by R S Surtees
“Don’t know, I’m sure, mem,” replied the footman.
“Do you know, Mr. Tapp?” addressing the butler.
“Can’t say, I’m sure,” replied Mr. Tapp, advancing a little further, thinking there might be something in it. “Can’t say, I’m sure, mem,” repeated he; “but if you’ll ‘blege me with your card, mem, I’ll step up-stairs and inquire.”
Mrs. Bolsterworth then presented him with the card; and while Mr. Tapp retired, conning it as he went, Mrs. Bolsterworth came into the passage, and took a seat on a double-crested mahogany entrance hall-chair, to wait his return — inwardly speculating upon whether she would get any further or not, depending, she thought, upon how far the ladies had advanced in their company toilettes.
The science of calling has certainly got into very convenient compass of late, and little now remains to be done save to make a transmission of visiting cards by post a legal tender. As it is, nobody ever expects to get into a house; and half the air of the thing is lost by the substitution of visitors’ bells for the hearty poundings the gigantic footmen used to give the knockers. By Jove, but some of them knocked as if there were no such things as nerves or headaches in the world. If it was not for the drive, the whole calling custom would collapse, and yet people would perhaps remain quite as good friends as before. It’s the beef and mutton that does the business — not the pasteboard. People all know where their friends live without being continually reminded by their calls.
Now, though Mrs. Tartarman was by no means in her at-home attire, having only one of those loosely flowing robes on that look sc cool and comfortable as they stand variously ticketed at from eighteen shillings to twenty-five on the figure-stands at the puffing tradesmen’s doors, yet the sight of Mrs. Bolsterworth’s card, coupled with the inquiry about lost goods, made her send her deshabille daughters off to Bee if they had got all their trinkets, while she desired Mr. Tapp to show Mrs. BoLsterworth up, thinking to take soundings of her while the girls were adorning. Accordingly the rustle of the staircase-ascending petticoats of the young ladies had scarcely subsided, ere the rotundity of clothes, of which Mrs. Bolsterworth formed the nucleus, was looming up into the drawing-room.
Mrs. Tartarman, though very great in a general way, could condescend when it suited her; and this being one of her unbending days, she rose from her ottoman throne as Mrs. Bolsterworth advanced, and tendering her the two fore-fingers of her gloved hand, motioned her to be seated in an easy chair hard by.
“Oh,” Mrs Bolsterworth “wouldn’t intrude for one moment, indeed she wouldn’t — she had merely called at the door in passing, to ask if—”
But Mrs. Tartarman would have her down before she would let her go any further. —
Mrs. Bolsterworth having then accomplished the apparent impossibility of getting into the easy — or to her uneasy — chair, gave her hoops an outward sweep, and, clearing her voice, again commenced her story. “She had just called in passing to ask if Mrs. Tartarman had got all her things right from their expedition yesterday, for in counting her spoons, she (Mrs. Bolsterworth) had found one that did not belong to her, and she thought perhaps it was Mrs. Tartarman’s.” Mrs. Bolsterworth unfolding the piece of antiquity as she spoke.
“Oh,” Mrs. Tartannan “was so much obliged — she couldn’t say how much obliged she was; but it wouldn’t be hers, because she hadn’t taken any spoons — only forks — Mrs. Maloney haying agreed to take spoons for two, on condition of Mrs. Tartarman taking forks;” and then Mrs. Tartarman took the proffered article, and after looking at it attentively, said “she thought it wouldn’t be Mrs. Maloney’s either, for their crest was a greyhound, and this was a bird or a harp, or she didn’t know what. Mrs. Bolsterworth knew Mrs. Maloney she thought,” and Mrs. Bolsterworth said she did; but knowing there was nothing to be got out of her, she received back her spoon without proposing to proffer it to her.
While this was going on, the three young ladies, Miss, Milicent, and Matilda Mary, having searched their jewel trays, that is to say, exchanged their limp dresses for well-distended muslin ones, came sailing in one after another, and having made their obeisance to the intrepid caller, aided in directing the conversation to their yesterday’s adventures. Having been very unsuccessful in getting partners, and those they did get not being at all to their liking, of course they had not much to say in its favour, and were well disposed to run those young ladies down who had been more lucky in the great dancing lottery of life.
