During the period of suspense which must naturally intervene, under
any circumstances, between the departure and return of a yacht from
Cowes, professing a voyage to Portsmouth, it may, perhaps, be as well
to let the reader know something of those personages of our drama, who,
in its earlier part, were prominent characters, and who, owing to the
management of one of the party, first caused the explosion of Brag’s
absurdity, without a match.
The agreeable Mrs. Dallington, and the lovely Blanche Englefield, as
Mrs. Cropper the housekeeper informed Mr. Salmon, had become--“nothing
loath,”--the respective wives of Sir Charles Lydiard and Mr. Francis
Rushton. Sir Charles and his lady passed the honeymoon at his place in
Gloucestershire; Rushton and _his_ bride went, as the ‘world’ will
go, to Paris: and never were four people more entirely changed by the
relative change of their several conditions than this _parti carré_.
Lydiard, once in possession of the kind-hearted widow, doubted no
longer. Convinced by the unreserved communication of thoughts, and
opinions, to which the character of husband entitled him, of her
single-mindedness, and unqualified affection and esteem for him, all
the doubts which disturbed, and all the fears which alarmed him,
were banished from his mind: while Rushton, convinced of the purity
and excellence of his blushing Blanche, felt no longer irritated,
or peevish, if she chanced to bestow a passing smile upon another;
perfectly assured by an intimate acquaintance with her sterling good
qualities, that she would never have accepted him, spite of her own
knowledge of the little irregularities of his temper, had she not meant
to bind him to herself by ties of affection and tenderness, which to a
heart ardent as Rushton’s was, must be invincible and irresistible.
So here, then, were reduced, in four short weeks, two turbulent
spirits, either after his own fashion; and the nervous suspicious
lover, and the fiery doubting suitor, subdued into two as happy
husbands as ever entered the holy state of matrimony.
Thus it is:--a lover must be jealous of the object of his affections;
because, in that state of probation in which a lover is doomed to live,
there can be no love without jealousy: but when once the beloved one
becomes a wife, the signs of jealousy on the part of her husband are
both disgusting and degrading; degrading to himself, as implying a
conscious inferiority; and disgusting, because it betrays a suspicion
that his wife will practically evince her consciousness of that
inferiority by preferring somebody else to _him_.
Fuller says, “Where jealousie is the jailour, many break the prison,
it opening more wayes to wickednesse than it stoppeth; so that, where
it findeth one, it maketh ten dishonest.” And so it is. What does the
generous, while yet untainted Othello say?--_he_ who, as Mrs. Salmon
described him, was “as black as my hat, and a nigger into the bargain.”
----’Tis not to make me jealous,
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well:
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt,
For she had eyes, and chose me.
As Rushton had no very particular friend to act Iago, he contented
himself upon Shakspeare’s principle; and the jealousy, which none can
separate from love during a long and anxious courtship, was buried at
the foot of the altar at which he made her his wife. Nothing in truth
could be more perfectly happy than Lydia and Rushton; and nothing
connected with their felicity would have interfered to disturb the
resolution of Brag to be “everything in the world,” and Lady Lavinia’s
husband into the bargain, but the appalling fact that Sir Charles
and his Lady, and Mr. and Mrs. Rushton, had emerged from their sweet
solitudes into the world at Ryde, which very watering-place had been
fixed as their rendezvous at the end of the double honeymoon.
This, Jack certainly did not know, nor in the slightest degree did he
anticipate such a _contretemps_ while he was lounging “the sultry hours
away,” during the voyage of “Psyche” to Portsmouth. However, these
curious coincidences will occur, however particularly disagreeable
their occurrence may be. Still, there is nothing in the world so silly
as discounting grievances; when they come due, it is quite time enough
to honour them, and pay the amount: so, even if Jack _had_ known that
his “love’s bitter foes” were at Ryde, he would not have agitated
himself unnecessarily until they had, by some accident, arrived at
Cowes.
It is not to be denied that Jack felt himself more comfortable, and
more at ease, strolling about upon the beach, than he was at any period
of the previous day on board his yacht; and he pictured to himself the
gratification he should experience in seeing her enter the harbour,
her taunt mast “towering to the skies,” and her ample main-sail
swelling to the breeze.
Yet in the midst of these higher aspirations Jack could not altogether
avoid the recollection of his earlier days and associations. He began
to worry himself now about his sister’s fate and death, to fidget
himself about his mother’s marriage, and even feel something like a
regret about Anne; it was, “in course,” no use minding it now; but it
all came into his head as he sat watching the waves rolling in upon the
shore.
With regard to his yacht, Brag’s vanity was amply gratified by her
appearance, beating up from Portsmouth,--wind being as per last; but
the day was bright and clear, and as he watched her buffeting the
waves he said to himself, “That’s _my_ yacht;” which being, in point
of fact, almost the only thing he ever could call his own, was a very
gratifying soliloquy. He waited until she neared the harbour, and then
proceeded to his lodgings, not wishing to be seen by his guests on
their landing; inasmuch as the wags, if they pounced upon him at once,
might fancy his indisposition feigned, or at least construe it into an
indisposition to a second voyage.
The party had not long deposited themselves in their respective homes,
before Lady Lavinia’s attentions to the little man were renewed in the
shape of a note of enquiry after his health, and containing a line in
the way of postscript, to inform him that having found two friends of
hers, at Portsmouth, who were coming to the island, she had ventured to
give them, and one or two of their servants, a passage in “The Psyche.”
“I hope,” added her ladyship, “you will not be angry with me for having
taken this liberty. I think, if you even are so now, you will forgive
me when you come here this evening, for they are, I find, people whom
you know. I hope you are busying yourself about our dance; I will not
terrify you by calling it a ball. Lady Wattle will be here to meet you,
and we have arranged everything;--it must be Tuesday,--remember that.
I have made out a list of the people to have; here short notice only
is required, the shorter the better, however. It comes as a surprise,
and people like it; and we are all so snug. I only wish my cottage were
large enough to manage it here. _Au revoir_,” &c. &c.
“I’m in for the ball,” said Jack,--“that’s clear enough, and _no_
mistake. I wonder how long this is to last before I may venture to
hint my intentions in regard of the match; and I wonder who the deuce
my two friends who came up with some of their servants in my yacht may
be. I wanted no friends to come here;--Stiffkey and young Gunnersbury
perhaps; or Brown and his wife; or perhaps that sour-faced doctor
that’s married to Nancy. I don’t think I’ll go to the old woman’s
to-night--see what the morning will do.”
Jack puzzled himself a good deal how to act in this emergency: if it
were any of the people who first came into his mind who had arrived,
a meeting with them would be utter annihilation. Why the deuce hadn’t
my lady said at once _who_ they were? Stiffkey would sink him at the
first shot,--not to speak of the I. O. U. Gunnersbury would insult
him. It could not be Lord Tom himself. At all events, go he would
not,--go he could not; and therefore, in order to guard himself from
any surprises of that sort, he wrote, as well as he could, a little
answer to Lady Lavinia’s note, saying he found himself so ill that he
had been obliged to go to bed; and lest any extraordinary measure of
her ladyship’s kindness might convict him of evasion or deceit, he
forthwith proceeded to disrobe and retire to his couch; thus punishing
himself for the sake of keeping out of the way of an apprehended
detection for a few hours. The next day must unearth him; for whoever
his friends were, the very fact of his indisposition would bring them
to see him. It mattered not; he had not nerve to face the danger, and
so the note was despatched immediately: and as Hickman had not yet come
on shore from the yacht, his master was snugly deposited on his couch,
all ready to act the invalid “smack, smooth, and no mistake.”
The note had not been gone more than half an hour before Jack’s
ears were assailed by the noise of feet ascending the stairs of his
domicile. This announcement of approach was speedily followed by a
smart tapping at the bed-room door. Jack heard it all; but as to the
doomed culprit every minute is precious, he affected not to be aware
of what was happening. The knock was repeated, and Brag felt it was
useless to try any longer to stave off the visiter, whoever he might
be; and a “come in,” uttered in a tone of voice which sounded very
much like the negative invitation sometimes given to a bore, of “you
won’t stay and dine with us,” was followed by the irruption into his
apartment of Heneage Peckover, of Womanswould in the county of Kent,
Esq.
“Why, Brag, my boy,” said the squire, “what’s the matter? Lady Lavinia
is all in a stew about you--eh!--so Mrs. Peckover told me to come and
inquire after you, and thank you for our passage up from Portsmouth,
and for some deuced good luncheon, which we got on board your yacht.”
