The high contracting powers met according to appointment at the
semi-demi-dinner, and it was very soon evident to Jack that his
mother had, during his absence, exerted her influence over his
juvenile father-in-law, and convinced him that he would find Jack
most conformable to all his wishes in the family concerns if he would
but show a reciprocal feeling of conciliation and friendliness:
indeed, before the bottled porter had entirely vanished, and the
drop of something warm, which Mrs. Salmon considered necessary after
the dipping which she and J. S. had undergone, the one in the hot
and the other in the cold water, had quite disappeared, it was no
longer a matter of doubt that Jem would do everything in his power to
accommodate our hero in any financial arrangements which he might
propose. In order to have all this carried into effect, Mrs. Salmon
accidentally--(on purpose)--left the room, giving the gentlemen an
opportunity of talking over business.
Mr. Salmon having decided upon his course, and made up his mind as to
the system which he intended to pursue, and not being afflicted with
that commodity which sometimes most seriously interferes with the
progress of worldly concernments, called diffidence, lost no time in
doing what he called “coming to the point.”
“I say, John,” said Jem--(and the familiar mode of addressing him was
poison to his ears)--“Titsy says you want some stumpy.”
“Why--” said Jack, interrupting him.
“Well now, keep steady,” said J. S; “whatever you want you shall
have--twig?”
“Thank you,” said Jack.
“Only now, I tell you what,” said Salmon, “everybody, you know, wants
money as well as _you_;--every one, you see, wants a lift. Now Titsy
tells me you want fifty or a hundred pounds.”
“Exactly, more or less as the case may be,” said Jack.
“Well now, I tell you,” said Jem, to whose financial reasonings
Jack, considering whence he had risen in the concern, of which
he might and ought to have been the head, did not listen perhaps
with as much urbanity as, under other circumstances, he might have
observed,--“suppose you take three hundred.”
“As you please,” said Jack, mollified on the instant, and suddenly
impressed with the wonderful liberality of the new head of the house.
“I tell you how we can manage it,” said Salmon: “Titsy tells me your
rents will come in at Christmas; now I think we may as well act on the
give and take principle--twig?”
“Certainly,” said Jack--“what’s right is right--all fair, and no
mistake.”
“Well then,” continued Jem, “_you_ give _me_ your acceptance for five
hundred pounds at two months; I’ll give you a checque now for three
hundred: you can draw on me for the balance when you want it; and when
the bill is due we can settle it all--only it would serve my turn to
pay in your bill to my account.”
Jack, who was perfectly convinced that, accept what bill he might,
his mother never would permit him to be persecuted on account of it,
even if he failed to pay it, jumped at the proposal, although somewhat
disgusted by the precautions taken by his juvenile father-in-law, and
rather alarmed as to the prosperity of the business which sought to
bolster up its character by a payment to _his_ banker, of such a sum
in such a shape. Salmon, however, increased his surprise by telling
him that the house into which _his_ bill would be paid was not that
of their own regular banker, but one with whom _he_ kept a separate
account, and who was very liberal in the way of discounts.
Jack saw that if he refused the conditions, he should not get the
money, and as he was anxious to have his account look respectable at
_his_ banker’s, he determined to accede to the proposition; and, as in
such matters nothing is like time present, they proceeded to purchase a
stamp, in order to conclude the affair out of hand.
Out of this simple piece of business Jack contrived to carry a point,
the management of which, had puzzled him all the morning. Upon
enquiring at the library, there was not a stamp of sufficient value
in the place to carry so large an acceptance;--“they would send that
evening to Lewes, if that would do, and get the stamp by the next
morning.”
A ray of light burst in upon Jack,--a certain means of escaping from
Eastbourne, and carrying off his near and dear relations, before the
return of the dreaded dandies, instantaneously presented itself;--why
not go to Lewes themselves, and let the returning travellers to London
depart thence in the morning?--they would see another town; the various
coaches from Lewes were better than the Eastbourne _one_; in short, it
would be a trip, and a variety.
Mrs. Salmon, who was in an exceedingly good humour, and especially
pleased with Jack, made no objection--Jim seemed for a moment to doubt:
however, their project could not be completed without the stamp; for,
although Mr. Salmon had the highest confidence in his son-in-law, he
did not exhibit the smallest disposition to give the checque without
first getting hold of the acceptance. These doubts, however, were
speedily and suddenly terminated by his finding a playbill in the
library, announcing that there would be a play and farce acted at the
Lewes theatre that evening, by the particular desire of Lady somebody,
one of the leading belles of that part of the county, and that it
would be a very gay affair. Mr. James Salmon never having been much
beyond the limits of the Bills of Mortality, and being of a remarkably
theatrical turn, was delighted with the prospect of this amusement, far
preferable, as he thought, to the monotonous roll and splash of the
waves on the beach: therefore he decreed that thither they should go,
there get their stamp, transact their business, have their dinner, see
the play, get a bit of supper after it, and so be up and ready for a
start to town in the morning.
“Capital notion!” said Jack--“nothing better: don’t you think so,
mother?”
