Brag’s feelings at the period of this announcement were by no means
of the most agreeable character. It was quite certain that the scene
which had just been enacted by the noble lord and himself would furnish
materials for a _historiette_ in his lordship’s circle, whence it
would infallibly descend to the sphere of his own actions, as fashions
gradually sink from the duchess to the dowdy, until, as extremes meet,
they become extinct from their universality.
Then, for the Lothario to be slighted--avoided--cut by the waiting-girl
of a small inn, who ought to have been prouder than a peacock at
having attracted his eyes: altogether Jack was ill at ease, and fell
to ruminating upon his present not brilliant prospects, until he fell
asleep.
Not so his mother. She had pondered the words her son had spoken: she
felt that his recommendation to take unto herself a second husband,
although she had passed several years of widowhood, was not altogether
unreasonable, since the career which he appeared determined to pursue,
let it terminate as it might, was not very likely to end in a steady
settle-down to business, and since, as everybody allows, a “lone woman”
in trade is liable to be imposed upon.
It is odd enough, that an idea once formed in a mind where it never had
place before, becomes the leading subject of thought and consideration.
Mrs. Brag had never dreamt of a second marriage; and it is but fair
to say, that none of her male, middle-aged, marrying acquaintance had
ever, by word or deed, led her to moot the question. It was reserved
for her son to fire the train; and from the moment it was ignited, Mrs.
Brag became a different woman. She bestowed extra care upon her frill
and her front; had the one plaited, and the other curled, with peculiar
pains; took to the wearing of coloured ribands; looked into the shop
whenever she heard the sound of voices; and, in short, gave herself
more airs than she had ever thought of assuming for many years before.
Never, however, had she been driven into what may be called a
resolution upon the subject, until the morning upon which this little
history opens. Johnny had often suggested the measure, and she had at
first repelled the idea, out of respect to the departed Mr. B.; at
last, she listened more complacently; then, as I have just said, she
occupied herself in putting the scheme in execution practically; and
after that morning, finding that all solicitations to John in regard of
steadiness must prove fruitless, she came to a resolution of obliging
her darling boy, of whom she might justly have said--
“Johnny, with all thy faults, I love thee still,”
and of making herself more comfortable at home. How to compass the
affair then became her only consideration; for the reader ought to
know, that although to the very last she maintained her profession of
disinclination for the step, she had, in fact, determined upon taking
it. The way she went to work will hereafter be developed.
The volatile John, himself, arose on the morning of his intended
steeple-chase, little refreshed from the sort of feverish night’s rest
he had enjoyed--if enjoyment it might be called. He could not rally
from the effects of his self-exposure, which affected him the more
strongly, as he began to anticipate (since it was evident that they
were staying somewhere in the neighbourhood) the appearance of some of
the branches of the noble family of Ilfracombe to witness what men of
desperate expedients consider “fine sport.” What should he do if this
very Lord Dawlish were to join the field, attended perhaps by Lady
Fanny Smartly, or the earl himself? Every word that he had uttered
the previous night would, of course, be repeated; and if not actually
kicked or horse-whipped by the indignant viscount, in revenge for the
description he had given of his father and his family, even Lord Tom
Towzle himself, who was his main-stay, might join in the general
execration of the pretender; the more especially as Lord Tom had at
various times borrowed sundry sums of Brag’s “loose cash,” and, having
been of late refused unlimited access to his purse, might perhaps not
be particularly sorry to find a cause for breaking off his acquaintance
with him.
The day however came, and Brag having breakfasted, began to rally; and
resolving to put the best face upon the affair, he mounted the horse he
kept, and proceeded to the scene of action, casting his eyes, it must
be admitted, in every direction, in dread of encountering his friend
of the preceding afternoon. Nothing of the sort, however, occurred to
annihilate him; and when he reached the inn at which the sportsmen
were to rendezvous, and found Lord Tom and his associates just the
same as usual,--all gay, lively, and warm in their reception,--he felt
reassured, and in less than an hour had forgotten, or resolved not to
remember, anything about his self-exposure to the noble lord.
