“Upon my word,” cries Jones, “thou art a very odd fellow,
and I like thy humour extremely.”--FIELDING.
The rumbling and jolting vehicle which conveyed Clarence to the
metropolis stopped at the door of a tavern in Holborn. Linden was
ushered into a close coffee-room and presented with a bill of fare.
While he was deliberating between the respective merits of mutton chops
and beefsteaks, a man with a brown coat, brown breeches, and a brown
wig, walked into the room; he cast a curious glance at Clarence and then
turned to the waiter.
“A pair of slippers!”
“Yes, sir,” and the waiter disappeared.
“I suppose,” said the brown gentleman to Clarence, “I suppose, sir, you
are the gentleman just come to town?”
“You are right, sir,” said Clarence.
“Very well, very well indeed,” resumed the stranger, musingly. “I took
the liberty of looking at your boxes in the passage; I knew a lady, sir,
a relation of yours, I think.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Linden, colouring violently.
“At least I suppose, for her name was just the same as yours, only, at
least, one letter difference between them: yours is Linden I see, sir;
hers was Minden. Am I right in my conjecture that you are related to
her?”
“Sir,” answered Clarence, gravely, “notwithstanding the similarity of
our names, we are not related.”
“Very extraordinary,” replied the stranger.
“Very,” repeated Linden.
“I had the honour, sir,” said the brown gentleman, “to make Mrs. Minden
many presents of value, and I should have been very happy to have
obliged you in the same manner, had you been in any way connected with
that worthy gentlewoman.”
“You are very kind,” said Linden, “you are very kind; and since such
were your intentions, I believe I must have been connected with
Mrs. Minden. At all events, as you justly observe, there is only the
difference of a letter between our names, a discrepancy too slight, I am
sure, to alter your benevolent intentions.”
Here the waiter returned with the slippers.
The stranger slowly unbuttoned his gaiters. “Sir,” said he to Linden,
“we will renew our conversation presently.”
No sooner had the generous friend of Mrs. Minden deposited his feet in
their easy tenements than he quitted the room. “Pray,” said Linden
to the waiter, when he had ordered his simple repast, “who is that
gentleman in brown?”
“Mr. Brown,” replied the waiter.
“And who or what is Mr. Brown?” asked our hero.
Before the waiter could reply, Mr. Brown returned, with a large bandbox,
carefully enveloped in a blue handkerchief. “You come from ----, sir?”
said Mr. Brown, quietly seating himself at the same table as Linden.
“No, sir, I do not.”
“From ----, then?”
“No, sir,--from W----.”
“W----?--ay--well. I knew a lady with a name very like W---- (the late
Lady Waddilove) extremely well. I made her some valuable presents: her
ladyship was very sensible of it.”
“I don’t doubt it, sir,” replied Clarence; “such instances of general
beneficence rarely occur!”
“I have some magnificent relics of her ladyship in this box,” returned
Mr. Brown.
“Really! then she was no less generous than yourself, I presume?”
“Yes, her ladyship was remarkably generous. About a week before she died
(the late Lady Waddilove was quite sensible of her danger), she called
me to her,--‘Brown,’ said she, ‘you are a good creature; I have had my
most valuable things from you. I am not ungrateful: I will leave you--my
maid! She is as clever as you are and as good.’ I took the hint, sir,
and married. It was an excellent bargain. My wife is a charming woman;
she entirely fitted up Mrs. Minden’s wardrobe and I furnished the house.
Mrs. Minden was greatly indebted to us.”
“Heaven help me!” thought Clarence, “the man is certainly mad.”
The waiter entered with the dinner; and Mr. Brown, who seemed to have a
delicate aversion to any conversation in the presence of the Ganymede
of the Holborn tavern, immediately ceased his communications; meanwhile,
Clarence took the opportunity to survey him more minutely than he had
hitherto done.