“My dear sir,” said Jack, “how are you? I’m very glad to see you:”
which was not altogether untrue,--for there were many other persons who
would have been infinitely more unwelcome. “I’m uncommon ill: caught
cold yesterday, I take it.”
“Deuced sorry for that,” said the squire. “You must rally and rouse;
only don’t come out in the evening if you think it’s cold:--nurse. As
Mrs. Peckover says, one day’s penance is no great sacrifice; and Lady
Lavinia agrees with her that you had better not think of coming to her
to-night; she has written to you, she says.”
“Yes,” said Jack; “I have answered her _billy-do_,--asking me to come.”
“I know,” said the squire; “and I have brought you a billy don’t, to
tell you not to go.--Ha, ha, ha! I made that joke myself; and Mrs.
Peckover tells me it’s as old as the hills. I don’t care--I don’t
trouble my head with those sort of things: however, you’ll come after
breakfast to-morrow. Mrs. Peckover is very anxious to be introduced to
you.”
Now this was a fact, and is only a proof of that curious sympathy
which prevails amongst women, even to a somewhat advanced period in
life. Mrs. Peckover had taken the most unqualified aversion from Jack,
only from seeing him at a distance, and knowing that he was one of her
husband’s “cockney friends,”--a description associated in her mind
with everything coarse and disgusting, and which kept them, as we have
already seen, proscribed from what she called _her_ circle.
During the voyage from Portsmouth, Lady Lavinia had spoken of Jack in
terms which at once released him from the stigma which the lady so
generally cast upon the Nimrods of Cockaigne with whom her good-natured
husband was so constantly in the habit of making acquaintance; nor
were the favourable opinions of her ladyship at all weakened in Mrs.
Peckover’s estimation by the appearance of “things in general”
connected with our hero. The yacht itself and its appointments bespoke
the man; and having admitted all the propositions of Lady Lavinia with
regard to him, she concluded their conversation by expressing her pity
and commiseration for his unhappy position at the Lewes play, where, by
some strange accident, he had become involved in the most disagreeable
circumstances, all of which she described with the greatest possible
point and the minutest accuracy.
“Mrs. Peckover,” said the squire, “has been telling Lady Lavinia all
the history of the old mad-woman at the playhouse at Lewes, and made
her ladyship laugh immoderately.”
“She has, has she?” said Jack to himself.
“Who the deuce was the woman?” continued the squire: “Mrs. Peckover
wants to know if you ever found out.”
This was beyond his hopes; the real fact was not known, after all.
“Found out!” said Jack--“not I. Didn’t you?”
“No,” said the squire. “Mrs. Peckover got rather unwell at the play
after you had been driven away, and so Lady Patcham insisted upon her
going back and sleeping at her house; and we didn’t go to the inn, else
we might have known, I dare say.”
“Oh!” said Jack, forgetting rather too much that he was an invalid,
“you didn’t go back to the inn?”
“No,” said the squire. “Mrs. Peckover got a bed at Lady Patcham’s, and
I slept upon some chairs in the library. The house was crammed full
of people. However, I don’t care for that sort of thing. Ha, ha, ha!
Besides, as Mrs. Peckover says, there’s nothing like light and shade
in this life. You never enjoy comfort half so much, if you are always
comfortable, as you do if you rough it sometimes.”
Jack’s satisfaction at the happy state of ignorance in which Peckover
and his lady were still involved, was so great, that he began to regret
having taken fright at the approach of his unknown friends; nor was
he much less pleased at hearing that they had seen nothing of his
friend Colonel Stiffkey, who had returned to Eastbourne only for one
day, and had proceeded on a tour along the coast, with his friend Mr.
Gunnersbury. “Mrs. Peckover, I believe,” added the squire, “thinks
there is a chance of their coming here, which will be very pleasant,
because she likes the colonel mightily. He is a great amateur artist;
and she admires pictures, and prints, and all that. For my part, I
don’t care much about such things. Ha, ha, ha!”
Peckover prolonged his visit to Brag, and talked over the only subject
upon which the little man could talk, and spoke enthusiastically of the
fine runs he anticipated in the coming season, and gave an animated
description of the horses, “black, white, and grey,” which he had in
his stable, until the maid-servant of the lodging came into the room to
announce that one of Mrs. Peckover’s footmen was below, and wished to
speak to his master.
“Bid him come up,” said the squire.
He did come up.
“Well, what is it, Stephen?” said Peckover.
“My mistress has sent me, sir,” said Stephen, “to say, that if you
don’t come to dress directly, you will be too late for dinner.”
“Odds bobs!” said the squire. “Who’d have thought it: how time flies
in pleasant company! I’ll be home instantly. Go on first; tell Mrs.
Peckover I’m coming as fast as I can: so, so! Well, Mr. Brag, I shall
make a favourable report, and say you’ll be with Lady Lavinia after
breakfast. Good day,--good day! Dear me! only think of the time!”
And away hurried the gentle giant, leaving Brag in almost as great a
perplexity as that in which he found him. The escape about his mother’s
exposure was a great relief; so was the circumstance of Stiffkey’s
sudden departure from Eastbourne. But then, the impending threat of
his visit to the island was a complete set-off in the account against
those. In fact, look which way he would, Jack felt that expedition was
essential to his success, and that no time was to be lost.
As soon as Peckover was well clear of his lodgings, Brag got up and
dressed himself, being now secure against farther interruption; and
resolved to make a dinner, if Hickman would permit him to do so, upon
some of the innumerable remnants of the luncheon of which Peckover had
spoken so highly; and having, without the aid of his valet-butler,
butler-valet, completed his toilet as far as he intended, and seated
himself on his little sofa, in his dressing-gown and slippers, he rang
the bell, and summoned that minister to his presence.
“Hickman,” said Jack, “I fancy I could eat some dinner;--something
cold, I should prefer,--eh?”
“I don’t think, sir,” said Hickman, “there is anything cold in the
house.”
“What! have they cleared off the luncheon?” said Jack, “eh?
entirely,--smack, smooth, and no mistake?”
“No, sir,” said Hickman, shaking his head with a sort of half _dégagé_,
half diplomatic wriggle; “but then we never bring away anything from
the yacht. The captain and the crew consider----”
“Consider!” said Jack. “Why, haven’t they got plenty of salt-beef,
pork, and the deuce knows what, to eat?”
“Those are for long voyages, sir,” said Hickman: “but there really was
very little left; and I---- It isn’t usual, sir.”
“Oh!” said Jack. “Well, if it’s right, it’s right; and what’s right
can’t be wrong: so there’s an end of that, and no mistake. Get me
something then to eat.”
“Something plain, sir?” said Hickman, “a----”
“Yes,” said Jack.
“Will you have a _perigoo_?” said Hickman. “I can get that in a minute.”
“Any eggs and bacon?” said Jack.
“Sir!” said Hickman, looking aghast.
“Something nice, and not common,” said Brag. “I’m peckish.”
“A _salade à volaille_?” said Hickman.
“Oh, anything,” said Jack, “only let it be quick; for my headache is
gone, and I want to eat.”
Hickman, who was an admirable servant in his way, and who knew every
turn and twist of Cowes, was not long in preparing a nice little repast
for his eccentric master; who, however ready and willing, when he was
out hunting, to take a snack without a table-cloth, had no dislike to
see his “feed,” as he called it, put down all sweet, and clean, and no
mistake.
In half an hour, a cloth, like unsunned snow, set off to the best
advantage a remarkably nice little dinner; and Jack, growing bold by
experience, ordered himself a bottle of the champagne which was so
extremely popular on board the yacht. This, a pint of sherry, and, as
he proposed, a bottle of claret to wind up with, were the liquids he
selected to imbibe; and, bating the visions of the colonel and the
young bombardier, Jack was as brisk and as gay as
“Jove, in his chair,
Of the sky, lord-mayor;”
and dismissing Hickman from attendance, he poured glass after glass
down his throat, each bumper adding to his resolution to pop the
question to my lady without further delay,--having been acquainted
with her certainly less than three weeks, his pretensions, however,
having been, it must be owned, considerably encouraged during that
period by the bright sunshine of her ladyship’s eyes.
