Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “You are doubtless aware,” continued Mrs. Flather, still arranging her fringe as she spoke, “that there has been a certain something going on for some time between my daughter and your son.”

  “What, Jeems!” exclaimed the Duke, starting, and staring with astonishment.

  “The Marquis of Bray,” faltered Mrs. Flather, staggered at the Duke’s amazement.

  “Indeed!” exclaimed the Duke, in a subdued tone; adding, with a solemn shake of the head, “sorry to hear it — monstrous sorry to hear it.”

  Mrs. Flather was nonplussed. The parching dryness again closed her lips, and she sat pulling at the shawl fringe till ‘ she drew out a bunch.

  “Well,” said the Duke, wheeling his chair nearer to hers as she achieved this feat, “tell me all about it. When did it happen?”

  “Oh, it’s been going on for some time,” sobbed Mrs. Flather, drawing her cambric from her bag.

  The Duke paused to let her have her cry.

  “Well,” said the Duke, when she seemed about done, “I’m sorry for it, monstrous sorry for it. Jeems is a naughty boy — monstrous naughty boy; am angry with Jeems — monstrous angry with Jeems; had no business to do anything of the sort — gave him my Lord Chesterfield’s ‘Letters to his Son,’ with the passage recommending young men to attach themselves to married women, underlined in red ink, and marked in the margin. Great pity — monstrous great pity,” added the Duke, with a succession of nods of the head— “fine girl — monstrous fine girl. However, I’ll tell you what,” continued he, in an undertone to Mrs. Flather, laying his hand confidentially on her arm, “it’s no use making a row about it — the less said the better.”

  “Indeed!” sobbed Mrs. Flather, pulling out another bunch of fringe. —

  “No,” said the Duke, with another batch of shakes and shrugs, “none whatever.”

  Mrs. Flather sobbed in silence.

  “I’ll tell you what,” said the Duke, “the best thing you can do is to take her abroad — go a little tour — up the Rhine — into Switzerland — down to Milan — on to Florence, if you like. I’ll pay the expenses — draw upon me for five hundred, a thousand if you like. May marry her perhaps — Swiss colonel — Italian count — French general — no saying; fine girl — monstrous fine girl; but if you don’t, why, you’ll come back at the end of a certain time, and no one will know anything about it — be any the wiser. These sort of things are unpleasant, no doubt — monstrous unpleasant; but accidents will happen — youthful indiscretion — more cautious in future; sorry for it, I assure you — monstrous sorry for it; but rely upon it, it’s no use making a row about it — hush it up — hush it up — as the Duke of Wellington said.”

  “But your Grace misunderstands me,” said Mrs. Flather, as soon as the Duke’s fringed face began to settle on his shoulders; “your Grace misunderstands me, I think,” repeated she, “it’s my daughter’s affections the Marquis has engaged; and” —

  “I understand,” interrupted the Duke—” perfectly understand; but what can we do, you know? What can we do?”

  “I supposed it was with your Grace’s knowledge,” sobbed Mrs. Flather.

  “Not at all, I assure you, not at all,” rejoined his Grace; “on the contrary, always recommended Chesterfield to Jeems. Good book — monstrous good book: Chesterfield knew the world. But, however, what’s done can’t be helped.”

  “But he came over to Hillingdon with your Grace’s knowledge, I suppose?” asked Mrs. Flather.

  “Undoubtedly he did,” replied the Duke; “undoubtedly he did: but that was to see old Mr. Jorrocks — talk about farming — improve the breed of husbandry horses — study agricultural chemistry, and so on. I suppose then had been the time he had come over your daughter.”

  “Oh, it was only talking,” observed Mrs. Flather, anxious to remove the impression under which the Duke laboured.

  “Only talking!” said the Duke, with surprise; “talking’s nothing — talking’s nothing.”

  “It’s a great deal to an innocent young country girl, your Grace,” observed Mrs. Flather.

  “Don’t see why it should,” said the Duke, “don’t see why it should. Of course it depends a good deal upon what is said,” added he.

  “Of course,” replied Mrs. Flather. “He certainly gave Emma to understand that he was very much attached to her.”

  “Foolish boy, foolish boy,” observed the Duke, with a series of nods of the head; “however, there is no putting old heads on young shoulders. I remember my poor father — the eighth Duke — heaven rest him! — saying the very same thing to me — no putting old heads on young shoulders; and so it will be to the end of the chapter — so it will be to the end of the chapter.”

