sound of horses' feet, and old Peter, mounted on a stout cob, rode to the wicket-gate, and heldit open, while Clara on a pretty chestnut pony cantered up, and passed through it.
Oh! how my heart beat, when, reining in her pony, she glanced round for a moment, as if in search of something, and then, with a slight gesture of disappointment, struck him lightly with her riding-whip, and bounded forward. Old Peter seemed still more puzzled, and looked up and down the road with an air of the most amusing perplexity, before he made up his mind to follow his mistress. About a hundred yards from this spot, the lane turned abruptly to the left, skirting a second side of the square field in which I had taken up my position; by crossing this field, therefore, I conceived I should cut off a great angle, and regain the road before they came up.
Setting spurs to my horse then, I rode off at speed, trusting to find some gate or gap by which I might effect my exit. In this calculation, however, I was deceived; instead of anything of the sort, my eyes were greeted by a stiff ox-fence, with a rather unpleasantly high fall of ground into the lane beyond,—a sort of place well fitted to winnow a hunting-field, and sift the gentlemen who come out merely to show their white gloves and buckskins, from the “real sort,” who “mean going,” and are resolved to see the end of the run. However, in the humour in which I then was, it would not have been easy to stop me, and holding the mare well together, I put her steadily at it. Fortunately, she was a first-rate fencer, and knew her work capitally, as she proved in the present instance, by rising to the leap, clearing the fence in beautiful style, and dropping lightly into the lane beyond, without so much as a stumble, just as Clara and her attendant turned the corner of the road and came in sight. My sudden appearance frightened Clara's pony to a degree which justified me in riding up and assisting her to reduce it to order. Having accomplished this not very difficult task, I waited for a moment, hoping she would be the first to speak, but finding she remained silent, I began, “Really, I am most unfortunate; I had no idea you were near enough for me to startle the pony,—I hope I have not alarmed you”.
“How can you risk your life so madly,” she replied, in a tone of reproach, “and for no reason, too?”
“Is my safety indeed an object of interest to you?” inquired I; then, unable to restrain myself any longer, I continued, “Clara, dearest Clara, have you forgiven me? Indeed, I have been punished sufficiently; I have been so utterly, so intensely miserable.”
“And have I been happy, do you think? Frank, it was cruel of you to doubt me—you, to whom I have told everything—you, who of all the world should have been the last to mistrust me; I never could have doubted you.”
“It was cruel; it was ungenerous in the extreme, I own it—and yet, believe me, dear Clara, I did not doubt you lightly; proofs, that to my short-sightedness appeared incontrovertible, were brought against you; the letters I wrote, entreating you if but by a line or message to relieve, my anxiety, remaining unanswered—letters which I was assured you had received—your sudden intimacy with that hateful Wilford—”
“Stay!” she exclaimed, interrupting me, “let me explain that at once; it is easy to show you how that is to be accounted for—”
“Indeed, Clara, it is unnecessary,” I began.
“If not for your satisfaction, at least for my own, let me explain how this sudden good understanding with one so lately a stranger to me arose:” she continued, “Richard Cumberland, on his return, seemed resolved to throw off all disguise, and determined to make me feel that I was in his power; his attentions became most intolerable, and all my endeavours to repulse him appeared but to increase the evil. This went on till I was obliged to remain in my own room the greater portion of every day, and actually dreaded the approach of dinner-time, when I knew I should be forced to endure his society. The arrival of Mr. Fleming, or Wilford, as you say his real name is, was therefore a great relief to me. Cumberland, for some reason or other, appears most anxious to keep on good terms with him—why, I cannot tell, for I am much mistaken if he does not both hate and fear him. Mr. Wilford, who, whatever his real character may be, possesses great tact and penetration, and can behave like a most refined and polished gentleman, appeared to discover by intuition that Cumberland's attentions were distasteful to me, and contrived in a thousand different ways to relieve me from them, always doing so with the most perfect sang-froid and apparent unconsciousness. Although, from the first moment I saw him, I felt an instinctive mistrust and fear of him, I could not but feel grateful for the delicate tact with which he came to my assistance; and as the only effectual way to distance Richard Cumberland appeared to be conversing with Mr. Wilford, I can well understand even a more intelligent observer than my faithful old Peter fancying that I gave him encouragement. I was further induced to admit his society from the fact, that he never attempted in the slightest degree to take unfair advantage of the unusual intimacy which circumstances had produced between us. He had never even alluded to Cumberland's attentions (though he must have been long aware of them, and of the annoyance they occasioned me) till that unfortunate morning when the encounter took place between you in the Park.
“At the breakfast-table that day, some scheme had been proposed which would have involved my riding alone with Mr. Cumberland; on my endeavouring to avoid doing so, provoked beyond endurance, he forgot his usual caution, and made some brutal allusion to the time when his will, and not my caprice, would be the law, doing so with such coarse violence that I left the room in tears. Mr. Vernor summoned me shortly afterwards to walk with him, in order, as I believe, to lecture me; but his purpose was frustrated by Mr. Wilford's joining us. Just before we met you, my guardian was accidentally called away, when Mr. Wilford expressed his indignation at the scene which had taken place at breakfast, and his surprise that I found it possible to endure such insolence, adding, that he had ventured to remonstrate with Mr. Cumberland on the subject, but had been angrily repulsed. I really felt obliged to him for what I deemed his disinterested kindness; and, in the course of conversation, allowed him to elicit from me an account of my early engagement to Richard Cumberland; and the words which you so strangely overheard, referred, as you may easily believe, to that.”
“Of course they did,” exclaimed I. “What a self-tormenting idiot I have made of myself! However, I was only rightly served for ever having doubted your faith; but, dearest Clara, you must be subject no longer to the insolent attentions of Cumberland, or the sinister designs of Wilford; and it is at length my happiness to possess the power, as well as the will, to save you from further molestation; strange things have come to light.”