By about nine o’clock Jack had drank himself into a beautiful state of
mystification. He had lost sight of the colonel and Gunnersbury, and
had reached a sort of seventh heaven of Orlebarism: he had begun to
soliloquize aloud,--certain evidence of his real state,--and had nearly
“Screwed his courage to the sticking-place”
with regard to Lady Lavinia, when a rapid, rattling rat-tat-tat at the
house-door set him wondering. His doubts were speedily dispelled; for
in two minutes after the noise had ceased, Peckover stood before him.
He saw the vision--or rather two--with surprise and horror: here was
the man who had left him in bed ill, sick, and wretched,--the very
emissary who bore his tale of woe,--returned to find him not only
excessively jolly, but having on his table the dreadful evidence of
“foregone conclusions”--bottoms of bottles; the spiry champagne, the
yet distinguishable sherry, and the tall Chateau Margot, were all
before him. What was to be done?
“My dear Brag,” said the squire, “I’m delighted! Quite right?--up again
and thriving! I’m right glad to see what I do. Deuced pleasant little
party at Lady Lavinia’s: but Mrs. Peckover told me that I ought to come
down and see how you were, and sit with you a bit. They are all acting
charades, and singing, and playing, and all that; but you know, as Mrs.
P. says, I don’t trouble my head with those sorts of things--ha, ha,
ha!--so I am come to do a bit of cozey with you.”
“I’m delighted,” said Jack, “and no mistake. What will you have,
squire--something hot, sweet, and strong, as the old women say?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Peckover. “Mrs. Peckover says spirits are
injurious; but I don’t mind--ha, ha, ha! The women don’t like men to
drink; it keeps them away from them. However, I’m here upon what I call
duty--ha, ha, ha!--and deuced pleasant duty too.”
“In no time,” as Jack would have expressed it, brandy, &c. and hot
water, lemons and sugar, and everything else in the world, were put
down, and the squire and Jack _tête-à-tête_; Jack, however, having got
considerably the start of his friend, and being more communicative and
inquisitive than perhaps he would have been had he not strictly adhered
to the rules of the Temperance Societies, just now so much in fashion,
which add hypocrisy to sensuality, and render that, which has hitherto
been a social failing, a solitary vice.
“Lady Lavinia,” said the squire, “has made out a list of the people for
your ball Tuesday. Mrs. Peckover tells me that you have got the credit
of ‘going it’ here, and that all the women are in love with you--ha,
ha, ha! I never trouble my head with that sort of thing--but so they
say.”
“Why,” said Jack, “I believe there is something in that. They are
uncommon good-natured,--eh--you know, and no mistake.”
“The ball is fixed for Tuesday, Mrs. Peckover tells me,” said Peckover.
“Oh!” said Jack, “it is, is it?--umph!”
“I say, Brag,” continued the squire, “Mrs. P. thinks that you and my
lady are likely to--eh?--put your horses together, as we say; don’t you
understand? She is all agog about you; and--so--ha, ha, ha! I never
mind those sort of things myself; but only--Oh! they do like these
_fêtes_ and yachts--eh?--and the flirtings, as they call them.”
“Why,” said Jack, “I own I think Lady Lavinia--eh?”
“Think!” said the squire--“Mrs. Peckover is sure--what I call
cock-sure--and I’m glad of it. A nice place she has got down in our
part of the country, and all snug.”
“Straight up, right down,” said Jack, “and no mistake?”
“Four thousand a-year, Mr. Brag,” said Peckover; “at least so Mrs.
Peckover tells me.”
“But,” said Jack,--“help yourself, squire,--what do you think of Mr.
Selwyn and Fanny? Was _he_ there this evening?--he was with you in the
yacht.”
“Why, Mrs. Peckover thinks him clever,” said the squire. “He is
desperately in love, she says, with Fanny Hastings. I never trouble my
head with those sorts of things--ha, ha, ha!”
“But how,” said Jack, “if she was to marry Selwyn without my lady’s
consent?”
“Wouldn’t give her a farthing,” said Peckover; “at least so Mrs. P.
assures me.”
“Not if they were to--what d’ye call the thing?” said Jack.
“What?” said the squire.
“Hop the twig,” said Jack. “I forget what the genteel word is--go to
Scotland, or somewhere: _h_elope, that’s it.”
“Never see her again,” said Peckover.
“Deuced good plan for me to get him to go,” said Jack.
“Only it would break Lady Lavinia’s heart,” said Peckover; “at least so
Mrs. P. insinuates.”
“Well,” said Jack, “but how long does it take to break a female’s
heart?”
“Can’t say,” said Peckover; “never trouble my head much about those
sorts of things--ha, ha, ha! Dare say you know better than _me_.”
“Why,” said Jack, looking excessively cunning, getting exceedingly
tipsy, and being uncommonly impudent, “between you and me and the post,
I flatter myself I do, and _no_ mistake.”
“However,” said Peckover, “Mrs. P. told me to show you the list of the
company invited:--Lady Wattle--but that you know--gives you her house,
and Lady Lavinia has sent out the invitations--not more than seventy
altogether. Mrs. P. says she has written off to Stiffkey, who, since I
was here, she has found out is actually at Ryde; and here,” continued
the squire reading, “are sixty-one down. From Ryde, there are the
Lydiards and the Rushtons, great friends of my wife--two sisters; she
says they are charming people:--Gunnersbury, and two or three of his
cronies:--and Lord Wagley told Lady Lavinia that he had every reason
to hope that Lord Tom Towzle, a particular friend of yours,” he says,
“would be here from Paris before that--comes by Dieppe to Brighton.
I forget all the names, for I don’t trouble my head much with those
affairs.”
“Very pleasant,” said Jack; “eh?--Tuesday?”
“Yes, so Mrs. Peckover tells me,” said the squire, “and they have
arranged the whole thing. Your butler, who was on board the yacht,
seems a capital servant: Mrs. P. says that he understands the thing
perfectly, and has made every arrangement in the best possible manner.
I never care much about those things myself--ha, ha, ha!”
“’Gad!” said Jack musingly, “that’s pleasant. Well, however, there are
six days between this and Tuesday. Squire, will you have a cigar?”
“Why,” said Peckover, “if I thought Mrs. Peckover would be gone to bed
before I got back.”
“Stay till you are sure,” said Jack.
“Because she can’t bear the smell of tobacco,” said the squire.
“Never mind,” said Brag; “you can say you were sitting up with a sick
man--eh?”
The squire had arrived at an amiable point of readiness to do anything
that was proposed, and Hickman was summoned. Cigars were produced, and
the squire and Jack began their fumigatory proceedings. More brandy
was required, and the two worthies continued until past two o’clock
in the morning blowing their clouds, and opening their hearts to each
other in the most entirely confidential manner; which sweet communings
might have been of the most seriously disadvantageous consequence to
either or both of them, had it not been that when Mrs. Peckover’s
servant came to call home his master, neither he nor his sprightly
host were sufficiently clear in their intellects to know what they had
been saying for three hours before; and when they woke in the morning,
what had occurred during the latter part of their _sederunt_ was all
irrevocably lost and forgotten.
Hickman, however, that invaluable treasure of a servant--the
always-to-be-trusted with untold gold--was not guilty of any such
omission: sober and discreet, and ever alive to his own interests, he
drew a chair to the outside of the door of the little drawing-room in
which his master and his friend were ensconced, and there heard the
whole of the confidential interchange of facts, feelings, and opinions,
which neither of the actors themselves recollected when they rose; but
which decided Mr. Hickman in the opinion that his master was “no go,”
and that the squire was, as his master had called him, a “slow coach.”
One thing, however, remained indelibly fixed upon Brag’s mind when
daylight and reason returned,--one object which had outlived all the
revelry, and maintained its place amidst all the spirits and smoke,
and confidences and communications,--the list of people invited by
Lady Lavinia to the projected ball. What was to be done?--the thing
was inevitable: he had surrendered the sceptre into the hands of Lady
Lavinia, she had issued her commands,--six days only intervened. His
course was clear--he must draw her into a committal of herself to him
before that evening came: once accepted, he might laugh at the malice
of his envious revilers. If absolutely necessary, he would fight one
of them,--this resolution only flitted through his mind; but, at all
events, if the “old one” said “yea,” he cared little or nothing for all
the rest.
