Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  Now we mentioned that the Duke had a small property — small at Least for a Duke — called Garlandale, a few miles from Mayfield, on the Canons Ashby Road — which was not tied up in the stringent way peculiar to peerages, and upon this our Banker had long cast an eye as peculiarly adapted, in his mind, in consequence of its freedom from toll-bars, for the erection of a villa residence. He had even gone so far as to mention it incidentally to Mr. Acreage, the steward, saying, that he wondered his Grace kept a little out-lying place of that sort, for which he dared say he could get him a customer; and once, after dining at the Fox and Hounds farmers’ ordinary, and imbibing the communicative glass, the Banker went so far as to say that he wouldn’t mind buying it himself, adding, with a slap of his brandy-charged stomach, and a wink of his hazy eye, “you know I’m a substantial man.”

  People, however, don’t like selling land, and somehow or other the thing never got any further. But when the cheques began dropping in, completely overbalancing an already top-heavy account, our Banker got fidgetty, and finding he could make nothing of Mr. Acreage, he determined to open a correspondence with his Grace himself. So he took a large square sheet of paper, and beginning quite at the top of the page, as if he had a great deal to communicate, he commenced with the ominous words, “Mayfield Bank, established 1774,” and proceeded in a very few lines to draw his Grace’s attention to his account, and request that he would reduce the balance against him as soon as convenient. The Duke, however, having a good nose for a dun, took no notice of the letter, upon which our friend wrote him another, more pressing and mandatory in its terms, which sharing a similar fate, as soon as our Banker heard that the flag was flying on the castle keep, indicating that his Grace had arrived in the country, he ordered Tripper’s one-horse chaise, and dressing himself in Ids seediest apparel, and very impoverished it was, he proceeded to the siege of the Duke’s fortress, a castle that seemed to command the whole country. Nor did the Banker quail as mile after mile lessened the distance and revealed the size and strength of the place; its ivy-mantled towers rising majestically above ancient trees rich in the luxuriance of their autumnal tints. Nor did the park appal him, nor the frowning gates, the massive loop-holed walls, the inner walls the moat, the bastion or the bridge, be seemed to pass through everything as a matter of course, and after a ramble under the frowning portcullis, the noiseless sweep of a wood-paved court-yard brought him up short at a little door on the left of the vestibule.

  “Shall I ring, sir?” now asked Wagstaff the ostler, who had driven him, descending and touching his greasy hat with his baggy Berlin-gloved hand.

  “Bing,” replied the Banker, dry-shaving his double-chin, adding, “and ask if the Duke is at home.”

  Wagstaff then gave one of those extraordinary lurches peculiar to stable-men, and hitched himself up the steps to the door. Taking the little brass nob of the bell, he drew it with the greatest caution, and then stood listening for a response, like a terrier with its ear at a rat-hole. Slight as the summons was, it answered the purpose, and brought a powdered footman to the door, whose trim undress clothes contrasted with the miscellaneous half-plain half-livery costume of the corner.

  “Duke at home?” muttered the driver, as if half afraid of asking the question. What if the Duke should insist upon seeing him!

  “Who is it?” asked the footman.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin, and eighteen’s twenty-nine — what business is that of his, I wonder,” muttered the Banker, sitting forward in the little chaise, and again lowering the white worsted comforter from his face, so that the servant might see.

  “O, I beg pardon, sir,” continued the servant stepping down to the carriage-door; “beg pardon, sir — don’t know whether his Grace is at home or not; but if you’ll please to alight, sir, I’ll show you in to Mr. Cucumber, who will be able to tell you,” so saying, the man unfolded the jingling steps of the carriage, and proffered our Banker on arm to descend.

  “Wait!” exclaimed Mr. Goldspink to the driver, as his foot touched terra firma; so saying he bundled in after the footman, leaving the driver to hitch to and fro, and flagellate himself into warmth with his arms, at the door.

  CHAPTER XXXVII.

  MR. CUCUMBER.

  WE DO NOT know under what denomination of servant Mr. Cucumber came, for he did not fill any of the offices in the curious mélange at the head of the tax-papers, that makes little people thankful they are not great ones. He was neither a maître d’Hôtel, nor a house-steward, nor a master of the horse, nor a groom of the chamber, nor a valet, nor a butler, nor an under-butler, nor a clerk of the kitchen, nor a confectioner, nor a cook, nor a house-porter, nor a footman, nor a running footman; neither did he fill any of the various out-of-door offices enumerated in the list, being in point of fact neither more nor less than a dun-stopper, and therefore we should think as exempt from duty as old Willy Walker the earth-stopper who shuts the foxes out of their homes for the Duke’s hounds. Be that, however, as it may, dun-stopping was Cucumber’s forte, and he was extremely expert at it. From his easy chair on the central tower, he could sweep all the converging roads to the castle, select such vehicles as should pass, and arrange such a string of excuses for those to be turned, as were never surpassed. He was always “so sorry” the Duke wasn’t in — would have been so happy to have seen Mr. Maskell, Mr. Lewis, or whoever it was. His Grace was just gone to Orbelle Petty Sessions, or had left not half an hour before for Tidswell Tower. Wondered Mr. So-and-So hadn’t met him. And there was such a frank open air about his hearty face that none but a trickster could doubt his sincerity. Even if the Duke was seen meandering about among the laurels and evergreens of the shrubbery, composing, as was his wont, an explosion for Parliament, Cucumber would declare it wasn’t him— “some person very like him though,” he would say. So he smoothed them, and liquored them, and sent them away, trusting to chance for a better excuse another time. Having the run of the Duke’s letters, he easily divined what had brought the old coronet winkered and pelican-padded mare to the side-door, and collected his faculties as the Banker traversed the somewhat gloomy corridor leading to his presence.

