MR. JERVIS
NEW NOVELS AT ALL LIBRARIES.
=AT MARKET VALUE.= By GRANT ALLEN. 2 vols.
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LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.
MR. JERVIS
BY
B. M. CROKER
AUTHOR OF
“PRETTY MISS NEVILLE,” “DIANA BARRINGTON,” “A BIRD OF PASSAGE,”
“A FAMILY LIKENESS,” ETC.
[Illustration]
_IN THREE VOLUMES_
VOL. II.
London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1894
“Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.”
SIR H. WOTTON.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER PAGE
XVII. “TAKE A FRIEND’S ADVICE” 1
XVIII. THE TABLE OF PRECEDENCE 23
XIX. LET US TELL THE TRUTH 44
XX. MISS PASKE DEFIES HER AUNT 55
XXI. THE GREAT STARVATION PICNIC 68
XXII. TOBY JOY’S SHORT CUT 94
XXIII. CAPTAIN WARING’S ALTERNATIVE 111
XXIV. “SWEET PRIMROSE IS COMING!” 132
XXV. SWEET PRIMROSE JUSTIFIES HER REPUTATION 150
XXVI. THE RESULT OF PLAYING “HOME,
SWEET HOME” 176
XXVII. MRS. LANGRISHE PUTS HERSELF OUT
TO TAKE SOMEBODY IN 202
XXVIII. THE CLUB IS DECORATED 216
XXIX. MARK JERVIS IS UNMASKED 237
MR. JERVIS.
CHAPTER XVII.
“TAKE A FRIEND’S ADVICE.”
Sarabella Brande was a truly proud woman, as she concluded an
inspection of her niece, ere the young lady started to make her first
appearance in public. There was not a fault to be found in that fresh
white dress, pretty hat, neat gloves, and parasol--except that she
would have liked just a _bit_ more colour; but what Honor lacked in
this respect, her aunt made up generously in her own person, in the
shape of a cobalt blue silk, heavily trimmed with gold embroidery, and
a vivid blue and yellow bonnet. Two rickshaws were in attendance, a
grand new one on indiarubber tires, and four gaudy jampannis, all at
the “Miss Sahib’s” service. Mrs. Brande led the way, bowling down the
smooth club road at the rate of seven miles an hour, lying back at an
angle of forty-five degrees, her bonnet-feathers waving triumphantly
over the back of her vehicle. The club was the centre, the very social
heart or pulse of Shirani. It contained rooms for reading, writing,
dancing, for playing cards or billiards, or for drinking tea.
Outside ran a long verandah, lined with ill-shaped wicker chairs,
overlooking the tennis courts and gardens, and commanding a fine view
of the snows.
The six tennis courts were full, the band of the Scorpions was playing
the last new gavotte, when Mrs. Brande walked up with head in the air,
closely followed by her niece and Captain Waring. She felt that every
eye, and especially Mrs. Langrishe’s eye, was on her, and was fully
equal to the occasion. Mrs. Langrishe, faultlessly attired in a French
costume, and looking the picture of elegant fastidiousness, murmured
to her companion, Sir Gloster Sandilands--
“Not a bad-looking girl, really; not at _all_ unpresentable, but
sallow,” and she smiled with deadly significance, little supposing that
her faint praise attracted the baronet to Honor on the spot. Then she
rose, and rustled down with much frow-frowing of silken petticoats, and
accosted her rival with expressions of hypocritical delight.
“Where _have_ you been?” she inquired. “We thought you were in
quarantine; but when I look at you, I need not ask how you are? Pray
introduce your niece to me. I hope she and Lalla will be immense
allies.” As she spoke, she was closely scrutinizing every item of
Honor’s appearance, and experiencing an unexpected pang.
The girl was a lady, she had a graceful figure, and a bright clever
face; and the old woman had not been suffered to dress her! Even her
captious eye could find no fault in that simple toilet.