Jack, however, as the reader knows, was an infinitely cleverer
person at saying than doing; and although he had made up his mind
for “immediate action,” the indiscretion of the evening had actually
produced the illness he had only feigned before; and the poor little
man completely knocked up by the “excess,” which, not in the slightest
degree affected Peckover, was forced to remain _perdu_ the whole of the
next day, during which he was honoured by a visit from Lady Lavinia,
who called to enquire after his health, attended by her “Tail,” as she
was proceeding to embark in “The Psyche,” which again was ordered to
sea, under her ladyship’s command,--victualled as before by Mr. Hickman.
The circumstances connected with Jack’s real illness were luckily
not known to Lady Lavinia; since Peckover would not, upon any
consideration, have communicated to Mrs. P. the excesses which led to
it, and in which he had so joyously participated. His non-appearance,
therefore, on the Wednesday was attributed only to a continuation of
his indisposition, and as Hickman was not likely to get anything by
betraying the secret, he did not volunteer an explanation, nor, as his
friends had the usufruct of his yacht, and the agreeable et-ceteras,
nobody took the trouble to make any very particular enquiries.
The next day, found Johannes redivivus. Jack was all right, and no
mistake; his headache was gone, and the rose, which had given place on
his cheek to the lily, bloomed all fresh and healthy; and
“Richard was himself again!”
It was a beautiful morning, and all nature looked cheerful; but as it
grew later, it became somewhat overcast, at least as far as Brag was
concerned: just as he had ordered breakfast, the sound of the bugle
announcing the arrival of the post, rang through his ears: the promise
of the lawyer to transmit the county newspaper containing the report
of the trial flashed into his mind, and after a sickening suspense of
nearly half an hour, Hickman announced that there was nothing for him
by post, thus releasing him from his doubts, and satisfying an anxiety
about “his letters” which he had never evinced before, but exhibited
upon this occasion; much indeed to Hickman’s surprise, who of his own
knowledge knew that since he had been in his new master’s service he
had received only two.
After having obtained this reprieve, Jack, consoling himself upon the
principle “that no news is good news,” began to brush up; and resolved
to make an early visit to Lady Lavinia, in order to show that, the
moment he had recovered from his indisposition, he flew upon the wings
of love to
“----do as was his duty,
Honour the shadow of her shoe-tie.”
But alas! the avalanche was already detached from the mountain, and
hung over Jack’s head suspended but by one huge icicle, which this
noon-day’s sun would infallibly thaw. The Damoclesian sword, however,
was still invisible to _him_, who, with his little legs horizontalized
on his lodging-house sofa, “a world too” short for any animal of
greater length than himself, sat sipping, in all the security of
self-satisfaction, some _café au lait_ of Hickman’s _fabrique_; when to
his surprise, and perhaps, dismay, he received from the hands of the
said Hickman a large pacquet, which had arrived per mail, although not
per post, addressed to “John Brag, Esq.” with the three honorary &c.
&c. &c. “Cowes.”
Jack opened the despatch with an air of importance which might have
been supposed appropriate to a secretary of state of other days, when
secretaries of state had something to be proud of. He found it to
contain an extremely plump lump of paper, with a small note on its
outside, looking like the pilot-fish on the nose of the shark, while he
is prowling for prey in the blue waters.
The pilot he opened, and read:--
Lincoln’s Inn, August 19th 182--
“SIR,--Wholly unaccustomed to communications of such a nature as that
with which I have this day been favoured by you, I have, according to
your desire, transmitted my bill, and beg respectfully to decline any
further interference with your affairs. I am, Sir,
“Yours, H. LEVERETT.”
“His back’s up, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jack; “that’s a pretty
go--who cares? let’s look at his account;” and accordingly out it
came,--and thus it ran:
“JOHN BRAG, ESQ. To HENRY LEVERETT.
£ _s._ _d._
_August 2._--Attending you, and conferring with
you as to the case of Grindlestone versus
Brag and others, and taking your instructions
thereon 13 4
_Same day._--Writing to you on the same subject 6 8
_Same day._--Writing to Messrs. Tapps, Tatlock,
and Shackleton, to inform them that you
had put the case into my hands, recapitulating
to them your observations upon the
same 13 4
_August 3._--Attending you at your lodgings, advising
and conferring on the circumstances
attending the case, and taking further instructions
thereon 6 8
_Same day._--After luncheon, attending you before
the Yacht Club-house rails, and stating to
you that I had written a letter to Messrs.
Tapps, Tatlock, and Shackleton 13 4
_Same day._--Before dinner, attending you, and
conferring with you about the purchase of
the yacht “Psyche,” in which you expressed
your wish to purchase her for reasons
then specified, namely, that you desired to
become a member of the Royal Yacht Club,
and could not belong to that society without
being the owner of a yacht of more than 40
tons 13 4
_Same day._--In the evening, attending you, when
you resumed the discussion, and I stated I
thought, as it was growing late, you had
better postpone it till the morning 13 4
_Same day._--After supper, attending you home,
when you repeated the opinions you had
previously stated, and I repeated my previous
disinclination to go into anything
like business until the next day 13 4
_August 4._--To writing you a letter, begging you
to fix a time when I might attend you to
confer upon the propriety of the purchase of
the yacht “Psyche” 6 8
_Same day._--To perusing and considering your
answer 6 8
Paid messenger to carry ditto 2 0
Ditto ditto to bring back answer 2 0
_Same day._--Calling on you at two o’clock,
when you were out, enquiring of your servant-maid
where you were, and receiving
her answer that she really did not know 13 4
Attending Lord Wagley, at your desire, to make
necessary enquiries about the “Psyche,”
which you had expressed a wish to purchase;
when his lordship explained to me
all the circumstances of the sale, and the
reasons why Captain Chipstead, who had
married Miss Allanby, of Twisterly, daughter
of Lieutenant-colonel Allanby, did not
receive the amount of fortune which he expected
with her when he made her an offer,
and reading over a long correspondence
between her guardians and Captain Chipstead
on the subject, with a view to ascertain
the reasons why the “Psyche” was sold
at a price so much below her real value 1 1 0
_Same day._--Writing you a long letter, stating to
you all the circumstances which transpired
during this long conference 13 4
Messenger 2 6
_August 5._--Writing to Messrs. Tapps, Tatlock,
and Shackleton, to acknowledge the receipt
of their letter acknowledging the receipt of
mine 6 8
Attending you on board the “Psyche” and a
long conference with regard to the fittings
and furniture thereof 13 4
Looking over the inventory of her stores, as
delivered over by Captain Chipstead 6 8
Comparing ditto with the stores themselves 6 8
Copy of ditto for you to keep 6 8
Attending you in a walk towards Newport,
and conferring at length with you upon the
question whether a yawl-rig was better than
a cutter-rig, of which your Captain, Bung,
had spoken when we were on board; in
the course of which conference you mentioned
to me that you did not know the
difference, and I stated that I was totally
ignorant of the subject altogether 13 4
To enquiring, at your desire, of the turnpike-keeper
on the Newport road, which was the
nearest way to Northwood church 3 4
To attending you with his answer thereon,
that we must go across the fields to the left,
which lead down towards the river 3 4
Writing you a letter, stating how sorry I
was to be obliged to decline accepting your
invitation to dinner, being engaged to go to
Ryde upon professional business 6 8
“Well,” said Jack, when he had read thus far; “this is going it. I’ve
heard a good deal of this sort of thing, but I never saw it before:”
and getting extremely tired with the details, he ran his eye “slap
down,” as he would have said, to the bottom of the last page of the
bill, the “tottle of the whole” of which, amounted to something above
one hundred and thirty pounds, including nearly four hundred items
much like those already selected, the amount of his share of all the
fees of counsel employed, retainers to those not required, proportion
of damages, travelling expenses, stamp-duties, and, in short, such a
phalanx of abominations as no man ever saw or dreamed of in conjunction.
But, appalling as was this perilous account, and important as the
result of Jack’s earnest request to be furnished with it, because he
always preferred paying ready money, it was “a mere flea-bite” to what
was at hand.
Jack had again put “Psyche” under Lady Lavinia’s orders, and announced
his intention of being of the party himself,--had, according to Bung’s
advice, fixed one, for the hour of starting, and settled Southampton
as the place of destination--issued his instructions to Hickman to
prepare an extra fine luncheon, in order to get into the good graces of
Mrs. Peckover, who it was clear had very considerable influence over
Lady Lavinia,--and had just finished his toilet for the morning, when
Hickman again made his appearance with a letter from Lord Wagley. Jack,
finding it heavy, was quite divided between the pleasure of receiving
a communication from his lordship, and the apprehension that it might
contain the dreaded report of the trial.
