Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “The Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton request the honour of Mr and Mrs. Jorrodes’s company to dine and stay all night on Tuesday the 21st of July.— “R. S. Y. P.

  “DONKEYTON CASTLE.”

  There was a go!

  Mr. Jorrocks was staggered, and Mrs. Jorrocks dumbfounded. They thought it must be a hoax. The idea of them, whose most aristocratic acquaintance was old Lady Jingle, at Margate, jumping all at once over the heads of baronets, baron lords (as the late lamented Sam Spring used to call them), earls, and marquises, and arriving by one flying leap at a dukedom, was altogether incredible. Couldn’t be the case. Must be some mistake. Perhaps a trick of the boys at Dr. Rodwell’s academy, who had always been a nuisance to the neighbourhood, as Joshua Sneakington avowed. But then the coach and horses and cards; there was no hoax in them, for both Batsay and Binjimin saw them, as well as every man, woman, and child in the village. No, it must be right. The Duke was a farmer, and had heard of Mr. Jorrocks’s fame; the Duchess was a florist, and had heard of Mrs. J.’s garden. Thus each settled the matter to their own satisfaction.

  “Honour too!” observed Mrs. Jorrocks, looking again at the card, “calling it an honour — the Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton requesting the honour of Mr and Mrs. Jorrocks’s company.”

  “R. S. We. P., too,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, taking the glittering pasteboard out of the mistress’s hand. “Wot can that mean, I wonder? R. S. We. P. — I have it! Remember six werry punctual. So ve vill! Six o’clock and no waitin’ — I hates waitin’ for my dinner.”

  Mr. Jorrocks, being the penman of the house, having deliberately unlocked his great brass-bound mahogany writing-desk, and drawn forth a sheet of the best superfine double-wove satin post, thus proceeded to answer the invitation in a good round old-fashioned hand.

  “Mr and Mrs. Jorrocks have the honour of accepting the Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton’s inwitation to dinner at six o’clock on Tu—”

  “Ah, but Jun,” said Mrs. J., when he had got thus far, “are you sure you’re right about the hour?”

  “No doubt!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks; “vot else can it mean?”

  “Vy, S. may stand for seven,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks, “as well as six. Remember seven werry punctual.”

  “So it may!” exclaimed Mr. J., throwing down his pen, and sticking out his legs like a man regularly floored. “Confound these hieroglyphicks. Shall be makin’ a hass of myself. Jest like my friend Christopher’s clerk, who, when the chap left his P. P. C. card for his master, would have it was a border for wine, and forthwith despatched a cart with a pipe o’ port and claret. Yell, it’s one thing to be green, and another to show it,” so saying Mr. Jorrocks tore up the note and wrote another, saying “Mr and Mrs. Jorrocks would do themselves the honour of dining and staying all night at Donkeyton Castle,” and let the R. S. Y. P. part alone.

  News of this sort doesn’t keep. In less than an hour after receipt of the card, Mrs. Jorrocks was seen turning out of the Hall in her Sunday hat and shawl, and wending her way “up street,” taking the chance of who she might fall in with. As luck would have it, Mrs. Trotter was coming “down,” and they met opposite the pond.

  “Ow dey do’s?”

  “charmin’ weather, &c,” being exchanged, and Mrs. J. having no place in particular to go to, joined Mrs. Trotter, who was on her way to a district meeting of the Samaritan Society, just for the pleasure of a little of her company that fine day. Mrs. J. very soon broached the subject of the invitation. “Could Mrs. Trotter tell her W far it was to Donkeyton Castle?”‘

  “That she could, for she had been there once, and hoped never to be again: it was just fourteen miles.”

  Mrs. Jorrocks was rather dumbfounded, for she had never met any one high enough up the ladder to be able to sneer at a lord, let alone a duke.

  Mrs. Trotter, seeing Mrs. Jorrocks’s embarrassment, kindly undertook to raise her that she might have the pleasure of knocking her down again.

  “And so they were going to Donkeyton Castle, were they? She had heard the Duke’s break had been in the town a few days back.”

  “It was the Duke’s coach and six,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks— “the Duke and Duchess were callin’ on Mr. Jorrocks and me; and now they’ve sent to ax us to stay.”

  “Sooner you than me,” observed Mrs. Trotter. “I always pity anybody I hear going there — but, however, don’t let me prejudice you against it” — so saying, having reached the door of the meeting-house, Mrs. Trotter bid Mrs. J. a good morning, and turned in.

  “Jealous, I guess!” muttered Mrs. J. to herself—” howsomever, she’ll not put me out o’ conceit on’t — sour grapes, I guess, as Jun would say.”

