MR. FRANK CURTIS'S PLEASANT ADVENTURE.
About half an hour previous to the visit of Lord Ellingham, Mr. Frank
Curtis was lounging along Piccadilly with a swell-mob kind of ease and a
Bagnigge Wells' independence, when a young female, of good figure and
pretty face, attracted his notice.
As he was proceeding in one way, and she in another, they passed each
other; and, Mr. Curtis having nothing to do, it struck him that he would
endeavour to scrape an acquaintance with the young person alluded to.
He accordingly turned round—hesitated for a moment how to devise an
excuse for addressing himself to her—and then, drawing forth his own
white cambric pocket-handkerchief, hurried after the object of his
interest.
"I beg your pardon, Miss," he said, tapping her gently upon the
shoulder; "but I think you dropped this handkerchief."
The young female immediately replied in the negative; but a smile played
upon her lips, and her blue eyes assumed an arch expression, implying
that she fully saw through the young man's trick, which was indeed
transparent enough.
"I really thought it was yours, Miss," exclaimed Curtis, by no means
abashed. "But if it isn't—why, I must keep it till I find the
owner—that's all."
"I rather think it is with the owner now, sir," answered the young
woman.
"Well, my dear," said Frank, "I see you suspect my stratagem. But you
are such a sweet pretty creature, that I was resolved to introduce
myself to you. Now don't be angry, my love: I mean all I assert—and if
you will only tell me where and when I can see you again, I'm sure you
won't be sorry to make my acquaintance."
"Upon my word!" cried the young woman, in that dubious manner which
might have meant disgust, or which might be taken as encouragement.
Mr. Curtis, strong in his self-conceit, adopted the latter view, and
became more pressing in his attentions.
"Now do let me see you again, there's a dear," he exclaimed, continuing
to walk by her side. "If you'll only agree to meet me this evening, I'll
take you to the play—and I'll buy you a gold chain. Money is no object
to me, my love: a man with ten thousand a-year—_and_ a peerage in the
perspective—may indulge his little fancies, I hope."
These falsehoods, conveyed by implication, were uttered in such a tone
of assurance, that the young woman was evidently dazzled by their
splendour; and she threw a rapid, but encouraging glance towards the
mendacious Frank.
"Come, now—will you meet me again?" he demanded. "I _was_ going over to
stay a few days with the Prime Minister of France early next month; and
I _had_ promised to pass my Christmas with his Holiness the Pope at
Rome:—but if you was only kind, now—why, there's no saying that I might
not send excuses to both of them, and stay in London for the pleasure of
seeing you."
"But you men are such gay deceivers," said the young female.
"Well—we may be—sometimes!" ejaculated Frank, rather looking upon the
imputation as a compliment than a reproach. "But you're too pretty for a
man to find it in his heart to deceive you, my dear. In one word, where
shall you be at seven o'clock this evening?"
"I _did_ think of calling upon a friend which is lady's-maid in a family
living in Conduit Street," replied the young woman.
"And if your friend is a lady's-maid, my dear," said Frank, "what may
you be?"
"The same, sir," was the answer.
"The very thing!" cried Curtis. "If there's one class of young ladies
that I like more than another, it is the ladies'-maids. Why, my dear,
when I left Paris—where I stayed some time with the Archbishop of that
city,—for his Grace and I are as thick as two thieves—the ladies'-maids
held a meeting, and appointed a committee to draw up an address
expressive of regret and all that sort of thing at my going away. They
did, upon my honour! But let us come to the point, my dear. Shall you be
in Conduit Street this evening at about seven?"
"I think it's very likely, sir," was the answer. "But you must not go
with me any farther now—for I live at the house with the bay-windows
there."
"But whose service are you in, my dear?" asked Frank.
"In Lady Georgiana Hatfield's," replied the young woman.
"Indeed!" cried Curtis. "I've heard an uncle of mine speak of her
ladyship, I think. But this is a great nuisance, though."
"What is?" asked Charlotte, whom our readers may remember to have been
mentioned at the opening of this tale.
"Why—that you and me must separate just at the moment that we are
getting so friendly together—and without a single kiss, either."
Charlotte giggled—but said nothing.
"You will really be in Conduit Street this evening, my dear?" urged
Frank Curtis, after a brief pause.
"I think I shall be able to get out," responded Charlotte. "But her
ladyship is an invalid; and Miss Mordaunt—her friend, or companion, or
whatever she is—may want me to dress her for some ball or party; and so
I cannot promise for sure."