“Any answer wanted?” said Jack.
“No, sir,” said Hickman,--not quite so respectfully as he might have
answered, if he had not listened at the drawing-room door the night
before.
Jack proceeded to open the letter, and read thus:
“SIR,--Some mistake having occurred in the direction of the enclosed
letter, it has been returned to me from the general post-office,
and I very much regret having been obliged to open it, in order to
ascertain its owner; and still more, that, as it had no signature
appended to it, I have been compelled to read a great part of it, in
order to discover by whom it was written. I am, sir, Your obedient
servant,
“WAGLEY.”
With this, as the reader must anticipate, came back Jack’s confidential
letter to his mother, which, if his vanity had not as usual interposed
itself, would have been properly addressed and punctually delivered;
but which now had necessarily undergone a perusal in order that it
might be sent to the place from whence it came.
Jack looked at it--held it up--opened it, and began to re-read it--in
hopes that it might not be so thoroughly explanatory of his intentions,
and so totally destructive of his schemes, as at the first blush he
apprehended, but as he proceeded line by line to retrace its contents,
it was all too true--every project was there related, every subject
touched upon, and all his artful contrivances exhibited at full length.
He saw in the pages of this dreadful epistle the death-warrant of all
his hopes, unless Lord Wagley’s sense of honour was such as to seal his
lips with regard to intelligence accidentally, or rather incidentally,
obtained from a confidential letter addressed to another person.
It is probable that Lord Wagley, however he might have considered
it prudent or necessary to regulate his own future conduct towards
Jack, would not have betrayed his secrets had not another letter
reached him the same morning from Lord Tom Towzle, which contained a
regular detail of Jack’s proceedings during the last few weeks of his
lordship’s association with him.
Jack was certainly staggered. The first blow that Gully gave Gregson
in their memorable fight near Dunstable, was not a greater puzzler.
He resolved to put the whole case at issue at once; and brushing up
his hair, and pulling up his shirt collars, he put his hat on his head
slantingly, and, arming himself with his little switch, proceeded in
less than an hour, and without answering Lord Wagley’s note, to Lady
Lavinia’s cottage.
When he arrived within eye-shot of the little lawn, he perceived
Selwyn and Fanny sitting together on the bench placed, as the reader
remembers, just outside the door: this looked badly for his plans of
acidulating “granny;” and therefore he resolved to appear particularly
pleased at the sight. But, whatever his intentions might have been
with regard to his conduct upon the occasion, they were completely,
and by no means agreeably, frustrated by the sudden start-up of the
lovers from their delicious _tête-à-tête_, their sudden rush into the
cottage, and an equally sudden closing of the door.
Jack “didn’t like the look of things by no means;” however, he
continued his march “straight up, right down, and no mistake,” to
the gate--that gate which erst stood open to invite him in; it was
locked: he pulled the bell; the pet livery-servant of Lady Lavinia,
the civilest creature in the world, who ran about Cowes with _billets
doux_, and all sorts of messages, after Jack’s heels, came to the
barrier.
“My lady nearly ready?” said Jack, settling his collars.
“My lady is not at home,” said the lacquey, with a look black as
thunder, and as impudent as he could possibly make it.
“What!” said Jack, “is she gone on board?”
“No; _she_, as you call my lady, is not gone on board,” said the man;
“and her ladyship is not going--and more than that, her ladyship has
desired me to tell you, she shall not be at home till the end of next
December.” Saying which, the man left the gate and the enquirer, who
in casting a glance towards the drawing-room, in which were deposited
the light-horse volunteer in the ebony case, and the family-tree of
all the Newbiggens of Bumblesford, he saw, scarce hidden by the muslin
blinds, Lady Lavinia, Mrs. Peckover, Captain and Mrs. Wilford, and
Selwyn and Fanny Hastings, all laughing most unceremoniously.
This _was_ a coup,--where was he to go?--what should he do?--send a
message to Lord Wagley?--ridiculous!--see him he might--remonstrate
with him he would--hear what he had to say--that was the plan: and
accordingly, going at a pace something between a walk and a run, Jack
retraced his steps towards the Parade, when, just as he reached the
high ground at the back of the Castle, he beheld, to his infinite
amazement, his beautiful Psyche sailing majestically from her moorings,
with the Royal Squadron burgee fluttering at her top-mast head, and a
St. George’s ensign flying at her gaff.
This most certainly surprised him, who on the instant began to flatter
himself that, as a set-off for his other discomfitures, arising he now
could scarcely guess how, he might have been elected into the club: and
yet--what _could_ it mean? A few minutes discovered the whole truth.
“Well, Mr. Brag,” said Peckover, whom he encountered just at the
corner; “this is a bad business--I’m deuced sorry for it, but Mrs.
Peckover tells me that I ought to horsewhip you.”
“Sir!” said Jack.
“She does, by jingo,” said the squire; “she says you are a bad ’un--but
I don’t trouble my head with those sort of things, ha, ha, ha! Only
if you _will_ go about talking of ladies of character and reputation
as you _do_, and swearing that they are all in love with you, and all
ready to throw themselves into your arms, Mrs. Peckover says, she
thinks it very probable you’ll very soon get every bone in your little
body broken to a smash,--ha, ha, ha!”
“This,” said Jack, “is uncommon queer language, Mr. P., and no mistake.”
“Never mind about that,” said Peckover. “I have only told you what
Mrs. Peckover tells me.--Now hear the message I have to deliver from
Lord Wagley: he says, he finds you wish to sell your yacht; so, under
those circumstances, he has desired me to hand you back your acceptance
for the eight hundred sovereigns, which I have got here; and as Captain
Chipstead disapproves of the sale, he has taken possession of her, and
she is gone to Portsmouth to bring over Lord Tom Towzle, who had got
Chipstead’s promise to have her.”
“But,” said Jack, “she is _my_ yacht.”
“Come, come,” said Peckover, “take it easy, as Mrs. Peckover says;
“never make quarrels without cause. Here’s your bill, there’s the
yacht; Wagley will pay the men’s wages, just as if Chipstead had never
sold her, so make the best of the bargain; and, if you follow the
advice Mrs. Peckover desired me to give you, you’ll what I call cut and
run,--ha, ha, ha!”
“But Lady Lavinia?” said Jack.
“Has shut her doors against you for ever,” said Peckover. “Mrs.
Peckover tells me the reason is, that she is furious about your plan
of irritating her against her favourite niece, and delighted with the
honourable conduct of young Selwyn in refusing to take your advice. She
has given her consent to their marriage, and, as Mrs. Peckover tells
me, gives them up a clear thousand a-year of her own jointure for their
establishment.”
“Well,” said Jack, “that’s a floorer, and no mistake--what’s to be
done?”
“Go!” said Peckover, “that’s the scheme; as the woman in Shakspeare,
that Mrs. P. reads to me sometimes, says,
“Stand not upon the order of going, but go.”
“Go!” said Jack; “but it’s no go.”
“You lose nothing by the yacht,” said Peckover, “and that’s
something,--for Mrs. Peckover has heard that she isn’t worth half the
money you gave for her. I never trouble my head with those things, ha,
ha, ha! However, I can’t stay, because I promised Mrs. P. to be back to
luncheon; so here, take your bill, and all will be right.”
“Yes,” said Jack, twiddling the invaluable document in his hands; “but
I can’t go, and no mistake, this time.”
“Well,” said Peckover, “I bear no malice; you have jumped high, and
must put up with a tumble. I’ll shake hands with you for old sporting’s
sake, only don’t let Mrs. P. know it. I’ll settle all the rest with
Wagley, and you’ll hear no more about “Psyche.” Every man has his rubs
in this world,--not that I trouble my head with such matters, ha, ha,
ha!”
And so the friends parted. Jack proceeded to his lodgings, enquired
for Hickman,--a separation from whom he somehow dreaded; the sneering
impertinence of Lady Lavinia’s livery-servant had prepared him for a
most tremendous display of insolence from his own man. But here his
apprehensions were groundless; for Lord Wagley himself, having taken
the yacht over to fetch Lord Tom, had, without thinking of announcing
any change in the state of Brag’s affairs, taken Hickman and the
luncheon as he found them on board, all ready prepared,--a circumstance
of which Jack most cunningly availed himself: and having paid the
amount of his lodging-rent, and told the landlady that he was going
over to Ryde, in order personally to circulate his invitations to the
ball he was about to give, he sent for a chaise from “The Fountain,”
and proceeded _viâ_ Newport to that place; having the satisfaction
during his _trajet_ to perceive his late “tall bark” gracefully cutting
through the bright waters, seemingly eager to be freighted with his
bitterest enemies.