I then informed her of the existence of Mr. Frampton, and his relationship to her; told her of his generous intentions in my behalf, and how, thanks to these circumstances, her consent was the only thing wanting to our immediate union. With mingled surprise and pleasure she listened to my recital; and with downcast eyes and most becoming blushes, gave ear to my entreaties for pardon, and hopes that she would not throw any unnecessary delay in the way of our marriage. Before I left her, I had received full forgiveness for my unjust doubts and suspicions, and was allowed to indulge in a not unfounded hope that Mr. Frampton's recovery of his niece would only prove the precursor to my obtaining a wife. It was agreed that, on the following day but one, Mr. Frampton—who had to go to London to consult with his lawyer touching the legalities of the affair—should come to Barstone, and, bearding Mr. Vernor in his den, establish his claim. As Wilford was not to return till the same day, and as I proposed accompanying Mr. Frampton, I thought I should be alarming Clara unnecessarily if I were to inform her of Wilford's designs. I therefore merely cautioned her against him generally, begging her never to trust herself with him alone, and adding, that I hoped she would see nothing more of him before she was placed under the protection of her uncle, of whom I drew—as he so well deserved at my hands—a most favourable picture, though I did not attempt to conceal his eccentricities either of manner or appearance, considering it better she should be prepared for them beforehand. So we rode on side by side, happy in each other's society, the bright sunshine, which threw its golden mantle over the gnarled limbs and wide-spreading branches of the old trees beneath which we passed, being scarcely brighter or more genial than the joy which shed its sunlight on our hearts, replacing the dreary shadows of the past with fair hopes and gladsome prospects for the future; and when we parted, which was not till we had ridden a circuit of some miles, and exercise had brought back the rose to Clara's pale cheeks, and joy the smile to her lip, we did so in the full assurance that, after our next meeting, man's self-interest and injustice should be powerless to interfere further with our happiness. Were these bright hopes ever fated to be realised?
After cautioning old Peter to watch over his young mistress as a mother over her child, telling him I should return in time to frustrate any plan Wilford might devise, and begging him, if anything unexpected should occur, instantly to despatch a messenger to me, I took leave of Clara with one of those lingering pressures of the hand which tell, better than words, of full hearts, to which it is indeed grief to separate; and setting spurs to my horse, I rode back to Heathfield as different a being from what I was when I left it, as though I had literally “changed my mind” for that of some other individual.
My first care on reaching the Hall was to relieve Mr. Frampton's anxiety, and when he learned that his niece was not the jilt he had deemed her, but quite perfection (for that was what I stated, with the same quiet certainty of promulgating an incontrovertible fact, with which I should have declared twice two to be four), his delight knew no bounds, and the way in which he shook my hands, and slapped me on the back, and told me, with many grunts, that I should “marry the girl,” even if he had to thrash old Vernor with his own hand in order to obtain possession of her for me, was enough to do any one's heart good to witness. I had no lack of talking to get through myself either; first Harry Oaklands had to be told the successful issue of the day's adventure, then Fanny was to be taken into our confidence; and next, the greatest caution was to be observed, and many deep and politic schemes concocted, in order to bring my mother to a proper comprehension of the whole matter without completely overwhelming her—all which cunning devices were frustrated by Mr. Frampton, who got at her surreptitiously, and told her the entire affair in a short, sharp and decisive harangue, which completely upset her for the rest of the evening, and left a permanent impression on her mind, that somehow or other I had behaved very ill. Early on the following morning Mr. Frampton went off to town to consult his lawyer, promising to return in time for dinner, if possible, but at all events so as to be ready to start on our Barstone campaign the first thing the next day, that no time might be lost in freeing Clara from the disagreeables, if not positive dangers, which surrounded her. As I was crossing the hall after seeing Mr. Frampton off, Lawless seized me by the arm, and drawing me on one side, began: “I say, Frank, I want a word with you; there's something gone wrong with Freddy Coleman. I never saw him so down in the mouth before; there's a screw loose somewhere, depend upon it.”
“Something wrong with Freddy,” repeated I, “impossible! why I was laughing with him a quarter of an hour ago; he was making all sorts of quaint remarks on the chaise that came for Mr. Frampton, and poking fun at the post-boy. Where is he?”
“Eh? wait a bit, I'll tell you directly; he had a letter brought him just as Governor Frampton started, and as he cast his eye over it, he first got as red as a carrot, then he turned as pale as a turnip, and bolted off into the library like a lamplighter, where he sits looking as if he had been to the wash, and come back again only half-starched.”
“That's better than if he were 'terribly mangled,' to carry on your simile,” returned I; “but didn't you ask him what was the matter?”
“Eh? no, I've made such a mess of things lately, that I thought I'd better leave it alone, for that I was safe to put my foot in it one way or other, so I came and told you instead.”
“Well, we'll see about it,” replied I, turning towards the library; “perhaps he has received some bad news from home: his father or mother may be ill.”
On entering the room we perceived Coleman seated in one of the windows, his head resting on his hand, looking certainly particularly miserable, and altogether unlike himself. So engrossed was he that he never heard our approach, and I had crossed the room, and was close to him, before he perceived me; consequently, the first word I uttered made him jump violently—an action which elicited from Lawless a sotto voce exclamation of, “Steady there, keep a tight hand on the near rein; well, that was a shy!”
“Freddy,” began I, “I did not mean to startle you so; but is anything the matter, old fellow?”
“You've frightened me out of six months' growth,” was the reply; “matter! what should make you think that?”
