by R S Surtees
“Ay, but ye may teach them to hont as well as farm,” observed Pigg. “Sink, you’ve nou’t to de but get a beuik and read a lesson aforehand yersel; talk of strang lands, and light lands, and marie, and the rotation of crops; tell them if wheat is full of poppies it’s a sign o’ poor land, and if full o’ thristles, it’s a sign o’ good strang land, and se on.”
“Yell, that seems all werry sensible,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, “and wot they ought to know.”
“Then ye can tell them the cause why gentlemen farmers never make money is that they all overdo the thing. If ye wish to profit by farmin’, ye mun content yersel with tolerably clean fields and good savin’ crops; but if ye stoody to ornament your farm wi’ fine clipped hollin hedges, representin’ booles, and horses, and sows, as ye de, or dinna clean your land till ye get a machine that will plough it and all, like Sloggers, or put sugar into drainin’ tiles, like Tail, why, ye cannot but lose. Land needs a sartain quantity of ploughins and harrowins, and a sartain quantity of muck, and will pay for all that; but if ye over-egg the puddin’ the money’s wasted, for the land may yield as good crops wi’ five or six ploughins as wi’ ten; and ye may have ower strang crops, that the first wind or rain will lodge and lose ye the whole.”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks; adding, “I think they must make you professor of agricultur’ in the new college.”
“Then, after you’ve talked all sich matters as these over, ye may say, ‘Now, gentlemen, there’s James Pigg i’ the yard wi’ the hunds, and he’ll show ye how to find a hare setten, and how to hunt her when she is fund.’”
“Ay, ay, I thought that would be the upshot of it all,” observed Mr. Jorrocks with a smile; “they’ll be ‘unting students — not mud-students — if you have anything to do with them.”
“And a varra good way to teach them farmin’ tee,” said Pigg.
Mr. Jorrocks re-entered Hillingdon Hall a sadder man than he set out. He found age creeping upon him, and that he was unfit for the life his earlier aspirations had sighed for; farming, which-he thought was a sure fortune, seemed attended with no end of trouble; and he now felt that country life owed half its charms to frequent contrast with the crowded, heated, busy, bustling city. —
“I’ll shut up shop!” exclaimed he, throwing himself into the judicial chair, “and return to Surrey and Great Coram Street. Winter’s a coming on, and I’m a gettin’ into the sere and yellow leaf. These farmin’ fools will never do for a man of intellect like me. Confound them! they are a century and a half be’ind the Lunnuners: old Wopstraw, with his drawlin’
‘upon the viho-o-ole’ — Willey Goodheart, with his year’s arrears of news — and Mr.’Eavy-tail, with his sugar-casks, and a woice enough to split a barndoor — Tm tired on ’em all!”
So saying, our worthy friend stuck out his legs, and throwing himself back in his chair, dozed for some time in silence. At length he got up and rang the bell.
“Send James Pigg here, Benjamin,” said he, as soon as the boy came sneaking into the room, thinking Mr. J. had seen him stealing plums, and meant to convict him summarily, and inflict substantial justice upon him. Presently James made his appearance. He had been cleaning the bull’s stall out, and showing him to some ladies.
“Vell, James,” said Mr. Jorrocks, eyeing his tobaccostreaming mouth; “I’ve been a thinkin’ this here farmin’ don’t exactly suit with me; not quite the ticket, in fact.”
“So,” said James, thinking he had soon tired.
“And I’ve been a thinkin’,” continued Mr: Jorrocks, “as you seem full o’ knowledge and science, of puttin’ you in to manage and keep matters right, and then you can take mud-students, and teach them the difference atwixt a stick and a stone.”
“So,” said Pigg; adding, with a sniff of his nose across his hand, “to be hind, that’s to say.”
“No, you mustn’t be be’ind,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, with a shake of the head; “I must have so much rent accounted for every half year.”
“Ne doot,” said Pigg, “ne doot. But ar’s to be manisher like; that’s to say hind.”