  Nothing daunted by Mrs. Trotter’s snarlishness, Mrs. Jorrocks wended her way to the Manse, where she found the model of propriety and her mamma in full conclave on the very subject that caused them the honour of her visit. On the parlour table lay a duplicate “banquet card;” and Miss Emma and her mamma were in full discussion as “to what it meant” not that they were puzzled about the R. S. V. P. or anything of that sort, but in the enlarged womanish sense of the term, they wanted to know what it “meant” And here we may observe that we believe it to be a well-established fact that every young lady, and many young ladies’ mammas, consider at the outset of life that they are destined for duchesses. The model of propriety and the model’s mamma were discussing the meaning of the card at the moment. Their argument was this — The Duke of Donkeyton and Mr. Flather were intimate because Mr. Flather was a Whig, and Whig parsons are scarce. Moreover, a parson, Whig or Tory, is a sort of a necessary appendage at a great man’s table. Then, in addition, Mr. Flather was a man whose judgment was looked up to, and even dukes are sometimes better for a little guidance. Mrs. Flather therefore satisfactorily settled why Mr. Flather and she had been guests at Donkeyton Castle, but then came the question why her daughter and she should be invited now that there were neither politics nor guidance to get in the way of return. The thought seemed to strike them simultaneously. “My dear, dear child!” exclaimed Mrs. Flather, kissing her daughter profusely. “Oh! mamma, if I should!” exclaimed Emma, as a slight tinge of pink passed across her alabaster countenance, like a fleeting cloud before the moon.

  Just then in came Mrs. Jorrocks.

  It were needless following these old girls through their open congratulations and hidden disappointments at finding each other invited, for, of course, each expected to have the “crow:” suffice it to say, they thought it prudent to coalesce, and see what could be done in the way of mutual accommodation.

  As to rivalry, Mrs. Flather had nothing to fear from the Jorrockses being invited — indeed, she told Emma, all things considered, she didn’t know but it was better that they should, for it looked less marked and particular than asking them alone; and if the Marquis’s attentions were not palatable to her, it would prevent his feelings being hurt by its bruiting abroad; an overture of that sort being a thing no woman ever thinks of mentioning.

  Fully impressed with the conviction that the Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton had determined on perpetuating their line through the medium of some artless, guileless, unsophisticated country nymph — such a one as described in our motto — after the manner of divers well-authenticated greasy novel couples, Mrs. Flather (who was obliging enough to believe us ladies and gentlemen who lie upon paper — called authors) most magnanimously ordered her daughter such a rig-out as she thought becoming for the next taker of the title. Not that she went to Vouillon and Lawrie, or any of the accredited dispensers of fashionable feathers and furbelows, but she expended some pounds in the purchase of a piece of uncommonly good blue silk for a morning dress; which with the aid of Mrs. Smith, the village sempstress, was made to display the fine swelling figure of the new marchioness to great advantage. Nay, more, it imparted a shade of colouring to her eyes, and made them quite blue. A Leghorn bonnet, lined with blue crape, and a white feather tipped with the same colour, did the business, and made the model per
fectly killing. Give Emma her due, she was a fine girl — straight as a milk-maid, fine drooping shoulders (which she exposed so much when dressed as to make bystanders fear she might be enacting Mrs. Eve), splendid bust, tolerably small waist, and good feet and ankles.

  Before starting with Emma Flather oh her new matrimonial speculation, it may be well “to advertise the reader,” as the old writers used to say, as to her past and present position. We have already intimated that she was then in the third step of her matrimonial ladder, in the person of James Blake. The previous ones it is immaterial to mention, further than to say, that Mrs. Flather had made each believe her daughter was desperately smitten with them both, but that a sudden reaction had taken place on finding that neither had anything to live upon. It is wonderful how many people achieve the feat of living upon nothing. James Blake was differently situated, for Mrs. Flather had the advantage of knowing the exact minimum at all events of his fortune. He had been in the dangerous position of a pupil to Mr. Flather, who had been in the habit of putting the finishing touch to young gentlemen before going to College, and Emma and James had been sort of schoolfellow playfellows — dangerous situation for a young man, especially an orphan as he was. Well, on Mr. Westbury’s death, as we said before, the next presentation of the living had been purchased for Janies; and the period of his taking possession drawing nigh, and nothing better having presented itself, Mrs. Flather had fully settled in her own mind that it would be much better both for him and her daughter to marry, and then they could all live together, and she could keep things in order, and save them and herself a world of trouble.