“Indeed I do, John,” said the old lady; “and I have had so little of
your company of late, that it’s quite a treat to go with you anywhere.”
“Let us lose no time then,” said Brag--“we’ll have a barouche--or
sociable, if they have such a thing--that will hold us comfortably, and
we’ll have a regular afternoon and evening of it. I’ll settle the bill;
you are _my_ visiters, and----”
“No, John, no,” said his mother; “we didn’t come down to see you for
what we could get--so don’t talk of that.”
“Well, just as you please,” said Brag. “What time shall I say?--half an
hour--eh?--ought to get early to Lewes, and dine in time for the play.
I’ll say half an hour, and off we go, right up, straight down, and no
mistake.”
Saying which, Jack, glorying in the success of his scheme, and the
fortunate turn of circumstances, which at once relieved him of all
doubt and difficulty with regard to the conduct of the evening,
proceeded to the hotel, ordered the carriage to be ready in time,
directed the landlady to charge the horses to Salmon, and left a
message to be delivered to Colonel Stiffkey, that he should return to
the hotel to sleep; having previously packed up his valise, containing
his cap, comb, &c. and ordered it to be put in the carriage; giving
directions that, if his servant and phaeton _should_ arrive, they were
to wait for him till his return; because if he should not be able to
get back in time that evening, he should certainly be back to luncheon
the next day. Thus his liberal offer of considering the Salmons as his
guests was metamorphosed into _their_ paying not only for their living,
but for the horses which, for his own convenience, he had engaged for
them; moreover embracing the dexterous contrivance of leaving Colonel
Stiffkey to pay for the dinner of the day before, or, if not that,
of leaving the landlady to put up with the loss of one half of the
expenditure.
Punctual to the moment, the carriage with _four_ horses, rendered
necessary by the length of the stage, drove up to the door: the hurry
and bustle of the moment, the sight of the equipage, the courtesy of
the servants, and the general excitement, threw Mr. Salmon off his
guard, and he did not give himself time--indeed, Brag would not allow
him any--to discuss the different items of the bill; but having,
under his son-in-law’s advice, left a sum sufficient to satisfy the
attendants for both parties, he stepped into the open barouche, in
which the seat of honour was reserved for him by the side of Titsy,
Jack going with his back to the horses, looking as obsequious as an
equerry. His excessive humility and politeness upon this occasion
had two causes; in the first place, he felt that his mother and her
boy-husband would be pleased with his civility; and, in the next, he
thought that this show of deference to them in the open carriage would
convince any of the promenaders whom they might encounter--always
excepting those who might have witnessed their descent from the London
coach the preceding evening--that his travelling companions were people
of consideration.
Arrived at Lewes, after a stage remarkable for the exorbitant tolls
which are levied on the road, the party reached the “Star” in perfect
safety and excellent time. Their appearance was the signal for a
ringing of bells, and an outrush of waiters, to an extent perfectly
astounding to Jem, who had no idea of the difference in the effect
producible by four horses when drawing what looked like a private
carriage, and that created by them when dragging a stage-coach. All
enquiries as to accommodation being satisfactorily answered, dinner
was ordered, and John and his father-in-law proceeded to make their
purchase of the stamp at the library; whence they repaired to the
theatre, where Jack, by dint of certain flourishes, secured one
of the stage-boxes, which, luckily for the gratification of his
ambitious heart, had been given up only a few minutes before by a very
distinguished country lady who was unable to occupy it, because her
ninth child had been suddenly attacked with scarletina.
In turning away from the door of the playhouse, Jack was struck by
the well-turned figure of an exceedingly smartly-dressed woman, whom
by her gait and manner, taken in connexion with the locality, he was
induced on the instant to set down in his own mind as one of the
actresses. Jack was right; it was one of those fair and fascinating
creatures, who, as Gay says of women in general,
“----seduce all mankind;”
but his surprise was inconceivably great when he saw her, the moment
she recognised his companion, hasten up and hold out her hand towards
him with all the warmth and cordiality of “old friendship.”
“Why, Mr. Salmon,” said Miss Roseville, “what brings _you_ here?”
“Chance, and a little business together,” said Salmon; “twig?”
“I hope you mean to come to the play to-night,” said Miss Roseville,
with one of those looks which it is beyond the power of pen to describe.
“We have just taken a box,” said Salmon.
“Where are you staying?” said Miss Roseville.
“At the Star,” was the reply.
“Do you stay long?”
“No,” said Salmon; “go to-morrow.”
“Oh you naughty thing!” said the lady. “Well, good b’ye, if I don’t see
you till the evening;--I lodge at the milliner’s, just opposite,--good
b’ye.”
Her departure was a considerable relief to J. S., who was kept in a
state of perpetual twitter during the brief parley between them. He
would willingly have given five pounds not to have encountered the fair
syren while in the society of Brag; and would now have readily given
twice as much to ensure his silence upon the subject when they got home.
“Why,” said Brag, “you seem quite free and easy with that young
creechur--who is she?”