The steeple-chase took place according to notice; and at its
conclusion Lord Tom, assisted by Brag, furnished a report of it for the
“Sporting Intelligence” of the London papers, in the following words:--
“This event came off yesterday to the entire gratification of the
numerous company who were present.
“The course had been marked out on the previous day by Lord Wagley,
Lord Thomas Towzle, and Mr. Brag, who judiciously selected a stiff
line of country, including thirty-four leaps and three brooks,
best calculated to try the mettle of both horses and riders. The
winning-post was between two flags placed in a field belonging to Mr.
Brag, who was also appointed umpire. Five horses started--
“Mr. Tagrag’s ‘Washball’ _Owner._
Capt. Snobb’s ‘Beggarboy’ _Owner._
Sir Frederick Flapper’s ‘Stumpy’ _Mr. Martingale._
Mr. Smith’s ‘Tommy’ _Owner._
Colonel Ball’s ‘Blunderbuss’ _Mr. Flint._
“They all went off at a slashing pace. ‘Tommy’ refused the second
leap, and threw his rider over his head, and, falling backwards over
the bank, broke his back, and died in a few minutes. ‘Washball’ was
also unlucky in trying to jump a brook, which her rider did not know
was fordable twenty yards lower down: she slipped her shoulder, and
was obliged to be shot immediately after the race. We are sorry to
add, that Mr. Tagrag, who rode her, unfortunately pitched upon the
back of his neck, and severely injured his spine. He lies at the
‘Full Moon’ at Wigglesford, without hopes of recovery.
“After these little mishaps, the play was made entirely by
‘Beggarboy’ and ‘Stumpy,’ ‘Blunderbuss’ having knocked up after the
first two miles and a half, and being run to a dead stand in the
middle of a ploughed field, whence neither flogging nor spurring
could move him: in fact, the shine was taken out of him, and it
became a clear case of ‘no go.’
“‘Beggarboy’ and ‘Stumpy’ had had enough of it; and when they reached
the last fence, entered the winning-field nearly neck-and-neck.
‘Stumpy’ tumbled into the ditch, and Captain Snobbs worked
‘Beggarboy’ through the flags in very fine style. ‘Stumpy’ was
considerably damaged by the last fall, which is a pity, inasmuch as
he is about one of the best horses in this part of the country.
“The race was for ten sovereigns each, and was run in an incredibly
short space of time. The numerous company assembled were highly
delighted with the spirit-stirring sport, and, after the chase,
proceeded to a field at the back of the ‘Full Moon,’ to see the ties
shot off of the great pigeon match between Mr. Slack and Mr. Nibbs,
for a silver jug and cover.
“The name of Nibbs in itself was sufficient to create an unusual
interest, and the ground was crowded with amateurs. The terms were,
twenty-one yards at twenty-one birds--charge limited to two ounces.
Betting, three to one the winner killed eighteen--five to four on
Nibbs. They both went in, sure of doing the trick; but after Slack
and Nibbs had each killed twelve birds, Nibbs had it all his own way,
and won the jug by five birds, killing nineteen to Slack’s fourteen;
thus winning the by-bets of three to one. Several other matches came
off, and about a hundred and fifty pigeons were knocked over.
“Nothing could exceed the gaiety of the scene. The weather was
remarkably fine, and a proportion of the beauties who had honoured
the race with their presence, were witnesses of the cheering sport.
An old woman standing just outside the enclosure, received a whole
charge of shot in her face, which is likely to cost her the sight of
one eye at least; and a silly boy, who imprudently attempted to knock
down one of the winged birds which was falling out of bounds, was
badly wounded in the chest and throat. He was immediately attended
to by the surgeon of the place, who extracted thirty-six shots from
different parts of his person, and he was then forwarded in an easy
cart to the county hospital. We hope these accidents will act as
cautions to other equally inconsiderate individuals.
“At the conclusion of the sports an admirable cold collation was
served up at the ‘Full Moon,’ in Bunks’s best style. The evening
passed off in the most delightfully convivial manner, and
arrangements were made for a renewal of the exhilarating diversion of
the day, on Thursday next, when a still more numerous assemblage is
anticipated.”