“Well, if you must know,” returned Lawless, “I told him I thought there was a screw loose with you, and I haven't changed my mind about it yet either. Any unsoundness shown itself at home, eh? I thought your governor looked rather puffy about the pasterns the last time I saw him, besides being touched in the wind, and your mother has got a decided strain of the back sinews.”
“No, they're well enough,” replied Freddy with a faint smile.
“Then you've entered your affections for some maiden stakes, and the favourite has bolted with a cornet of horse?”
“That's more like it,” returned Coleman, “though you've not quite hit it yet—but I'll tell you, man, if it's any satisfaction to you to hear that others are as unlucky as yourself, or worse, for what I know. I'm not greatly given to the lachrymose and sentimental, in a general way, but I must confess this morning to a little touch of the heartache. You see, Frank,” he continued, turning to me, “there's my cousin Lucy Markham, the little girl with the black eyes—”
“You forget that she was staying with us last week,” interrupted I.
“To be sure she was,” resumed Freddy; “this vile letter has put everything out of my head—well, she and I—we've known each other since we were children—in fact, for the last four or five years she has nearly lived with us, and there's a great deal in habit, and propinquity, and all that sort of thing. 'Man was not made to live alone,' and I'm sure woman wasn't either, for they would have nobody to exercise their tongues upon, and would die from repletion of small-talk, or a pressure of gossip on the brain, or some such thing; and so a complication of all these causes led us in our romantic moments to indulge in visions of a snug little fireside, garnished with an intelligent household cat, and a bright copper tea-kettle, with ourselves seated one in each corner, regarding the scene with the complacent gaze of proprietors; and we were only waiting till my father should fulfil his promise of taking me into partnership, to broach the said scheme to the old people, and endeavour to get it realised. But lately there has been a fat fool coming constantly to our house, who has chosen to fancy Lucy would make him a good fooless; and although the dear girl has nearly teased, snubbed, and worried him to the borders of insanity, he has gone on persevering with asinine obstinacy, till he has actually dared to pop the question.”
“Well, let her say 'no' as if she meant it,” said Lawless; “women can, if they like, eh? and then it will all be as right as ninepence. Eh! don't you see?”
“Easier said than done, Lawless, unfortunately,” replied Coleman; “my fat rival is the son of an opulent drysalter, and last year he contrived to get rid of his father.”
“Dry-salted him, perhaps?” suggested Lawless.
“The consequence is,” continued Coleman, not heeding the interruption, “he is as rich as Croesus; now Lucy hasn't a penny, and all her family are as poor as rats, so what does he do but go to my father, promises to settle no end of tin on her, and ends by asking him to manage the matter for him. Whereupon the governor sends for Lucy, spins her a long yarn about duty to her family, declares she'll never get a better offer, and winds up by desiring her to accept the dolt forthwith; and Lucy writes to me, poor girl! to say she's in a regular fix, and thinks she'd better die of a broken heart on the spot, unless I can propose any less distressing but equally efficient alternative.”
“What does your governor say? that she'll never have a better offer?” asked Lawless.
“Yes,” replied Freddy, “and, in the common acceptation of the term, I'm afraid it's a melancholy truth.”
“Hum! yes, that'll do,” continued Lawless meditatively. “Freddy, I've thought of a splendid dodge, by which we may obtain the following advantages. Imprimis, selling the governor no end; secundis, insuring me a jolly lark—and 'pon my word I require a little innocent recreation to raise my spirits; and, lastly, enabling you to marry your cousin, and thus end, as the pantomimes always do, with a grand triumph of virtue and true love over tyranny and oppression! So now, listen to me!”
“AS far as I understand the matter,” said Lawless, nodding sapiently, “the great obstacle to your happiness is the drysalter, and the chief object you desire to attain is his total abolition, eh?”
Coleman assenting to these premises, Lawless continued, “Supposing, by certain crafty dodges, this desirable consummation arrived at, if you could show your governor that you had four or five hundred pounds a year of your own to start with, one of his main objections to your union with this female—young woman would be knocked on the head?”
“My good fellow,” returned Freddy with a slight tone of annoyance, “I'm as fond of a joke as any man, but when I tell you that I am foolish enough to take this matter somewhat deeply to heart—that if Lucy is forced to marry the brute, she'll be wretched for life, and I shall not be much otherwise—I think you'll choose some other subject for your mirth.”
“Why, Freddy, old boy, you don't suppose I'm poking fun at you, do you? Why, I would not do such a thing at any price—no! 'pon my honour, I'm as serious as a judge, I am indeed; but the best way will be to tell you my plan at once, and then you'll see the logic of the thing. In the first place, your governor says that Lucy is to marry the drysalter, because he's the best offer she's ever likely to have, doesn't he?”
“Yes, that's right enough, so far,” replied Freddy.
“What's the drysalter worth? whereabouts is the figure?”
“Two thousand a year, they say,” returned Freddy with a sigh.
“And I shall come into nearer five, in a month's time,” returned Lawless; “got the whip hand of him there, and no mistake.”
“You!” exclaimed Coleman, astonished.
“Eh, yes! I, my own self—the Honourable George Lawless at your service, age five and twenty—height five feet nine—rides under ten stone—sound wind and limb—five thousand per annum, clear income and a peerage in perspective—ain't that better than a drysalter, eh?”
“Why, Lawless, you are gone stark staring mad,” interrupted I; “what on earth has all that got to do with Freddy and his cousin?”
“Don't stop him,” cried Coleman, “I begin to see what he is aiming at.”
“Eh! of course you do, Freddy, boy,” continued Lawless; “and it's not such a bad dodge either, is it? Your governor lays down the broad principle that the highest bidder shall be the purchaser, and on this ground backs the drysalter; now if I drive over this morning, propose in due form for your cousin's hand, and outbid the aforesaid drysalting individual, the governor must either sacrifice his consistency, or accept my offer.”