“That,” said Jim, “is Molly Hogg. I’ve known her these three
years;--she is engaged at one of the Minors, and calls herself, in the
bills, Roseville,--it sounds better than Hogg;--very good-natured girl.”
“She seems so,” said Brag, “and no mistake.”
“I’m sure I didn’t think of finding _her_ here,” said Salmon: “I
haven’t seen her now for a good while.”
“Uncommon pretty,” said Brag. “I suppose I have seen her before--don’t
recollect,--see so many--eh?”
“Well,” said Salmon, evidently nervous, “shall we go and do this
bill? I’ll give you the checque; or, if you like, I’ll draw it
in town to-morrow, and cross it to your banker’s--save another
stamp--twig?--And, John--there’s no harm in what I’m going to say--only
you _can_ do me a favour.”
“What is it?” said Brag, “name it, and i’s done,--straight up, right
down, and no mistake.”
“Why,” said Salmon, looking uncommonly sheepish; “there’s nothing in
it--but--I--wish you wouldn’t say anything to Titsy about my meeting
little Hogg.”
“Not I,” said John; “I know the female sex too well not to know how
easy they are made jealous. I conclude there’s nothing serious?”--
“--Nothing, upon my life!” said Salmon: “besides, I give you my word, I
haven’t seen the girl these six months--twig?”
“Mum’s the word,” said Brag; “no--no--there’s no use making quarrels in
families--life’s too short for that, eh?”----
“Why, Mr. Brag,” said somebody in a stentorian voice, “I thought we had
stolen a march upon you, and left you at Eastbourne.”
Brag turned suddenly round on hearing himself accosted, and beheld his
sporting friend Peckover.
“Oh, sir,” said Jack, “here you are!”
“Yes,” said the gentle giant; “Mrs. Peckover was invited to join Lady
Patcham’s party at the play; it is what the actors call _her_ bespeak,
so she has come here, and dines with Lady Patcham early, in order to be
in time.”
“We are going to the play too,” said Jack.
“Mrs. Peckover seems to think,” said Mr. P., “that the house will be
very full; and she tells me that the play is a good play, and that
some of the players are good players; for _my_ part I don’t trouble my
head much about such things--Ha, ha, ha!--Do you stay here, or return
to-night?”
“Stay,” said Jack.
“You are like Mrs. Peckover,” answered the other; “she doesn’t mean to
go back till the morning,--for, as she says, a drive in the dark, of
nineteen miles, after the heat of a playhouse, is no treat--Ha, ha, ha!”
“Are you at an inn?” said Brag.
“Yes,” said his friend, “Mrs. Peckover patronizes ‘The Star;’ she says
it is the best house. She has secured rooms there,--at least, so she
has sent me word from Lady Patcham’s. I leave all these things to her.”
“Well, sir,” said Brag, “I suppose we shall meet in the evening.
Stiffkey went off to Hastings this morning; he will be back at
Eastbourne in the evening.”
“Capital fellow, the Colonel,” said Mr. P. “Mrs. Peckover says she
thinks him one of the most agreeable men she ever met,--and she’s a
tolerably good judge of these matters.--Ha, ha! Do you go back to stay
at the hotel?”
“Probably not,” said Brag. “I have got a very pressing invitation to
the Isle of Wight--can’t be everywhere.”
“No,” said P. “I only asked, because Mrs. Peckover means to invite the
Colonel to dine with us one day this week, and she was enquiring this
morning how long you proposed to stay.”
“I’m afraid I must start,” said Brag, “however, if I should go back, in
course I shall have the pleasure of seeing you.”
“Good morning!” said Peckover; “I must go and find Mrs. Peckover: she
told me she should be down in the town shopping with Lady Patcham. I
must not lose sight of her. Good morning!”
“Good morning!” said Jack, and away he and his friend proceeded to
their temporary residence, where they were received by Mrs. Salmon in
a tempestuous humour, the sweetness of her temper having been curdled,
and her spirit stirred by circumstances which were but too soon
developed.
“Well, I’m sure, gentlemen,” said the matron as they entered the room,
“you haven’t hurried yourselves.”
“We have been shopping, Titsy,” said Salmon.
“Don’t Titsy me, sir!” replied the lady, her cheeks burning, and her
eyes almost starting out of her head. “I have been shopping too: you
did not suppose I was going to be stewed up in this place, while you
and Mr. John were flirting all about the town. I have got eyes, Mr.
Salmon, and I’ll take care and make pretty good use of them--I can
tell you _that_. Pray, sir, who was that fine flaunting miss in the
lavender-coloured gown, with the short petticoats, and platted tails
hanging over her shoulders?”
“Gown!” said Jem.
“Tails!” said Jack.
“Yes!” said the lady, reddening with rage, “gowns, and tails: you are a
nice pair; you’d do uncommon well to run in a curricle, I’m thinking.
I ask you who that dressed-up minx was, that you were talking to in the
street?”
“A friend of mine, my dear mother,” said Brag, resolved to bind Jem
eternally to him by an act of self-devotion, which, in the first
instance, might induce him to make the checque five hundred instead
of three--“knew her in London--one of the actresses:--met her at
Lord Tom’s--used always to take a box at her benefit:--very amiable
girl--supports an aged mother and nine orphan brothers and sisters.”