"But you will try?"
"Yes," murmured the young woman; and she hurried on to the front-door of
Lady Hatfield's house.
Curtis stopped at a short distance and watched her as she tripped along,
her pretty feet and ankles peering from beneath the folds of her dress.
Now it happened that at the very moment when Charlotte was about to ring
the bell, the front-door opened, and a livery-servant issued forth,
doubtless upon some errand. After exchanging a word or two with
Charlotte, he passed on, and the young woman entered the house. But ere
she closed the door she turned a sly glance upon Frank Curtis, who, the
instant he saw the livery-servant make his appearance, sauntered very
leisurely along in the most innocent-looking manner in the world.
The livery-servant was now out of sight—and the pretty face of the
lady's-maid lingered at the door which she kept ajar.
Curtis looked hastily around; and, the coast being tolerably clear at
the moment, he darted up to the entrance.
Charlotte had merely remained on the threshold to give him a parting
glance of intelligence for the purpose of assuring him of the sincerity
of her promise that she would endeavour to meet him in the evening,—for
the young lady was of an intriguing disposition, and flattered herself
that she had captivated some very great, or at all events some very
wealthy person:—but, when she saw him thus precipitately rush towards
the entrance, she drew back and endeavoured to shut the door.
Frank was, however, too quick for her: and he fairly thrust himself into
the hall, closing the street-door behind him.
"For God's sake, go away, sir," said Charlotte imploringly.
"Not till I have had one kiss—just one," cried Frank; and he threw his
arms round the lady's-maid's neck.
"Oh! do let me go, sir—the servants will come—and I shall be ruined,"
she murmured, vainly struggling with the young man, who not only
considered the adventure a capital joke, but was also excited by his
present contact with a pretty girl.
He glued his lips to hers, and pressed her closely to him, when a loud
double-knock suddenly echoed through the hall.
"Good heavens! what shall I do?" exclaimed Charlotte, in a tone of
despair: then, in another moment, she recovered her presence of mind,
and throwing open a side-door, said in a rapid and earnest tone, "Go in
there, sir—and, if any one comes, pray invent some excuse for your being
here—but don't compromise me."
Curtis darted into the parlour with which the side-door communicated:
the lady's-maid hurried away: and old Mason speedily made his appearance
to answer the summons conveyed by the double-knock.
"Is Miss Mordaunt at home?" inquired a voice which Curtis, who was
listening anxiously on the inner side of the parlour door, immediately
recognised to be that of his worthy uncle.
"Yes, Sir Christopher—Miss Mordaunt is at home," replied Mason. "Please
to walk in, sir. This way, sir—Miss Mordaunt is with Lady Hatfield in
the drawing-room."
"I wish to see Miss Mordaunt alone, if you please," said Sir
Christopher. "Give my compliments, and if Miss Mordaunt will accord me a
few minutes—upon some little matter of a private nature——"
"Certainly, Sir Christopher," responded the domestic. "Have the goodness
to step into this room, sir."
And Frank Curtis—now as miserable as he was insolent and exulting a few
moments previously, when embracing Charlotte in the hall—heard the
footsteps of Mason and his uncle approaching the very door at which he
was listening.
Not a moment was to be lost. He was too much confused—too much
bewildered to think of meeting the embarrassment of his position with a
good face and a bold excuse: and concealment instantly suggested itself
to his coward-mind.
A cheerful fire was burning in the grate; and near it was drawn a sofa,
the cushion of which had rich fringes that hung all round, and drooped
nearly to the carpet. To thrust himself beneath this friendly sofa was
the work of an instant with Frank Curtis; and so rapidly was the
manœuvre executed, that the fringes had even ceased to rustle, when Sir
Christopher Blunt stalked pompously into the apartment.
Mason withdrew to deliver the knight's message to Miss Mordaunt; and in
the meantime the knight himself paced the room in somewhat an agitated
manner.
At length he walked straight up to a handsome mirror, and looking fully
at his image as it was reflected in the glass, began to apostrophise
himself.
"Sir Christopher Blunt—Sir Christopher Blunt," he exclaimed aloud, in a
solemn tone, "what is it that you are about to do? Are you taking a
wise, or an imprudent step? Are you, in a word, about to ensure your own
happiness, or—or—to make a damned old fool of yourself?"