  Mrs. Flather measured the fringe with her knuckle. It was three-quarters of a yard.

  A long silence ensued.

  “Well, I suppose we can make nothing better of it,” at length said the Duke, with a yawn, wishing Mrs. Flather would take her departure; “Then I fear we cannot make anything better of it,” at length said Mrs. Flather, remeasuring the fringe, and looking intently at the Duke. —

  “Upon my word there seems to be nothing to make better of,” observed the Duke. “There’s no harm done that I can see.”

  “None if your Grace encourages the match,” observed Mrs. Flather boldly.

  “Encourage the match!” exclaimed the Duke, starting up. “What! Jeems marry a commoner! — a — a — a — IMPOSSIBLE!” and the Duke stamped as though he would rouse his dormant ancestry to avenge the insult.

  Mrs. Flather shook with fear. What might have followed must remain matter of surmise; for, fortunately, the Duchess’s pride could no longer restrain her curiosity, and she returned to the library just at the critical moment. She had advanced far up the spacious apartment before either party was aware of her presence. The Duke saw her first.

  “Susan, my dear!” exclaimed he, in a towering passion, “Mrs. Flather has done us the honour of coming here to claim our son in marriage for her daughter.”

  “Indeed!” replied the Duchess mildly, well knowing there was no occasion for them both to set on her at once.

  “Compliment! great compliment! monstrous great compliment! isn’t it?” asked the Duke, white as his whiskers.

  “Perhaps if you are satisfied now,” observed the Duchess with an emphasis, to Mrs. Flather, “you had better retire; his Grace is not very well to-day,” added she, in an undertone, “and does not like to be disturbed.”

  Mrs. Flather took the hint and trotted away with the Duchess, nothing loth to leave the obstreperous Duke.

  “I think I would like to go home,” said Mrs. Flather, half sick with mortification, “if you will allow me to ring for my carriage,” continued she, making for the bell as she spoke.

  “Pray sit down a little and compose yourself,” observed the Duchess, drawing a chair towards her— “you are agitated.”

  “I shall be better as soon as I get into the open air, thank you,” observed Mrs. Flather, in a tone of the deepest despondency.

  The Duchess tried to get her to talk on various subjects, from the weather down to the portfolio; but Mrs. Flather was dead beat; “yes” and “no” were all she could say; and sometimes she said one when she ought to have said the other. —

  The footman’s “Your carriage is at the door, if you please, marm,” sounded a welcome release; and the Duchess, by no means sorry to get rid of her pertinacious visitor, offered her arm to accompany her to the door.

  From the loop-hole window of his dressing-room above, Jeems saw his “ma-in-law” ascend the lofty steps of the antiquated landaulet and drive away amid the adieus of the Duchess.

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  HE WOT PRIGS what isn’t hisn,

  If he’s kotched, ‘ill go to prison.”

  — NEWGATE LYRICS,

  AWAY from the scenes where our mistakes arise, away from the friends who prompt their course, how soon the mind sees its errors, and points to the path we shou
ld not have deserted!

  Ere Mrs. Flather’s rattle-trap jingled under the castellated gateway of Donkeyton Castle Park, she saw how Emma and she had mutually assisted in deceiving each other, how their wishes had been father to their thoughts.

  Before she got two miles on her road, she wondered that she could have been so silly as to go. It wasn’t likely the Marquis should have seriously thought of Emma; still more improbable that the Duke and Duchess would sanction, much less wish for such a match. Most likely there were places in London where great people met, and though Emma’s and her knowledge of high life was confined to the Donkeytons, she began to suspect that great people were more numerous than they imagined. They might not be so great as the Donkeytons, perhaps, but still great enough to prevent the Marquis from being so desperately put to as to have to seek the country for a wife.

  Mrs. Flather was greatly distressed — distressed that she should have made such a fool of herself, and vexed that she had not checked instead of encouraging Emma. Then there was Mr. Jorrocks, and his odious matter-of-fact questions, and Mrs. Trotter’s still more odious curiosity. Altogether, Mrs. Flather was in a bad way. The Duchess was sure to tell; she would tell the Marquis, the Marquis would tell Mr. Jorrocks, Mr. Jorrocks would tell Mrs. Jorrocks, and Mrs. Jorrocks would tell all the world. Horrible idea!