“A friend of yours, Master Johnny, is she!” said Mrs. Salmon; “why,
then, I wonder she didn’t shake you by the hand instead of Mr.
Jim:--that won’t do--no, no! _This_ was the trick of coming over
here to the play, instead of enjoying the agreeable company of that
genteel colonel, and showing him how we had made up matters, and how
comfortable we could live together. Oh! to be sure! Mr. Salmon saw in
the playbill who was to act here, and off he comes, helter-skelter, no
matter what’s to pay, in order to see _her_ painted face.”
“I assure you, Titsy,” said Salmon, “I did not know a word about it:
and as for going to the play, if you don’t like it, we won’t go; and if
you like to go back to Eastbourne, we will go back directly.”
“I’m sure that’s fair enough,” said Brag; “so don’t let’s squabble
about nothing. Men of the world know great lots of people for whom they
don’t care a brass farthing. Here, dinner’s just ready--the stage-box
secured--all right, and no mistake.”
“Well,” said the lady, “I don’t want to break up our little family
party, and I should like well enough to go to the play; but I will not
go if that young woman performs to-night. What’s her name, John?”
“Hogg,” said Jack:--“didn’t you say Hogg, Salmon?”
“I!” said Jem--“no, _you_ said her name was Hogg.”
“So I did, to be sure,” said Jack.
“Have you got the playbill, sir?” said the lady to her husband.
“Yes, there it is,” said Salmon. “And now while Titsy is looking that
over, we may as well do this job about the checque.”
“All right,” said Jack; “come along--here’s pen and ink. You draw on
me, I accept--payable at my banker’s.”
At this moment, and just as Mrs. Salmon had satisfied herself that
no person blest with the euphonic name of Hogg was to contribute to
the entertainment of that night’s audience, a tall, fresh-coloured
chambermaid opened the door, having previously tapped at it, and
entered the room.
“I believe, ma’am,” said she, addressing Mrs. Salmon, “my mistress
misunderstood you: she said there were only two beds wanting
to-night:--do both the gentlemen stay here?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Salmon--“both.”
“Then the young gentlemen will want two,” said the maid, “and----”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Salmon, “we want but two.”
“Then, where will your son sleep, ma’am?” asked the maid.
“My son,” said Mrs. Salmon--“why in his own bed to be sure--where else
should he sleep?”
“Then where will Mr. Brag sleep, ma’am?” said the maid, who had
arrived at the knowledge of his name, in consequence of his accustomed
enquiries after his “servant and carriage,” which he had told the
landlord he firmly believed to have been at Lewes.
“Why, Mr. Brag _is_ my son,” said the lady.
“Oh! beg pardon, ma’am,” said the chambermaid--“I thought the other
young gentleman was _your_ son, being the same name.”
“Thought!” said Mrs. Salmon--“then you had better not have taken the
trouble of thinking anything about it. Mr. Salmon is my husband:--will
_that_ satisfy you?”
“Oh! quite, ma’am,” said the maid, looking exceedingly surprised, and
particularly foolish--“I beg pardon,--I----”
And so she retired, having by no means contributed to the settlement of
Mrs. Salmon’s agitated mind, who, the moment the door was shut, fired
up anew, and exclaimed in a tone of exasperation--
“No wonder, Mr. Jemes, the woman should be mistaken. I have no doubt
she saw your goings on in the street, and so made up her mind that you
couldn’t be a married man.”
“Never mind her mistake, mother,” said Jack, who was determined
to keep all things smooth; “you can’t expect much wisdom in a
chambermaid--so--now here’s dinner, let us overcome all our little
worries, and you two shake hands and be friends, and no mistake.”
“Come, Titsy,” said Salmon, holding out his hand.
“Oh!” said the lady snatching away hers, “I’ve no patience with you.”
When they sat down to their meal, common prudence dictated the
observance of tranquillity and civility before the waiters, and the
dinner happening to be good, and the wine extremely palatable, the
matron softened from her stern resolve, and before it was time to go to
the play, peace was restored, and a calumet-like glass to the healths
of their noble selves concluded the sitting, whence, it must be owned,
Mrs. Salmon rose with some reluctance, and not a little difficulty. The
change of air, the increased exercise, the bottled porter at luncheon,
the irritation before dinner, and the strong-bodied port wine after it,
had combined to cloud the clearness of her mental faculties, and, to a
certain extent, deteriorate from her bodily activity.
