THE PATRON.
Tuesday and Wednesday had passed quickly away, and Thursday brought to
Owen amusements similar to those of the previous days; but no private
intercourse with his relations. In the evening of his third day at
Abertewey, there was a concert at the neighbouring town, huge bills of
which had been posted up on the walls and houses of the said town,
purporting that the entertainment was under the immediate patronage of
Howel Jenkins, Esq. of Plas Abertewey, and his friends. Elegant little
pink and blue programmes were scattered over that patriotic gentleman's
tables, and he had used his eloquent language, and made great efforts to
get together a large party for the occasion.
It was principally a Welsh concert, he urged, and he considered it right
to patronise native talent. There was the celebrated _Eos_, and the last
representative of the ancient bards, and the best specimen of a Welsh
harper, besides several respectable English singers, and he, for one,
should muster as many supporters as he possibly could.
He did so, accordingly, and with that spirit of liberality which
characterised him when any popularity was to be acquired thereby
purchased a great number of tickets, and distributed them amongst his
servants and neighbours with majestic grace. He had managed to enlist a
large party at Mr Rice Rice's the previous evening, some of whom were to
dine at Abertewey, and to go thence to the concert; others to meet him
and his friends there.
Owen felt lost in the grandeur of that evening, and would have been
quite forgotten but for Mme. Duvet, who was constant in her admiration
of him. But it was amusement and wonder enough for him to watch Howel
and Netta, quite _en prince et princesse_, receiving their guests, who,
if not as yet of the aristocracy of the county, were of high
respectability and good position in it. If the host and hostess were
rather desirous of showing how grand they were, their dinner and wines
were so good as to cover their efforts.
What if their guests remarked, as guests will, gentle reader, when our
backs are turned, that Howel was insufferably purse-proud and conceited,
and his wife as affected and provincial as possible; they did not hear
the friendly notices, and were well content to fill the concert room
with their party, all in full dress, to the admiration of the townsfolk,
and of Mrs Griffey Jenkins in particular.
Howel had quite forgotten his mother in his general invitation and did
not even see her for some time, seated in a prominent position, and
making one of his own party, to all appearance. She had saved his
character for filial duty by going where he would little have thought of
placing her, and awaiting his arrival, as her pride impelled her to do.
Owen spied her at once, and took Mme. Duvet to the seat next her, on her
left; whilst on her right sat Mr Deep, and nigh to him, of all people in
the world, Mrs Rice Rice, that staunch supporter of family dignity.
Owen shook hands with Aunt 'Lizbeth, and introduced her to Madame Duvet
and Mr Deep, after having asked them first of all whether they had seen
her previously.
'I never had that honour,' said Madame Duvet, curtseying.
'I didn't be going to Abertewey since you was coming there, ma'am,' said
Mrs Griffey, rising and curtseying, to the unspeakable diversion of Mrs
Rice Rice and Mr Deep.
The reader may remember that Mrs Jenkins was at Abertewey when Howel
made his triumphant entry there, but the following morning he gave her
to understand, as delicately as he could, that the idiomatic
translations of the Welsh language which had been so refreshing in
London, would be better in her native town than at Abertewey, and she
departed accordingly.
His ire may be imagined, when he suddenly heard the well-known idioms
lavished upon Madame Duvet and Mr Deep, who were enjoying them a great
deal more than the concert, which, being principally in the vernacular,
was not so intelligible and far less amusing. Mrs Jenkins was in her
glory. Never had Mrs Rice Rice been so condescending before. She and Mr
Deep made themselves more agreeable than she had supposed it possible
for such grand people to be, and she frequently glanced at Owen, as much
as to say, 'And I am the person that your father turned out of doors!'
Owen, on his side, was sorry that he had exposed her to the sarcasm that
she so little understood, and talked to Madame Duvet to withdraw
attention from her.