Frank Curtis was astounded at this language which came from the lips of
his uncle. Despite of his fears and the unpleasant predicament in which
he found himself, he was on the point of yielding to his natural
propensity for mischief and blurting forth an affirmative response to
the latter portion of the knight's self-interrogation, when the door
opened and a lady entered the room.
Curtis accordingly held his peace, and his breath too as much as he
could; for his curiosity was now so intense as to master even his fears.
"Miss Mordaunt," said the knight, suddenly turning away from the glass
and advancing as jauntily as his massive frame would permit, to meet the
lady, "I have to apologise for this early visit——"
"Oh! no apology, Sir Christopher," exclaimed Julia, in a most affable
manner. "Pray be seated."
"Allow me," said the knight; and taking her hand, he led her to the very
sofa beneath which his nephew lay concealed. Then, seating himself at a
respectful distance from her—but also on the sofa, he continued thus:—"I
hope, Miss Mordaunt, that I shall not offend you with what I am
going—that is, with what I am about—I mean, with what I am on the point
of——"
"Very intelligible, all this!" thought Frank Curtis to himself.
"Sir Christopher Blunt is incapable of offending a lady—especially a
young one," observed Miss Julia, blushing in the most approved style on
such interesting occasions—for she could anticipate what was coming.
"Sir Christopher Blunt thanks you for that compliment, Miss Mordaunt,"
said the knight pompously, and encouraged also by the lady's tone and
manner. "Yes—I am indeed incapable of giving offence wilfully; although
there _are_ certain vulgar people east of Temple Bar who pretend that I
treat them cavalierly. And, thank heaven! Miss Mordaunt, I was _not_
elected Alderman of Portsoken; for I never could have put up with all
the filthy guzzling and swilling—excuse the expressions, ma'am—that seem
inseparable from City affairs. You know, perhaps, Miss Mordaunt, that my
origin was humble—I may say that it was nothing at all. But I glory in
that fact: it is my boast—my pride."
"True merit is sure to force its way in the world, Sir Christopher,"
observed Julia, with a smile which, displaying her white teeth, quite
enchanted the amorous knight.
"Again I thank you for the good opinion of me implied by that remark,"
he said, edging himself a little closer to the lady. "My large
fortune—for large it notoriously is, Miss Mordaunt—has all been acquired
by my own honest industry; and the title which I have the honour to
bear, was bestowed upon me by a gracious Prince in approbation of my
conduct as a public officer."
"You occupy an enviable position in society, Sir Christopher," said
Julia.
"Do you really think so, Miss?" asked the knight, endeavouring to assume
a soft and plaintive tone, but with as little success as if he were a
boatswain labouring under a severe cold: "do you really think so?"—and
again he edged himself nearer to his companion. "Ah! my dear Miss
Mordaunt, how happy should I be to lay my fortune—my title—my all, at
the feet of some charming lady, who, like yourself, would not despise
the man that has risen by his own honest exertions to I may say
affluence and honour."
Miss Mordaunt cast down her eyes and worked herself up into a most
interesting state of blushing excitement; while Sir Christopher boldly
took her hand and pressed it to his lips.
The knight's foot was thrust some little way under the sofa; and as he
wore blucher boots, it was not difficult to stick a pin into the calf of
his leg, if any one had felt so disposed. Such an idea certainly struck
his dutiful nephew at that instant; for Mr. Frank Curtis now fully
comprehended the object of his uncle's visit to Miss Julia Mordaunt; and
the matrimonial designs of the said uncle foreboded any thing but
essential benefit to himself. Then—although he was not the brightest
young man in existence—the selfish motive of Sir Christopher, in
agreeing to _purchase_ Mr. Torrens's elder daughter as his (Frank's)
wife, flashed upon his mind; and in an instant he comprehended the
entire policy of Sir Christopher as well as the reader already
understands it, with regard to the recent matrimonial speculation, which
Tom Rainford had so materially aided to render abortive.
We digressed just at the point where Sir Christopher was venturesome
enough to press the hand of Miss Mordaunt to his lips.
"Oh! Sir Christopher," murmured the lady, apparently quite abashed, and
forgetting, most probably in the agitation of the moment, to withdraw
her fair fingers.
"Julia, my love—for so you must now permit me to call you," exclaimed
the enamoured knight, "will my suit be rejected? can you receive it
favourably? At this moment you see before you a man whom it is in your
power to render happy or miserable for life. And, ah! dear me—what a
dreadful dream I had last night! It was that dream which made me come to
you so early to-day, to know your decision. For whether it was your
image, my beloved Julia—or the cold roast pig that I eat for supper, I'm
sure I can't say; but true it is that——Oh!" screamed the knight, in a
fit of agony.