Supported, however, by her living, loving props, the matron succeeded
in reaching the theatre. When they arrived, the play had just begun,
and the bangings and flappings of the door and the seats drew all eyes
to the stage-box, in the front row of which, and nearly occupying it
all, Mrs. Salmon placed herself, J. S. taking his seat beside her--
“Still fond, and amorous, and billing,
Like Philip and Mary on a shilling:”--
Jack occupying the place immediately behind his mother. To be sure,
however desirable the stage-box might have appeared to be, the
circumstances which had occurred during the day, rendered it, if a
post of honour, at least a post of danger, particularly as far as Jem
was concerned. In the first place, the glare of the whole row of
flaring lights in front of the stage rested directly upon Mrs. Salmon’s
eyes; in the second place, the illumination proceeding from the said
lights exhibited her personal attractions, and all the peculiarity of
her costume, with a most awful precision to the audience; and in the
third place, their proximity to the actors, and the view which the box
commanded of “behind the scenes,” not only destroyed her comfort as
destroying the illusion, but afforded the most unfortunately favourable
opportunity for Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, to telegraph J. S. at every
available opportunity.
In the opposite box and the box adjoining it, were ranged Lady
Patcham’s party, including the Peckovers, Mr. Peckover having been
placed in the corner next the stage of the third row of the stage-box,
in which snuggery it is probable Mrs. Peckover thought he would be more
at his ease than anywhere else.
The play was Othello. The Moor, by what is called a London star,--King
Log amongst the frogs;--and as ill-luck would have it, Miss Roseville,
who in London had been doomed to the humbler walks of the illegitimate
drama, was the Desdemona. She was, naturally, elated at her promotion,
and determined to act in right earnest. To Mrs. Salmon “Shakspeare”
was yet a sealed book,--she seldom went to theatres in London, and
even if she did, the size of the houses, combined with the distance at
which she sat from the stage, would have rendered any one of his finest
plays a mere blank to her mind. But it so happened that she had never
seen Othello, and, although it is quite impossible to spare sufficient
space in these pages to record all her running commentary on the text
as it proceeded, we may be able to save a little of it, which certainly
did contain some new ideas and illustrations, even after Johnson,
Warburton, Steevens, Malone, and Co. had done their best, or worst.
In the senate scene she began to criticise the probability of
the story.--“Run away with an old man’s daughter!--what, a
nigger!--Stuff--nonsense, Jim--not true.--What does he mean by his
head and front?--I don’t see any curls.--Antropoppygeis--where do they
live?--with their heads under their shoulders.--Well I’m sure--heard
her story by parcels--that was to save postage, I suppose.”
This accompaniment was droned out in a tone of voice sufficiently loud
to induce the audience to cry, “Hush! hush! silence!” and to compel
Jack just respectfully to hint that his mother’s remarks were, unlike
the speeches of certain modest members in another place, quite audible
in the gallery;--but--just as the “nigger,” as Mrs. Salmon called the
“Moor,” had got to the words
----“she wished
That Heaven had made _her_ such a man.”
Desdemona,--Miss Roseville,--Molly Hogg herself, appeared at the
wing, ready to come on:--the moment she arrived there, and before her
train was consigned to the dirt of the stage, her eye caught that of
Salmon;--a look of recognition followed,--the excited matron saw
it;--she, what she called, “contained herself” at the minute,--but,
coupling what she had seen in the afternoon with what she then
witnessed, she was not long in making up her mind, that, although she
had unplatted her tails and lengthened her petticoats, the girl in the
lavender gown in the street, was the nigger’s wife in the play.
Miss Roseville was extremely well received, and played very
respectably, and things went on very quietly; but, after Mrs. Salmon
had somewhat loudly denounced Brabantio as an old fool for making it
up, and the scene had proceeded to where Othello takes Desdemona away,
Miss Roseville, having nothing better to do, cast a lightning look at
Jem Salmon, standing within two yards of him, and when she made her
exit, the old lady could no longer resist the influence of her rage.
“Did you see _that_, Mr. Jemes?” said she.
“What, Titsy?--what?” asked Salmon.
“That girl’s look at _you_,” replied the enraged wife; “I’m sure it’s
the same I saw you talking to before dinner:--if she does it again
I’ll speak to her--I will--”
“My dear mother,” said Jack, interposing in a whisper. The attempt,
however, was futile; the dæmon had been awakened, and was not so easily
to be appeased. It is true, that while the dreadful Desdemona was
out of sight, it seemed to slumber; although when Cassio, by Iago’s
desire, gives Emilia a chaste salute, Mrs. Salmon’s delicacy was so
greatly alarmed, that she exclaimed, “Well, I’m sure, what next?” which
created a slight laugh in the vicinity of the stage, and even on the
stage itself; and when Othello performed a similar act of kindness to
Desdemona, a somewhat similar observation escaped her. Still, as the
heroine happened to be placed during that short scene with her back
towards their box, nothing occurred to rouse the lion, until, as she
turned to go off, the irresistible desire of Miss Roseville, _née_
Hogg, to ascertain who Mrs. Salmon was, and in what manner she could be
related to or connected with her smart friend Jem, induced her to throw
another transient glance into the corner where they sat,--a movement
which was instantly followed by Mrs. Salmon’s giving her husband a
pinch, of anything but an amatory character, on his knee, accompanied
with a terrific “Ugh,” at the bottom of her voice.