This animated description, as a matter of course, figured in the
principal journals of the following morning, Brag having succeeded
in the interpolation of three or four words, conveying to himself a
field, and, by implication, a much more extensive estate, in a part
of the country where he did not possess even so much as called him
master at his “little place in Surrey.” The only drawback to his
happiness, however, upon this occasion, was a visit, three days after
the appearance of the intelligence, from the farmer to whom the field
actually did belong, who gave him to understand that he had directed
his attorney to prosecute the trespassers, who without his permission
had ploughed up his land at a season when it did not require tillage;
and having ascertained by the newspapers that the whole arrangements
had devolved upon Mr. Brag, the attorney thought it most advisable to
pounce upon _him_ in the first instance.
This visit, and the intelligence his visitor conveyed to him, were
anything but agreeable to the little man, whose feelings upon the
matter were in no degree tranquillized by the conviction that his
difficulties and responsibility were fastened upon him, because he
could not refrain from the indulgence of his besetting propensity, in
making himself not only the hero of the affair, but the owner of the
ground over which it had been decided.
The next race, however, which Mr. Brag was destined to run, was away
from the lawyer, and accordingly, with prudence, which in animals
unclothed, we designate instinct, but which in cases like that of
Johnny we by courtesy call reason, our hero quitted his head quarters
at the Duke’s Head, and proceeded to town per stage-coach; the second
message from Mr. Figgs, with regard to the horses, having been
accompanied with a peremptory demand that they might both be sent back.
Brag returned to town considerably damaged, and however bold he might
be in assuming consequence, and claiming friendships, never did human
being more clearly evince by his personal appearance the workings
of what served him for mind, than he; a blow like that which he had
just received from the farmer’s announcement completely upset him,
and in five minutes the sprightly, pert, impudent-looking wagling was
metamorphosed into a pale, downcast, miserable victim; and in a plight
thus indicative of defeat, he reached the metropolis, quite undecided
how to dispose of himself for the afternoon.
While he is in this state of suspense let us look for one moment at
those over whose destinies he almost unconsciously possessed a most
extraordinary influence. Sir Charles Lydiard, whose sensitiveness had
once been disturbed, and whose shyness had been excited by Rushton’s
observations upon the manner in which Brag was received at Mrs.
Dallington’s, could not get rid of the impression which he had at first
so hesitatingly received. None who have not felt jealousy--and, since
there never can be love without it, who has not?--can imagine the
pains which a patient once infected with the disease, the jaundice of
the mind, incessantly takes to keep up its virulence. It so happened,
that Sir Charles had never seen Brag since his conversation with
Rushton, and therefore had no opportunity of watching the “telegraph”
of which they had upon that occasion spoken; but upon a reference to
all that _had_ passed, he managed to combine a thousand “trifles light
as air,” an infinity of nothings, the consideration of which produced
an increased exhibition of coldness and reserve during his next two or
three calls at the widow’s.
Mrs. Dallington saw this accession of frigidity, and without exactly
hitting upon its true cause, did certainly “telegraph” Blanche into
an observance of it. This new glance gave new grounds for doubts and
apprehensions, and the worthy baronet passed four miserable hours in
the boudoir of the woman he best loved in the world, if he had but
known it, devoutly wishing to make his escape, but fearing to move lest
an _éclaircissement_ should take place.
Sir Charles felt more embarrassed from the fact that he had _not_ seen
his aversion during his last one or two visits; and because he was
extremely anxious to know the cause of an absence on his part longer
than usual; and because, above all, he could not induce himself to
make the smallest inquiry after him. Other men called, joined in the
conversation, and relieved Sir Charles from the restraint under which
the dread of a serious explanation kept him whenever the temporary
absence of Blanche reduced the circle to a _tête-à-tête_; but the
appearance of none of those worried or annoyed him. Mrs. Dallington’s
manner, kind to all, was in no degree particular to any one of them;
but certainly, now that Rushton had concurred with him in his views
upon the subject, he _did_ think that Brag was very differently
treated by both ladies. Still, he could not descend to touch upon the
topic; and after a feverish sitting on the third morning after Brag’s
departure, Sir Charles left the widow’s to dress for dinner, pleading
an engagement which he had not, for declining an invitation from her
and her sister to dine with them, which he would have been, if he
could have commanded his feelings, too happy to accept.