“How do you do, Miss Gordon? Had you a good passage out?” she asked
urbanely.
“Yes, thank you.”
“You came out in the _Arcadia_, and most likely with a number of people
I know, the Greys, the Bruces, the Lockyers.”
“No doubt I did. There were three hundred passengers.”
“And no doubt you had a very good time, and enjoyed yourself immensely.”
“No, I cannot fancy any one enjoying themselves on board ship,”
rejoined Honor, with a vivid recollection of fretful children to wash
and dress, and keep out of harm’s way.
“Oh!” with a pitying, half-contemptuous smile, “seasick the whole way?”
Honor shook her head.
“Well, I see you won’t commit yourself,” with a playful air, “but I
shall hear all about you from the Greys,” and she nodded significantly,
as much as to say, “Pray do not imagine that any of your enormities
will be hidden from _me_!”
“Lalla!” to her niece, who was the centre of a group of men, “come
here, and be introduced to Miss Gordon.”
Lalla reluctantly strolled forward, with the air of a social martyr.
“I think we have met before,” said Honor, frankly extending her hand.
Miss Paske stared with a sort of blank expression, and elevating her
eyebrows drawled--
“I think not.” But she also made a quick little sign.
Unfortunately for her, she had to deal with a girl who could not read
such signals, who answered in a clear, far-carrying voice--
“Oh, don’t you remember? I met you the other morning before breakfast
up among the pine woods; you walking with Mr. Joy--surely you recollect
how desperately our dogs fought!”
Lalla felt furious with this blundering idiot, and hated her bitterly
from that day forth.
Mrs. Langrishe was made aware of Lalla’s early promenades for the
first time, and her lips tightened ominously. She did not approve of
these morning _tête-à-têtes_ with an impecunious feather-head, like
Toby Joy.
“Ah, yes, now that you mention it I _do_ recollect,” responded Miss
Paske, with an air which implied that the fact of the meeting required
a most exhaustive mental effort. “But you were in _deshabille_, you
see” (this was a malicious and mendacious remark), “and you look so
very different when you are dressed up! How do you think you will like
India?”
“It is too soon to know as yet.”
“I see you have the bump of caution,” with a little sneer; “now I
make up my mind to like or dislike a place or a person on the spot. I
suppose you are fond of riding?”
“I have never ridden since I was a child, but I hope to learn.”
“Then that mount on Captain Waring’s pony was your first attempt. How
ridiculous you did look! I’m afraid you are rather too old to learn
riding now. Can you dance?”
“Yes, I am very fond of dancing.”
“How many ball dresses did you bring out?” demanded Miss Paske.
“Only three,” replied the other, apologetically.
“Oh, they will be ample. India is not what it was. Girls sit out
half the night. Don’t let your aunt choose your frocks for you, my
dear--indeed, we will all present you with a vote of thanks if you
will choose _hers_. I’ve such a painful sense of colour, that a
crude combination always hurts me. Just look at that chuprassi, in
bright scarlet, standing against a blazing magenta background--of
Bourgainvillia--the contrast is an outrage. I must really ask some
one to get the man to move on. Here comes Sir Gloster. We will go and
appeal to him together,” and she walked off.
“I suppose that is the latest arrival?” said Sir Gloster, a big
heavy-looking young man, who wore loose-fitting clothes, a shabby soft
felt hat, and rolled as he walked.
“Yes--that is Miss Gordon, Mrs. Brande’s niece. She has half a dozen,
and wrote home for one, and they say she asked for the best looking;
and people here, who have nick-names for every one, call her ‘the
sample.’”
“Excellent!” ejaculated Sir Gloster, “and a first-class sample. She
might tell them to furnish a few more on the same pattern.”
“I expect we shall find _one_ quite enough for the present,” rejoined
Miss Paske rather dryly.
“Have all the people nick-names?”