  Then Mrs. Flather thought how she should meet Emma; what little consolation she might expect from her. And again she deplored having encouraged instead of checking her folly. —

  It so happened on this eventful day, that there had been a very small attendance of the Justices of our Sovereign Lady the Queen at Sellborough Petty Sessions, Mr. Green and Mr. Jorrocks being the only ones present; Captain Bluster had got the lumbago, Mr. Smith had gone to look at a horse, and Mr. Somebody else to look at a cow, and a third gentleman’s wife was ill.

  Mr. Green having popped into court a few minutes before our worthy friend, had got possession of the chair, and was sitting in state when Mr. Jorrocks arrived. The Clerk too was away, and his place was supplied by a subordinate. A case had just been called on under the Yagrant Act, disposable of by one magistrate. It was a charge by Parmer Goosecap against some of the independent, itinerant tribe — Hannah Hardy, Jane Hardy, William Hardy, and Alfred Hardy, very swarthy ringletty people — of trying to make free with his poultry; and Goosecap, having had that compliment paid him before, wanted the full measure of vengeance — nunc “pro tunc, as Captain Bluster would say.

  It seems the ladies had held Goosecap in fortune-telling talk, while the men inspected the poultry-yard; but in trying to catch old chanticleer, he made such a noise as disturbed the servants, who gave the alarm; and, wonderful to relate, they took the whole troop.

  Goosecap had got to about the middle of his story when Mr. Jorrocks entered, but seeing the people, and hearing the latter part of it, Mr. Jorrocks had no difficulty in comprehending the case, and entering fully into it.

  “They’d have a jackass, I reckon?” observed our Squire interrogatively, as the complainant finished.

  “Yes, sir, they had,” replied Goosecap, “tethered in the lane, about a quarter of a mile off.”

  “I thought so!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, grinding his teeth, and looking as if he would eat the whole troop. “I thought so,” repeated he. “Every man,” continued he, most sententiously, “wot keeps a jackass is a waggabone; every man wot keeps a jackass keeps a pair of big panniers also, and there’s no sayin’ wot on airth goes into them. I’d conwict them all as rogues and waggabones,” added he, turning to Mr. Green, “and give them full measure — three months to the ‘ouse of C., ‘ard labour, and all that sort o’ thing.”

  Mr. Green was an indiscriminate humanity-monger, a man who made as much to do about committing a hardened vagabond as others would with a reclaimable first offender, and always tried how little justice he could do and how great a show of feeling he could make. Many men do the same. It is a cheap way of gaining credit for kind-heartedness.

  Finding Mr. Jorrocks was in the trouncing mood — not always the case with the old gentleman either, particularly when the offenders happened to be females — Mr. Green waxed uncommonly merciful, and in reply to Mr. Jorrocks’s hint, observed that he couldn’t do it under the Act. Thereupon a long wrangle ensued between our worthy friend and his colleague, as to the difference between idle and disorderly persons and rogues and vagabonds, but which we will let Mr. Jorrocks explain when he tells his story to Mrs. Flather, which we will now accompany him to do.

  The business of the day being over, Mr. Jorrocks bethought him, as he repaired to the inn for his machine, to ask where the job-carriage was gone to, and finding that it was bound to Donkeyton Castle, as Benjamin said, Mr. Jorrocks drove very quietly in that direction, and soon ascertained at the first turnpike gate that the well-known vehicle had gone through, and not having returned, our friend kept moving leisurely on, commenting on the husbandry of the district, and the stupidity of Mr. Green in not knowing the difference between an idle and disorderly person and a rogue and vagabond.

  At length he espied the old posters, bobbing their heads up and down at a sort of walking trot, while the driver’s right arm went out at regular intervals, laying the pig-jobber whip-thong straight along the carcass of the off-side one.

  “’Ere she comes,” said Mr. Jorrocks to himself, as the old vehicle neared him. “I’ll give her an agreeable surprise.” So saying, our friend drew up under a now leaf-shedding sycamore, and quietly waited her coming. Could he but have seen into Mrs. Flather’s mind, he would have spared her the infliction; but Mr. Jorrocks having no cares himself — at least none superior to the interests of his bull — it never entered his head that other people could have any, certainly not ladies, who, he thought, were only meant for amusement.