As to Howel, his rising sun was obscured--his blushing honours were
dimmed--his majesty, patronage, grandeur were lowered by the propinquity
of his nearest of kin. In the midst of his county friends himself, he
still felt that his mother was making herself ridiculous near at hand;
whilst complimented and thanked for his patriotic support of native
_cos_,[Footnote: Nightingales.] the native idioms rang in his ears, and
he longed to annihilate them altogether. This on his right hand. On his
left, Netta, looking literally like 'a rose in June,' and receiving the
very marked attentions of Captain Dancy, on one side, and of Mr Rice
Rice, junior, on the other. He scarcely knew which was most irritating,
'the idioms,' or her affected giggle. Trite but true is the proverb,
'There is no rose without its thorn;' and Howel was pricked severely by
the thorns surrounding the rose of his first step into popularity.
Between the acts, and between the songs, Mrs Griffey went on something
in this sort,--
'Indeet yes, sir! treue for you there. The Welsh is a splendit language.
My son Howels--there he is to be proving it--do always say so. Ah!
that's "The rising of the lark," I was singing that myself years ago.
London! to be seure! Now there was singing I was hearing at the play. My
son Howels did tak us to the play. I never was hearing or seeing the
like in my life. Seure, the Queen Victoria or Prince Albert don't be
dressing half as fine as the gentlemen and ladies I was seeing act. The
Queen! Oh, Mrs Rice Rice, fach! Ma'am, I was disappointed! Just a bonnet
no better than my doater-in-law's. What, sir! a crown? Not 'sactly a
crown; but I was 'specting to see a queen different from other people.
Hush! I do hear my son Howels cry, "Silence!" and they do be playing "Ap
Shenkin." Not so bad that for Wales, Mrs Rice Rice. My son Howels do
sing beautiful himself, and do play--Hush! look you at him. He don't
like tolking in the music. He, he, he, sir! you do make me laugh. To be
seure I don't mean to be marrying again, though men are so much for
money. I am thinking you gentlemen 'ould be marrying your grandmothers
for the beauty money! Not my son Howels, indeet! He don't be wanting
money. He marry his cousin for love. Hush you! There's Pengoch beginning
a Penyll! You don't be hearing anything like that in England. Ach a fi!
my 'deet, I am sorry. "God save the Queen!" and it don't seem an hour
since they began!'
Mrs Jenkins stood up with the rest, and beat time emphatically Scarcely
was the last verse of 'God save the Queen' finished, when Howel came up
to his mother, and biting his tongue to keep in his ire, said--
'Mother, I will see you safe first!' and without allowing her time to do
more than make a curtsey to her companions, offered her his arm, and led
her quickly down the room. He did not venture to speak to her, but
nodding to one and another as he passed, said, 'I shall be back
directly. I am just going to send my mother home first,' reached the
door, and called for his carriage. It was close at hand, the hour for
ordering the carriages being past; and he speedily put his mother into
it. 'Drive Mrs Jenkins home, and return immediately,' he exclaimed.
'Which way, ma'am?' asked the servant.
'Go you down the street, then turn to the right, and the first house
with a railing and steps, and a brass knocker,' said Mrs Jenkins,
exulting as they drove off in her new dignity and importance. Howel, on
the contrary, returned to the concert-room, cursing his folly for having
settled in his native county, and wishing his mother anywhere else.
Nevertheless, he received the thanks of the conductor of the concert
with bland humility, and expressed his intention of using all his best
efforts in behalf of his country and countrymen. Finally he assisted in
cloaking and shawling the ladies, seeing them to their carriages, and
bidding them condescending good nights.
For himself, however, he had not a good night, being haunted with the
demons of jealousy and discontent. As soon as Netta and he were alone,
he addressed her in very different tones from those which he had called
forth for the ladies of the concert-room.
'Netta, why do you let Dancy pay you such attentions?' he began, with a
scowling brow and flashing eye.
'Why does Mme. Duvet let you pay her such attention?' was Netta's
instant reply.
Now Netta was too well pleased with herself, and the effect of her
beauty on others, to endure being snubbed, and was very angry that Howel
was not pleased also.
'Don't be a fool, Netta. You know Madame Duvet is doing all she can to
catch Owen.'