"My dear Sir Christopher, what—what _is_ the matter?" asked Miss
Mordaunt, alarmed by the sudden ejaculation, which was accompanied by an
equally sudden start.
"Oh! nothing—nothing," said the knight, endeavouring to compose himself:
"a sudden twitch in the leg—just like the pricking of a pin—but it is
nothing—a mere sensation! I was going to tell you, my dear Julia, about
that horrid dream——"
"Pray, Sir Christopher, don't tell me any thing about horrid dreams,"
exclaimed Miss Mordaunt: "you will frighten me out of my wits."
"Well, dearest, I will not. But you have not told me yet whether I may
consider that this fair hand which I now press to my lips——Oh!"
And again the knight started violently.
"What _is_ the matter, Sir Christopher?" asked Julia earnestly.
"Really—I can't make it out—I don't know—but this is the second time
that the same sensation has seized me in the left leg," stammered the
knight: "just for all the world like the pricking of a pin. And yet of
course it cannot be that. But pray, pardon these unpleasant
interruptions, Julia; and relieve me from suspense at once. Say—tell me,
dearest one—will you, will you consent to be mine?"
"Oh! Sir Christopher, what do you ask?" murmured Miss Mordaunt, as if
there were any thing extraordinary or unexpected in the question.
"What do I ask?" repeated the enamoured knight: "I ask you to bestow
upon me this fair hand."
"How can I refuse you, Sir Christopher?" sighed the lady. "You are so
killing!"
"Am I, dearest!" ejaculated the knight; and, encouraged more than ever
by this assurance, he boldly kissed his companion. But almost
immediately a cry of agony burst from his lips; and, starting up from
the sofa, he exclaimed, "My leg! my leg! the—the devil's in it—and
that's the fact!"
The fact was however somewhat different; for Mr. Frank Curtis, having
very quietly and deliberately taken his breast-pin from the frill of his
shirt, was amusing himself with the very pleasant pastime of thrusting
the point into his uncle's leg.
On the third occasion of the application of the aforesaid breast-pin,
Sir Christopher started up and danced about the room, while Miss
Mordaunt, who was most anxious to bring the delicate topic of discourse
to such a point that she might satisfy herself as to the very day on
which she was to change her condition, endeavoured to her utmost to
console him.
Convinced that the pain he experienced could be nothing more than some
sudden but very galling spasmodic attack, neither Sir Christopher nor
Julia entertained the least thought of looking beneath the sofa: they
therefore re-seated themselves upon it, and continued their tender
discourse.
"And when shall it be?" asked Sir Christopher, taking it for granted
that it _was_ to be.
"Whenever—that is—so soon—I mean—when you choose," murmured Miss
Mordaunt. "But you will communicate your intentions to my brother, who
obtained his captaincy a few days ago, and whom I _must_ consult."
"And why consult him?" asked Sir Christopher, a misgiving entering his
mind.
"Oh! he might—I do not say that he will—but he _might_ object," answered
Miss Mordaunt.
"Then perhaps you wish me to state my views to my nephew also," said the
knight somewhat testily: "as _he_ might also object."
"But a nephew, Sir Christopher," urged the lady,—"a nephew is not a
brother."
"Very true," replied Blunt, as if some grand truth had just been made
apparent to him. "And yet it appears, Julia," he added, in a coaxing
tone, "that we have each a relation to whom we would rather not mention
the matter—until after it was over."
"Oh! you killing man—what would you have me understand by that remark?"
cried Miss Mordaunt.
"Simply that we should——"
"Should what, dear Sir Christopher?"
"Should be married privately—or run away to Gretna Green," answered the
knight. "And now the truth is out."
"Oh! naughty—naughty man!" exclaimed Julia, casting on her swain one of
her most bewitching smiles: but at the same time she imagined to herself
all the excitement attending a run-a-way match to Gretna—the rapidity of
travelling—the bustle that would be excited at the way-side inns—the
sensation that must arise in the fashionable world—the paragraphs in the
newspapers—the _éclat_ attached to such a proceeding—and the importance
with which her reappearance in town, after the union, would be
attended:—of all this she thought—and the knight's proposal was
therefore most welcome to her; for, while she contemplated the agreeable
side of the picture, she never once reflected on the ridicule and
absurdity that must attach themselves to such a step on the part of two
persons of the respective ages of Sir Christopher Blunt and herself.