“Well, and suppose he does, what good have you done then?” asked I.
“Eh, good?” returned Lawless, “every good to be sure; and first and foremost knocked over the drysalter—if I'm accepted, he must be rejected, that's a self-evident fact. Well, once get rid of him, and it's all plain sailing—I find a hundred reasons for delaying to fulfil my engagement; in a month's time I come into my property (the jolly old aunt who left it me tied it up till I was five and twenty—and the old girl showed her sense too, for ten to one I should have made ducks and drakes of it when I was young and foolish); very well—I appoint Freddy agent and receiver of the rents—(the fellow that has it now makes five hundred a year of it, they tell me); and then suddenly change my mind, jilt Miss Markham, and if Governor Coleman chooses to cut up rough, he may bring an action of 'breach of promise,' lay the damages at five thousand, and so get a nice little round sum to buy the young woman's wedding clothes when she marries Freddy. That's the way to do business, isn't it, eh?”
“'Pon my word it's a grand idea,” said Coleman; “how came you ever to think of it? But, my dear Lawless, are you really in earnest about the receivership?”
“In earnest? to be sure I am; I always intended it.”
“I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you,” replied Freddy, in a tone of grateful surprise; “it's the kindest thing in the world; but about the first part of your plan, I don't know what to say.”
“You never can think of carrying out such a mad scheme,” remonstrated I; “I thought, of course, you were only in jest.”
“Can you propose anything better, eh?” asked Lawless.
“Why, I don't know,” returned I, musing. “Suppose Freddy were to go and tell his father of his attachment, and say that the receivership, with a small share in the business, would enable him to support a wife comfortably—how would that do?”
“No use,” said Freddy; “as long as that aggravating drysalter, with his two thousand per annum, is in the field, my father would consider it his duty to say 'No'.”
“Eh? yes, of course,” rejoined Lawless, “fathers always do consider their duty to be intensely unpleasant on all such occasions, and it's a duty they never neglect either—I will say that for them. No! depend upon it, mine is the only plan.”
“Really, Frank, I don't see what else is to be done,” urged Freddy; “the danger from the drysalter is great and imminent, remember.”
“Well, you and Lawless can settle it between you: you are a pair of eccentric geniuses, and know how you like to manage your own affairs better than a sober-minded man such as I am.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Sober-minded-man, I mean to take you with me on my expedition; I shall want somebody to pat me on the back—besides, your proper, well-behaved manner will give an air of respectability to the affair.”
“Really you must—” began I.
“Really I won't,” retorted Lawless; while Coleman, seizing me by the arm, drew me on one side.
“Frank, without any joke, I think this freak of Law-less's may enable me to get rid of my rival—this Mr. Lowe Brown—and I should take it as the greatest kindness if you would go with him, and keep him in order; of course I must not be seen at all in the matter myself.”
“Well, if you are really in earnest, and want me to go, I'll do it,” replied I; “though I don't see that I shall be of much use.”
“Shall I write and put Lucy up to it, or not?” rejoined Coleman meditatively.
“If you take my advice, you will not,” replied I; “in fact, the success of your scheme depends very much on keeping her in the dark as to Lawless's not being a bona fide offer. Either her simple woman's mind would dislike the trickery of the thing altogether, or she would excite suspicion by falling into the plot too readily. I would merely write her a cheering note, telling her that you were likely to get an appointment which would enable you to marry; urging her to be firm in her refusal of your abomination, Mr. Brown; hinting that a broken heart would be premature, if not altogether superfluous, and giving her a few general notions that the affair would end happily, without touching upon Lawless at all.”
“Perhaps it would be as well,” replied Freddy; “at all events it will add greatly to the fun of the thing.”
“And let me tell you, that's a consideration by no means to be lost sight of,” put in Lawless, who had overheard the last remark. “Depend upon it, it's a man's duty—partly to himself, partly to his neighbour—never to miss an opportunity of recruiting his exhausted and care-worn frame, and all that sort of thing, by enjoying a little innocent recreation: 'nec semper'—what do ye call it?—'tendit Apollo,' eh?”
“That's quite my view of the case,” said Freddy, whose elastic spirits were fast recovering their accustomed buoyancy. “I hate the dolefuls—Care killed a cat.”
“If that's the worst thing Care ever did, I'll forgive her, eh?” said Lawless, “for cats are horrid poaching varmints, and make awful havoc among the young rabbits. Well, Fairlegh, have you made up your mind?”
“Yes,” replied I, “I am at your service for this morning; but understand, I merely go as a spectator of your prowess.”
“As you like, man. I'll order the chestnuts—go and polish up a little—and then for walking into Governor Coleman, and bowling out the drysalter.”
The chestnuts whirled us over to Hillingford in less than an hour. Lawless, delighted at being allowed to put his project into execution, was in wild spirits, and kept me in fits of laughter the whole way, by his quaint remarks on men and things.
“Is the governor visible, John?” was his address to the footman who answered the door, and who, apparently not being favoured by Nature with any superfluous acuteness of intellect or sweetness of disposition, merely stared sulkily in reply.
“The fellow's a fool,” muttered Lawless, “and can't understand English. Hark ye, sirrah,” he continued, “is your master at home?”
As the hero of the shoulder-knot vouchsafed an affirmative reply to this somewhat more intelligible query, we alighted, and were straightway ushered into the drawing-room, where we found Mr. and Mrs. Coleman, and, as Lawless afterwards expressed it, “a party unknown,” who was immediately, with much pomp and ceremony, introduced to us by the name of Mr. Lowe Brown, an announcement which elicited from my companion the whispered remark, “The drysalter himself, by jingo! this looks like business, old fellow; there's no time to be lost, depend upon it”.