Her agitation now became visible, and the next thing she did, was to
take so horrible a dislike to Iago, for being vulgar enough to mention
King Stephen’s inexpressibles by their coarsest and commonest name,
that her companions began to think she was sufficiently disgusted with
what was going on, to wish to retire;--but no--as soon as _the_ scene
between Othello and Iago commenced, her attention was fatally recalled.
She fancied and felt that it was all real, and got so interested in
the progress of the discovery of Desdemona’s guilt, of which she
was herself perfectly satisfied, that she kept encouraging him by
continuous exclamations of “That’s right,”--“Tell him all,”--“Nasty
hussey!”--and when he came to the words
“Beware, my lord, of jealousy,
It is a green-eyed monster,”--
she could not help saying to J. S. in a tone by no means
confidential--“Better _that_ than a black-eyed one at any rate.”
Things after this proceeded rather calmly, until the Moor, in the
height of his rage and abhorrence, exclaimed in a most impassioned
manner--
“I’d rather be a toad”--
Mrs. Salmon, who did not wait for the alternative, cried out loud
enough to be heard half over the house--“Well, that’s a rum taste,
anyhow!”
This observation again attracted the attention of the gentle Desdy, who
was again at the side scene waiting for her cue to come on with the
handkerchief, and again her regards were thrown upon Salmon.
“There, Jim,” said the lady--“there she is again.” And when she
appeared solacing her husband on account of his headache, all her
anxieties were met by her respectable rival and auditor, with the words
“Gammon!”--“Pooh!”--“I don’t believe you;” until, on quitting the
stage, and repeating the words,
“I am very sorry to see that you are not well!”
Miss Hogg certainly _did_ look somewhat pointedly at Mrs. Salmon
herself.
“I’ll tear her eyes out, Jemes,” said the bride.
“Shall I go away, Titsy?” said Salmon.
“Go away, indeed!” replied the lady--“no no!--you don’t budge an
inch.--Did you ever,” continued she, turning to her son, “ever see such
imperence as that? I’ll watch her pretty closely, and if it’s what I
think--if I don’t!--Never mind; them as lives longest sees the most.”
This sounded ominous, but Jack and Salmon hoped that nothing more would
come of it. However, when Desdemona next appeared, and ventured so near
the box that the direction of her eyes could no longer be doubted,
although the expression of her countenance was more indicative of anger
and curiosity than of love, Mrs. Salmon exclaimed--
“Jim, I’ll spit in her face!”
“Titsy! Titsy!” said Salmon.
“Oh, Titsy! my eye!” cried she:--“can’t I see?”
“Hush! hush! hush!” cried the audience in the boxes: “Silence!” said
the pit: “Turn her out!” roared the gallery.
This noise, the more particularly, attracted the looks of Miss
Roseville to the offending party, and consequently provoked some horrid
grimaces on the part of the jealous wife, which, when the poor girl
put on something like a supplicating look, was consummated by Mrs.
Salmon’s performing that, which my friend Mr. Gurney saw the convicted
pot-stealer at the Old Bailey exhibit to the astonished judge, in the
shape of what is conventionally called a double sight. Still the tumult
was suppressed--every glass in Lady Patcham’s box--being directed
point-blank into Brag’s box--until that part of the scene in which
Desdemona, (still availing herself of every opportunity of casting
looks rather of enquiry than tenderness towards Salmon,) is spoken to,
by Othello, in the most cutting terms. At the end of every one of his
severe speeches, Mrs. Salmon kept crying out in a sort of spasmodic
whisper, “That’s it!”--“Give it her, nigger!”--“Sarve her right!”--till
at last the Moor becoming so violent, that even the mightiness of
Shakspeare himself, does not justify a repetition here of the word he
uses, calls her an impudent--something; when Mrs. Salmon, starting
from her seat, exclaimed at the top of her voice--“You are right, old
fellow!--she _is_ one, and I know it!”
Here the uproar became general--the cry of “Turn her out!” instead of
being confined to the Gallery,--was universal. The black star came
forward and bowed; Desdemona herself stepped to the front of the stage,
and performed a certain number of regulation heavings and pantings,
amidst loud cries of “Down, down!--Silence, silence!”--Salmon holding
his bride back in an immense fright, and Jack actually ready to die of
the disaster.
After a few minutes, silence was obtained, when Miss Roseville,
trembling like a leaf, said, or rather faltered out:--“La-dies and
gen-tle-men,--” (here a flood of tears P.S. produced three rounds
of applause)--“I am placed in a situation of painful difficulty.
Conscious of earnestly exerting the small ability I possess, for your
entertainment, I find myself so loudly and constantly interrupted by
a lady in the stage-box, of whom I have no knowledge, that I have
only to throw myself upon the accustomed liberality of a British
public for protection.” (Loud cheers.) “If I have offended”--(“No, no,
no!”)--“Ladies and gentlemen, from my heart I thank you!” This said,
with a profound inclination of the head, hands crossed over the bosom,
and a curtsey down to the ground, which produced upon Miss Molly Hogg’s
drapery the effect of what is called, in gamesome times, “making a
cheese,” produced reiterated shouts, accompanied with cries--“Turn them
out!--turn them out!”