'Oh! jealous are you? Well, there were plenty of other ladies who let
you pay them attention; why was that I wonder?'
'I tell you what it is, Netta, I won't allow Dancy to devote himself to
you as he does.'
'Then you had better tell him so, I ain't going to do it; he's your
friend, and if he admires me, I think you ought to be proud of it.'
'You did nothing but flirt and giggle with him all the evening. What
with you on one side and my mother on the other, I thought I must have
left the room.'
'Giggle, indeed; I don't know what you mean, sir; you never eused to say
I giggled.'
'Can't you say _used_, and not _eused_, you will never cease to be
provincial,'
'Other folks are provincial, I think, besides me. If you said your own
mother was provincial, it 'ould be true enough.'
'There again! if you are your own natural self, you leave out all your
_w's_ directly; I wish you would be careful, Netta.'
'Well, so do the French. I declare I won't speak again to-night, that I
won't, you cross, unnatural, unfeeling fellow; and all because you're
jealous of Owen. Madame Duvet says he's the handsomest man she ever saw,
and that his beard is enough to win any woman's heart.'
'You had better hold your tongue, I think,' said Howel, stifling a laugh
at the idea of Owen's irresistible beard; 'you never say a word of
sense.'
'And you never say a kind word,' said Netta, breaking down at that last
attack, and beginning to cry.
'Now don't blubber, and let all the house hear you.'
'I wonder whether leaving out a _w_ is half as vulgar as to tell one's
wife not to blubber. But I won't speak to you again. I wish I hadn't
married you, I do.'
'I wish to heaven you hadn't.'
At this Netta began to sob very much, and Howel softened somewhat, but
not sufficiently to make any excuse for his conduct; and Netta went to
bed, proud, indignant, and unhappy, and wishing herself back again at
Glanyravon.
The next morning, Owen remarked that Netta did not speak to Howel at
all, and that she was very reserved and strange in her manner to Captain
Dancy. The captain, however, took no notice of the change, but whilst he
seemed to converse more than usual with Miss Simpson, anticipated all
Netta's wants and wishes with most insinuating tact. Netta, with her
changing colour, and half-pettish, half-shy manner, was still more
attractive than Netta affected and silly. Owen thought that Howel felt
this, for he went behind her chair, and put his hand on her shoulder,
whilst he asked for some more sugar in his tea. Netta's lips pouted, but
her eyes brightened as she said in a half whisper, 'You're sweeter than
you were, Howel.'
Howel excused the common-place allusion to the sugar, in consideration
of the bright face that looked up at him, and so the storm lulled for
the present.
This was Owen's fourth day at Abertewey, and it was a facsimile of the
second, with the exception that Mr and Miss Simpson and Mr Deep did not
go to the dinner-party to which the rest went, at a neighbouring country
house, so Owen had company at dinner, and was ordered by Netta to do the
honours.
Miss Simpson refused to play whist, and Owen declined billiards, so
whilst Mr Deep got as much money as he could out of Mr Simpson, Owen
devoted himself and his captivating beard to Miss Simpson.
In the course of conversation that young lady informed him that she and
her brother intended leaving Abertewey the following week, and that she
supposed the rest of the party would soon follow for the Ascot Races,
and she hoped Owen would join them; she was sure her papa and mamma
would be very glad to see him. She also let out that her brother,
Captain Dancy, and Howel had heavy bets on the different horses that
were to run, and that she expected there would be great excitement. As
to Mr Deep, nobody quite knew what he did, he was so very reserved and
quiet.
Owen stayed on at Abertewey day after day, he scarcely knew why. In the
first place, he was very well amused, and liked his quarters. In the
second, his new friends all liked him; the women for his good looks and
open-hearted civility, the men, because he took his own course and did
not interfere with them, and was a very amusing fellow besides. In the
third place, he stayed on because he felt anxious about Howel and Netta
and their way of beginning life. He had been a man careless of money
himself all his days, but he had been, as the saying goes, no one's
enemy but his own--he feared that Howel might turn out, not only his own
foe but the foe of others, since he perceived that the propensities of
his unmonied youth were strengthening and maturing in his monied
manhood. He had no opinion of any man who would fleece another, and he
saw that Howel and Mr Deep were preying upon the simple, conceited Mr
Simpson, and the careless, lavish Sir Samuel Spendall. As to Mr Deep, he
watched his opportunity of outwitting either of the four as it offered.