  In this arrangement Mrs. Flather did not contemplate any difficulty, for James had lived with them long enough for her to know that he was easily led, especially by such a charming conductress as her daughter. Indeed, wiser men than he might have willingly surrendered themselves to such prepossessing guidance. James was not very bright, however, partaking rather of the nature of what is called soft. Just the sort of youth for Mrs. Flather to have to deal with, she being what the Yorkshire people call both soft and hard. Few are so stupid as not to know their own interest. To look at James, though, you would have thought he was wise — he was a good-looking young man — tallish, with a lofty forehead, bright brown eyes, Roman nose, and altogether with what ought to have been an expressive sort of countenance — only it had no exact expression. Still he was what would be called a gentlemanly-looking young fellow; particularly in the country, where the half-buck, half-hawbuck order preponderate.

  Our readers perhaps will say, “Why, you make both James and Emma rather of the negative order.” Perhaps we do — however, we can’t help it, so there’s an end of the chapter.

  CHAPTER X.

  THOU KNOW’ST HOW guileless first I met thy flame,

  When Love approached me under Friendship’s name;

  My fancy formed thee of angelic kind,

  Some emanation of the ‘All-beauteous Mind,’

  Those smiling eyes, attempering every ray,

  Shone sweetly lambent with celestial day.

  Guiltless I gazed; Heaven listen’d while you sung;

  And truths divine came mended from that tongue.

  From lips like those what precept fail’d to move?

  Too soon they taught me ’twas no sin to love:

  Back through the paths of pleasing sense I ran,

  Nor wish’d an angel whom I lov’d a man.”

  THE preparations for the visit to Donkeyton Castle occupied the attention of Mrs. Jorrocks and Mrs. Flather most uninterruptedly. The rose bushes and flowers were left to train and look after themselves, and the household department received little attention. Silks, satins, and sarcenets usurped the place of card-tables, carpets, and counterpanes. Mrs. Jorrocks had a new dress made for the occasion — an amber-coloured brocade, with large bunches of scarlet geraniums scattered about, and flounces three-quarters of the way up her middle. Her bonnet was white chip, with an amber-coloured feather tipped with scarlet, above a Madonna-shaped front, plastered down each side of her forehead— “Mutton, dressed lamb fashion,” as Mr. Jorrocks observed.

  Mrs. Flather was equally assiduous — more so if possible — having higher and more important objects in view. Many were the tryings on, and alterings of, Emma’s dress — a little fulness here, a little tightness there, a little pinching in the arm, and a little puffing elsewhere. She was regularly fitted out for conquest. Many were the confidential dialogues held between mother and daughter, as to Emma’s proceedings, after she had captured the coronet. How she should ride in a coach and six, how she should call on Mrs. Trotter, how she should appear at Court, and how condescending she should be. Poor James Blake was shelved, or seldom mentioned, save as a dernier resort.

  Emma’s appetite was the only thing Mrs. Flather feared. Men she knew — marquises she imagined in particular — disliked guzzling girls; and she was most anxious that Emma should appear a pure ethereal being — a sort of compound of love, sentiment, and omelette soufflée.

  “I think, my dear, it will be well to take a little bit of something to eat with you,” observed Mrs. Flather to the model of propriety as they sat in solemn conclave on the oft-discussed and all-important visit, “and then you can trifle and play with your dinner, and be able to give your undivided attention to — whoever happens to sit next you. A great deal may be done at a dinner-table, especially when people are hungry. Suppose we tell Jane to bake you a few buns, and then you can eat some before breakfast as well?”

  “Oh yes, mamma, and let her put some currants in them,” replied the embryo Marchioness.

  “Pshaw, you and your currants,” observed Mrs. Flather snappishly, “I wish for once you’d give up thinking of eating, and turn your attention to something else — consider what a prospect you have before you:” with which admonition Mrs. Flather left the room to look after buns and other matters.

  The getting to Donkeyton was the next consideration. Mr. Jorrocks swore no power on airth should induce him to ride three in a po-chay again; and having imported his valuable old rattle-trap fire-engine vehicle, he settled in his own mind that the old Roman-nosed cob should go in it, and convey Mrs. Jorrocks and himself in front, with Binjimin and Batsay stuck up behind. The weather was fine; the roads were good; the cob was strong, and what was to hinder them? Mrs. Jorrocks, however, was the one to hinder them. “She’d jest as soon think o’ fly in’ as goin’ to Donkeyton Castle in a hamber-coloured dress in a one-’oss chay. Wot! when the Duke and Duchess had come in a chaise and six! She’d rather not go at all, than not go as she ought.” Mr. J. was quite willing to let her stay at home. However, there were two to one against Mr. J. there; three indeed, Mrs. J., Mrs. Flather, and Emma. These cases generally end in a compromise, and so did this.