When he reached the cockney watering-place, conscious of the presence
of people there whom he much dreaded to see, he was driven to “The Pier
Hotel,” where he remained during the evening closely ensconced; and at
nine o’clock on the following morning crossed to the “Quebec Tavern,”
at Portsmouth, where he embarked in “The Rocket” coach for London,
having, after all his precautions, encountered on the Pier at Ryde, as
he was following the wheelbarrow which contained his trunk and bag, the
Lydiards and Rushtons taking their morning walk. He did not _see_ them;
but, although he averted his head, he could not shut his ears to the
undisguised titterings in which they indulged as he passed them.
Upon Jack’s arrival in London, he felt that the game was so completely
up, and he himself so completely down, that any attempt to rally,
or restore himself to the place which he had struggled so long to
maintain, would be wholly unavailing; and therefore betaking himself
in a hack-cab, in company with his one trunk and carpet-bag, to his
lodging at Kennington, he set himself down to consider what course it
was best to pursue.
His first impulse was to go off and visit his mother, but in what
character, puzzled him most. Was she more likely to contribute to
assist him if he still appeared the prosperous gentleman on the
eve of marrying a Lady Lavinia--or would her maternal heart more
affectionately melt if he told her the truth, and confessed the ruin of
his fortunes?
In either case Jack felt something like a security that she would not
be unassailable by his persuasion, or deaf to his claims; it was as
to the game to be played with Mr. Salmon that our hero was chiefly
solicitous. His acceptance for five hundred pounds had that day, of
course, been dishonoured; because, although he had still three hundred
in his banker’s hands, he knew that the firm knew enough of _him_
not to maintain his credit at the expense of even so small a sum as
the other two, which were essential to the payment of his bill. If
he were to see Salmon so immediately after this event, in his fallen
state, Salmon’s indignation would no doubt outweigh his compassion;
if he flourished off for a day or two longer, upon the higher scale,
he might contrive to induce him into some arrangement for the renewal
of the bill, or even into some fresh advance upon the faith of his
proposed union with the jointured widow: therefore, in the end, Jack
determined to let matters rest till the morning, and then, having
called on his banker, and drawn a checque for present use in the gay
line, out-manœuvre Salmon, win his mother’s support, and start in some
new sphere, in which his sharpness might be available.
These matters settled in his mind, Jack proceeded to eat, with no
great appetite, a portion of a cold shoulder of roasted mutton which
his landlady had two days before dressed for her husband’s dinner, and
which, seeing Jack out of spirits, she had brought him up for supper,
with a few pickled onions of her own contrivance. This banquet,
served by the light of two candles, of which Jack felt scientifically
the meanest possible opinion, certainly did afford a very striking
contrast to the gaiety and comfort of his late yacht and her laughing
passengers. As he drank from a battered pewter-pot the “heavy wet” of
Whitbread and Co. he could not banish from his memory, or even from
his sight, the odious Dr. Munx swallowing glass after glass of his
champagne; nor, while munching part of a loaf of three days’ standing,
reflect without horror upon the consumption of pine-apples on board
“The Psyche.”
It is quite true that Jack was not absolutely reduced as yet to the
necessity of partaking of such poor food, or imbibing such coarse
beverage; but he felt a necessity for rest, and even concealment,
until his line was taken; and “dead beat,” as he himself would have
said, crawled to his kennel, and felt neither courage nor inclination
to leave it. To his landlady this change was not so perceptible as
it would have been to those who had been accustomed to see him in
“the world.” While at his “little place in Surrey,” he had always
kept himself within bounds; and the carpenter and his wife were both
perfectly satisfied with their lodger, and never even guessed at the
extent of his vagaries at what he elegantly called “The West-end.”
The morning came, and with it the necessity for action. He had
determined to continue his bright career for a day or two at least,
as far as his mother and father-in-law were concerned: after that
period, the numerous interesting enquiries which would undoubtedly be
made about him by the Cowes tradesmen, Hickman, and all the rest of
the Vectans, would render a retreat necessary; not but that, upon the
whole, he thought the arrangement about the yacht was a good one,--as
it _was_ to go, it was best as it was; and then for the smaller bills,
if his mother was good-natured, why, he would pay them,--for in money
matters there really was no bad principle about Jack; and in the affair
of the five-hundred-pound bill, which he had not paid, it was given
more because he felt he had actually a claim to what he required, out
of the business, and that Salmon was assuming rather too much in the
direction of the financial department of the establishment.
At about twelve o’clock, then, Jack issued forth from his “little
place,” and calling a hackney-coach from the stand at Kennington-Cross,
stepped into it, and directed the man to drive him to his bankers’.
The man, of course, obeyed, and Jack entered the shop;--was received,
as usual, by one of the partners, with great civility,--talked of the
weather, of Cowes, of the Yacht-Club, of Wagley, and everybody else
as usual,--till, by way of varying the conversation, he asked for a
checque, and drew thereupon for one hundred pounds: this he tossed
down on the counter with one of his most graceful movements, saying
loud enough to astonish a butcher’s-boy and a maid-servant who were
respectively getting three pound ten, and two pound five, from the
cashier, “I’ll take one fifty, four tens, and ten sovereigns.”
The cashier looked at the checque,--then fumbled in a drawer,--then
carried it to a gentleman with a pen behind his ear, who was standing
at a desk in a corner; _he_ took it from him, and walked off with it
and a parchment-covered book into the parlour, and the cashier began to
read another checque and prepare to pay it.
“Well,” said Jack, “where’s the money?”
“Would you just step into the parlour, sir?” said the cashier.
“Parlour!” said Jack; “eh?--I--I don’t know.”
“Mr. Brag!” said the partner, coming forward and indicating a desire
for a parley. Jack obeyed the call, and left the counter,--a movement
followed by a strange look interchanged between the cashier and the
clerk next him, which being truly interpreted by the butcher’s boy,
and the maid-servant, caused the former to put his finger to his
nose, and the latter to burst out laughing, the one having been most
unceremoniously shoved out of his turn, and the other most engagingly
looked at by Jack, when he was presenting his draft in all the ecstacy
of swagger.
“We have no money of yours in our hands,” said the partner to Brag;
“and you know our rule upon that point.”
“No money of mine!” said Brag; “why, you have three hundred pounds of
mine paid in to my account by Mr. Salmon, and you acknowledged the
receipt--sent me word to say so, all straight up, right down, and no
mistake!”
“So we had,” said the partner, “till yesterday; but we yesterday paid
your acceptance for five hundred, in favour of Mr. Salmon himself.”
“Paid it!” said Brag, “the deuce you did! What! advanced two hundred on
my account?”
“No;” said the partner, “you had five hundred pounds here to your
credit, and of course the bill was paid.”
“I, five hundred!” said Jack; “why, when was the other two paid in?”
“Yesterday morning, I think,” said the partner, “Mr. Jiggins, just turn
to Mr. Brag’s account.”
Jiggins did turn to the account, and yesterday morning it was.
The reader, perhaps, is at this moment as little aware of the real
nature of this proceeding as Jack himself was; but when he comes to be
enlightened, he will have, perhaps, a higher opinion of Mr. Salmon’s
intellectuality than he previously had. The truth is, that Salmon had
not paid away Jack’s bill; but on the morning it became due,--the
morning preceding the day of which we now treat,--Mr. Salmon, having
duly endorsed the said bill, sent a friend to the bankers’ to present
it; it was dishonoured, as he anticipated, they not having assets to
pay it.
The moment Salmon gets this intelligence, he proceeds to the
banking-house, in great agitation, and states his surprise at such a
“return,” as he himself had paid in three hundred very recently to Mr.
Brag’s account.
“Very true,” said the partner to Salmon, “and _that_ he has not drawn
upon; but, Mr. Salmon, you know our rule.”
