Mr. Gumbo's generous and feeling conduct soothed and softened the angry
heart of his master, and Harry's second night in the spunging-house was
passed more pleasantly than the first. Somebody at least there was to
help and compassionate with him. Still, though softened in that one
particular spot, Harry's heart was hard and proud towards almost all
the rest of the world. They were selfish and ungenerous, he thought.
His pious Aunt Warrington, his lordly friend March, his cynical cousin
Castlewood,--all had been tried, and were found wanting. Not to avoid
twenty years of prison would he stoop to ask a favour of one of them
again. Fool that he had been, to believe in their promises, and confide
in their friendship! There was no friendship in this cursed, cold,
selfish country. He would leave it. He would trust no Englishman, great
or small. He would go to Germany, and make a campaign with the king; or
he would go home to Virginia, bury himself in the woods there, and
hunt all day; become his mother's factor and land-steward; marry Polly
Broadbent, or Fanny Mountain; turn regular tobacco-grower and farmer; do
anything, rather than remain amongst these English fine gentlemen. So he
arose with an outwardly cheerful countenance, but an angry spirit; and
at an early hour in the morning the faithful Gumbo was in attendance
in his master's chamber, having come from Bond Street, and brought Mr.
Harry's letters thence. “I wanted to bring some more clothes,” honest
Gumbo said; “but Mr. Ruff, the landlord, he wouldn't let me bring no
more.”
Harry did not care to look at the letters: he opened one, two, three;
they were all bills. He opened a fourth; it was from the landlord, to
say that he would allow no more of Mr. Warrington's things to go out of
the house,--that unless his bill was paid he should sell Mr. W.'s goods
and pay himself: and that his black man must go and sleep elsewhere. He
would hardly let Gumbo take his own clothes and portmanteau away. The
black said he had found refuge elsewhere--with some friends at Lord
Wrotham's house. “With Colonel Lambert's people,” says Mr. Gumbo,
looking very hard at his master. “And Miss Hetty she fall down in a
faint, when she hear you taken up; and Mr. Lambert, he very good man,
and he say to me this morning, he say, 'Gumbo, you tell your master if
he want me he send to me, and I come to him.'”
Harry was touched when he heard that Hetty had been afflicted by his
misfortune. He did not believe Gumbo's story about her fainting; he
was accustomed to translate his black's language and to allow for
exaggeration. But when Gumbo spoke of the Colonel the young Virginian's
spirit was darkened again. “I send to Lambert” he thought, grinding his
teeth, “the man who insulted me, and flung my presents back in my face!
If I were starving I would not ask him for a crust!” And presently,
being dressed, Mr. Warrington called for his breakfast, and despatched
Gumbo with a brief note to Mr. Draper in the Temple, requiring that
gentleman's attendance.
“The note was as haughty as if he was writing to one of his negroes, and
not to a freeborn English gentleman,” Draper said; whom indeed Harry had
always treated with insufferable condescension. “It's all very well
for a fine gentleman to give himself airs; but for a fellow in a
spunging-house! Hang him!” says Draper, “I've a great mind not to
go!” Nevertheless, Mr. Draper did go, and found Mr. Warrington in his
misfortune even more arrogant than he had ever been in the days of his
utmost prosperity. Mr. W. sat on his bed, like a lord, in a splendid
gown with his hair dressed. He motioned his black man to fetch him a
chair.
“Excuse me, madam, but such haughtiness and airs I ain't accustomed to!”
said the outraged attorney.
“Take a chair and go on with your story, my good Mr. Draper!” said
Madame de Bernstein, smiling, to whom he went to report proceedings.
She was amused at the lawyer's anger. She liked her nephew for being
insolent in adversity.