“Ah I Mr. Lawlegh,” exclaimed Mrs. Coleman, shaking hands cordially with Lawless, “I thought we were never going to see you again, and I'm sure I was quite delighted, though the servant kept you so long waiting at the gate, till I got Mr. Brown to ring the bell; and Mr. Fairless too, so kind of him, with those beautiful chestnut horses standing there catching cold, in that very high gig, which must be so dangerous, if you were to fall out, both of you.”
“No fear of that, ma'am,” replied Lawless; “Fairlegh and I have known each other too long to think of falling out in a hurry—firm friends, ma'am, as your son Freddy would say.”
“Poor Freddy,” returned Mrs. Coleman affectionately, “did he send any message by you, to say when he is coming home again? We shall have some good news for him, I hope—for he was always very fond of his cousin Lucy.”
“Family affection is a fine thing, ma'am,” said Lawless, winking at me, “and ought to be encouraged at any price, eh?”
“Very true, Mr. Lawlegh, very true; and I am glad to find you think so, instead of living at those nasty clubs all day, turning out wild, smoking cigars like a German student, and breaking your mother's heart with a latchkey, at one o'clock in the morning, afterwards, when you ought to have been in bed and asleep for the last three hours. Good-bye, and God bless you.”
The six concluding words of Mrs. Coleman's not over-perspicuous speech were addressed to Mr. Lowe Brown, who rose to take leave. This gentleman (for such I presume one is bound to designate him, however little appearance might warrant such an appellation) was a snort, stout, not to say fat personage, with an unmeaning pink and white face, and a smug self-satisfied manner and look, which involuntarily reminded one of a sleek and well-conditioned tom-cat. Old Mr. Coleman rose also, and shaking his hand with great empressement, left the room with him in order to conduct him to the door with due honour.
“Look at the servile old rogue, worshipping that snob's two thousand pounds per annum,” whispered Lawless; “we'll alter his tune before long. Fascinating man, Mr. Brown, ma'am,” he continued, addressing Mrs. Coleman.
“Yes, I'm glad you like him; he's a very good quiet young man, and constantly reminds me of my poor dear aunt Martha, who is a peaceful saint in Brixton churchyard, after this vale of tears, where we must all go, only she hadn't two thousand pounds a year, though she was so lucky at short whist, always turning up honours when she liked.”
“Trump of a partner she must have been, and no mistake!” said Lawless enthusiastically. “I suppose she didn't leave the recipe behind her, ma'am?”
“No, Mr. Fairless, no! at least I never heard she did, though I've got a recipe of hers for cherry-brandy, which she was so fond of, and a very good one it is, poor thing! But Mr. Brown, you see, with his fortune, might look so much higher, that, as Mr. Coleman says, it's a chance she may never have again, and it would be madness to throw it away, in her circumstances too.”
“Did Mr. Brown think of marrying your aunt, then, ma'am?” asked Lawless with an air of would-be innocence.
“No, my dear—I mean, Mr. Lawlegh, no—she died, and he went to Merchant Tailor's School together, that is in the same year; we were making it out last night—no, it's Lucy, poor dear, and a famous thing it is for her, only I'm afraid she can't bear the sight of him.”
At this moment Mr. Coleman returned, and Lawless, giving me a sly glance, accosted him with a face of the most perfect gravity, begging the favour of a few minutes' private conversation with him, a request which that gentleman, with a slight appearance of surprise, immediately granted, and they left the room together.
During their absence, good Mrs. Coleman confided to me, with much circumlocution, her own private opinion, that Lucy and Mr. Brown were by no means suited to each other, “because, you see, Mr. Fairless, my dear, Lucy's clever, and says sharp funny things that make one laugh, what they call piquante, you know, and poor Mr. Brown, he's very quiet and good-natured, but he's not used to that sort of thing; and she, what you call, laughs at him”; ending with a confession that she thought Freddy and Lucy were made for each other, and that she had always hoped some day to see them married.
Dear, kind-hearted, puzzle-headed little woman! how I longed to comfort her, by giving her a glimpse behind the scenes! but it would have entailed certain ruin; she would have made confusion worse confounded of the best laid scheme that Machiavelli ever concocted.
When Lawless and Mr. Coleman returned from their tête-à-tête, it was easy to see, by the nattered but perplexed expression discernible in the countenance of the elder, and a grin of mischievous delight in that of the younger gentleman, that the stratagem had succeeded so far, and that a cloud had already shaded the fair hopes of the unconscious Mr. Lowe Brown.
“Ah—a—hem! my dear Mrs. Coleman,” began her spouse, his usually pompous manner having gained an accession of dignity, which to those who guessed the cause of it was irresistibly absurd.
“A-hem—as I am, I believe, right in supposing Mr. Fairlegh is acquainted with the object of his friend's visit—”
“All right, sir!” put in Lawless; “go ahead.”
“And as I am particularly requested to inform you of the honour” (with a marked stress on the word) “done to a member of my family, I conceive that I am guilty of no breach of confidence in mentioning that Mr. Lawless has proposed to me, in due form, for the hand of my niece, Lucy Markham, offering to make most liberal settlements; indeed, considering that the fortune Lucy is justified in expecting at her father's death is very inconsiderable—an income of four hundred pounds a year divided amongst thirteen children, deducting a jointure for the widow, should my sister survive Mr. Markham—”
“Never mind the tin, Mr. Coleman,” interrupted Lawless, “you don't catch me buying a mare for the sake of her trappings. In the first place, second-hand harness is never worth fetching home; and in the next, let me tell you, sir, it's your niece's good points I admire: small head well set on—nice light neck—good slanting shoulder —pretty fore-arm—clean about the pasterns—fast springy action—good-tempered, a little playful, but no vice about her; and altogether as sweet a thing as a man need wish to possess. Depend upon it, Mr. Coleman,” continued Lawless, who, having fallen into his usual style of speech, was fairly off, “depend upon it, you'd be very wrong to let her get into a dealer's hands—you would indeed, sir; and if Mr. Brown isn't in that line it's odd to me. I've seen him down at Tattersall's in very shady company, if I'm not much mistaken; he's the cut of a leg, every inch of him.”