His new acquaintance was in age about forty-eight; in stature, rather
under the middle height; and thin, dried, withered, yet muscular withal,
like a man who, in stinting his stomach for the sake of economy, does
not the less enjoy the power of undergoing any fatigue or exertion that
an object of adequate importance may demand. We have said already that
he was attired, like twilight, “in a suit of sober brown;” and there
was a formality, a precision, and a cat-like sort of cleanliness in
his garb, which savoured strongly of the respectable coxcombry of the
counting-house. His face was lean, it is true, but not emaciated; and
his complexion, sallow and adust, harmonized well with the colours of
his clothing. An eye of the darkest hazel, sharp, shrewd, and flashing
at times, especially at the mention of the euphonious name of Lady
Waddilove,--a name frequently upon the lips of the inheritor of her
abigail,--with a fire that might be called brilliant, was of that
modest species which can seldom encounter the straightforward glance
of another; on the contrary, it seemed restlessly uneasy in any settled
place, and wandered from ceiling to floor, and corner to corner, with
an inquisitive though apparently careless glance, as if seeking for
something to admire or haply to appropriate; it also seemed to be the
especial care of Mr. Brown to veil, as far as he was able, the vivacity
of his looks beneath an expression of open and unheeding good-nature, an
expression strangely enough contrasting with the closeness and sagacity
which Nature had indelibly stamped upon features pointed, aquiline, and
impressed with a strong mixture of the Judaical physiognomy. The manner
and bearing of this gentleman partook of the same undecided character
as his countenance: they seemed to be struggling between civility and
importance; a real eagerness to make the acquaintance of the person
he addressed, and an assumed recklessness of the advantages which that
acquaintance could bestow;--it was like the behaviour of a man who is
desirous of having the best possible motives imputed to him, but is
fearful lest that desire should not be utterly fulfilled. At the first
glance you would have pledged yourself for his respectability; at the
second, you would have half suspected him to be a rogue; and, after you
had been half an hour in his company, you would confess yourself in the
obscurest doubt which was the better guess, the first or the last.
“Waiter!” said Mr. Brown, looking enviously at the viands upon which
Linden, having satisfied his curiosity, was now with all the appetite of
youth regaling himself. “Waiter!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Bring me a sandwich--and--and, waiter, see that I have plenty
of--plenty of--”
“What, sir?”
“Plenty of mustard, waiter.”
“Mustard” (and here Mr. Brown addressed himself to Clarence) “is a very
wonderful assistance to the digestion. By the by, sir, if you want any
curiously fine mustard, I can procure you some pots quite capital,--a
great favour, though,--they were smuggled from France, especially for
the use of the late Lady Waddilove.”
“Thank you,” said Linden, dryly; “I shall be very happy to accept
anything you may wish to offer me.”
Mr. Brown took a pocket-book from his pouch. “Six pots of mustard,
sir,--shall I say six?”
“As many as you please,” replied Clarence; and Mr. Brown wrote down “Six
pots of French mustard.”
“You are a very young gentleman, sir,” said Mr. Brown, “probably
intended for some profession: I don’t mean to be impertinent, but if I
can be of any assistance--”
“You can, sir,” replied Linden, “and immediately--have the kindness to
ring the bell.”
Mr. Brown, with a grave smile, did as he was desired; the waiter
re-entered, and, receiving a whispered order from Clarence, again
disappeared.
“What profession did you say, sir?” renewed Mr. Brown, artfully.
“None!” replied Linden.
“Oh, very well,--very well indeed. Then as an idle, independent
gentleman, you will of course be a bit of a beau; want some shirts,
possibly; fine cravats, too; gentlemen wear a particular pattern now;
gloves, gold, or shall I say gilt chain, watch and seals, a ring or two,
and a snuff-box?”
“Sir, you are vastly obliging,” said Clarence, in undisguised surprise.
“Not at all, I would do anything for a relation of Mrs. Minden.”
The waiter re-entered; “Sir,” said he to Linden, “your room is quite
ready.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Clarence, rising. “Mr. Brown, I have the
honour of wishing you a good evening.”
“Stay, sir--stay; you have not looked into these things belonging to the
late Lady Waddilove.”
“Another time,” said Clarence, hastily.
“To-morrow, at ten o’clock,” muttered Mr. Brown.
“I am exceedingly glad I have got rid of that fellow,” said Linden to
himself, as he stretched his limbs in his easy-chair, and drank off
the last glass of his pint of port. “If I have not already seen, I have
already guessed, enough of the world, to know that you are to look to
your pockets when a man offers you a present; they who ‘give,’ also
‘take away.’ So here I am in London, with an order for 1000 pounds in my
purse, the wisdom of Dr. Latinas in my head, and the health of eighteen
in my veins; will it not be my own fault if I do not both enjoy and make
myself--”
And then, yielding to meditations of future success, partaking strongly
of the inexperienced and sanguine temperament of the soliloquist,
Clarence passed the hours till his pillow summoned him to dreams no less
ardent and perhaps no less unreal.