  Mrs. Jorrocks of course wanted to get herself there in good order — without the derangement to dress and complexion consequent upon sultry weather and dusty roads. Mrs. Flather wanted to get Emma there in like manner, and, moreover, would rather ride with Mr. Jorrocks than his wife, so they arranged to hire one of those forlorn attempts at gentility — a coachmaker’s job carriage — with a “neat and careful driver,” from the neighbouring town of Sellborough, to which we shall by-and-by have the pleasure of introducing our readers. Between this and the old fire-engine the following distribution of parties was made: — Mrs. Jorrocks and Emma inside, with Batsay and Mrs. Flather’s boy in buttons on the box, and Mr. Jorrocks, Mrs. Flather, and Binjimin in Mr. Jorrocks’s old rattle-trap. Mr. J. wanted to argue that there would be too many for the cob, and thought it would look better for Batsay to go inside, and Binjimin and the boy in buttons to occupy the box of the job-chaise; but Mrs. Jorrocks indignantly spurned the idea, and stopped the argument by asking how he could have the imperence to say that, when he had proposed taking her, Batsay, Binjimin and all. Poor Mr.J. was posed.

  The important morn dawned a lovely summer’s day. The sun rose clear and bright. The sky was of azure blue, scarc
e a cloud obscured the heavens, nor did a breath of wind disturb the leaves. But for the bustle of packing and arranging, with the fear of forgetting, it would have been a day of enjoyment. Mrs. Jorrocks’s knuckles got sadly reddened before she had done.

  Mr. Jorrocks took it “werry easy.” The Jorrockian jacket being still in High favour, of course he sported that with drab tights, and Hessian boots. His shave had been accomplished with extra care, and a neat sea-green cravat supported his jolly chin. He got a little help from Binjimin that morning, and the old cob would have gone without his corn but for the timely services of Mr. J. Tiresome work these sort of “jaunts.” What with preparing, lounging about waiting for the right time, so as to nick the proper hour for arriving, and, above all, getting a lot of women with their goods under weigh — there is no doing anything; and unless a man has a letter back, or something in his pocket whereon to vent his mind in the shape of an article for a paper or magazine, he’s sure to blow up his wife, or the maid. “Now, are you ready? Confound it, you’re always late! Didn’t I tell you so? Lauk, what a woman you are! Now, where’s your bag? D — n the bags! Do come away. We shall never get there. Wish I’d refused the invitation. Never go again, however.”

  The job-chaise — a terribly dirty, drab-lined old green, with greasy red leather cushions and back — was despatched to the Manse to import Emma and her mamma, and after keeping Mr. Jorrocks dancing about at the door with the white reins of the old cob in his hand a good half-hour, it at last hove in sight, buns and all, and Mr. Jorrocks having moved the fire-engine on a pace or two, it presently drew up at the door. The model of propriety really looked beautiful. It’s wonderful what miracles dress accomplishes. We have seen girls who were really quite plain, expand into beauties under the hands of a good milliner. “Expand” we may well say, for they generally make them look about half as big again as they are. Emma, as the reader may remember, did not want any filling up — fining down would have been more to the purpose with her. However, that is matter of taste, there being, fortunately, admirers of women in all shapes. Indeed, if it would not shock the delicacy of our male readers, we might mention that Emma had had an extra tug at her stays, and reduced her waist by an inch and a half or so. Emma had a good foot and ankle, pulled her stockings well up, and didn’t mind showing her legs a little. Indeed, pulling up their stockings is a great thing with girls. The finest satin dress that ever was worn, will not compensate for untidy ankles. It is not the value of the article, but the fit and style of the thing that does a man’s business. A cotton gown has proved many a man’s “fix,” as the Americans say. Still, when one’s been used to a girl in cotton, the emergence into the radiance of silks has frequently a very favourable effect. So it was with Emma. Mr. Jorrocks — a great admirer of beauty, and an excellent judge of the points of a woman — albeit he hadn’t shown any great taste in his selection of Mrs. J., — was struck “all of a heap,” as the saying is, with the elegance of Emma’s appearance, and could he have been sure that Mrs. J. would have let Emma sit in the middle, he wouldn’t have minded riding “three in a chay” again. Nothing would satisfy the old cock but Emma should get out and show herself, an invitation she readily complied with, and having praised the tightness of the sleeve, the breadth of the flounces, and the curl of the feather, Mr. Jorrocks handed her back again, and shoved Mrs. Jorrocks in after.