MR. JACKSON'S BIG TROUT.
Of course, he did not die; I need not tell you that. B---- and P. H----
pulled him through, and shook their honest hands over his bed. Poor
B---- is reported to have winked on this occasion; but such a proceeding
was so unlike him, that I believe the report must have come round to us
through one of the American papers--probably the same one which
represented the Prince of Wales hitting the Duke of Newcastle in the eye
with a champagne cork.
However, they pulled him through; and, in the pleasant spring-time, he
was carried down to Casterton. Things had gone so hard with him, that
the primroses were in blossom on the southern banks before he knew that
Lord Saltire was dead, and before he could be made to understand that he
was a rich man.
From this much of the story we may safely deduce this moral, "That, if a
young gentleman gets into difficulties, it is always as well for him to
leave his address with his friends." But, as young gentlemen in
difficulties generally take particularly good care to remind their
friends of their whereabouts, it follows that this story has been
written to little or no purpose. Unless, indeed, the reader can find for
himself another moral or two; and I am fool enough to fancy that he may
do that, if he cares to take the trouble.
Casterton is built on arches, with all sorts of offices and kitchens
under what would naturally be the ground floor. The reason why Casterton
was built on arches (that is to say, as far as you and I are concerned)
is this: that Charles, lying on the sofa in Lord Hainault's study, could
look over the valley and see the river; which, if it had been built on
the ground, he could not have done. From this window he could see the
great weirs spouting and foaming all day; and, when he was carried up to
bed, by William and Lord Hainault, he could hear the roar of them rising
and pinking, as the night-wind came and went, until they lulled him to
sleep.
He lay here one day, when the doctors came down from London. And one of
them put a handkerchief over his face, which smelt like chemical
experiments, and somehow reminded him of Dr. Daubeny. And he fell
asleep; and when he awoke, he was suffering pain in his left arm--not
the old dull grinding pain, but sharper; which gradually grew less as
he lay and watched the weirs at Casterton. They had removed the
splinters of bone from his arm.
He did not talk much in this happy quiet time. William and Lady Ascot
were with him all day. William, dear fellow, used to sit on a footstool,
between his sofa and the window, and read the _Times_ to him. William's
education was imperfect, and he read very badly. He would read Mr.
Russell's correspondence till he saw Charles's eye grow bright, and
heard his breath quicken, and then he would turn to the list of
bankrupts. If this was too sad he would go on to the share list, and
pound away at that, till Charles went to sleep, which he generally did
pretty quickly.
About this time--that is to say, well in the spring--Charles asked two
questions:--The first was, whether or no he might have the window open;
the next, whether Lord Hainault would lend him an opera-glass?
Both were answered in the affirmative. The window was opened, and Lord
Hainault and William came in, bearing, not an opera-glass, but a great
brass telescope, on a stand--a thing with an eight-inch object-glass,
which had belonged to old Lord Hainault, who was a Cambridge man, and
given to such vanities.
This was very delightful. He could turn it with a move of his hand on to
any part of the weirs, and see almost every snail which crawled on the
burdocks. The very first day he saw one of the men from the paper-mill
come to the fourth weir, and pull up the paddles to ease the water. The
man looked stealthily around, and then raised a wheel from below the
apron, full of spawning perch. And this was close time! Oho!
Then, a few days after, came a tall, grey-headed gentleman, spinning a
bleak for trout, who had with him a lad in top-boots, with a
landing-net. And this gentleman sent his bait flying out here and there
across the water, and rattled his line rapidly into the palm of his hand
in a ball, like a consummate master, as he was. (King among fishermen,
prince among gentlemen, you will read these lines, and you will be so
good as to understand that I am talking of you.) And this gentleman spun
all day and caught nothing.