Now had Mrs. Salmon’s wrath reached its highest pitch: “I won’t go
out!” she exclaimed. “It’s all very fine your talking; but I tell
you what, Miss Hogg--I won’t let you stand making sheep’s-eyes at my
J. S.--I won’t; and if you come near him, I’ll tear them out of your
head, and leave you to see through the holes.”
Here the riot and confusion were such as to convince Brag that nothing
but the retirement of his respectable parent could save her from
expulsion; he therefore put on a supplicating air, and begged her to
come out with _him_--a petition in which Mr. Salmon earnestly joined,
and for which his exemplary bride, having no other means of venting
her rage, gave him a most tremendous slap in the face, which sent
him sprawling over the second seat, accompanied with a loud remark,
that he was as bad as Molly Hogg. Jack, assisted by a box-keeper
and the manager, succeeded in getting the infuriated dame into the
lobby, whence seeing a door at its termination evidently leading on
to the stage, she dashed through it, and if, by the merest chance in
the world, her companions had not kept fast hold of her, she would
assuredly have rushed on to the scene, and utterly annihilated the
gentle heroine of the night, in the sight of all the audience.
To Brag, the events of the evening were destructive, as far as
Eastbourne, or that part of Sussex went: they would form an era
in the theatrical annals of Lewes; and the delight which Mrs.
Peckover exhibited during the whole proceeding, was but too certain
a confirmation of Jack’s previous suspicion, that she had directed
Peckover to find out when he meant to leave the neighbourhood, in order
that she might regulate her invitation to Colonel Stiffkey, so that it
might not be sent to him until his little sporting friend was gone.
Here was another of the numerous disastrous results of Jack’s
unconquerable propensity for rhodomontade and quackery. If he had not
made himself ridiculous at Dover, he need not have feared encountering
Gunnersbury at Eastbourne; he then would not have felt so anxious
to get to Lewes, where, as his ill stars decided, a detachment of
Eastbourne fashionables had (as if purposely) arrived, in order to be
the historians of his exposure to the colonel and his friend upon their
return.
When the discomfited trio reached the inn, much to the surprise of the
host and hostess, the condition of Mrs. Salmon was beyond description
pitiable. Brag and Salmon were quite aware that the matter would not
rest where it was: that Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, knowing from his
own lips where he lived at Lewes, would most unquestionably despatch a
note, or perhaps come herself, to that _locale_, to enquire what the
real cause of the elderly gentlewoman’s extraordinary and outrageous
conduct could really be; and Salmon’s looks, occasionally interchanged
with Brag, spoke too plainly his apprehensions on that score to be
misinterpreted.
That Mrs. Salmon would permit her J. S. to leave the house that
evening, or indeed trust him out of her sight till after their
return to London, was not to be imagined; and therefore Jack, with
a good-humour not uncongenial with his vanity and folly, determined
to save the _éclat_ of such a visitation by returning to the theatre
himself, seeking out the young lady, and explaining, in Salmon’s
name, the real history of the case. His difficulty was, how to “put
Salmon up” as he called it, “to what he contemplated:” however,
he thought if he mentioned his return to the playhouse with an
emphasis upon the words “he wanted to see somebody particularly,” his
father-in-law would understand what he was going to do, and there
would be no mistake,--Jack certainly being rather stimulated to his
friendly exertions in the affair by his opinion of Miss Hogg’s personal
attractions, and being moreover anxious, for the sake of his mother’s
peace of mind, to ascertain to what extent the intimacy of James and
the romantic Molly had actually been carried.
Of course Mrs. Salmon did not interfere to prevent her son’s return,
which he told her he felt necessary; but although he really did
contrive to make Mr. Salmon understand that it was for _his_ good he
was going, the unfortunate husband apprehended so much from being left
_tête-à-tête_ with his bride, after the indiscreet use of what she
called “Miss Hogg’s black rollers,” that he would have preferred the
chance of a battle-royal, in which they would all be engaged together,
to the discipline which he was quite confident he had to undergo when
left alone in the society of his lady.
What passed in Jack’s absence we do not seek to enquire; suffice it to
say, that, after various applications to the servants for water and
hartshorn, and sundry other restoratives, Mr. and Mrs. Salmon departed
to bed--whether to rest or not, it is not for us to determine. A
message was left with the waiter for Mr. Brag, that they had secured
places by the morning-coach for London, and should breakfast before
they started. In fact, everything had been so decently conducted
after John’s departure, that the waiters and others concerned in the
administration of affairs at “The Star,” and who had up to that time
received no intelligence of the “row” at the playhouse, were perfectly
unconscious that there had been such a storm, or that the ill-matched
pair resident in their house had played so prominent a part in the
performances of the evening.
When Jack reached the theatre, he procured an audience of Miss
Roseville, whom he found protected by her mamma, and dressed _à la
paysanne_, ready to sing the popular ballad,--
“I’m a poor country maid, that’s for sartain,”
for the performance of which she was particularly celebrated. He
explained to her in his smartest manner the history of the affair,
and that he had called on the part of his friend, to explain away the
extraordinary conduct of the lady who was his wife.
