MY UNCLE BEGINS.
THAT last suggestion was most delicious, but it came too late to
relieve the pang of the horrible idea first presented. I could not help
wondering at my own slow wit, which ought to have told me that such a
treasure as my heart was set upon, must have been coveted long ere now,
by many with higher claims to it. Was it likely that I, a mere stupid
fellow, half a rustic, and of no position, birth or property, should
be preferred to the wealthy, accomplished, and brilliant men, who were
sure to be gathering round such a prize? Black depression overcame me;
even as the smoke of London, when the air is muggy, falls upon some
country village, wrapping in funereal gloom the church, the trees, the
cattle by the pond, and the man at the window with his newspaper. I
could not see my way to eat much supper, and my Uncle was crusty with
me.
“Can’t stand this much more,” he said, as he finished the beer that was
meant for me; “a plague on all girls, and the muffs as well that go
spooning after them! Why, the Lord might just as well never have made
a Williams pear, or a cat’s-head codlin. S’pose you don’t even want to
hear my story; you don’t deserve it anyhow. Better put it off, till you
look brighter, for there isn’t much to laugh at in it, unless it is the
dunder-headed folly of a very clever man.”
However, I begged him to begin at once; for he had hinted that his tale
would throw some light on the subject most important in the world to
me; so I filled him five pipes that he might not hunt about, and made
his glass of rum and water rather strong, and put the black stool for
his legs to rest on, and drew the red curtains behind his head, for the
evening was chilly, and the fire cheerful.
“Like to do things for myself,” he muttered, while accepting these
little duties. “Nobody else ever does them right, though meaning it
naturally for the best. Well, you want to hear about those people; and
you shall hear all I know, my lad; though I don’t pretend to know half
of all; but what I know I do know, and don’t talk at random, like the
old women here. We’ll take them in branches—male and female—until they
unite, or pretend to do it; but a very poor splice; the same as you
see, if you send for Camelias to Portugal, a great clumsy stick-out
at the heel of the graft, and the bark grinning open all along. Bah!
There’s no gardeners like Englishmen, though we run ’em down for fear
of boasting. Did you ever hear why Professor Fairthorn would ever so
much rather be called ‘Captain,’ though ‘Professor’ sounds ever so much
better?”
“Perhaps he has a legal right to be called ‘Captain,’ but not to the
other title. I have heard that hundreds of people call themselves
Professors, without any right to do it. And I am sure he would never
like to be one of them.”
“That has got nothing to do with it. He has held some appointment that
gave him the right to the title, if he liked it. The reason is that his
wife always calls him ‘Professor’; and so it reminds him of her. Ah,
don’t you be in this outrageous hurry for a wife of your own, Master
Kit, I say. For all I know, the Captain may have been as wild for her,
some time, as you are for your Kitty. What can you say to that, my lad?”
“Why, simply that you don’t know at all what you are talking about,
Uncle Corny. My Miss Fairthorn is not that lady’s daughter, and is not
to be blamed for the whole of her sex, any more than you are for the
whole of yours.”
“There is something in that, when one comes to see it,” my Uncle
replied; for his mind was generally fair, when it cost him nothing.
“But you must not keep on breaking in like this, or you won’t have
heard half of it, this side of Christmas. Well, I was going to take
them according to their sexes, the same as the Lord made them. And
first comes the lady, as she hath a right to do, being at the bottom of
the mischief.
“When I was a young man, thirty year or more agone, there used to be a
lot of talk about the two handsome Miss Coldpeppers, of the Manor Hall
down here. There used to be a lot also of coaches running, not so much
through Sunbury, which lay to one side of the road, though some used to
pass here on their way to Chertsey; and there was tootle-tootle along
father’s walls, three or four times a day. But the most of them went
further back, along the Staines and Windsor road, where the noise was
something wonderful; and it’s my opinion that these Railway things will
never be able to compare with it. They may make as much noise for the
time, but it seems to be over, before the boys can holloa.
“Lots of young sparks, and bucks, and dandies, and Corinthians, and
I forget what else, but all much finer than you can see now, used to
come down by the coaches then, some of them driving, some blowing the
horn, some upon the roof like merry-Andrews, making fools of themselves
as we should call it now, and not be far wrong either. They were much
bigger men than I see now, in their size, and their way of going on,
and their spirits, and their strength of life, and likewise in their
language. And the manners of the time were as different as can be, more
frolicsome like, and more free and jovial; and they talked about the
ladies, and to them also, ten times as much as they do now; and things
were altogether merrier for them that had the money, and no worse for
them that hadn’t got it, so far as I can see. Ah, there was something
to be done in growing then—pineapples ordered at a guinea a pound, and
grapes at fifteen shillings, though of course you didn’t always get
your money. I’m blest if I won’t have another glass of rum and water.