“Most of them; those who are in any way remarkable,” she answered,
as they paced up and down. “That red-faced man over there is called
‘Sherry,’ and his wife--I don’t see her--‘Bitters.’ Captain Waring, who
is abnormally rich, is called ‘the millionaire;’ his cousin, the fair
young man in flannels, who keeps rather in the background, is ‘the
poor relation;’ Miss Clegg is known as ‘the dâk bungalow fowl,’ because
she is so bony, and the four Miss Abrahams, who always sit in a row,
and are, as you notice, a little dark, are ‘the snowy range.’”
“Excellent!” ejaculated Sir Gloster.
“That man that you see drinking coffee,” pursued the sprightly damsel,
“with the great flat mahogany face, is ‘the Europe Ham’--is it not a
lovely name? Those two Miss Valpys, the girls with the short hair and
immense expanse of shirt fronts, are called ‘the lads;’ that red-headed
youth is known as ‘the pink un,’ and the two Mrs. Robinsons are
respectively, ‘good Mrs. Robinson’ and ‘pretty Mrs. Robinson.’”
“Excellent!” repeated the baronet once more. “And no doubt you and
I--at any rate I--have been fitted with a new name, and all that sort
of thing?”
“Oh no,” shaking her head. “Besides,” with a sweetly flattering smile,
“there is nothing to ridicule about you.”
She was certainly not going to tell him that he was called “Double
Gloster,” in reference to his size.
Sir Gloster Sandilands was about thirty years of age, rustic in his
ideas, simple in his tastes, narrow in his views. He was the only
son of his mother, a widow, who kept him in strict order. He was
fond of ladies’ society, and of music; and, being rather dull and
heavy, greatly appreciated a pretty, lively, and amusing companion.
Companions of this description were not unknown to him at home, but as
they were generally as penniless as they were charming, the dowager
Lady Sandilands kept them and their fascinations at an impracticable
distance. She trusted to his sister, Mrs. Kane, to look strictly after
her treasure whilst under her roof; but Mrs. Kane was a great deal too
much occupied with her own affairs to have any time to bestow on her
big brother, who surely was old enough to take care of himself! He
was enchanted with India; and the change from a small county club and
confined local surroundings, the worries of a landlord and magistrate,
to this exquisite climate and scenery, and free, novel, roving life was
delightful. He had spent the cold weather in the plains, and had come
up to Shirani to visit his sister, as well as to taste the pleasures of
an Indian hill station.
Meanwhile Mrs. Brande had introduced her niece to a number of people;
and, seeing her carried off by young Jervis, to look on at the tennis,
had sunk into a low chair and abandoned herself to a discussion with
another matron.
From this she was ruthlessly disturbed by Mrs. Langrishe.
“Excuse me, dear, but you are sitting on the _World_.”
“Oh no, indeed, I’m sure I am not,” protested the lady promptly, being
reluctant to heave herself out of her comfortable seat.
“Well, please to look,” rather sharply.
“There!” impatiently, “you see it is not here. I don’t know why you
should think that _I_ was sitting on it.”
“I suppose,” with a disagreeable smile, “I naturally suspected _you_,
because you sit on every one!” And then she moved off, leaving her
opponent gasping.
“I never knew such an odious woman,” she cried, almost in tears. “She
hustles me about and snaps at me, and yet she will have the face to
write down and borrow all my plated side-dishes and ice machine the
first time she has a dinner, but that is not _often_, thank goodness.”
In the meanwhile Honor had been leaning over a rustic railing watching
a tennis match in which her uncle was playing. He was an enthusiast,
played well, and looked amazingly young and active.
“So you have been making friends, I see,” observed Jervis.
“I don’t know about friends,” she repeated doubtfully, thinking of
Lalla. “But I’ve been introduced to several people.”
“That verandah is an awful place. Waring has extraordinary nerve to sit
there among all those strangers. I am much too shy to venture within a
mile of it.”
“I believe he is quite at home, and has met no end of acquaintances.
