman, if you please.—Now,
Morgan, you have played one game with me, and you have not had the best
of it, my good man. No, begad, you’ve not had the best of it, though
you had the best hand; and you’ve got to pay, too, now, you scoundrel.”
“Yes, sir,” said the man.
“I’ve only found out, within the last week, the game which you have
been driving, you villain. Young De Boots, of the Blues, recognised you
as the man who came to barracks, and did business one-third in money,
one-third in eau-de-Cologne, and one-third in French prints, you
confounded demure old sinner! I didn’t miss anything, or care a straw
what you’d taken, you booby; but I took the shot, and it hit—hit the
bull’s-eye, begad. Dammy, six, I’m an old campaigner.”
“What do you want with me, sir?”
“I’ll tell you. Your bills, I suppose, you keep about you in that dem’d
great leather pocket-book, don’t you? You’ll burn Mrs. Brixham’s bill?”
“Sir, I ain’t a-goin’ to part with my property,” growled the man.
“You lent her sixty pounds five years ago. She and that poor devil of
an insurance clerk, her son, have paid you fifty pounds a year ever
since; and you have got a bill of sale of her furniture, and her note
of hand for a hundred and fifty pounds. She told me so last night. By
Jove, sir, you’ve bled that poor woman enough.”
“I won’t give it up,” said Morgan; “If I do I’m——”
“Policeman!” cried the Major.
“You shall have the bill,” said Morgan. “You’re not going to take money
of me, and you a gentleman?”
“I shall want you directly,” said the Major to X, who here entered, and
who again withdrew.
“No, my good sir,” the old gentleman continued; “I have not any desire
to have further pecuniary transactions with you; but we will draw out a
little paper, which you will have the kindness to sign. No, stop!—you
shall write it: you have improved immensely in writing of late, and
have now a very good hand. You shall sit down and write, if you
please—there, at that table—so—let me see—we may as well have the date.
Write ‘Bury Street, St. James’s, October 21, 18—.’”
And Mr. Morgan wrote as he was instructed, and as the pitiless old
Major continued:—
“‘I, James Morgan, having come in extreme poverty into the service of
Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of Bury Street, St. James’s, a Major in her
Majesty’s service, acknowledge that I received liberal wages and board
wages from my employer, during fifteen years.’—You can’t object to
that, I am sure,” said the Major.
“During fifteen years,” wrote Morgan.
“‘In which time, by my own care and prudence,’” the dictator resumed,
“‘I have managed to amass sufficient money to purchase the house in
which my master resides, and, besides, to effect other savings. Amongst
other persons from whom I have had money, I may mention my present
tenant, Mrs. Brixham, who, in consideration of sixty pounds advanced by
me five years since, has paid back to me the sum of two hundred and
fifty pounds sterling, besides giving me a note of hand for one hundred
and twenty pounds, which I restore to her at the desire of my late
master, Major Arthur Pendennis, and therewith free her furniture, of
which I had a bill of sale.’—Have you written?”
“I think if this pistol was loaded, I’d blow your brains out,” said
Morgan.
“No, you wouldn’t. You have too great a respect for your valuable life,
my good man,” the Major answered. “Let us go on and begin a new
sentence.
“‘And having, in return for my master’s kindness, stolen his property
from him, which I acknowledge to be now upstairs in my trunks; and
having uttered falsehoods regarding his and other honourable families,
I do hereby, in consideration of his clemency to me, express my regret
for uttering these falsehoods, and for stealing his property; and
declare that I am not worthy of belief, and that I hope’—yes,
begad—‘that I hope to amend for the future. Signed, James Morgan.’”
“I’m d——d if I sign it,” said Morgan.
“My good man, it will happen to you, whether you sign or no, begad,”
said the old fellow, chuckling at his own wit. “There, I shall not use
this, you understand, unless—unless I am compelled to do so. Mrs.
Brixham, and our friend the policeman, will witness it, I dare say,
without reading it: and I will give the old lady back her note of hand,
and say, which you will confirm, that she and you are quits. I see
there is Frosch come back with the cab for my trunks; I shall go to an
hotel.—You may come in now, policeman; Mr. Morgan and I have arranged
our little dispute. If Mrs. Brixham will sign this paper, and you,
policeman, will do so, I shall be very much obliged to you both. Mrs.
Brixham, you and your worthy landlord, Mr. Morgan, are quits. I wish
you joy of him. Let Frosch come and pack the rest of the things.”
Frosch, aided by the Slavey, under the calm superintendence of Mr.
Morgan, carried Major Pendennis’s boxes to the cabs in waiting; and
Mrs. Brixham, when her persecutor was not by, came and asked a Heaven’s
blessing upon the Major, her preserver, and the best and quietest and
kindest of lodgers. And having given her a finger to shake, which the
humble lady received with a curtsey, and over which she was ready to
make a speech full of tears, the Major cut short that valedictory
oration, and walked out of the house to the hotel in Jermyn Street,
which was not many steps from Morgan’s door.
That individual, looking forth from the parlour-window, discharged
anything but blessings at his parting guest; but the stout old boy
could afford not to be frightened at Mr. Morgan, and flung him a look
of great contempt and humour as he strutted away with his cane.
Major Pendennis had not quitted his house of Bury Street many hours,
and Mr. Morgan was enjoying his otium in a dignified manner, surveying
the evening fog, and smoking a cigar, on the door-steps, when Arthur
Pendennis, Esq., the hero of this history, made his appearance at the
well-known door.
“My uncle out, I suppose, Morgan?” he said to the functionary; knowing
full well that to smoke was treason, in the presence of the Major.
“Major Pendennis is hout, sir,” said Morgan, with gravity, bowing, but
not touching the elegant cap which he wore. “Major Pendennis have left
this ouse to-day, sir, and I have no longer the honour of being in his
service, sir.”
“Indeed, and where is he?”
“I believe he ave taken tempory lodgings at Cox’s otel, in Jummin
Street,” said Mr. Morgan; and added, after a pause, “Are you in town
for some time, pray, sir? Are you in Chambers? I should like to have
the honour of waiting on you there: and would be thankful if you would
favour me with a quarter of an hour.”
“Do you want my uncle to take you back?” asked Arthur, insolent and
good-natured.
“I want no such thing; I’d see him——” The man glared at him for a
minute, but he stopped. “No, sir, thank you,” he said in a softer
voice; “it’s only with you that I wish to speak, on some business which
concerns you; and perhaps you would favour me by walking into my
house.”
“If it is but for a minute or two, I will listen to you, Morgan,” said
Arthur; and thought to himself, “I suppose the fellow wants me to
patronise him;” and he entered the house. A card was already in the
front windows, proclaiming that apartments were to be let; and having
introduced Mr. Pendennis into the dining-room, and offered him a chair,
Mr. Morgan took one himself, and proceeded to convey some information
to him, of which the reader has already had cognisance.