----You are welcome, Sir;
But not so well apparelled as I could
Wish you were.
SHAKSPEARE.
Go to my chamber; put on clothes of mine.
IBID.
All impediments in fancy’s course
Are motions of more fancy.
IBID.
Lord Castleton, or rather Mr. Churchill, as we must in future call
the “_soi-disant_” itinerant limner, felt a little awkwardness at
the publicity of his first appearance in his assumed character, as
he rode out of Mayton by the side of Farmer Darnell,--a mode of
transferring himself to his new residence which he had preferred
to the alternative of being consigned to one of the farmer’s return
teams, which had that morning brought there, as he assured his new
acquaintance, “the finest load of upland meadow hay which had come
to market that season.” Mr. Churchill had therefore hired for the
purpose, at the Queen’s Head, the hostler’s own pony, which besides
the advantage of his paces, a low straight shoulder, and somewhat of
a string-halt, had a mouth with about as much feeling as a well-worn
pulley, through which a smooth snaffle ran without the least effect:
added to these qualifications, being of a domestic turn, he had an
invincible dislike to wander far from home, which he did not show
by violent resistance, but by the patient endurance with which
he reluctantly yielded, step by step, to the incessant hints of
Churchill’s unarmed heel.
As Richard Darnell was in consequence obliged frequently to pull up
for him, during the first mile or two, it could not be concealed,
that the painter did not look very comfortable, or much at his ease,
and Darnell addressed him with:
“More used to handle the brush than the whip, I take it, Master
Painter. Pretty nearly the first time you were a horseback, maybe?
Lord, man, I hope that a’n’t the way you would paint St. George, as I
suppose you have done afore now; the dragon wouldn’t have much ado to
pull you off.”
And the farmer chuckled good-humouredly at what he conceived a
harmless joke upon a subject on which he could not imagine that his
companion could have any vanity.
But it may be recollected that Lord Castleton had very early been
rather proud of any opportunity for the display of his horsemanship;
he had indeed for two seasons been a crack-rider in Leicestershire;
but for all that it is very true, that no tailor could have looked
more out of his element on Joe Hostler’s rough ill-broken pony.
During the greater part of their way the dialogue was confined to
the qualities of different soils, the prices of different years, the
proper succession of crops, and the measures of various markets;--if,
indeed, that could be called a dialogue, which consisted in a
profusion of unasked information on the one side, and exclamations of
mechanical assent on the other.
As they approached the coast, the afternoon, which had hitherto
been fine, became gradually overcast; a creeping mist, by degrees,
enveloped the surrounding country, and, thickening as it advanced,
was accompanied by a mizzling rain. Lord Castleton, completely wet
to the skin, arrived at the top of the cliff, which they were
to descend to Farmer Darnell’s dwelling, without being able to
distinguish a feature of the scene which had so enchanted him the
last time he had seen it. Churchill was received at the door of the
house, not by her he longed to see, but by her mother. Mrs. Darnell
greeted him courteously, for now that he was again separated from
the pony there was something in his air and appearance which, until
his story contradicted it, rather betrayed his real rank in life.
Supposing him to be a gentleman, to whom her husband had offered
shelter, the hostess expressed great solicitude about his catching
cold, and begged him to put on some of her Richard’s clothes whilst
his own were drying.
To this, as his own things were not yet come over from Mayton by the
waggon, he at once consented, and was escorted to what was to be
his, and which had been, George’s room, to effect the change. He was
aware that it had not yet been explained to Mrs. Darnell who he was,
and his intended temporary residence in her household; and, as he
could overhear, without distinguishing the words, the alternate tones
of a gruff and a sharp voice in the room beneath, he concluded the
explanation was then going on, and, by the increasing preponderance
of the “Alto” over the “Basso” notes of the duet, he was afraid it
was not taking a favourable turn.
His toilet was the sooner concluded, as the difficulty consisted,
in his case, not so much in getting into Farmer Darnell’s clothes,
as in keeping them on afterwards. He could not help thinking that
his appearance must be rather ludicrous, though there was no
looking-glass in the room by which to ascertain the fact. He had,
previously to adopting his assumed character, cut short his own
lighter hair, and superinduced a black wig as a sort of disguise;
but, as personal disfigurement was no part of his plan, the wig was
not of that homely make which would suit the cut of the borrowed
garments he now had on.