Have you paid any visits yet?”
“No; only one or two that he dragged me out to. I’m not a society man.”
“And how will you put in your time?”
“I’m fond of rackets and tennis. Your uncle has given me a general
invitation to his courts. Do you think we could get up a game
to-morrow--your uncle and I, and you and Miss Paske--or Mrs. Sladen?”
“Yes; if we could get Mrs. Sladen.”
“Not Miss Paske? Don’t you like her?” with a twinkle in his eye.
“It is too soon to say whether I like her or not; but she did not think
it too soon to ridicule my aunt to me.”
“Well, Miss Gordon, I’ll tell you something. I don’t care about Miss
Paske.”
“Why?” she asked quickly.
“Because she snubs me so ferociously. It was the same in Calcutta. By
the way, how delighted she was just now, when you, with an air most
childlike and bland, informed her aunt and most of Shirani of her
pleasant little expeditions with young Joy.”
“_Ought_ I not to have said anything?” inquired Honor, turning a pair
of tragic eyes upon him. “Oh, that is so like me, always blundering
into mistakes. But I never dreamt that I was--was----”
“Letting cats out of bags, eh?” he supplemented quietly.
“No, indeed; and it seemed so odd that she did not remember meeting me
only three days ago.”
“You were thoroughly determined that she should not forget it, and we
will see if she ever forgives you. Here comes old Sladen,” as a heavy
figure loomed in view, crunching down the gravel, and leaning on the
railings in a manner that tested them severely, he looked down upon the
gay groups, and six tennis courts, in full swing. Colonel Sladen had
an idea that blunt rudeness, administered in a fatherly manner, was
pleasing to young women of Miss Gordon’s age, and he said--
“So I hear you came up with the great catch of the season. Ha, ha, ha!
And got the start of all the girls in the place, eh?”
“Great catch?” she repeated, with her delicate nose high in the air.
“Well, don’t look as if you were going to shoot me! I mean the
millionaire--that fellow Waring. He seems to be rolling in coin now,
but I used to know him long ago when he had not a stiver. He used to
gamble----”
“This is his cousin, Mr. Jervis,” broke in Honor, precipitately.
“Oh, indeed,” casting an indifferent glance at Jervis. “Well, it’s not
a bad thing to be cousin to a millionaire.”
“How do you know that he is a millionaire?” inquired the young man
coolly.
“Oh, I put it to him, and he did not deny the soft impeachment. He has
just paid a top price for a couple of weight-carrying polo ponies--I
expect old Byng stuck it on.”
“The fact of buying polo ponies goes for nothing. If that were a test,
you might call nearly every subaltern in India a millionaire,” rejoined
Jervis with a smile.
Colonel Sladen merely stared at the speaker with an air of solemn
contempt, threw the stump of his cheroot into a bush of heliotrope,
and, turning once more to Honor, said--
“You see all our smartest young men down there, Miss Gordon--at your
feet in one sense, and they will be there in another, before long. I
can tell you all about them--it’s a good thing for a strange young lady
to know how the land lies, and get the straight tip, and know what are
trumps.”
“What do you mean?” asked Honor, frigidly.
“Oh, come now,” with an odious chuckle, “you know what I mean. I want
to point you out some of the people, and, as I am the oldest resident,
you could not be in better hands. There’s Captain Billings of the Bays,
the fellow with the yellow cap, playing with Miss Clover, the prettiest
girl here----”
He paused, to see if the shot told, or if the statement would be
challenged; but no.
“That is Toby Joy, who acts and dances and ought to be in a music-hall,
instead of in the service. There is Jenkins of the Crashers, the thin
man with a red belt; very rich. His father made the money in pigs or
pills--not what you’d call aristocratic, but he is well gilded. Then
there is Alston of the Gray Rifles--good-looking chap, eldest son;
and Howard of the Queen’s Palfreys--old family, heaps of tin; but he
drinks. Now, which of these young men are you going to set your cap
at?”