Want of breath fortunately obliging him to stop, Lawless's chief auditors, who had gleaned about as much idea of his meaning as if he had been haranguing them in Sanscrit, now interposed; Mrs. Coleman to invite us to stay to luncheon, and her husband to beg that his niece Lucy might be summoned to attend him in his study, as he should consider it his duty to lay before her Mr. Lawless's very handsome and flattering proposal.
“And suppose Lucy should take it into her head, by any chance, to say Yes” (“Never thought of that, by Jove!—that would be a sell,” muttered Lawless, aside),—“what's to become of poor dear Mr. Lowe Brown?” inquired Mrs. Coleman anxiously.
“In such a case,” replied her lord and master, with a dignified wave of the hand, pausing as he left the room, and speaking with great solemnity,—“in such a case, Mr. Lowe Brown will perceive that it is his duty, his direct and evident duty, to submit to his fate with the calm and placid resignation becoming the son of so every way respectable and eminent a man as his late lamented father, my friend, the drysalter.”
POOR pretty little Lucy Markham! what business had tears to come and profane, with their tell-tale traces, that bright, merry face of thine—fitting index to thy warm heart and sunny disposition! And yet, in the quenched light of that dark eye, in the heavy swollen lid, and in the paled roses of thy dimpled cheek, might be read the tokens of a concealed grief, that, like “a worm i' the bud,” had already begun to mar thy sparkling beauty. Heed it not, pretty Lucy—sorrow such as thine is light and transient, and succour, albeit in a disguise thou canst not penetrate, is even now at hand. As the young lady in question entered the luncheon-room, returning Lawless's salutation with a most becoming blush, the thought crossed my mind, that in his position I should be almost tempted to regret I was destined to perform the lover's part “on that occasion only”. Such, however, were not the ideas of my companion, for he whispered to me, “I say, Frank, she looks uncommon friendly, eh?—I don't know what to make of it, I can tell you; this is getting serious”.
“You must endeavour by your manner to neutralise your many fascinations,” replied I, striving to hide a smile, for he was evidently in earnest.
“Neutralise my grandmother!” was the rejoinder; “I can't go and be rude to the young woman. How d'ye do, miss?” he continued gruffly; “how d'ye do? you see, we left Fred—” (here I nudged him, to warn him to avoid that subject)—“that is, we left Heathfield,—I mean started early—Let me help you, Mrs. Coleman;—precious tough customer that chicken seems to be—elderly bird, ma'am, and no mistake—who'll have a wing?”
“Really, Mr. Lawless, you are very rude to my poor chicken; it's out of our own farm-yard, I assure you; and the turkey-cock, his sister, that's Lucy's mother, sent him here; she has thirteen children you know, poor thing, and lives at Dorking; they are famous for all having five toes, you know, and growing so very large, and this must be one of them, I think.”
“They were Dorking fowls mamma sent you, aunt; you don't keep turkeys,” interposed Lucy, as Lawless fairly burst out laughing—an example which it was all I could do to avoid imitating.
“Yes, to be sure, my dear, I said so, didn't I? I remember very well they came in a three-dozen hamper, poor things, and were put in the back kitchen because it was too late to turn them out; and as soon as it was light they began to crow, and to make that noise about laying eggs, you know, so that I never got a wink of sleep after, thinking of your poor mother, and all her troubles—thirteen of them, dear me! till Mr. Coleman got up and turned them out, with a bad cold, in his dressing-gown and slippers.”
“Freddy begged me to tell you that he would write to you tomorrow,” observed I, aside to Lucy; adding the enigmatical message, that “he had some good news to communicate, and that matters were not so bad as you imagined.”
“Ah! but it doesn't—he can't know—Mr. Fairlegh,” she added, looking at me with an earnest, inquiring glance; “you are his most intimate friend; has he told you the cause of his annoyance?”
“Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Fairlegh, on the very excellent match your sister is about to make—the Oaklands family is one of the oldest in the county,” said Mr. Coleman with an air of solemn politeness.
“Oh! yes, we are all so glad to hear of it, your sister is so pretty, and we had been told there was some young scamp or other dangling after her.”
“Um! eh? oh! that's rather too much, though,” said Lawless, turning very red, and fidgeting on his chair; “pray may I ask, Mrs. Coleman, whether it was a man you happened to hear that from? because he must be—ar—funny—fellow—ar—worth knowing—ar—I should like to make his acquaintance.”
“Why, really!—let me see—was it Jones the grocer, or Mrs. Muddles when she brought home the clean linen? I think it was Jones, but I know it came with the clean clothes, and they had heard it from some of the servants,” returned Mrs. Coleman.
“I'll boil Shrimp alive when I get back,” muttered Lawless, “and have him sent up in the fish-sauce.”
“Yes,” replied I to Lucy, as soon as the conversation again became general, “Freddy gave me an outline of the cause of his disquietude; but from a hint Lawless dropped in our way here to-day, Mr. Lowe Brown is likely to have a somewhat powerful rival, is he not?”
“Oh! then you know all, Mr. Fairlegh,” she replied; “what am I to do? I am so unhappy—so bewildered!”
“If you will allow me to advise you,” returned I, “you will not positively refuse Lawless; on the contrary, I should encourage him so far as to ensure the dismissal of Mr. Brown, at all events.”
“But would that be light? besides, I should be forced to marry Mr. Lawless, it I once said Yes.”