But he came the next day to the same place, and spun again. The great
full south-westerly wind was roaring up the valley, singing among the
budding trees, and carrying the dark, low, rainless clouds swiftly
before it. At two, just as Lady Ascot and William had gone to lunch, and
after Charles had taken his soup and a glass of wine, he, lying there,
and watching this gentleman diligently, saw his rod bend, and his line
tighten. The lad in the top-boots and the landing-net leaped up from
where he lay; there was no doubt about it now. The old gentleman had got
hold of a fish, and a big one.
The next twenty minutes were terrible. The old gentleman gave him the
but, and moved slowly down along the camp-shuting, and Charles followed
him with the telescope, although his hand was shaking with excitement.
After a time, the old gentleman began to wind up his reel, and then the
lad, top-boots, and the landing-net, and all, slipped over the
camp-shooting (will anybody tell me how to spell that word?
_Camps-heading_ won't do, my dear sir, all things considered), and
lifted the fish (he was nine pound) up among the burdocks at the old
gentleman's feet.
Charles had the whole group in the telescope--the old gentleman, the
great trout, and the dripping lad, taking off his boots, and emptying
the water out of them. But the old gentleman was looking to his right at
somebody who was coming, and immediately there came into the field of
the telescope a tall man in a velvet coat, with knee-breeches and
gaiters, and directly afterwards, from the other side, three children
and a young lady. The gentleman in the knee-breeches bowed to the young
lady, and then they all stood looking at the trout.
Charles could see them quite plainly. The gentleman in velveteen and
small-clothes was Lord Ascot, and the young lady was Mary.
He did not look through the telescope any more; he lay back, and tried
to think. Presently afterwards old Lady Ascot came in, and settled
herself in the window, with her knitting.
"My dear," she said, "I wonder if I fidget you with my knitting-needles?
Tell me if I do, for I have plenty of other work."
"Not at all, dear aunt; I like it. You did nineteen rows this morning,
and you would have done twenty-two if you had not dropped a stitch. When
I get stronger I shall take to it myself. There would be too much
excitement and over-exertion in it for me to begin just now."
Lady Ascot laughed; she was glad to see him trying even such a feeble
joke. She said--
"My dear, Mr. Jackson has killed a trout in the weirs just now, nine
pounds."
"I know," said Charles; "I did not know the weight, but I saw the fish.
Aunt, where is Welter--I mean, Ascot?"
"Well, he is at Ranford. I suppose you know, my dear boy, that poor
James left him nearly all his fortune. Nearly five hundred thousand
pounds' worth, with Cottingdean and Marksworth together. All the Ranford
mortgages are paid off, and he is going on very well, my dear. I think
they ought to give him his marquisate. James might have had it ten times
over, of course, but he used to say, that he had made himself the most
notorious viscount in England, and that if he took an earldom, people
would forget who he was."
"I wish he would come to see me, aunt. I am very fond of Welter."
I can't help it; he said so. Remember how near death's door he had been.
Think what he had been through. How he had been degraded, and kicked
about from pillar to post, like an old shoe; and also remember the state
he was in when he said it. I firmly believe that he had at this time
forgotten everything, and that he only remembered Lord Ascot as his old
boy love, and his jolly college companion. You must make the best of it,
or the worst of it for him, as you are inclined. He said so. And in a
very short time Lady Ascot found that she wanted some more wool, and
hobbled away to get it.
After a time, Charles heard a man come into the room. He thought it was
William; but it was not. This man came round the end of the sofa, and
stood in the window before him. Lord Ascot.
He was dressed as we know, having looked through Charles's telescope, in
a velveteen coat, with knee breeches and leathern gaiters. There was not
much change in him since the old times; only his broad, hairless face
seemed redder, his lower jaw seemed coarser and more prominent, his
great eyebrows seemed more lowering, his vast chest seemed broader and
deeper, and altogether he looked rather more like a mighty, coarse,
turbulent blackguard than ever.
"Well, old cock," he said, "so you are on your back, hey?"
"Welter," said Charles, "I am so glad to see you again. If you would
help me up, I should like to look at you."