First and foremost among the offenders was our fair friend Miss Rosa, who was pronounced to be a self-sufficient little flirt, and anything but pretty. Mrs. Bolsterworth, seeing which way the wind blew, pursed up her hard-featured mouth, and with divers significant nods and gestures gave them to understand that Miss Me-what’s-her-name had better mind what she was about with that Mr. Bunting, who Mrs. Bolsterworth happened to know something of; whereupon, with very little pressing, she proceeded, in “strict confidence” of course, to reduce our friend from his castellated dimensions to his cottage proportions, making a very different hero of him to what he had before appeared.
“What a thing!”
“Only think!”
“Well, I never!” were the ejaculations freely emitted by the up-turned eyed mother and daughters.
“Why, that’s the man that Mrs. Trattles makes such a talk about,” observed Mrs. Tartarman, after a pause.
“To be sure it is,” assented Mrs. Bolsterworth; “but if you knew Mrs. Trattles as well as I do, you would not place much reliance upon what she says.”
“What, she’s not one to speak after, isn’t she?” asked Mrs. Tartarman.
“Anything but that,” replied the oppositionist, with upraised eyebrows and a significant smile.
A short pause then ensued.
“How anybody can call that man handsome, I can’t imagine,” observed Miss Tartarman, breaking silence.
“Pooh, nobody calls him handsome,” sneered Miss Milicent.
“Dressy, conceited man,” observed Mamma, “never see him dressed twice alike.”
Whereupon a good wholesome round of abuse was raised against our friend that would not have made him at all proud to hear; and after a protracted sitting, that greatly astonished Mr. Tapp, Mrs. Bolsterworth at length arose and took leave amid a host of fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind shakes of the hands and adieus.
She then circled off to work her spoon somewhere else.
CHAPTER XII.
MR. BUNTING IN BED.
OUR TOO SUSCEPTIBLE hero, Mr. Bunting, awoke the next morning in his elegant sea-commanding lodgings — we beg pardon, apartments — in Calliope Crescent, full of intense ardour, and the most devoted admiration. Desperately smitten, as he had often been; he thought he never — no never — had had his too diligent eyes drawn into such bondage before. So perfect and so peerless, fair Rosa seemed created of every creature best; and the more Mr. Bunting thought of her, the more he was enamoured, and the stronger his poetical effusions came gushing to his assistance. He paraphrased the poet —
“With thee conversing I forget all time,
All seasons and their change; all please alike;
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds, pleasant the sun,”
and so on, through a good serviceable quotation that we are sorry we nave not room for here, until Christian Bonville, his Swiss valet, fearing his master might ran his own breakfast-hoar, and his faithful serrant’s dinner one together, came in with a can of hot water to announce that it was mid-day. Our friend, we may observe, though not possessing the magnificent wealth for which Mrs. Trattles gave him credit, had nevertheless all the comforts and elegancies of single life, including a neat groom, and a couple of saddle-horses, standing at the Pegasus livery and bait stables, in the Hippona Road. So, though we opened that he was ruined by his grandfather’s buying a book, the reader will have the goodness to take that expression figuratively, and consider it merely meant that
he hadn’t as much money as he might — had all things gone straight (or rather, had his Oaks gone straight), a condition of things peculiar to most people.
Mr. Banting being thus disturbed by the entrance of Bonvilie, banished his poetical effusions, as he threw aside the muslin-curtain of his canopied French bed, and bounded on to the floor, a hero or not in the eyes of his valet, accordingly perhaps as he paid him. The long and elaborate process of ablution, and of brushing, and combing, and curling, and waxing a dandy into his first or chrysalis state of existence, being at length got through, Mr. Bunting appeared in the pea-green balcony of his sitting-room-window, in Nankin peg-tops, an elegant cerulean blue Turkish silk dressing-gown, with massive red tassels, and lily-of-the-valley worked slippers. He then stood slightly bent forward, leaning with either hand resting on the rich fantastic-patterned railing as if he were going to address a constituency for or against the Beform Bill, but in reality scanning the gay passers-by below. Very light and lively they all looked. The wide-extended flags scarce sufficed for the voluminous muslins that came circling along with a rotundity of sail fit only for a pantomime. Then where two sets of moving balloons met, there had to be a divergence on to the road, to the risk of some one being ridden over by the Howe’s and Cushing-item, who came trooping along at best pace, with’ every variety of feather fluttering in their hats. Up-and-down, up-and-down they went, the same to-day as yesterday — the same as it will be again to-morrow — perpetual motion hacks! And as Mr. Bunting stood basking in the warm sun, looking at the beauties, appropriating the steeds to their respective stables, and wondering why ladies did not amplify themselves on horseback as well as on foot, and thinking of “Punch’s” admirable picture of Mr. Spratt putting, or another not putting Mrs. Spratt up, a sudden something struck his eye — a sort of foreboding of mischief, and a fuller look revealed Mrs. Bolsterworth sailing along with her spoon, and an expression of countenance that as good as said, “I am thy evil genius, John!” Whereupon, in hopes that he hadn’t been seen, he backed out of the balcony into his room and rang the bell for his breakfast.