“I should not exactly say Yes,” replied I, smiling at the naïve simplicity of her answer; “I would tell my uncle that, as he was aware, I had always disliked the attentions of Mr. Brown, and that I begged he might be definitely informed that it would be useless for him to attempt to prosecute his suit any farther. I would then add, that it was impossible for me to agree to accept at once a man of whom I knew so little as of Lawless, but that I had no objection to his visiting here, with a view to becoming better acquainted with him. By this means you will secure the positive advantage of getting rid of the drysalter, as Freddy calls him, and you must leave the rest to time. Lawless is a good-natured, generous-spirited fellow, and if he were made aware of the true state of the case, I do not think he would wish to interfere with Freddy's happiness, or annoy you by addresses which he must feel were unacceptable to you.”
“But what will Freddy say if I appear to encourage Mr. Lawless? you don't know how particular he is.”
“If you will permit me, I will tell him exactly what has passed between us to-day, and explain to him your reasons for what you are about to do.”
“Will you really be so kind?” she answered, with a grateful smile; “then I shall do exactly as you have told me. How shall I ever thank you for your kindness?”
“By making my friend Freddy a good wife, and being married on the same day that I am.”
“That you are! are you joking?”
“Never was more serious in my life, I can assure you.”
“Are you really going to be married? Oh! I am so glad! Is the lady a nice person? do I know her?”
“The most charming person in the world,” replied I, “and you know her intimately.”
“Why, you can't mean Cla——”
“Hush!” exclaimed I, as a sudden silence rendered our conversation no longer private.
“Lucy, my dear, may I request your company for a few minutes in my study?” said Mr. Coleman, holding the door open with an air of dignified courtesy for his niece to pass out. She had acquired double importance in his eyes, since the eldest son of a real live peer of the realm had declared himself her suitor.
“Allow me, governor—ar—Mr. Coleman, I mean,” said Lawless, springing forward, “it's for us young fellows to hold doors open, you know—not old reprobates like you,” he added in an undertone, making a grimace for my especial benefit at the retreating figure of the aforesaid irreverently apostrophised legal luminary.
“Ah!” said Mrs. Coleman, by whom this by-play had been unobserved, “I wish all young men were like you, Mr. Lawless: we see very little respect to grey hairs nowadays.”
“Very little indeed, ma'am,” returned Lawless, winking furiously at me; “but from a boy I've always been that way inclined: I dare say that you observed that I addressed Mr. Coleman as 'Governor' just now?”
“Oh yes, I think I did,” replied Mrs. Coleman innocently.
“Well, ma'am, that's a habit I've fallen into from unconsciously giving utterance to my feelings of veneration. To govern, is a venerable attribute—governor signifies one who governs—hence my inadvertent application of the term to your revered husband, eh?”
“Ah!” returned poor Mrs. Coleman, thoroughly mystified, “it's very kind of you to say so, I'm sure. I wonder whether I left my knitting upstairs, or whether it went down in the luncheon-tray.”
In order to solve this important problem, the good lady trotted off, leaving Lawless and myself tête-à-tête.
“I say, Frank,” he began, as the door closed after her, “did you put the young woman up to trap at all? I saw you were 'discoursing' her, as Paddy says, while we were at luncheon, eh?”
“No,” replied I, “it was agreed that she was not to be let into the scheme, you know.”
“By Jove! then all those kind looks she threw at me were really in earnest! I tell you what, I don't half like it, I can assure you, sir! I shall put my foot in it here too, if I don't mind what I'm at. Suppose, instead of marrying Freddy, she were to take it into her head she would like to be a peeress some day, what would become of me, eh?”
At this moment Mr. Coleman returned, his face beaming with dignity and self-satisfaction. Approaching Lawless, he motioned him to a chair, and then, seating himself exactly opposite, gave one or two deep hems to clear his throat, and then began:—
“I am empowered by my niece, standing as I may say in loco parentis—(for though her parents are not positively defunct, still they have so completely delegated to me all control and authority over their daughter, that they may morally be considered dead)—I am empowered, then, by my niece to inform you, in answer to your very flattering proposal of marriage, that although she has not had sufficient opportunity of becoming acquainted with your character and general disposition, to justify her in at once ratifying the contract, she agrees to sanction your visits here in the character of her suitor.” (Lawless's face on receiving this announcement was as good as a play to behold.) “In fact, my dear sir,” continued Mr. Coleman, warming with the subject, “as my niece at the same time has signified to me her express desire that I should definitely and finally reject the suit of a highly amiable young man of fortune, who has for some time past paid his addresses to her, I think that we may consider ourselves fully justified in attributing the slightly equivocal nature of her answer to a pardonable girlish modesty and coyness, and that I shall not be premature in offering you my hearty congratulations on the successful issue of your suit—a-hem I—” And so saying, Mr. Coleman rose from his seat, and taking Lawless's unwilling hand in his own, shook it with the greatest empressement.
“Thank ye, gov—that is, Mr. Coleman—uncle, I suppose I shall soon have to call you,” said Lawless, with a wretched attempt at hilarity; “it's very flattering, you know, and of course I feel excessively, eh 1 uncommon, don't you see?—Get me away, can't you?” he added in an angry whisper, turning to me, “I shall go mad, or be ill, or something in a minute.”
“I think the tandem has been here some time,” interposed I, coming to his assistance; “the horses will get chilled standing.”
“Eh! yes! very true, we must be cutting away; make ourselves scarce, don't you see?” rejoined Lawless, brightening up at the prospect of escape.
“Let me ring for the ladies,” said Mr. Coleman, moving towards the bell.
“Eh! not for the world, my dear sir, not for the world,” exclaimed Lawless, interposing to prevent him—“Really, my feelings—your feelings, in fact, all our feelings, have been sufficiently excited—steam got up—high pressure, eh?—some other day—pleasure. Good-morning. Don't come out, pray.”