  “YOUR MONEY OR YOUR LIFE!” roared our worthy friend, rising in his vehicle, as Mrs. Flather, in a state of utter dejection, came jingling past where he sat.

  “Scream! help! scream!” went Mrs. Flather, to the convulsions of the coachman and Benjamin, and the great amusement of Mr. Jorrocks.

  “Oh, Mr. Jorrocks! how could you?” exclaimed Mrs. Flather angrily. “You don’t knowhow you’ve frightened me.”

  “Nonsense, my leetle duck, nonsense!” said Mr. Jorrocks soothingly. “It’s only me!”

  “But you don’t know how you frightened me, Mr. Jorrocks,” sobbed Mrs. Flather, diving into her reticule for her pocket-handkerchief. —

  “Nonsense, my darlin’!” continued Mr. Jorrocks, “nonsense, it’s only fan.”

  Mrs. Flather sobbed violently, glad to get a vent for her tears. Mr. Jorrocks looked foolish at the result of his practical joke.

  “You take the reins,” said Mr. Jorrocks to Benjamin, “and drive quietly on arter the chay, and I’ll ride ‘ome with Mrs. Flather,” continued he, getting out of his own vehicle, and opening the door of Mrs. Flather’s.

  “Shall I help you, sir?” asked the coachman, looking down from his box at Mr. Jorrocks’s movements.

  “You don’t take me for a cripple, do you?” replied our friend snappishly, “that I can’t get in by myself?”

  Thereupon Mr. Jorrocks let down the long flight of steps, resembling Robinson Crusoe’s ladder, and prepared to ascend.

  Up he got. —

  The thing then was to get the steps back again, and this rather puzzled Mr. Jorrocks; his short fat arms could not reach low enough to get a sufficient purchase to pull them up in a heap so as to fold them like a map, or a joiner’s foot-rule, and it was no use attempting them at the top. Head downwards, he tried in vain, each effort drawing ill-suppressed bursts of laughter from the coachman and Benjamin, as the Jorrockian jacket’s fan-tail flew up, and the Squire seemed likely to land head-foremost on the ground.

  It was no go. —

  “Vy don’t you come and shet Mrs. Flather’s chay door for her, Binjimin?” at last exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, starting up, and throwing the fan-tail back, as Benjamin snickered right out. �
�The devil’s in these servants,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks, seating himself by Mrs. Flather; “they seem to think they’re kept to do nothin’ at all. I’ll skin you alive,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks, with a shake of the head, as Benjamin refolded the rattling, ill-jointed, iron steps. “Now,” said Mr. Jorrocks to the coachman, as the door banged to, “drive quietly ‘ome; don’t ‘urry, for my quad, is a followin’, and is rayther tired.”

  There was little need for this humane injunction, for coachee had no idea of hurrying — indeed his cattle were incapable of it, and having jerked and flopped them into motion, on they went at the

  “We’re a’ nodding,

  Nid, nid, nodding.”

  sort of pace that they had hove in sight at.

  “Well, my leetle dack,” said Mr. Jorrocks in an undertone, scrudging up to Mrs. Blather and squeezing her hand; “well, my leetle dack,” said he, “you’ve recovered your fright, I ‘opes.”

  “Indeed I haven’t,” replied Mrs. Blather snappishly; “you’ve almost thrown me into hysterics — made me shockingly nervous.”

  “That’s a great pity,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, “werry great pity; I only meant it for fan.”

  “I don’t like such horse fun,” said Mrs. Flather, anything but pleased at our friend’s intrusion into her carriage.

  “Only me,” said Mr. Jorrocks soothingly.

  Mrs. Flather pouted her lip and was silent. —

  “And when’s Emma to be a marchioness?” at length asked Mr. Jorrocks, thinking to say something to please Mrs. Flather.

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” replied Mrs. Flather.

  “Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks; “I ‘opes there’s no nonsense in the matter; real, good, substantial, downright matter-o’-fact-ism I should ‘ope. You’ve been to the Castle, ‘aven’t you?” asked Mr. Jorrocks.

  “Never you mind, Mr. Curiosity,” replied Mrs. Flather, colouring at the question. “And pray where have you been?” asked she, anxious to turn the conversation.