That appetiteless meal at length over, and the “Post” discussed, for the “Times,” was too strong feeding for our friend, the aid of Bonville was again enlisted, and with much thought, and after many changes, and much rummaging in the overflowing wardrobes and drawers, a get-up was at last accomplished that Mr. Bunting thought would be very telling. Full of —
“With thee conversing I forget all time,” he then turned out of doors, endeavouring to conceal his anxiety and eager watchfulness by pretended listless careless indifference. But as he stopped and chatted, and seemed ready to go anywhere with anybody, he kept a watchful eye to the west, his heart beating and his pulse throbbing at each appearing petticoat. And though many came and many met and many passed, still the one magic circle was wanting, and Mr. Bunting at length returned disheartened and dispirited to his home. Why he had his stroll for nothing will appear in the next chapter.
CHAPTER XIII.
MRS. MCDERMOTT.
MRS. MCDERMOTT HAD now the pleasing prospect of seeing her daughter with two strings to her bow, a position that is much more appreciated by the ladies than by the gentlemen. We question whether any man ever got a wife who hadn’t had some other excellent offer, or who hadn’t neglected some other excellent prospect, or who hadn’t been very much admired. Mrs. McDermott, when she thought matters over — how Mr. Bunting had made up to Rosa, how indefatigably he had danced with her, how enraptured he seemed, coupled with the not altogether uninteresting fact that he had a large fortune, and that too in possession — felt extremely well satisfied with her day’s adventures, and glad that their house, Privett Grove wanted painting. Not that she thought of giving young “sivin and four” his congé, but a little competition is an agreeable thing, and flattering. The ladies call it admiration — but the admiration generally ends one way, namely, by the best man being accepted. Of course in saying “best” we are now speaking commercially, not morally. Then as there is an old adage “that an egg to-day is worth a hen to-morrow,” the fact of a man being in possession — not subject to the whims and caprices of the friends or relations of this world — is a very important consideration, and one that always has its due weight. It’s an awkward thing when a youth has to please a whole regiment of his own relations with a wife, equally awkward when an unfortunate has to run the gauntlet of a too severely critical set of wife’s connections. All things considered it is a wonder how people ever get scrambled through, to say nothing of the friendly attentions of the lawyers, each bent on doing what they call “the best” for their clients — that is, making a case of Jew versus Jew of a match.
Mrs. McDermott thought all these points over, and came to the very sensible conclusion, that there was no harm in Rosa seeing a little of the world before she finally settled for life. Still she was a prudent Mamma, and not at all disposed to press matters on hastily, and as Rosa seemed a little paler than usual after her unwonted exercise, she resolved to keep her quietly at home the day after the pic-nic, instead of following up her advantage on the flags, as many overanxious ladies would have done.
We often wonder that young girls on their preferment, should be so fond of showing themselves, when they are not quite up to the mark. We always think they had much better forego the momentary gratification of the dance, or the interview, rather than risk the consequences of making an unfavourable impression. If we might without offence institute a comparison between the fairest of bipeds and the noblest of quadrupeds, we would observe that no man who knows what he is about will ever show a horse that he wants to sell after a hard day’s hunting, or even hacking on the road. He will say, when a customer comes, that the horse is not fit to show, and into the stable he will not let him pass, lest his first look should satisfy or dissatisfy him altogether. So it is with the fair. It is impossible for young ladies to dance and twirl, and talk vehemently all night in the heated atmosphere of a ball-room, and appear next day with the bloom of youth, and the healthy glow of freshness peculiar only to pure air, gentle exercise, and early hours. Yet show they will, pale, haggard, and weary though they be; nay, declare they are not in the least fatigued, and quite ready to go to another ball that evening, if they can get. But nature, inexorable nature, will have her own way, and just as we see scarlet-coated young gentlemen ride twenty miles to cover, hunt, return, dance all night, and smoke till it is time to hunt again, declaring as they dismount the second time, that they never felt so fresh and corkey in their lives, yet drop asleep directly after dinner; so the weary listlessness of over-exertion will prevail even in the gayest and the liveliest throng, and time’s relentless graver begins to draw those lines that so soon separate the ageing from the young —
“Soon fades the rose, once pest the fragrant hour,
The loit’rer finds a bramble for a flower;”
as our poetical friend, Mr. Bunting, would say. Mrs. McDermott did not risk this sort of thing. She saw that Rosa was not herself, and instead of letting other people see the same, she kept her quietly in the cool of the back drawing-room until the heat of the day was over, when she took her by the retired route of Rosemary Gardens, Park Place, and Victoria Villas, up on to the breezy downs, at the back of the seastretching town. Here, amid groups of nursery-maids and children, flannel-clad cricketers, and small young gentlemen wheeling about in charge of large drill-sergeants, they sat and sauntered about until it was time to return to tea.