Saturday came and passed, as usual, in visiting and gambling. A good
many of the sporting men of the country called to see Howel's famous
race-horse, Campaigner, in training for the St Leger, and to indulge in
a little of the sporting gossip of the day, whilst their womankind
indulged in more general, and equally intellectual, country gossip. Some
of the young men stayed to dinner, and when Miss Simpson had duly played
her waltzes, and Netta had gone through her French songs, _vingt-et-un_
was proposed.
Owen took his customary place by Madame Duvet, and played his usual
game. But he had not the luck of the previous evening, and soon lost the
five pounds he then won, and very nearly the little he possessed
besides. When he knew that he was within a few shillings of bankruptcy
he said,--
'I am very sorry to leave such agreeable society, but if I play any more
I shall never get to sea. Look at my purse!' holding it up and shaking
it, 'it is very nearly empty.'
'Luck will change,' said Madame Duvet. 'You shall go partners with me,'
pointing to a large heap of money and counters.
'I should be only too happy if I could bring anything to the bank, said
Owen; 'but I am too proud to be a penniless partner.'
'You need only bring yourself,' said Madame Duvet, lowering her voice,
and giving such a glance from a pair of fine black eyes as few men could
have withstood.
Perhaps Owen would have yielded to it, for he was by no means a hero,
had not a sudden vision of Gladys passed before his mind, followed by
one of his mother, just as he had seen her when she bade him that last
solemn good-night only the Tuesday in that very week. How the vision
came he knew not, nor did he pause to ask; but it gave him strength to
resist the temptation to begin regular gambling, a vice he had hitherto
steadily avoided.
'No,' he said, with a merry laugh; 'I cannot afford to run into debt.'
'Mortgage those entailed farms of yours,' said Howel. 'I wouldn't mind
lending you a trifle on them.'
'And I will lend you five pounds without a mortgage,' said Netta.
'Can't afford to borrow or mortgage,' laughed Owen. 'Besides it is
nearly Sunday morning, and we must all break up directly,' so he slipped
away from his seat, looked on for a few minutes, and when the party were
again absorbed in their game, went to bed.
'Well,' he thought; 'I am not as particular as I ought to be, I know,
myself; but to play cards into Sunday morning! I could not do this. What
would my poor mother say of Netta if she knew it? I will have a serious
conversation with her to-morrow, when I suppose she will have an hour to
spare, and be off on Monday. I almost wish I had never come. That Madame
Duvet, too! One cannot help paying her attention, and she is very
handsome and agreeable; but even if there were no Gladys, she wouldn't
suit me; and here am I almost making her believe--Pashaw! She don't care
for me. What a vain fellow I am! But, I suppose, as Netta says, they
admire my beard. All but Gladys, who won't even look at it, or me. I
wonder what she would think of me in the midst of all these fine people,
dressed up in Howel's London attire! At any rate I shouldn't be half as
worthy of her good opinion as when I carried that unfortunate mash to
the Alderney, which caused the rumpus with my father. How beautiful the
girl looked, leaning upon that fortunate animal; and what a fool I made
of myself on the other side of her! Well, I was never so happy at home
before; and I know it isn't right to leave my father and mother; and I
have never done any good all my life; and I, the eldest son, and very
nearly thirty years of age! Poor uncle and aunt gave me an education, to
very little purpose I fear; and I shall have to answer for the use I
have made of it, just as those Sabbath-breakers downstairs will have to
answer for profaning this holy day. Half of it is the force of example.
Here is Howel leading Netta to destruction, just as Gladys might lead me
to--heaven, I verily believe. Rowland used to argue with me about
individual responsibility, and I suppose he was in the right of it.'