And so saying, he fairly bolted out of the room, an example which I was about to follow, when Mr. Coleman, seizing me by the button began:—
“I can see, Mr. Fairlegh, that Mr. Lawless is naturally uneasy and annoyed at Mr. Brown's attentions: but he need not be—pray assure him of this—Mr. Brown is a highly estimable young man, but his family are very much beneath ours in point of rank. I shall write to him this afternoon, and inform him that, on mature deliberation, I find it impossible to allow my niece to contract a matrimonial alliance with any one in trade—that will set the matter definitely at rest. Perhaps you will kindly mention this to your friend?”
“I shall be most happy to do so,” replied I, “nor have I the slightest doubt that my friend will consider the information perfectly satisfactory.” And with many assurances of mutual consideration and esteem we parted.
Oh! the masks and dominoes of the mind! what mountebank ever wore so many disguises as the heart of man? If some potent spirit of evil had suddenly converted Elm Lodge into the palace of Truth, the light of its master's countenance would have grown dark as he read the thoughts that were passing in my breast; and instead of bestowing upon me the attentions due to the chosen friend of the wealthy suitor to his portionless niece, he would have done his best to kick me down the steps as an impostor plotting to marry his son to a beggar. When will men learn to value money at its real worth, and find out that warm loving hearts and true affections are priceless gems that wealth cannot purchase!
We drove for some time in silence, which was at length broken by Lawless, who in a tone of the deepest dejection began:—
“The first tolerably deep gravel pit we come to, I must trouble you to get out, if you please”.
“Get out at a gravel pit! for goodness' sake, why?” inquired I.
“Because I intend to back the tandem into it, and break my neck,” was the unexpected answer.
“Break your neck! nonsense, man. Why, what's the matter now? Hasn't your mad scheme succeeded beyond all expectation?”
“Ah! you may well say that!” was the rejoinder. “Beyond all expectation, indeed! yes, I should think so, rather. If I'd expected anything of the kind, it's thirty miles off I'd have been at the very least by this time—more, if the horses would have done it, which I think they would with steady driving, good luck, and a feed of beans.”
“Why, what is it you fancy you've done, then?”
“Fancy I've done, eh? Well, if that isn't enough to make a fellow punch his own father's head with vexation. What have I done, indeed! why I'll tell you what I've done, Mr. Frank Fairlegh, since you are so obtuse as not to have found it out by your own powers of observation. I've won the heart of an innocent and unsuspecting young female,—I've destroyed the dearest hopes of my particular friend,—and I've saddled myself with a superfluous wife, when my affections are reposing in the cold—ar—what do you call it, tomb, eh? of the future Lady Oaklands—If that isn't a pretty fair morning's work, it's a pity, eh?”
“My dear Lawless,” replied I, with difficulty repressing a laugh, “you don't really suppose Lucy Markham means to accept you?”
“Eh! why not? Of course I do, didn't Governor Coleman tell me so? an old reptile!”
“Set your mind at ease,” replied I; and I then detailed to him my conversation with Lucy Markham, and convinced him that her partial acceptance of his proposal, which had been made the most of by Mr. Coleman, was merely done at my suggestion, to ensure the dismissal of Mr. Lowe Brown. As I concluded, he broke forth:—
“Ah! I see, sold again! It's an easy thing to make a fool of me where women are concerned; they're a kind of cattle I never shall understand, if I were to live as long as Saint Methuselah, and take Old Parr's life pills twice a day into the bargain. Anything about a horse, now—”
“Then you'll postpone the gravel-pit performance ad infinitum?” interrupted I.
“Eh? yes! it would be a pity to go and sacrifice the new tandem, if it is not absolutely necessary to one's peace of mind, so I shall think better of it this time,” was the rejoinder.
“By the way,” resumed Lawless, as we drove through Heathfield Park, “I must not forget that I've got to immolate Shrimp on the altar of my aspersed reputation—call his master a 'scamp,' the amphibious little reprobate? a brat that's neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, nor good red-herring—that spent his pitiful existence in making mud pies in a gutter, till I was kind enough to—”
“Run over him, and break his arm,” added I.
“Exactly,” continued Lawless, “and a famous thing it was for him too. Just see the advantages to which it has led; look at the education I have given him; he can ride to hounds better than many grooms twice his age, and bring you a second horse, in a long run, just at the nick of time when you want it, as fresh, with that featherweight on its back, as if it had only just come out of the stable; he can drive any animal that don't pull too strong for him, as well as I can myself; he can brew milk-punch better than a College Don, and drink it like an undergraduate; he can use his fists as handily as—Ben Caunt, or the Master of T——y, and polish off a boy a head taller than himself in ten minutes, so that his nearest relations would not recognise him; and he won five pounds last year in a Derby sweepstakes, besides taking the long odds with a pork-butcher, and walking into the piggycide to the tune of thirty shillings. No,” continued Lawless, who had quite worked himself into a state of excitement, “whatever follies I may have been guilty of, nobody can accuse me of having neglected my duty in regard to that brat's education; and now, after all my solicitude, the young viper goes and spreads reports that a 'scamp,' meaning me, is about to marry your sister! I'll flay him alive, and put him in salt afterwards!”
“But, my dear Lawless, out of the host of servants at Heathfield, how do you know it was Shrimp who did it?”
“Oh, there's no mischief going on that he's not at the bottom of; besides, a boy is never the worse for a flogging, for if he has not done anything wrong beforehand, he's sure to make up for it afterwards; so it comes right in the end, you see.”
Thus saying, he roused the leader by a scientific application of the thong, dashed round the gravel-sweep, and brought his horses up to the hall-door in a neat and artistlike manner.