“Ah, ‘ind! I twig,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “Bailiff, what we call.” —
“Why,” said Pigg, “ar can do all that; but we munnut have ne sugar i’ the drainin’ tiles.” —
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, not relishing the observation, and considering how he should put the next point. “Yell, then, you see,” continued he after a pause, “as Mrs. J. and myself will only be here now and then, jest by way of a leetle recreation, instead of buryin’ ourselves alive altogether, so you’ll have a deal to attend to out o’ doors, and p’raps it will be well to get somebody to assist you in the ‘ouse.”
“Ar’s warn’d ye,” said Pigg; “ar’s warn’d ye, ‘specially if ar’s to have the mud-students.”
“Then I was a thinkin’,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, rubbing his chin and casting his eyes up to the mullioned ceiling of the room; “I was a thinkin’ that Batsey, p’raps, might be useful to you.” —
“So,” said Pigg.
“She’s a fine woman,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, “and I should like to place her in good hands.”
“Ne doot,” replied Pigg, “ne doot;” adding, “why, ar dare say ar could manish her too.”
“There’ll be a leetle incambrance,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, in an undertone.
“Why, why,” replied Pigg, with a jerk of the head, “why, why;” adding, “ar expects it’s mar owne.”
“Vot, another!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks. “Who’d ha’ thought it?”
CHAPTER XXXIII.
TO BE, OR not to be: that is the question.”
IF ever man got well “blessed” by woman, it was our fat friend, Mr. Jorrocks, for carrying away the Marquis of Bray — carrying him away just as Mrs father was bringing him “to book.” Two minutes more, and she would have run into her game. As it was, she had nothing to do but con over what had passed, recalling the Marquis’s every word and look as he underwent the interesting scrutiny — how he said he got on very well with Emma — that the Duke thought very highly of her, and the Duchess liked her uncommonly.
Then she recalled her inquiry as to whether the Marquis had spoken to Emma yet, and half upbraided herself for not going a step further and saying, “about their intended marriage.” Still she consoled herself that her unmeaning look was so significant, and the Marquis’s answer, “that he had not spoken to Emma, because he thought he had better hear what Mrs. Flather had to say first,” so conclusive as almost to render greater explicitness superfluous.
Like many over-anxious people, she banished such parts of the conversation from her mind as did not suit her purpose. She forgot that they had been talking about the proposed visit to Donkeyton, and that the subsequent conversation might in the Marquis’s mind have had reference to that. This she either could not or did not choose to remember, because the short pause that followed, during which she was working herself up for the grand effort, seeming to her like an hour, she was pleased to consider it as such, and so to separate the parts of the conversation.
Emma also encouraged her in her self-deception; she had no doubt that the Marquis meant to offer — what else could he mean? Still the awkward fact presented itself, that he did not return to conclude the ceremony. A whole day passed over, and no tidings of his lordship; another succeeded — then a third — Mrs. Flather could contain herself no longer — she resolved to be doing, but somehow did not know what to do — whether to write to the Marquis, or the Duke, or the Duchess, or go to Donkeyton Castle and take the bull fairly by the horns.
The latter was a bold step. No one ever went to Donkeyton without an invitation, or some very cogent reason. This latter Mrs. Flather certainly had, but whether it was the prudent course she could not decide. Mother and daughter had slight misgivings of each other’s judgment, and each doubted the policy of the other. Emma thought she could have managed the Marquis better by herself; while her mother thought Emma wanted
all the assistance she could give her.
No doubt Emma was right — she had all her mother’s cunning, with double her tact, and would have worked the Marquis up to the point if she had only been allowed line and time. Mrs. Flather, like many old women, was in too great a hurry. Moreover, each had a slight misgiving, which neither cared to communicate to the other, that there might be some slight misconception or misunderstanding in the matter. Had either been acting separately, she would perhaps have given the weak parts more weight. It is extraordinary how a little assistance makes us believe anything we wish.
Mrs. Flather argued that the Marquis had gone as far as he ought without a specific declaration; and that he would have made one, but for the untimely intrusion of old Jorrocks. If, however, by any possibility, it could happen that such was not his intention, and he was only trifling with Emma’s feelings, it was her undoubted duty to stop the thing immediately. If, again, as most probably was the case, the Marquis was anxious to make a declaration, the sooner the opportunity was afforded the better, and then the thing might be announced, and their friends could not feel hurt at one being made acquainted with it sooner than another. Ladies are very considerate in these matters.