The course which Draper was to pursue in his interview with Harry
had been arranged between the Baroness and her man of business on the
previous day. Draper was an able man, and likely in most cases to do a
client good service: he failed in the present instance because he was
piqued and angry, or, more likely still, because he could not understand
the gentleman with whom he had to deal. I presume that he who casts his
eye on the present page is the most gentle of readers. Gentleman, as
you unquestionably are, then, my dear sir, have you not remarked in
your dealings with people who are no gentlemen, that you offend them not
knowing the how or the why? So the man who is no gentleman offends you
in a thousand ways of which the poor creature has no idea himself. He
does or says something which provokes your scorn. He perceives that
scorn (being always on the watch, and uneasy about himself, his manners
and behaviour) and he rages. You speak to him naturally, and he fancies
still that you are sneering at him. You have indifference towards
him, but he hates you, and hates you the worse because you don't
care. “Gumbo, a chair to Mr. Draper!” says Mr. Warrington, folding his
brocaded dressing-gown round his legs as he sits on the dingy bed. “Sit
down, if you please, and let us talk my business over. Much obliged to
you for coming so soon in reply to my message. Had you heard of this
piece of ill-luck before?”
Mr. Draper had heard of the circumstance. “Bad news travel quick, Mr.
Warrington,” he said; “and I was eager to offer my humble services as
soon as ever you should require them. Your friends, your family, will be
much pained that a gentleman of your rank should be in such a position.”
“I have been very imprudent, Mr. Draper. I have lived beyond my means.”
(Mr. Draper bowed.) “I played in company with gentlemen who were much
richer than myself, and a cursed run of ill-luck has carried away all my
ready money, leaving me with liabilities to the amount of five hundred
pounds, and more.”
“Five hundred now in the office,” says Mr. Draper.
“Well, this is such a trifle that I thought by sending to one or two
friends, yesterday, I could have paid my debt and gone home without
further to do. I have been mistaken; and will thank you to have the
kindness to put me in the way of raising the money as soon as may be.”
Mr. Draper said “Hm!” and pulled a very grave and long face.
“Why, sir, it can be done!” says Mr. Warrington, staring at the lawyer.
It not only could be done, but Mr. Draper had proposed to Madame
Bernstein on the day before instantly to pay the money, and release
Mr. Warrington. That lady had declared she intended to make the young
gentleman her heir. In common with the rest of the world, Draper
believed Harry's hereditary property in Virginia to be as great in
money-value as in extent. He had notes in his pocket, and Madame
Bernstein's order to pay them under certain conditions: nevertheless,
when Harry said, “It can be done!” Draper pulled his long face, and
said, “It can be done in time, sir; but it will require a considerable
time. To touch the property in England which is yours on Mr. George
Warrington's death, we must have the event proved, the trustees
released: and who is to do either? Lady Esmond Warrington in Virginia,
of course, will not allow her son to remain in prison, but we must wait
six months before we hear from her. Has your Bristol agent any authority
to honour your drafts?”
“He is only authorised to pay me two hundred pounds a year,” says Mr.
Warrington. “I suppose I have no resource, then, but to apply to my
aunt, Madame de Bernstein. She will be my security.”
“Her ladyship will do anything for you, sir; she has said so to me,
often and often,” said the lawyer; “and, if she gives the word at that
moment you can walk out of this place.”
“Go to her, then, from me, Mr. Draper. I did not want to have troubled
my relations: but rather than continue in this horrible needless
imprisonment, I must speak to her. Say where I am, and what has befallen
me. Disguise nothing! And tell her, that I confide in her affection
and kindness for me to release me from this--this disgrace,” and Mr.
Warrington's voice shook a little, and he passed his hand across his
eyes.
“Sir,” says Mr. Draper, eyeing the young man, “I was with her ladyship
yesterday, when we talked over the whole of this here most unpleasant--I
won't say as you do, disgraceful business.”
“What do you mean, sir? Does Madame de Bernstein know of my misfortune?”
asked Harry.
“Every circumstance, sir; the pawning the watches, and all.”
Harry turned burning red. “It is an unfortunate business, the pawning
them watches and things which you had never paid for,” continued the
lawyer. The young man started up from the bed, looking so fierce that
Draper felt a little alarmed.