Rushton, who had been there, but was also absent in the evening, became
more actively employed in Brag’s business than his cold and calculating
colleague. In passing Grosvenor Street he encountered Brag proceeding
to visit his door-plate and inquire for letters, just arrived from the
Duke of Marlborough, having been let out of the coach (in the inside
of which he travelled to avoid the farmer’s lawyer) at the corner of
a back street in the Edgeware Road, so as not to be detected in his
descent; by which ingenious device, and the exhibition of a whip in his
hand and a pair of spurs on his heels, the pretender let it be inferred
that he had ridden up to town upon one of the nine horses, which did
not belong to him.
Rushton welcomed his _friend_ to London; and anxious to ascertain,
if he could, whether he proposed making an evening visit to Mrs.
Dallington’s, joined him in his walk down the street.
“Just returned?” said Rushton.
“This minute dismounted,” said Brag; “capital sport;--never
better!--all smack smooth, and no mistake. Killed two horses outright,
and one man, I fancy; however, he was well picked up, and the doctor
has got him in charge.”
“Much company?” said Rushton.
“Lots of people,” answered Brag, who, unable to repress that which was
certainly true, however dangerous the allusion to the family might be
elsewhere; “I myself did not stay at Wigglesford, I had rooms at the
inn where my horses stand. All quiet, snug; no nonsense;--civil people;
good landlord; pretty daughter, eh!--you understand--no mistake!”
“Were you alone, then?” said Rushton.
“Not altogether,” said Brag; “old Ilfracombe dined with me. He was
going to an archery-meeting to join his family. Weather turned out bad;
took part of my little dinner;--humble fare--mere soup, fish, cutlet
and capon. The rest of the party joined us after dinner. Dawlish
and his wife, and Lady Sarah Smartly--they did not get out of the
carriage--so I packed him off, and returned to finish my claret, and
wind up the evening in _my_ way, eh?”
“Are you going to the widow’s this evening?” said Rushton.
“Not certain,” said Brag: “I’m rather tired, and more than half
engaged. How is Sir Charles? Cold chap, that, eh? Don’t you think so?”
“Why,” said Rushton, “a trifle upsets him. He is the most
delicate-minded man I ever met with: an expression, a word, a look
affects him in a way one could scarcely imagine.”
“Proud, eh?” said Brag. “Distant, eh?”
“No,” replied Rushton. “There is a coldness in his manner, I admit;
and those who do not know him may fancy this proceeds from _hauteur_;
but the fact is, that however much he may warm in the course of the
evening, he falls back to his original state of chilliness the next
morning, and requires a new process to _degêler_ him. He is not
therefore popular, but, in truth, his apparent coldness has its origin
in diffidence and a distrust of himself.”
“Oh! that’s diffidence, is it?” said Brag. “I can’t say I quite
understand _that_: I thought it was pride--but for _that_, in course I
don’t care one farthing, and no mistake.”
It all at once struck Rushton (Sir Charles having naturally, although
unexpectedly, become the subject of their conversation) that the
present would be a favourable opportunity of sounding (the water not
being very deep) the views and intentions of his communicative friend.
“Why,” said he, “to tell you the truth, Brag, I do not think _you_ a
fair judge of Sir Charles. I have my quarrels with him upon different
shades of feeling; but you--_you_ are totally different.”
“I don’t see that,” said Brag. “It’s all one to me, you know. I don’t
care a fig, as I say to Lord Tom: take me as I am, eh!--all right up,
straight down, no mistake. I quite agree with you in differing with
_him_; but I don’t see how _my_ case differs from _yours_.”
“Ah!” said Rushton, “there it is: it is in that difference all the
difference lies.”
“How d’ye mean?” said Brag.
“He is afraid of you,” replied his companion.
“Afraid of _me_!” said Brag, pulling up his shirt collar, “that’s too
good.”