As he entered the room down-stairs he heard the female voice end
the argument with, “It’s just of a piece with a’ the rest;” and
then, turning to him, she said, “So, young man, I hear Richard has
been settling with you to stay and board with us a bit: there’s not
another man in the country, but him, would bring a stranger at once
into a decent family; no offence to you, who, I dare say, are a quiet
well-behaved body, that won’t give us any fash; but it was so like
Richard, that’s all. However, I have no doubt you wouldn’t have come
if you hadn’t the money to pay for your board, for, after all, ’tis
but an idlish uncertain sort of calling your’s.”
“I’ve no objection to pay the first week in advance, and, though far
from rich, have no doubt that I shall be able to continue to do so,
therefore make yourself easy on that head, my good woman.”
“Good woman, indeed!” muttered she; “Mrs. Darnell’s my name, Mr.
Churchill, as I hear that’s yours. And what may you get by this
vagabond sort of life? ’tis a pity you didn’t fix in some town and
stick to painting houses and signs.”
“The different ranks in our profession are as various as the colours
in which we deal, from those whose genius elevates them to the
society of the great, to the hacknied drudge, to whose wholesale
daubing you would confine me: but though I can never aspire to
emulate the first, yet I find that by indulging my fancy in sketching
on the coast in summer, and making drawings for cheap engravings in
the winter, I can maintain myself, with care and economy, above all
dread of want.”
Churchill meant by this last speech accurately to describe the sort
of indefinite situation in society which he intended to assume. But
much of it was unintelligible to Mrs. Darnell, who, satisfied by his
offering to pay his board and lodging in advance, that he was not a
swindler, turned to answer her husband’s inquiry, “Why he had not
seen his dear Lucy?” by telling him that the girl had been over to
see her aunt, where she had probably been detained by the weather,
and might not come home that night. Churchill therefore made up his
mind that he should not be gratified with the sight of the object
which had brought him there till the next morning, which, considering
his present grotesque appearance in her father’s clothes, he did
not much regret; and, having sufficient topic for reflection as to
his future conduct in the situation he had so abruptly assumed, he
remained comparatively silent, whilst Darnell and his wife so far
made him at home as to discuss together domestic details, without the
least regard to his presence.
But just as they were about to separate for the night, the latch
of the garden-gate was heard to click, and a light step quickly to
cross the gravel without. The imagination of Churchill had already
anticipated what it was to produce, when almost at the same instant
the door hastily opened, and Lucy rushed in. The first impression on
the mind of the stranger was, upon the door opening, that her figure
appeared some inches higher whilst standing in the threshold than his
recollection had led him to expect. His next remark, however, was
the perfect symmetry of her form, which the last few years’ progress
towards maturity had confirmed; and as she threw off her bonnet,
and shook back the locks of her rich brown hair, which had been
disordered by the storm she had just braved, Churchill thought he
had never seen a countenance in which innocence and intelligence were
so happily combined.
“And what do you come back for in this gait, spoiling all your
clothes?” said her mother.
“Nay, mother, I’m sure you’re glad to see me safe at home,” said Lucy
in a deprecating tone, at the same time kissing her: “I never slept
from under this roof in my life before, and I did not like to begin
now, for all aunt wanted me to bide with her all night.”
The tone in which this was said disarmed even Mrs. Darnell’s
fault-finding disposition,--Churchill would have wondered if it had
not,--and Lucy threw herself into her father’s arms, whom she had not
seen before to-day, and then drew back upon observing the stranger.
He had risen upon her entrance, but felt an awkwardness, which was
visible in his deportment, as to how to present himself: this was
increased by the unfitness of his present costume: he felt that to
attempt a pretty speech or courteous greeting would be absurd, and
he was not sufficiently assured what sort of deportment would be
befitting his present appearance. The consequence was, that he stood
sheepish and abashed; and he, who had scattered his smiles with a
feeling of condescension round the most brilliant ball-rooms, and
had dropped unasked, with a certainty of welcome, into the choicest
“boudoirs,” blushed with a sense of shame beneath the enquiring gaze
of a simple country girl. So easily does disguise or deceit entail
with it a consciousness of inferiority.