“Well, old Squire Nicholas, as they call him now, was as proud as Punch
of his two fine daughters, and expected them to marry at least an earl
apiece, by their faces and fine figures. And they went about with great
folk in Town, and to Court, and all that sort of thing, looking fit to
marry the King almost, in their velvets, and their satin furbelows. The
eldest daughter was Arabella, our Miss Coldpepper to this day, and the
other was Miss Monica; as fine a pair of women as the Lord ever made.
But for all that, see what they come to!
“There was no love lost between them even then, jealous of one another
no doubt, like two cats over a fish-bone. Some said that one was the
handsomer of them, and some said the other. There was a good bit of
difference between them too, though any fool could tell they were
sisters. Such eyes and noses as you won’t see now, and hair that would
fall to their knees, I’ve been told, and complexions as clear as a
white-heart cherry, and a cock of the chin, and a lordly walk—they
deserved the name they went by in London, ‘the two Bright Suns of
Sunbury.’ But after all, what good came of it? One is an old maid, and
the other—well, not very likely to go to heaven, though she hasn’t had
much of that yet on earth. Kit, I have seen a deal of women, as much
as is good for any mortal man; and I tell you the first thing, and the
second, and the third, and the whole to the end of the chapter of them
depends upon their tempers. Ah, those two beauties were beauties at
that; but Miss Monica ever so much the worse.
“It seems that they both might have married very well, if it had not
been for that stumbling-block. Many young women go on so soft, and eye
you so pleasant, and blush so sweet, that you’d fancy almost there
was no such thing as a cross word, or a spitfire look, or a puckered
forehead in their constitution; and angels is the name for them, until
it is too late to fly away. But these two Misses had never learned how
to keep their tempers under for a week together; and it seems that
they never cared enough for any one to try to do it. Till there came
a man with a temper ten times as bad as both of theirs put together;
and then they fell in love with him hot and hearty. This was a younger
son of Lord Roarmore, a nobleman living in North Wales, or Ireland—I
won’t be certain which—and he was known as the Honourable Tom Bulwrag.
He used to drive the Windsor coach from London down to Hounslow; for
the passengers could stand him, while the stones and air were noisy;
but there he was forced to get down from the box; for nothing that
lived, neither man, nor horse, nor cow in the ditch, could endure this
gentleman’s language, when there was too much silence to hear it in.
“I suppose he was quiet among the ladies, as many men are, who can
speak no good. And perhaps our two ladies fell in love with him,
because he was a bigger sample of themselves. Not that they ever used
swearing words, only thought them, as it were, and let other people
know it. Any way, both of them took a fancy to him, though their father
would not hear of it; for the gentleman was not wealthy enough to have
any right to such wickedness. Perhaps that made them like him all the
more, for they always flew in the face of Providence. And for doing of
that, they both paid out, as generally happens here, that we may see it.
“So far as I can tell, and I had better chances of knowing than any
one else outside the house, everything was settled for the Honourable
Tom to run away to Bath with Miss Arabella, with special licence, and
everything square. But whether she was touched in heart about her
father (whose favourite she had always been), or whether her lover
came out too strong in his usual style, or whether her sister Monica
had egged her on to it, sure enough she blazed out into such a fury,
just when they were starting, and carried on so reckless, that the
Honourable Tom, who had never quite made up his mind, was frightened
of what she would be by-and-by, and locked her in a tool-house at the
bottom of the grounds, and set off with Miss Monica that same hour,
changing the name in the licence, and married her.
“Without being too particular, you might fairly suppose that a job
of this kind was not likely to end well. Miss Monica had taken with
her one—what shall I say? Certainly not servant, nor attendant, nor
inferior in any way—”
My uncle here seemed to feel a certain want of power to express
himself; and I knew that he was beating about the bush of the one and
only one romance of his dry and steady life. He turned away, so that I
could not see his eyes, and I did not wish to look at them.
“Well, that is neither here nor there,” he continued, after pushing
more tobacco into a pipe too full already; “but she took away a young
lady of this neighbourhood, to whom she appeared to be much attached,
and who alone had any power to control her furious outbreaks, just
because she always smiled at them, as soon as they were over. The
sweet-tempered girl could never quite believe that the Fury was in
earnest, because it was so far beyond her own possibilities; and the
woman of fury did a far worse thing than the wrecking of her own stormy
life, she also wrecked a sweet, and gentle, loving, and reasonable
heart. Never mind that; it often happens, and what does the selfish
Fury care? Miss Monica became, as I have said, the Honourable Mrs.