“Upon the who-o-ole,” as Johnny Wopstraw would say, Mrs. Flather determined to go to the Castle. If she went, and things did not look promising, she could beat a retreat, under pretence of having gone on other business — a writer-ship in India, or promotion for Edward.
The resolution being taken, the next thing was how to put it in execution. Whether to take Emma, or go alone, and how to get there. Emma’s appearance might have a beneficial effect, particularly if they could be sure of meeting with the Marquis; but then, on the other hand, Emma would very likely insist upon having her own way, and Mrs. Flather wanted to have hers. Perhaps the best, plan was not to broach the subject of Emma’s going at all — take it for granted she could not.
“How to get there” then came on. “Neat carriages by the day, month, or year” are unknown in the country, and post-chaises are fast disappearing. Omnibuses are all the go. An omnibus for a picnic is all very well, but for a morning visit rather incongruous. Besides, they don’t leave a certain line of road; all drawing towards the railway stations, as true as the needle to the pole.
Donkeyton Castle was clear of railways. You could not hear the sound of a whistle on the calmest day, or with the most favourable wind. The Duke had a great dislike to them — monstrous dislike. Would have thought the constitution destroyed if one had come near him — not his own constitution, but the constitution of the country. But to the tale. Question proposed — How to go?
Mr. Jorrocks’s rattletrap would have been the most convenient, that is to say, the cheapest conveyance, but then she was afraid if she applied for it, the Squire would insist upon driving it himself, and very likely mar the object of her journey. Farm inspecting gives a man unlimited range over a country. The Sellborough glass chaise was the dernier resort; but then, how was she to get it? The post was gone, and she knew if she sent the boy in buttons on foot, he would never get back. She might beg the loan of Mr. Jorrocks’s horse, and send him over on it. Accordingly she wrote the following note: —
“DEAR MR. JORROCKS, — Could you kindly accommodate me with the loan of your horse, for my servant to go to Sellborough, to get a prescription made up? He is a very careful rider, and will take great care of it.
“Hoping dear Mrs. Jorrocks is well, I remain, with our united best regards, dear Mr. Jorrocks, yours most sincerely,— “E. FLATHER.”
“Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, as the above was handed to him in his bull-house, where he was busy with Pigg washing the Marquis. “Humph!” grunted he again, “rayther cool of her this. Batsey tells me, Mrs. F.’s Susan told her, she heard her missis call me a wulgar old beast; and now she wants to borrow Dickey Cobden,” added Mr. Jorrocks, in a tone that reached Pigg’s ear as he turned the contents of the bucket into the manger.
“Ar wadn’t be a woman’s huss at nou’t?” observed Pigg, knocking the pail against the side to clean out the bottom.
“Nor I nouther,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, turning sharp round, and making for the house to write an epistle while he was yet warm.
Having unlocked the great brass-bound mahogany desk, with “John Jorrocks” on the lid, he took a sheet of paper, and in a good round hand wrote the following answer: —
“HILLINGDON HALL
TO WIT.
“DEAR MRS. F., — Three things I never lends — my ‘oss, my wife, and my name. Howsomever, to-morrow being our beak-day, when us Jestices of our Sovereign Lady the Queen assemble to hear all manner of treasons, sorceries, burnins, witchcrafts, felonies, puzzonins, trespasses, and naughty be’aviour generally, if you’ll send me the prescription, I’ll be ‘appy to bring the physic ‘ome in my pocket. Meanwhile I sends you a couple of Seidletz, and if you want anythings else, Mrs. J. will be ‘appy to lend you a few ‘Cockle’s Antibilious’ — werry extensively patronised. A least o’ Dukes, five brace o’ Markisses, sixteen Earls, one-and-twenty Viscounts, Barons, Lords, Bishops, and Baronets without end. — Yours to serve,
“JOHN JORROCKS, “J.P., and one of the quorum.