“’Tis a young man in the painting line,” said her father, seeing he
would not answer for himself, “who is going to stay here a bit, and
paint the country: you must show him the Black Glen and Deadman’s
Crag, and some of your favourite spots.”
Lucy gave him, in answer, a smile of welcome, which Churchill fancied
was changed to one of a more satirical character, as she examined
his dress and figure: this, however, was checked by her mother,
who insisted upon her no longer remaining in her wet clothes, but
retiring to bed. The whole party then separated for the night.
Lord Castleton was left alone in the occupation of George’s garret.
The first thing he did, as he walked along the floor by the dim light
of his farthing candle, was to knock his head against the beam which
ran across its low ceiling; the next was to sit himself down in the
only chair in the room, and reflect upon the novelty of his present
situation, when, spite of his efforts to resist it, a general sense
of discomfort stole across him. Planned at a distance, his scheme had
comprised only the great outlines of “disinterested attachment,”
“simplicity of nature,” “unconscious beauty,” and “freedom from the
trammels of rank;” but the details had either escaped him altogether,
or had worn a different shape, when fancied from afar, than that
which they now assumed in practice. He had expected to receive from
the cordiality of hearty hospitality, all those attentions which he
scorned to accept as the servile offerings of dependent inferiors;
and he had not been at all prepared for the occasional contemptuous
jocularity, and generally protecting tone of the farmer; or for the
half-hinted suspicions, and cautious bargaining of his wife; both
which were carrying the absence of undue deference to him, farther
than he had anticipated.
On one subject only he had not been disappointed,--that was, in the
appearance of Lucy.
“And, after all,” thought he, “what does any thing else signify? I
ought rather to be pleased with the rest, however disagreeable in
itself, as the best proof that my scheme works well, and that if I
should, as the unsuspected Churchill, treated in this unceremonious
manner, succeed in winning her affections, I need, through all my
after-life, never have a moment’s mistrust that I was loved for
myself alone.”
Consoled with this reflection, he proceeded with less dissatisfaction
to make a survey of the various “désagrémens” of his present confined
chamber, which was as uncomfortable as possible consistent with
perfect cleanliness. An inventory of the furniture might have been
contained in one line, and the walls presented one unbroken surface
of whitewash, except where, over the chest of drawers, three bits
of paper were pinned up for ornament: the centre a wood-cut of Lord
Nelson’s funeral car; on one side of it a roaring sea song, and on
the other a sentimental ballad, whose only possible merit was that
the heroine’s name was Lucy. These relics of George’s fairings had
remained here undisturbed ever since his departure.
The bed on which its present tenant prepared to stretch himself,
was not very well calculated for the literal fulfilment of that
operation, being in length better adapted for the then height of its
last owner than that of its present occupier.
It was upon this uncomfortable couch that Lord Castleton now fell
asleep, lulled by the wind whistling through the low casement, and
the rain pattering on the roof; and dreamed confusedly, that he
broke to Lucy his real rank, and that she first burst into tears,
and then changed suddenly to Lady Gayland and began laughing at
him. When he awoke in the morning, with a sort of indistinct doubt
as to where he was, the first object which met his half-open eyes
was, the initials G. and L. D., combined in a sort of cipher, and
cut in the soft deal-board just by his head; no doubt by the last
occupier of that bed. This he did not think a good omen, and hastily
rising, he gave way to a momentary feeling of discomfort, at finding
his clothes still in the confusion in which he had last night left
them, and not carefully arranged for his toilet, as the habits of
his life accustomed him to expect; but banishing this as unworthy
consideration, he was restored, by the contemplation of the brilliant
prospect which the fine morning showed him from his window, to that
state of mind which made him enjoy the happiness of his first meeting
with Lucy, whom he found alone in the breakfast-room.