"Poor old boy," said Lord Ascot, putting his great arm round him, and
raising him. "So! there you are, my pippin. What a good old fellow you
are, by Gad! So you were one of the immortal six hundred, hey? I thought
you would turn up somewhere in Queer Street, with that infernal old hook
nose of yours. I wish I had taken to that sort of thing, for I am fond
of fighting. I think, now I am rich and respectable, I shall subsidise a
prize-fighter to pitch into me once a fortnight. I wish I had been
respectable enough for the army; but I should always have been in
trouble with the commander-in-chief for dicing and brawling, I suppose.
Well, old man, I am devilish glad to see you again. I am in possession
of money which should have been yours. I did all I could for you,
Charles; you will never know how much. I tried to repair the awful wrong
I did you unconsciously. I did a thing in your favour I tremble to think
of now, but which, God help me, I would do again. You don't know what I
mean. If old Saltire had not died so quick, you would have known."
He was referring to his having told Lord Saltire that he had seen
Charles. In doing that, remember, he had thought that he was throwing
half a million to the winds. I only tell you that he was referring to
this, for fear you should not gather it from his own brutal way of
speaking.
I wonder how the balance will stand against Lord Ascot at last? Who ever
could have dreamt that his strong animal affection for his old friend
could have led him to make a sacrifice which many a more highly
organised man would have evaded, glossing over his conscience by fifty
mental subterfuges?
"However, my dear fellow," he continued, "it comes to this: I have got
the money; I shall have no children; and I shall make no will; therefore
it all comes to you, if you outlive me. About the title I can't say. The
lawyers must decide about that. No one seems to know whether or not it
descends through the female branch. By-the-bye, you are not master of
Ravenshoe yet, though there seems no doubt that grandma is right, and
that the marriage took place. However, whether the estate goes to you or
to William, I offer the same advice to both of you: if you get my money,
don't spend it in getting the title. You can get into the House of
Commons easy enough, if you seem to care about that sort of fun; and
fellows I know tell me that you get much better amusement there for your
money than in the other place. I have never been to the House of Lords
since the night I took my seat. It struck me as being slow. The fellows
say that there is never any chaff, or personalities, or calling to
order, or that sort of thing there, which seem to me to be half the fun
of the fair. But, of course, you know more about this than I."
Charles, in a minute, when he had ineffectually tried to understand what
Lord Ascot had been saying, collected his senses sufficiently to say:
"Welter, old boy, look here, for I am very stupid. Why did you say that
you should have no children?"
"Of course I can't; have they told you nothing?"
"Is Adelaide dead, Welter?" asked Charles, plucking at the buttons of
his coat nervously.
"They ought to have told you, Charles," said Lord Ascot, turning to the
window. "Now tell me something. Have you any love left for her yet?"
"Not one spark," said Charles, still buttoning and unbuttoning his coat.
"If I ever am a man again, I shall ask Mary Corby to marry me. I ought
to have done so sooner, perhaps. But I love your wife, Welter, in a way;
and I should grieve at her death, for I loved her once. By Gad! yes; you
know it. When did she die?"
"She is not dead, Charles."
"Now, don't keep me like this, old man; I can't stand it. She is no more
to me than my sister--not so much. Tell me what is the matter at once;
it can't be worse than what I think."
"The truth is very horrible, Charles," said Lord Ascot, speaking slowly.
"She took a fancy that I should buy back her favourite old Irish mare,
'Molly Asthore,' and I bought it for her; and we went out hunting
together, and we were making a nick, and I was getting the gate open for
her, when the devil rushed it; and down they came on it together. And
she broke her back--Oh, God! oh, God!--and the doctor says she may live
till seventy, but that she will never move from where she lies--and just
as I was getting to love her so dearly----"
Charles said nothing; for with such a great brutal blackguard as Lord
Ascot sobbing passionately at the window, it was as well to say nothing;
but he thought, "Here's work to the fore, I fancy, after a life of
laziness. I have been the object of all these dear soul's anxiety for a
long time. She must take my place now."