“P.S. — Dissolve the powder in the blue paper first, then add the white — stir ’em up, and drink while fizzin’.”
Nothing daunted, though sore annoyed, Mrs. Flather then sent off the boy in buttons on foot with a note to the innkeeper, charging him to send the job-carriage, in the charge of a neat and steady driver, over with the bearer in the morning.
Accordingly, about nine o’clock, a wretched copy of a wretched original, a London glass coach, was seen crawling along, drawn by a pair of antediluvian-looking horses, a grey turned white, and a rat-tailed roan, driven by a postboy transmogrified into a coachman — at least, as far as a napless hat, greasy-collared olive frock-coat, short buff waistcoat, ornamented with rows of blue glass buttons, could counteract the effect of a pair of most palpable postboy’s legs encased in the usual very long breeches and very short boots.
The carriage itself was a lofty old landaulet, built towards the close of the last century, and now containing little of the original material, save the roundabout tub-shaped body. The leather top was hard, lustreless, and weather-bleached, with large hollows formed between the ribbing of the roof, showing the high-water mark of the last shower in the dust. All the plating had vanished from the side-joints, and huge creases established themselves at the folds. Half the crests were knocked off the sides.
The body, as was said before, was of the washing-tub order, better adapted for concealing the inmates than for surveying the country. The windows were like pigeon-holes, and the seat being low, a short person would just see the bobbing of the postboy’s hat as he “rode and drove.” On the present occasion he drove, being seated on a lofty perch rising above the level of the roof.
Such was the vehicle that arrived at the Manse to convey Mrs. Flather to Donkeyton Castle.
A postboy’s care of his horses being always considerable when there is anything to be got in the kitchen, our hero quickly unharnessed his, and had them in an outhouse, enjoying a pail of pump water between them, while he hobbled into the house in quest of cold meat and orders.
Mrs. Flather was in marching order, all but putting her bonnet on, and had been hard at work all the morning, undergoing a rigid examination from Emma as to what she would do and what she would say, the inquiry being adapted to every variety of circumstance that could be contemplated — just like one of Madame de Genlis’ conversations in the immaculate “Manuel du Voyageurs.”
“Well, but if the Duchess is not at home, what will you do?”
“Oh, if she’s not at home, and not likely to return soon, I suppose I must just come away,” replied mamma.
“You wouldn’t think of speaking to the Duke, I suppose,” observed Emma suggestingly.
“I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Flather, thinking the scheme not altogether unfeasible. —
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“But the Duke would most likely be away too,” said Emma.
“They are not likely to go far though, I think,” rejoined mamma; “at least not more than a morning drive, for they never visit anybody further than calling, and then they only leave cards.”
“They have begun to go in now,” observed Emma.
“How do you know?” inquired Mrs. Flather.
“James told me so,” replied Emma, affecting the familiar.
“They want to make themselves popular, I suppose,” observed Mrs. Flather.
“Well, but if they are out,” continued Emma, resuming the question, “will you wait till they return?”
“I suppose I must,” replied Mrs. Flather, after a pause.
“I think I would,” said Emma musingly.
“Very well, my dear,” assented Mrs. Flather, knowing that by going alone she could do as she pleased when she got there.
“How awful!” exclaimed Emma, clasping her hands, and turning her pretty eyes up to the ceiling, as she thought of her mamma sitting waiting the return of the Duchess.
“It must be done,” said Mrs. Flather, compressing her lips, and looking as solemn as her vacant countenance would permit. “You’re sure he kissed you, now?” added she, glancing anxiously at the model of propriety.
“Oh, certain of that, and squeezed my hand too,” replied Emma, which she seemed to think about as material as the kiss. Kissing and squeezing are thought more of in the country than they are in London.
“I dare say it will be all right,” said Mrs. Flather encouragingly. “He’s a young man, but his principles, I hope, are good; indeed, if I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t let you marry him if he was an emperor.”
“I dare say not,” observed Emma pettishly, thinking her mother might as well keep her rodomontade for Donkeyton Castle, her parent’s maxim always having been “to get wealth and station, becomingly, if she could, but anyhow to get wealth and station;” a fine doctrine, and frequently acted upon.