“It may lead to litigation and unpleasant remarks being made, in court,
sir. Them barristers respect nothing; and when they get a feller in the
box----”
“Great Heaven, sir, you don't suppose a gentleman of my rank can't take
a watch upon credit without intending to cheat the tradesman?” cried
Harry, in the greatest agitation.
“Of course you meant everything that's honourable; only, you see, the
law mayn't happen to think so,” says Mr. Draper, winking his eye. (“Hang
the supercilious beast; I touch him there!) Your aunt says it's the most
imprudent thing ever she heard of--to call it by no worse name.”
“You call it by no worse name yourself, Mr. Draper?” says Harry,
speaking each word very slow, and evidently trying to keep a command of
himself.
Draper did not like his looks. “Heaven forbid that I should say anything
as between gentleman and gentleman,--but between me and my client, it's
my duty to say, 'Sir, you are in a very unpleasant scrape,' just as a
doctor would have to tell his patient, 'Sir, you are very ill.'”
“And you can't help me to pay this debt off,--and you have come only to
tell me that I may be accused of roguery?” says Harry.
“Of obtaining goods under false pretences? Most undoubtedly, yes. I
can't help it, sir. Don't look as if you would knock me down. (Curse
him, I am making him wince, though.) A young gentleman, who has only two
hundred a year from his ma', orders diamonds and watches, and takes 'em
to a pawnbroker. You ask me what people will think of such behaviour,
and I tell you honestly. Don't be angry with me, Mr. Warrington.”
“Go on, sir!” says Harry, with a groan.
The lawyer thought the day was his own. “But you ask if I can't help
to pay this debt off? And I say Yes--and that here is the money in my
pocket to do it now, if you like--not mine, sir, my honoured client's,
your aunt, Lady Bernstein. But she has a right to impose her conditions,
and I've brought 'em with me.”
“Tell them, sir,” says Mr. Harry.
“They are not hard. They are only for your own good: and if you say Yes,
we can call a hackney-coach, and go to Clarges Street together, which
I have promised to go there, whether you will or no. Mr. Warrington, I
name no names, but there was a question of marriage between you and a
certain party.”
“Ah!” said Harry; and his countenance looked more cheerful than it had
yet done.
“To that marriage my noble client, the Baroness, is most averse--having
other views for you, and thinking it will be your ruin to marry a
party,--of noble birth and title it is true; but, excuse me, not of
first-rate character, and so much older than yourself. You had given an
imprudent promise to that party.”
“Yes; and she has it still,” says Mr. Warrington.
“It has been recovered. She dropped it by an accident at Tunbridge,”
says Mr. Draper, “so my client informed me; indeed her ladyship showed
it me, for the matter of that. It was wrote in bl----”
“Never mind, sir!” cries Harry, turning almost as red as the ink which
he had used to write his absurd promise, of which the madness and folly
had smote him with shame a thousand times over.
“At the same time letters, wrote to you, and compromising a noble
family, were recovered,” continues the lawyer. “You had lost 'em. It was
no fault of yours. You were away when they were found again. You may
say that that noble family, that you yourself, have a friend such as few
young men have. Well, sir, there's no earthly promise to bind you--only
so many idle words said over a bottle, which very likely any gentleman
may forget. Say you won't go on with this marriage--give me and my noble
friend your word of honour. Cry off, I say, Mr. W.! Don't be such a
d----fool, saving your presence, as to marry an old woman who has jilted
scores of men in her time. Say the word, and I step downstairs, pay
every shilling against you in the office, and put you down in my coach,
either at your aunt's or at White's Club, if you like, with a couple of
hundred in your pocket. Say yes; and give us your hand! There's no use
in sitting grinning behind these bars all day!”