“What!” said Miss Roseville, _née_ Hogg, “is Salmon married to that
old catamaran? I shouldn’t be surprised, ma’, if she was the old
tallow-chandler’s widow, with the fool of a son, that he used to talk
to us about.”
“Very likely, my dear,” said Mrs. Hogg: “Keep your shawl round your
throat, dear. We are very much obliged to this gentleman for explaining
that it was not Mr. Salmon’s fault.”
“Very much indeed,” said the young lady. “Of course the public press
will give a proper explanation of the affair; it is a case that must be
deeply interesting to every lover of the drama, and indeed to everybody
in the empire,--for it is a most extraordinary affair. Ma’ and I know
several of the gentlemen who are engaged ‘_on_’ the London papers, and
we mean to draw up a statement which will no doubt be satisfactory, and
remove any unfavourable impressions which an incorrect report of the
transaction may in the first instance make.”
“But I think, dear,” said Mrs. Hogg, “you should send a civil message
to Mr. Salmon, and say you are sure he had no share in the disturbance,
because, dear, he has always been a very kind friend to _you_.”
“Pray, say that to him, sir,” said the young lady; “and if you have an
opportunity of speaking to him alone, ask him from _me_, if his present
amiable lady is really the Widow Waddle?--he’ll know whom I mean.”
“My dear love, what a girl you are!” said mamma.
“But,” said Jack, “perhaps that may be dangerous; it _may_ be Widow
Waddle, and then----”
“It won’t make the least difference,” said the playful young creature.
“What she _has_, not what she _is_,--he used to say; and as it was
only her money he married her for, now he has got _that_, and put
capering Jack’s nose out of joint, you may say what you please of the
widow.”
“And whom,” said Brag, “did my friend Jim call capering Jack?”
“Why that, sir,” said Mrs. Hogg, “was what he used to call the old
woman’s son, who has turned fine gentleman, and we used to have great
fun about him: Salmon used to give us imitations of him whenever he
came to sup with us.”
That they had not been good imitations seemed tolerably evident,
inasmuch as the original had not been recognised. However, Jack went
on making the amiable, somewhat agitated, and rather hurried by the
novelty of his position and the bustle going on behind the scenes,
and, above all, by the concluding and conclusive evidence as to the
character of his father-in-law’s affection for his mother, his marriage
with whom appeared, from what he had just heard and seen, extremely
like a stepping-stone to the future attainment of the hand of Miss
Roseville, _née_ Hogg.
“I’ll give Mr. Salmon your message, depend upon it,” said Jack. “Do you
stay long here, Miss?”
“No,” said the mamma, “we go up to town to-morrow, by the coach, and so
to Northampton, where Mary has got a three nights’ engagement. When we
return, her regular theātre opens,--and we shall settle down in London.”
“I assure you,” said Miss Roseville, “I shall not be sorry;--this
starring is very tiresome work.”
“By the coach to-morrow!” said Jack, thinking to himself how very
agreeably that would “come off,” if it should be the same coach
into which the “Widow Waddle” and her hopeful spouse were to pack
themselves. “Well, ladies, I’ve done my duty--executed my commission.
I’m much obliged by your civility, and glad to have satisfied you that
as far as Mr. Salmon and myself are concerned, we had nothing to do
with this unpleasant business.--Good night, ladies.”
Saying which, Jack retired under a heavy fire of acknowledgments and
reciprocated good wishes, and returned to the inn greatly relieved at
finding the coast clear. He received the message that had been left for
him; and after revolving in his mind, over a glass of “hot mixture,”
the occurrences of the evening, and the information he had derived
from the fair Thespian, satisfied himself that they all had their
origin in his own ever-failing dexterity in attempting to wriggle out
of difficulties, into which his unquenchable vanity and conceit were
perpetually hurrying him.
After summing up the whole of the case, he resolved that the
extraordinary conduct of his mother, coupled with the hypocrisy and
worthlessness of her husband, fully justified his retiring in disgust,
and leaving them to their own inventions. He therefore called for pen,
ink, and paper, and having ascertained that the whole history of the
_émeute_ at the playhouse was now known all over the inn, began, when
the waiter produced them, to denounce the extraordinary conduct of the
eccentric old lady, with whom he denied anything more than a casual
acquaintance--she, as the reader may remember, having herself, before
dinner, indignantly proclaimed their consanguinity to the chambermaid.
Having concluded his letter addressed to Salmon,--announcing the
absolute necessity of his starting by seven o’clock for the Isle of
Wight, in order to avail himself of the offer of a seat in the carriage
of a friend, whom he had met at the playhouse on his return; and
having desired his affectionate love to his mother, signed himself Mr.
Salmon’s “faithful and sincere,” and added in the postscript, “Don’t
forget to pay in the three hundred pounds to-morrow, or the next day,
as I shall have occasion to draw upon it,” he folded and sealed the
despatch, and proceeding to his room, desired to be called at half-past
six, resolved to bolt before the “happy pair” were stirring.