Salmon _did_ know their rule, and that knowledge had induced him,
as we know, to have another banker. However, Jem had done all he
wanted, he had ascertained that his worthy son-in-law and senior
had left the three hundred untouched; whereupon, somewhere about one
o’clock, he sends a friend,--not the man who had presented the bill,
but another,--and through _him_ pays in two hundred pounds to Jack’s
account; having done this, his former friend “calls again” before five,
at the banking-house with the five-hundred-pound acceptance, to hear
if there is any better news for him, and, Jack’s account now being
adequate to the demand, the bill is paid. Salmon, by this manœuvre
gets back the three hundred pounds he had advanced to Jack, and the
additional two, which he had so recently paid in, leaving to the
honour, if not profit, of poor Brag, the five-hundred-pound bill, duly
paid and “released.”
This was a _coup_ for which Jack certainly was not prepared--it
destroyed his last hope: fifteen shillings and ninepence halfpenny
was now the amount of his ready money. Could he continue, under such
circumstances, even for a day, to ride the high horse with Salmon; it
_was_ a question; and the more he thought over the matter, the more he
considered the fact that Salmon had not only saved _his_ credit at the
banker’s, but got back his own money, the more he encouraged the hope
that he might be inclined to put faith in the representations which he
proposed to make with regard to his affairs; all depending upon their
being made off hand, straight up, right down, and no mistake.
Jack, mystified as he was at the time, proceeded to his door-plate in
Grosvenor-street, where the master of the house, whose “lady” occupied
the lower part of it as a milliner, was greatly pleased to see him
once again, and in the plenitude of his happiness informed him that
several persons from the Isle of Wight had called to enquire for him
that morning, and that two of them said they would call again in the
evening. This intelligence, if not altogether pleasant, was at all
events seasonable; since, as the next day was Sunday, if Jack could
contrive to avoid these “obliging enquirers” till after midnight, he
might have a day to himself in which to make some sort of arrangement.
Jack prudently resolved to house himself until the shades of evening
might render his wanderings secure, and then to betake himself to
the shop, find Salmon, and manage him as he best could, according to
circumstances. Where he concealed himself is no matter of importance
to us; but about nine o’clock, when the natural darkness of the
evening, greatly improved by the tinting of a metropolitan atmosphere,
seemed apt and fitting for his purpose, he bent his steps towards the
well-known home of his fathers; having arrived at which, he found,
contrary to the custom of other times, that, although it was Saturday
night, the shop closed, the shutters hermetically sealed, and the
whole lower part of the house enveloped in Cimmerian darkness: not so,
however, the drawing-room floor; there, although the blinds were down,
blazed a brilliant light; and as he paused under the windows, Jack
thought he heard singing, and was sure he heard laughter loud and long.
He knocked at the door; it was opened by an old servant who as yet had
not received her discharge.
“Ah, Margery!” said Jack, “how are you? alive and merry still?--Salmon
at home?--how’s mother?”
“Mr. Salmon is at home, Master John,” said the old woman, “as you may
hear; missus is out at the lodgings.”
“Is there any company here?” said Jack.
“I believe there is, too,” said Margery.
“Well,” said Jack, “take up my name--eh?--I’ll go and have a look at
’em; straight up, right down, and no mistake!”
“Take up your name in your own house!” said Margery; “if your name goes
up, you’ll see none o’ the fun, depend upon it; go yourself into the
drawing-room--who has so good a reason?--and then you’ll see what’s
what, and then I hope my poor missus will know of the goings on.”
“Gad, I believe you are right,” said Jack; “so I will:” to which
resolution Jack instantly screwed himself, because he thought that by
catching Salmon out, as he called it, in his dissipation, he might
threaten him into compliance with his demands, and accordingly up
he went; the old woman standing in the passage rubbing her hands for
joy, and chuckling aloud as she mumbled the words, “That’s just what I
wanted.”
Jack went through the masonic ceremony of knocking at the door; but the
joyous “Come in!” of the master of the house so speedily followed the
“tap,” that in another second Jack stood in the midst of the astonished
assembly. Banquo’s arrival at Lady Macbeth’s party, could not have been
more unexpected or unwelcome; a dead silence followed his appearance;
and Salmon, involuntarily getting up from his seat, muttered a word or
two.
“I hope,” said Jack, “I don’t intrude, as the man says in the play.”
“Not in the least,” said Salmon. “Glad to see you. Won’t you take a
chair?--Thought you were at Cowes,--twig?”
“Where’s mother?” said Jack.
“At the willa,” said Salmon. “She can’t stand London air, so----”
Here some of the party coughed, and some tittered; and Miss Hogg, who
was seated on Salmon’s left hand, leaned across him to her ma’, who
was placed on his right, to announce her recognition of “the fool
of a son of the Widow Waddle,” whom she had denounced to his face
at Lewes. Two slang-looking men graced the board, between whom was
placed Mrs. Cropper,--Mrs. Dallington’s housekeeper,--of whom the
reader has heard before; and, to crown all, acting as croupier to Jim
Salmon, was installed, with a group of jugs and bottles before him, the
confidential minister of Colonel Stiffkey, who had taken so active a
part in the manufacture of Sir Stumpy Dubbs’s particular punch on the
evening, at Eastbourne, when Jack had lost the money at _Ecarté_ which
he had not paid.
The moment Jack glanced his eye round the room, saw the profusion of
fruits, and wines, and everything else of the best sort, with which
the table was covered, and beheld the guests considerably elevated
by their libations, of whom the faces of two or three were fatally
familiar to his eye, he stammered something, retreated towards the
door, and, making one of his “slap-up” bows, told Salmon he would call
on him in the morning; and quitted the room without making any further
observation, or taking the least notice of anybody who was in it.
As he skipped down the stairs, a shout of laughter from the assembled
guests rang in his ears; and without stopping to see old Margery,
or to have the door opened for him, he quitted the house, called a
hackney-coach, and with a stock of ready money reduced to less than
thirteen shillings and four-pence,--a sum never to be forgotten by
_him_ after reading Leveret’s bill,--he told the coachman to drive him
to No. 72, Elysium Row, Pentonville.
Jack, as we have seen, was a foolish, vain, conceited fellow; and,
in supporting a system of absurd pretensions, was betrayed, not
only into equivocations and evasions, but even into falsehood:
yet, mean and contemptible as he might have been, he was not quite
insensible to the feelings of humanity. The flushed countenances of
the maudlin revellers in the room which he had been accustomed only
on Sundays to see occupied by his parents and his lost sister, at a
time when the proceedings of the family were regulated by religion
and honesty,--the fumes of the wine,--the gaudy display of luxuries
hitherto strangers to that board,--the sounds of mirth and gaiety
ringing in his ears,--and _she_, who had for years been mistress of
the house, from whose property the means to furnish out the feast were
derived,--absent--exiled--neglected!--the voice of nature was heard
in the midst of all the clamour, and Jack felt filially angry as he
entered his neglected parent’s lonesome lodging.
He found her on the point of retiring to rest, sitting in an
arm-chair, sipping a nearly finished glass of “something warm,” with
one candle burning on the table, and a little girl--her landlady’s
daughter--reading, or rather spelling, to her the “Daily Advertiser,”
borrowed from some neighbouring ale-house. At her feet lay a cat
watching her attentively, in hopes to get a crumb of the dry bread
upon which the poor old lady was supping. The place was still, and
the silence unbroken, except by the parasitical purring of Puss, the
ticking of a clock in the corner of the room, or the occasional shrill
cry of “Beer” from a peripatetic pot-boy in the road.
“Johnny, my boy,” said she, as Jack entered the apartment, “this is
good of you,--kind of you. I didn’t expect to see you for many days
to come. Sit down. Nelly dear, get another candle. What will you
have?--something to eat? Get some hot water in the kettle, dear. God
bless you, Johnny, for coming to see me; for I have been very bad
since I wrote to you Monday. I thought, somehow, you would not be long
either, because you never answered my letter; and poor Jemes was very
anxious to know about those people I wrote about.”
“Jemes be----” Jack stopped himself. “My poor mother, you _do_ look
ill; but--I don’t want anything to eat;--no, no; let the little girl go
down. I only want to talk to _you_.”
“Go dear,” said Mrs. Salmon. “I’ll ring for you if I want you. I should
have been in bed in half an hour. Jemes bids me never sit up for him
after half-past ten; and on Saturdays he has so much to do.”
“Do!” said Jack. “He’s----Never mind, mother. He is a bad one,--a
right regular bad one, and no mistake. He has nothing to do; but--no,
I’ll not worry you about _that_; time enough, mother. Mother, I’m
ruined! that’s the long and the short of it; and, as I believe, we are
all ruined.”