So far Mr. Draper had had the best of the talk. Harry only longed
himself to be rid of the engagement from which his aunt wanted to free
him. His foolish flame for Maria Esmond had died out long since. If she
would release him, how thankful would he be! “Come! give us your hand,
and say done!” says the lawyer, with a knowing wink. “Don't stand
shilly-shallying, sir. Law bless you, Mr. W., if I had married everybody
I promised, I should be like the Grand Turk, or Captain Macheath in the
play!”
The lawyer's familiarity disgusted Harry, who shrank from Draper,
scarcely knowing that he did so. He folded his dressing gown round him,
and stepped back from the other's proffered hand. “Give me a little time
to think of the matter, if you please, Mr. Draper,” he said, “and have
the goodness to come to me again in an hour.
“Very good, sir, very good, sir!” says the lawyer, biting his lips, and,
as he seized up his hat, turning very red. “Most parties would not want
an hour to consider about such an offer as I make you: but I suppose my
time must be yours, and I'll come again, and see whether you are to
go or to stay. Good morning, sir, good morning:” and he went his way,
growling curses down the stairs. “Won't take my hand, won't he? Will
tell me in an hour's time! Hang his impudence! I'll show him what an
hour is!”
Mr. Draper went to his chambers in dudgeon then; bullied his clerks all
round, sent off a messenger to the Baroness, to say that he had
waited on the young gentleman, who had demanded a little time for
consideration, which was for form's sake, as he had no doubt; the lawyer
then saw clients, transacted business, went out to his dinner in the
most leisurely manner; and then finally turned his steps towards the
neighbouring Cursitor Street. “He'll be at home when I call, the haughty
beast!” says Draper, with a sneer. “The Fortunate Youth in his room?”
the lawyer asked of the sheriff's officer's aide-de-camp who came to
open the double doors.
“Mr. Warrington is in his apartment,” said the gentleman, “but----” and
here the gentleman winked at Mr. Draper, and laid his hand on his nose.
“But what, Mr. Paddy from Cork?” said the lawyer.
“My name is Costigan; me familee is noble, and me neetive place is the
Irish methrawpolis, Mr. Six-and-eightpence!” said the janitor, scowling
at Draper. A rich odour of spirituous liquors filled the little space
between the double doors where he held the attorney in conversation.
“Confound you, sir, let me pass!” bawled out Mr. Draper.
“I can hear you perfectly well, Six-and-eightpence, except your h's,
which you dthrop out of your conversation. I'll thank ye not to call
neems, me good friend, or me fingers and your nose will have to make an
intimate hic-quaintance. Walk in, sir! Be polite for the future to your
shupariors in birth and manners, though they may be your infariors in
temporary station. Confound the kay! Walk in, sir, I say!--Madam, I have
the honour of saluting ye most respectfully!”
A lady with her face covered with a capuchin, and further hidden by her
handkerchief, uttered a little exclamation as of alarm as she came down
the stairs at this instant and hurried past the lawyer. He was pressing
forward to look at her--for Mr. Draper was very cavalier in his manners
to women--but the bailiff's follower thrust his leg between Draper and
the retreating lady, crying, “Keep your own distance, if you plaise!
This way, madam! I at once recognised your ladysh----” Here he closed
the door on Draper's nose, and left that attorney to find his own way to
his client upstairs.
At six o'clock that evening the old Baroness de Bernstein was pacing up
and down her drawing-crutch, and for ever running to the window when the
noise of a coach was heard passing in Clarges Street. She had delayed
her dinner from hour to hour: she who scolded so fiercely, on ordinary
occasions, if her cook was five minutes after his time. She had ordered
two covers to be laid, plate to be set out, and some extra dishes to be
prepared as if for a little fete. Four--five o'clock passed, and at six
she looked from the window, and a coach actually stopped at her door.
“Mr. Draper” was announced, and entered bowing profoundly.
The old lady trembled on her stick. “Where is the boy?” she said
quickly. “I told you to bring him, sir! How dare you come without him?”
“It is not my fault, madam, that Mr. Warrington refuses to come.” And
Draper gave his version of the interview which had just taken place
between himself and the young Virginian.