“You are too civil by half to the widow,” said Rushton.
“Me!”
“Yes,” said Rushton, “and what is even more to the purpose, he thinks
she is too civil by half to you.”
“Upon your honour!” said Brag, in an ecstasy of delight--“afraid of
_me_! Come, come--eh!--that’s too good!”
“Not a bit too good,” said Rushton. “I tell you what it is--I’ll be
candid with you--I am just as much afraid of you myself.”
“You, Rushton!” said Brag.
“Yes, more than Sir Charles is,” replied Rushton. “Recollect
now--remember--think how you go on with Blanch Englefield--a being all
shyness and reserve with everybody else, is with _you_, animated and
evidently interested in your conversation.”
“You don’t mean that _you_ are afraid of _me_, too,” said Brag, fully
convinced of the entire seriousness of the conversation, which after
all contained more of real apprehension than Rushton would have
willingly had him know. “I certainly have a way, eh!--I don’t know
what it is--it cannot be person--manner, I suppose. I am always ready
to talk, eh! The tongue is the very deuce in a sharp fellow’s head--a
little repartee, and all that, eh!--small-talk, and a good deal of
it--that’s it.”
“Clearly,” said Rushton.
“The women like little parties,” said Brag--“fêtes--water
excursions--_dejeuners_, and all that. Then they get so good-humoured;
and the champagne--and the return--and the moonlight--and the music,
and all _that_.”
“You have not yet opened your battery in that line,” said Rushton.
“Waiting for weather,” said Brag. “I’ll show you the way to do that
sort of thing as soon as summer is well in, eh!--and then, I think, you
_will_ have the heart-ache.”
“Are you, then, so general a lover?” said Rushton. “Will neither
content your love of conquest? Must you win both?”
“Oh! come,” said Brag, putting his finger to his nose, and winking,
“you are playing your tricks--what do _they_ care for _me_?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Rushton. “My firm belief is, that you
may obtain the hand of either of them; and my opinion, moreover, is,
that if you have not serious intentions that way, as far as one of them
is concerned, you do an injustice to both, by acting towards them as
you do.”
“Upon your life!” said Jack--“you are serious?”
“Perfectly,” said Rushton; “however, this is entirely between
ourselves: and whatever step you take, let me just mention, that the
widow is much the more lively companion of the two, and has rather the
better fortune; so turn your basilisk eyes towards her, and leave
the poor silent, sighing Blanche for me. Adieu! Here we are at your
door--you are at home. Do me the favour to remember what I have said,
and as you are great be merciful.”
Saying which, Rushton quitted his friend, who was completely overset
by the announcement of the opinion he had just heard delivered. It
took very little to convince him of his power over what he called
the “female sex,” and he had certainly for some time felt very much
inclined to coincide with Rushton in his views upon this particular
point. But then came the question--Which of the prizes should he
take?--which of the lovers should he immolate? Lydiard, he was assured,
was too cold and odd to charm the widow, and Rushton too violent and
jealous to be agreeable as a husband to Blanche. The notion once put
into his head, operated there like that with which he had a short time
before possessed his respectable mother on a similar subject, and all
that now remained for him to do was to make up his mind for a decision.
That he _did_ decide, the reader is destined soon to see; how, for the
present, must remain a secret.
There certainly is one part of the affair which did not make itself
evident to him. Blinded by his vanity, he did not perceive that the
whole object Rushton had in view in acknowledging his own fears,
which he really fancied had some foundation, and in encouraging his
pretensions, was the expulsion of the little man altogether; for
although he had succeeded in awakening Sir Charles’s suspicions, and
Sir Charles had been equally fortunate in arousing _his_, and that he
had moreover discovered, by Brag’s manner and admission, that the widow
was, at least of the two, the present object of his admiration, he felt
perfectly satisfied that he would receive his _congée_ the very hour in
which he made a formal declaration, and thus, without appearing in the
business, he should be relieved from all farther apprehensions from his
presence, while the affair of his expulsion would, in fact, be that of
Lydiard and the widow.