"Well, dearest, what are you thinking of?" asked the knight.
"Of what you were saying, dear Sir Christopher," murmured the lady in a
languishing tone.
"Then, how shall it be! a private marriage—or Gretna?"
"The arrangements for a private marriage might be suspected," sighed
Julia, casting down her eyes and managing a blush, which was respectable
enough, seeing that it scarcely came voluntarily to her aid.
"Just my opinion!" ejaculated Sir Christopher. "I would not have that
prying nephew of mine, Frank Curtis—the young scapegrace—getting a hint
of it beforehand, for any money."
"Nor would I wish my brother to know of it until it is all over, dear
Sir Christopher," returned Julia.
"Then be it Gretna!" exclaimed the knight. "And now when shall it take
place?"
"I could not say to-day, Sir Christopher—but to-morrow—to-morrow——"
murmured the lady in a faint tone, as if quite overpowered by the
importance of the step she was about to take, but which she would
willingly have taken long before, had the proposal been made to
her:—"to-morrow," she added, "I shall be prepared—to——"
"I understand you, my angel," interrupted the knight; and this time he
caught the lady fairly in his arms and subjected her to a process of
hearty kissing.
Mr. Frank Curtis had in the meantime restored his breast-pin to the
frill of his shirt; for, since the conversation had turned upon a
regular elopement, the matter had become far too serious for him to
trifle with. He suddenly found himself menaced with something bordering
on total disinheritance in respect to his uncle's property; for, even if
this projected union should yield no issue, still the lady might obtain
so much influence over the knight as to induce him to will all his
fortune to herself. Frank was therefore in rather an unpleasant state of
mind, as well as being in an uneasy predicament under the sofa. He
nevertheless saw that cunning must be met with cunning; and he now lay
as quiet as a mouse, in order to avoid detection. But he vowed seriously
that the moment he should escape from the kind of prison in which he
found himself, he would not let the grass grow under his feet ere he
adopted measures to defeat the matrimonial scheme of Sir Christopher
Blunt and Miss Julia Mordaunt.
At length, to his unspeakable relief, the knight took his leave of Miss
Mordaunt, after having settled the hour and place where they were to
meet on the following evening.
Sir Christopher being gone, Julia also left the room; and poor
Charlotte, who had been on the tenter-hooks of suspense and alarm ever
since Frank Curtis had first entered the house, now hurried to the
parlour, wondering how he could possibly have managed to avoid an
exposure.
But when she entered the room, and perceived no one, she was more
astonished still.
Her surprise was not, however, of long duration; for Curtis, having
peeped through the fringe and ascertained who the new-comer was,
suddenly emerged from his hiding-place.
"Oh! dear me, sir," exclaimed the young woman, "what a fright I have
been in, to be sure!"
"And what a pickle I have been in!" cried Frank sulkily.
"You cannot say that it was my fault, sir," observed Charlotte
reproachfully.
"Nor more I do, my dear," answered Curtis, warming himself into a better
humour by means of a kiss or two on the lady's-maid's red lips. "But, I
say, my dear," he continued, after a few moments' dalliance of that
sort, "you _must_ come to meet me this evening; because, independent of
my desire to chat with you and all that sort of thing, you can be of
service to me."
"Lor'! sir," cried Charlotte, astonished at this intimation.
"Indeed you can: but I must not stay to explain myself now," returned
Curtis. "Here, my dear—take these five guineas as an earnest of what I
will do for you; and mind and be punctual in Conduit Street at seven
o'clock this evening."
"I shall not fail, sir," replied Charlotte.
"And in the meantime," added Frank, "watch Miss Mordaunt well. Don't ask
me any questions now—I will tell you all about it this evening. But mind
you watch her; and if possible, get into conversation with her. Should
she ask you to do her any service—no matter of what kind—promise her
that you will; and leave the rest to me. Do you hear?"
"Yes, sir—and I will do as you tell me," was the answer.
"Well, then—that's right," said Curtis. "And now let me see if I can't
slip out without running plump up against one of your liveried flunkeys
here."
"Wait an instant," cried Charlotte; and she disappeared from the room,
closing the door carefully behind her.
In a few moments she returned, with the welcome tidings that the coast
was clear; and Frank Curtis succeeded in quitting Lady Hatfield's house
without being perceived by any one save the faithful Charlotte.