“Ruined, Johnny!” said Mrs. Salmon. “How--?”
“I can’t tell you all,” said Jack. “Things have turned out bad. Salmon
has behaved ill to me, and----”
“He thinks you have behaved ill to _him_,” said Mrs. Salmon; “and spoke
very much about the bill last night when he was here.”
“Never mind,” said Jack. “He has the right on his side. I have no pull
upon him. Father having left you the whole business, it is now all his;
and I’m regularly floored.”
“My poor boy, John! don’t say so,” said Mrs. Salmon; and the tears
ran down her cheeks as she looked at her son, and held his hand
affectionately between hers.
“It’s a long story, mother,” said he, “and I have no time to tell it. I
know I might, after what has happened, as well try to get honey out of
a flint-stone as anything like help from Jem. All that’s my own fault.
I have played a fool’s game, and must pay for losing. To-morrow is
Sunday, and to-morrow I am safe; but after that I must go,--bolt,--and
I haven’t a single sovereign in the world. Nor am I likely to get one?”
“Always, always,” said the poor old lady, bursting into a flood of
grief, and catching the crest-fallen pretender to her heart, “while I
have one to give you.”
“God help us! mother,” said Jack. “Neither you nor I know how long that
may be.”
“Where are you going, John, my boy,--my poor boy?--Where are you
going?” said Mrs. Salmon.
“Ah!” said Jack, “that, mother, is more than I can tell. Somewhere it
must be,--and that immediately.”
“John,” said Mrs. Salmon, wiping away her tears,--“John, hand me
that box,--that brown box: just look under the paper there, I think
you’ll find my keys. Ah! there,--there they are! Give it me;--thank
God for this. Oh! my poor John,” continued she, while searching for
the particular key wherewith to open the box; “if you had but have
minded what I kept saying, this would not have happened. If you hadn’t
persuaded me to change my name, there would have been the business
and----”
“----Don’t, mother,” said Jack,--“don’t rake up old grievances. I know
it,--I see it now it is too late. I am a fool,--a beast!”
“Bless your heart! my poor boy,” said his mother, “don’t talk so;--we
are all of us weak, blind creatures; don’t. Keep up your heart, John;
only tell me, my child, that you have done nothing wrong to be obliged
to go away?”
“No,” said Jack,--“debt, mother;--that’s all.”
“Thank God for that!” said Mrs. Salmon. “I wish I could say so of
my poor Kate. However, we must look to the present. Here, John, are
fifteen pounds. Jemes is very careful and doesn’t allow me much for
expenses: but this I have saved up to buy myself a few little things
I shall want for the winter. I don’t like to be always asking him for
money; it puts him out of humour. Here, take them, my Johnny, and I’ll
contrive to do without what I want.”
“Mother, mother!” said Jack, “I don’t deserve this. I won’t have
it:--no, no. Give me five,--that’s all. Some of the best men amongst
us have started with a tenth part as much. I have to begin life
again,--you shall keep the rest, mother.”
“If you don’t take it, John,” said his mother, “I’ll send it after you
to-morrow.”
“Where?” said Jack. “Where shall I be to-morrow?--where the next day?
No, no, you shall hear from me. It is all of no use my keeping you
up, to hear my story now. I’ll write to you all about it, and how I
have fallen into this scrape. Nay, I would come to you to-morrow, if I
thought you would be alone.”
“I’m sure to be alone,” said the old lady; “for Jemes told me, if he
did not come home this evening he shouldn’t be back till Monday.”
“Then, mother, expect me here to-morrow,” said Jack. “I’ll settle my
plans to-night; and the last hours I spend in London shall be with
_you_.”
“Bless you, John! bless you, my poor child!” said his fond parent; and
again giving him a cordial embrace, they parted.
And what do this meeting and this parting show? In the days of his
assumption she admonished him,--in the time of his pride she rebuked
him,--in the career of his folly she laughed at him; but, neglected and
despised as she had been by him, when he comes to her in the day of
defeat and in the hour of distress, she clasps him to the bosom which
first nurtured him; sacrifices her own comforts to his necessities;
and, with all her little imperfections on her head, proves herself the
sweetest and tenderest of all God’s noble works,--a MOTHER.
Jack was however unable to fulfil his promise of visiting, or even
writing to her. He returned late to his lodgings; and in the morning,
having told his landlord that he was obliged to give up the rooms, the
man saw so great a change in his manner, that he became apprehensive
that something was preying upon his mind, which might induce serious
consequences; and having received the amount of his bill, and consulted
with his wife, with whom Jack considered himself an uncommon
favourite, and no mistake, he plainly told him what he thought. Jack,
who saw that the very last feather of the peacock had now dropped from
the daw’s tail, and that a sincere friend, however humble his station,
was what was most essential to him at the moment, admitted the fact
of his involvement, and with equal sincerity avowed his inability to
discover at the moment any means of extrication.
“Have you a mind,” said the carpenter, “to go to Spain?”
“Spain!” said Jack; “what! to fight?”
“No,” said the carpenter, “not exactly. Do you know what a Commissary
is?”
“Can’t say I do,” said Jack.
“Why,” said the carpenter, “he has to get bread and meat, and other
things of that sort for the army; I have a cousin going off to-morrow
in the steamer, who _is_ one; and my wife and I are going down to
Poplar to dine with him. I know they have room for three or four
more,--good pay,--not ready money down, to be sure, but in uncommon
good bills on an old established firm in Aldgate,--a very smart
uniform and a very snug berth. I’m sure I could get you _that_.”
“But,” said Jack, “I don’t know how to get bread and bullocks.”
“Oh,” said the carpenter, “they tell _me_ that the office will be quite
a sinecure; I think it’s a fair prospect; we all three can go down in
my chay-cart and settle the thing at once, for my cousin Bill is high
up in the service.”
Jack paused a little,--the struggle was a severe, but a short
one;--at all events, the acceptance of the offer would get him free
of expense out of the way of his creditors; and if they would allow
him to change his name,--which the carpenter said he knew they would,
inasmuch as his cousin Bill Nibbs, had done the same thing,--he
would go: and accordingly, the next day, Sunday, the 23rd of August,
redoubtable Jack, with the carpenter and the carpenter’s wife,
drove in the chay-cart to Poplar, where they met their relation;
and, before ten o’clock the next morning Jack was steaming down
the river on his way to Falmouth, under the name, style, and title
of acting-assistant-deputy-deputy--assistant commissary-general
Templegrove, in the service of Her Catholic Majesty.
Nothing has been heard publicly of the
acting-assistant-deputy-deputy-assistant-commissary-general since
his departure. His mother has received a letter or two from him, the
contents of which have not transpired.
Mr. Jemes Salmon early in the month of November, was run away with,
by his spirited horse, thrown out of his gig, coming down the hill
from Hampstead, where he had been taking a _tête-à-tête_ mutton chop
with Miss Roseville, at Jack Straw’s Castle; and falling with his head
upon a flint stone, was unfortunately killed upon the spot. His fair
companion escaped with only a slight bruise or two, and having been
put into an omnibus, arrived in time at the theatre, where she acted
with unqualified applause the Widow Cheerly, in which character she
introduced her popular ballad,
“I’m a poor country maid that’s for sartain;”
and concluded the evening’s entertainments with “The Actress of all
Work.”
The widow Salmon, in consequence of her young husband’s death, is
comfortably re-established in her shop, and has written to her son
to come and take the command of his own forces in London: so that
those who have laughed at his follies and vanities, and who have felt
for the misfortunes of his kind-hearted parent, during his feverish
and ill-judged career, may yet hope to see him respectably settled
in trade, the sterling characteristic of our blessed country, in the
pursuit and prosperity of which, every true-born Englishman must glory.
THE END.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
Transcriber’s Notes
1. Kept spelling of author.
2. Page 12: Removed comma (She is a few years older than).
3. Page 13: Moved location of opening quotes (suiting the action to
the word, “and have everything go easy).
4. Pages 3 and 14: Changed ecarté to écarté (better than he played
écarté).
5. Page 113: Added full stop (as well as my own.).
6. Page 145: Replaced : with ; (compliments and congratulations on
the event;).
7. Page 145: Replaced : with ; (moments to perceive that their
affection was reciprocal;).
8. Page 293: Corrected typo (the agreeable et-ceteras).
9. Punctuation has been standardized.