Meanwhile Mr. Bunting, as we have shown, polished the flags of Promenade Gardens, Belvidere Terrace, Parnassus Place, all the likely draws where people most do congregate, without a find. Hull and dispirited he at length withdrew to his dinner, hoping for better luck on the morrow, and inwardly upbraiding himself for not having gone boldly to call.
CHAPTER XIV.
ROSEBERRY ROCKS’ REGATTA.
PEOPLE WHO CALL Regattas dull and stupid — say they never can make either head or tail of them, see which boat is fir
st, or which is last, or understand what the bang, bang, banging of the guns is for — take a superficial view of the matter, and know little of their merits, in a matrimonial point of view. In fact, they would seem to be invented for the promotion of this particular enterprise, and afford facilities peculiarly their own. In the first place, they draw all people into line, so that pink parasol is easily seen; in the second place, the spectators are stationary, and a well-selected position is generally free from observation, save of those in the immediate neighbourhood; in the third place, regattas are good eyes-right, straight-forward looking exhibitions that afford no excuse for inquisitive prying and peeping about. All minds ought to be engaged and absorbed in the boats out at sea. Contrast these advantages with those afforded by pic-nics, archery meetings, or flower-shows, and the balance of quietude will be found to be greatly in favour of regattas. A pic-nic we have seen, and at flower-shows and archery meetings there are constant crossings, and, what huntsmen call, “throwings in at head,” which disturb the comfort and composure of the scene. These are like the interruptions of a boy to a bird building its nest, which sometimes causes it to desert altogether. Young gentlemen especially are liable to get laughed out of their loves.
The day but one following our pic-nic was appointed for the second of these nautical exhibitions of the season, and accordingly the morning was ushered in with whole ladders of colours flying from poles, and every conceivable place, looking as if there had been a general contribution of all the pocket-handkerchiefs in the town. All the gay white-sailed stomach-pumps of pleasure-boats — or purgatory-boats, as they too often are — were decked out in their streamers and flags, and holiday symbols. Then lusty amphibious landsmen went rolling and hitching about, persecuting people to buy their programmes of the coming sport, as if anybody was ever the wiser from having one. Towards noon, the starting and winning-posts were denoted by Union Jacks placed upon buoys, and about the same time, sundry dirty urchins began pushing and paddling about in tubs, preparatory to taking part in the sport on an element that they seemed to have very little general acquaintance with. Luncheon, that lady’s meal of the day, being at length over — the process of inflation commenced, and presently the wide portals of the mansions emitted whole bevies of beauties who, like the butterflies, unfolded their colours as they got into the gleam of the sunshine. Up went the white, the lilac, the lavender, and at the sight of the well-known signals boaty-young gentlemen and horsey-young gentlemen, and dressy-young gentlemen, and vacant-young gentlemen, began to draw up — hands in peg-top trousers’ pockets — from no one knew where, and fall into rank, the right men, it is to he hoped, in the right places. So the whole sea-board soon floated with crinoline, the lightest of bonnets, and airiest of dresses, organdis, brilliantés, and piqués. Then as the bands began to play, and somebody on shore made a signal to somebody a-float, at the bang of a gun on a lugger-yacht, single and double Dollonds and telescopes came out of their cases ready to point against whatever might appear. And who does the reader think did appear at this most critical moment? Our friend Admiration Jack — Jack dressed within an inch of his life, simpering along as near the fair Rosa as the amplitude of her very pretty broad-sashed blue and white dress would allow. Very beautiful she looked, calm, pensive, and demure, so unlike Miss Giggleton, who came flouncing and twisting about with Captain Ogle, staring in all directions to see who was looking at her. A woman is never satisfied till she has paraded a man. Our friend’s appearance had the effect of fanning the flame of the previous day’s gossip, and set all parties looking at our newly-arrived beauty. Some thought her very well — some thought her middling — some thought nothing of her. One lady — Miss Tartey — thought she had got a most preposterous sash on.