Bulwrag, and then she reaped the harvest she had sown.
“For in the first place Viscount Roarmore, being a hot-headed man
likewise, stopped every farthing of his son’s allowance, and said—‘Go
to your new father. Your pretty cousin Rose, with five thousand pounds
a year, was ready to marry you, in spite of all your sins, and you had
promised to marry her. You have taken one of those two girls, who were
called the “Bright Suns of Sunbury,” till people found out what they
were, and called them the two “Raging Suns.” Now rage her down, if you
can, and you ought to be more than a match for a woman. In any case,
expect no more from me.’
“Then the young man came to Squire Nicholas, and screwed himself
down to eat humble pie. But the Squire said, ‘Sir, you have married
my daughter without asking my leave, and against it. I still have a
dutiful daughter left. She is my only one henceforth.’ Then the young
man broke into the strongest language ever yet heard at Coldpepper
Hall, although it had never been weak in that line. He was very soon
shown the outside of the door, and got drunk for the night at the ‘Bell
and Dragon.’
“Then began the rough-and-tumble work between those two—the hugging
and the hating, the billing and the bullying, the kissing and the
kicking, all and every up and down of laughing, sobbing, scratching,
screeching, that might be in a wild hyena’s den. How they contrived to
hold together so long as they did, Heaven only knows, or perhaps the
opposite place to Heaven. There must have been some fierce love between
them, some strange suitability; as if each perceived the worst part of
himself or herself in the other, and flew to it, as well as flew at it.
What kept them together was a mystery; but what kept them alive was a
darker one. Without friends, or money, or credit, or visible robbery,
they fought on together, for five or even six years, now here and now
there. Three children they had, and fought over them of course, and
perhaps began to teach them to fight each other, at least so far as
example goes.
“But suddenly this queer union was broken up for ever. Mr. Bulwrag
did something which risked his neck; he believed that Squire Nicholas
was bound to contribute to the support of his grandchildren, and he
made him do his duty, without knowing it. Then, having arranged for a
three-days’ start, he was well upon his voyage before pursuit began.
It is not very easy to catch a man now, when he has a good start, and
knows the world; but five and twenty years ago, it was generally given
up as a bad job; unless the reward was astounding. No reward was
offered, and the Honourable Tom was next heard of from South America,
where there seemed to be a lot of little States, which never allow
their civil wars to abate their wars with one another. This condition
of things was exactly to his taste; his courage and strong language
made their way; he commanded the forces of one great Republic, with the
title of ‘Marshal Torobelle,’ and he promised to send some money home
in the last letter ever received from him.
“His deserted wife said after that, that she truly would believe in
everything, if she ever saw a ten-pound note from her beloved husband.
But she never was put to the trial, for the next news was that he
was dead. He had found it much to his advantage to learn to swear in
Spanish; and being proud of this, because he had little other gift
of lingo, he tried it upon a young Spanish officer, who did not take
it cordially. After parade, they had a private fight, and Marshal
Torobelle could swear no more, even in his native language. His
friends, for he seems to have been liked out there, wrote a very kind
letter in bad French, telling how grand he had been, and how faithful,
but grieving that he had left no affairs, to place them in a state to
remember him. Then the Marshal’s widow bought expensive mourning, for
he had left with her a thousand pounds of the proceeds of his forgery,
and wrote to his father, Lord Roarmore.
“Kit, I have found that one can generally tell what a man will do, in
certain cases, from a rough outline of his character. What a woman will
do, no man can tell, though he fancies he knows her thoroughly. My Lord
Roarmore was a violent man, and hot more than hard in his resolution.
And he took it very kindly that his son, when driven hard, had forged
the name of the father-in-law, and not of the father, as he might have
done. He was beginning to relent already, and finding it too late,
naturally relented altogether. He talked of his noble and gallant son,
and although himself in difficulties, bravely settled five hundred
pounds a year upon the widow and the little ones.
“I dare say you are surprised, my lad, that I should have come to know
so much of this unhappy story; more I believe than is even known by
the lady’s own sister—our Miss Coldpepper. Women are slower to forgive
than men, and slower in beginning to be forgiven. Arabella has never
forgiven her sister for running away with her lover; and Monica has
never forgiven her sister for making such a fuss about it. They may try
to pull together, when it suits their purpose; but the less they see
of one another, the greater the chance of their reconciliation. But I
am not come to the poor Captain yet; and, bless my heart, it is ten
o’clock! What a time to stay up about other people’s business! If you
want to hear the rest, you must have it to-morrow.”