Brag, however, was about to be entangled in another little business,
which promised to interfere with the immediate execution of his
plan. He had resolved upon repairing to his “little place in Surrey,”
in order to look after certain affairs which were essential to the
production of the means for “carrying on the war,” and afterwards
proposed, at least when it should be sufficiently dark for the
purpose--to visit his mother, who, wisely enough, took care of the shop
as far as her abilities would permit her to watch one or two clerks and
shopmen, who undoubtedly, seeing that she was a “lone woman,” did every
day that, of which, in her own phrase, she was so much afraid “put upon
her;” which phrase, rendered into plain English, means, cheat her out
of her property whenever they were able.
As our story expands, it may be necessary here to observe, that Mrs.
Brag had a daughter, the sister of John, who had never been a favourite
with her father. People said her temper was bad: some people said one
thing, and other people, as they will do, said other things: certain it
is, that home was no home for her. And after a sort of half-and-half
education at a suburban boarding-school, where she learned astronomy,
the mathematics, netting, knitting, knotting, the use of the globes,
dancing, geometry, drawing, embroidery, rug-working, purse-making,
flower-painting, botany, singing, geology, plain needle-work, natural
history, stencilling, Italian, French, Spanish, and German, the harp,
guitar, piano-forte, tambourine, and triangle, together with many other
sciences and accomplishments, “too numerous for the brief space of an
advertisement,” she early in life married hastily, and clandestinely,
a gentleman in the army of the name of Brown. His military duties had
since called him to India, where his regiment had now been for several
years. Of him or his sister, Jack seldom spoke, and, when he did,
coldly referred to her husband as the major. Any little uneasiness
which her father had evinced about the marriage at the period at which
it occurred, had been decently buried in oblivion by the fond mother
and her son, who, whatever other feelings might have prompted him to
this acquiescence in the affair, it could not be doubted was in a
considerable degree acted upon by a desire to say nothing whatever
about it.
There was, however, a person for whom, in earlier life, and before the
doting fondness of his sire had spoiled him, he did feel as deep an
interest as such a mind as his was capable of--this was no other than
the major’s sister, Miss Brown--Anne christened, but called familiarly
in those times Nancy Brown. It does not sound romantic by way of a
name, but what _is_ in a name?
At the time of Brag’s acquaintance with her, she was a lovely girl just
eighteen, fair as the lily and fresh as the rose. Her mother was an
humble personage, no better, let it be understood, than a dress-maker,
to whom this daughter was assistant; for, lest we should ourselves fall
into the errors of which Brag was guilty, it may be as well to observe,
that the military functionary with whom Kitty became enamoured, and
who had the honour of leading her to the Hymeneal altar without her
father’s consent, derived his rank of major from Brag himself; in
giving him which brevet he felt himself probably justified, inasmuch
as it was derived from a mere abbreviation of his real title. Brown was
serjeant-major in the regiment to which he belonged; but the omission
of one half of his official denomination was adopted very early by
Jack, with, it must be confessed, the full acquiescence of his father,
who never could think of the misbehaviour of Kitty in making such a
match, with common patience.
When his father died, Johnny, as will be seen hereafter, became so fine
a gentleman, that he never paid the least further attention either to
Nancy Brown or the promises he had so earnestly made her; judge, then,
the surprise and mortification which overwhelmed the vain and foolish
creature when his mother, after the usual greetings upon his arrival at
home, placed in his hands a letter from his poor suffering victim.
To describe the face or the feelings of Brag when this appeal from
his once dear Anne was handed to him by his respected parent, (who
was not entirely aware of the real state of the case, but believed
the communication, in all probability, to have some reference to
her daughter, whom she in her heart had, with a mother’s feelings,
forgiven,) would be impossible. To come from a question of supplanting
Sir Charles Lydiard in the good graces of Mrs. Dallington, to a letter
from Nancy Brown of Walworth, was indeed a sinking in the sublime. He
turned pale, as usual; then flushed; then his lips quivered, and his
eyes opened; and then, without saying one syllable, he thrust the paper
unopened into his pocket, where it shall remain until a new chapter
gives us space for its perusal.