“None of them,” she answered with pale dignity.
“Oh, come! I’ll lay you five to one you are married by this time next
year.”
“No--not by this time five years.”
“Nonsense! Then what did you come out for, my dear young lady? You
won’t throw dust in the eyes of an old ‘Qui hye’ like me, who has seen
hundreds of new spins in his day? I suppose you think you have come
out to be a comfort to your aunt and uncle? Not a bit of it! You have
come out to be a comfort to some young man. Take a friend’s advice,”
lowering his voice to a more confidential key, “and keep your eye
steadily on the millionaire.”
“Colonel Sladen,” her lips trembling with passion, her eyes blazing
with wrath, “I suppose you are joking, and think all this very funny.
It does not amuse me in the least; on the contrary, I--I think it is a
pitiable thing to find a man of your age so wanting in good taste, and
talking such vulgar nonsense!”
“Do you really?” in a bantering tone, and not a wit abashed--in fact,
rather pleased than otherwise. “_No_ sense of respect for your elders!
Ho, ho, ho! No sense of humour, eh? Why, I believe you are a regular
young fire-ship! We shall be having the whole place in a blaze--a
fire-Brande, that’s a joke, eh?--not bad. I see Tombs beckoning; he has
got up a rubber at last, thank goodness! Sorry to tear myself away.
Think over my advice. Au revoir,” and he departed, chuckling.
“Did you ever know such a detestable man?” she exclaimed, turning to
Jervis with tears of anger glittering in her eyes.
“Well, once or twice it _did_ occur to me to heave him over the
palings--if I was able.”
Honor burst into an involuntary laugh, as she thought of their
comparative weight.
“He did it on purpose to draw you, and he has riled you properly.”
“To think of his being the husband of such a woman as Mrs. Sladen!
Oh, I detest him! Imagine his having the insolence to make out that
every girl who comes to India is nothing but a scheming, mercenary,
fortune-hunter! I am glad he pointed out all the rich men!”
“May I ask why?” inquired her somewhat startled companion.
“Because, of course, I shall take the greatest possible care never to
know one of them.”
“So poverty, for once, will have its innings? You will not taboo the
younger sons?”
“No; only good matches and great catches,” with vicious emphasis.
“Hateful expressions! Mr. Jervis, I give you fair warning that, if you
were rich, I would never speak to you again. You are laughing!”
He certainly _was_ laughing. As he leant his head down on his arms, his
shoulders shook unmistakably.
“Perhaps,” in an icy tone, “when your amusement has subsided, you will
be good enough to take me back to my aunt!”
“Oh, Miss Gordon!” suddenly straightening himself, and confronting her
with a pair of suspiciously moist eyes, “I must have seemed extremely
rude, and I humbly beg your pardon. I was laughing at--at my own
thoughts, and your wrathful indignation was such that--that----”
“You had better not say any more,” she interrupted; “you will only make
matters worse.” Then added with a dawning smile, “It is what I always
do myself. I speak from experience.”
“Promise me one thing,” he urged--“that you will not drop _me_ when you
are weeding out your acquaintance.”
“Pray, why should I drop you? My new rule does not apply to you. Are
_you_ a millionaire?” And she broke into a laugh.
A keener observer than the young lady would have noticed a shade of
embarrassment in his glance as, after a moment’s hesitation, he said--
“I am quite an old Indian friend now, at any rate--almost your first
acquaintance.”
“Yes, I admit all that; but you must not presume on our ancient
friendship. I warn you solemnly that the next time you laugh at
me--laugh until you actually _cry_--our relations will be--strained.”
* * * * *
It was becoming dark, the fires were visibly increasing on the distant
hills, the first mess bugle had gone. There was a general getting into
rickshaws, and calling for ponies, and presently the club was empty,
the formidable verandahs deserted, and all the red-capped little
tennis-boys went trooping home.