  A great man’s great man is generally a much greater man than the great man himself, and, both in size and importance, the duplicate far surpassed the original. Indeed the Duke, who was generally in difficulties, could be as free and easy as any one when it suited his purposes while Cucumber having no cares or contentions, no bills to meet or balances to square, revelled from year’s end to year’s end in the tranquillity of stately enjoyment. He was always “Mr. Cucumber,” tall, portly, and pompous, to whom the little children touched their caps in trembling awe, and tradesmen toadied with obsequious servility. Our great man having had his peep, had resumed his wine and walnuts, when our Banker was announced, and laying down the “Post,” he arose from his easy chair, and drawing himself out to his utmost altitude, towered imposingly above the little man, just as one sees a great dog impressing its importance on a little one prior to the commencement of a conflict.

  Mr. Cucumber “was extremely glad to see Mr. Goldspink” bowing and tendering him the two fore Angers of friendship, then motioning him to a seat as he resumed his own.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin, and elivin’s twenty-two,” rayther a cool customer this, I think, poking his hat under his seat, “Must just pitch into him with the book.” So saying our banker dived into his greasy-mouthed outside coat-pocket, and fishing out first a dirty snuff-coloured bandana, next a rusty-looking old ready-reckoner, he finally drew forth that multum in parvo, the passbook containing the skimmings of so many transactions, annuities, jointures, dowers, mortgages, bonds, bills, &c. “Sivin and four’s elivin, and eighteen’s twenty nine — just called to speak to his Grace ‘bout his little ‘count with us,” the spokesman tapping the ill-omened parchment-backed book with his podgy finger-nails as he spoke.

  “Oh, indeed,” replied Mr. Cucumber coolly, “what the balance is getting too great for you to hold for us
is it? Well, Christmas is coming on, and His Grace will soon draw a little out for you now that he’s here.”

  Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-nine’s a underd and ten, never heard such an impittant dog in my life, mused the Banker, eyeing Cucumber severely.

  “No,” retorted Mr. Goldspink, with irritated eyes, “not too heavy to hold, but too much over the left to allow of my keeping.”

  “Ah, indeed,” rejoined Mr. Cucumber blandly, seeing he had gone too far, and recollecting that he had a post-dated cheque of his Grace’s that would be about coming due, which he would like to have cashed. “Ah, indeed, sorry to hear that; but his Grace you know is the most careless man in money matters that was ever known. However, it will not be an insurmountable sum I dessay, and our rent day’s coming on which will put all matters right, so take a glass of wine and come back — say the Monday after the rent day — and then see what we can do for you.”

  Sivin and four’s elivin, and sivin eighteen, that won’t suit me, pondered our friend, looking at his shabby shoes, and sivin’s twenty-five — must have a word with the Duke himself to-day; so settling that matter in his own mind, he next looked the splendid man full in his great prosperous harvest-moon face, set off with a profusion of slightly-frosted curling brown hair and whiskers, and declared that the case was so urgent and necessitous, that nothing but a personal interview with his Grace would have the least effect, and he even went so far as to hint that the stability of the Bank — a Bank “stablished sivinteen underd and sivinty-four,” might be jeopardised; and altogether his manner was so urgent and impressive that, used as Cucumber was to the imperative mood, he could not sustain the picture which the banker’s fancy had drawn. He thought there must be something in it, and fearing for his own “fifty,” he determined to depart from his general rule, and endeavour to get the Duke to see his unwelcome guest.

  “Take the paper,” said he, handing the banker the “Post,”

  “and I’ll try what I can do for you.” So saying, Cucumber gave his bushy whiskers a renovating brush at the glass, and disappeared through an invisible door in the wainscot.

  “That’s an impittant chap I’ll be bund,” said the Banker as the door closed on his exit. He then began thinking what he should say to the Duke when ho got to him.

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  THE DUKE OF TERGIVERSATION.

  THOUGH THE DUKE of Tergiversation was still “young and curly” as Mr. Disraeli would say, yet his immediate predecessor, Duke Fortunatus Emanuel, had enjoyed such a prolonged reign that his Grace had nearly eaten out his life estate before he got possession, an inconvenient position for a nobleman of his Grace’s great spending abilities, with a son, the Earl of Marchhare, now coming on, fully equal to his sire. The consequence was, that the Duke was a good deal importuned by parties wanting their little bills, while he on his part, importuned each successive minister for place or power, or something that would bring him in money. He was not at all scrupulous which side he claimed it from, being of the Walpolean creed that every man has his price, if not on his back, tinder his coat collar, in the lining of his hat, or somewhere about him. So he went on parrying and promising, but seldom or ever paying, it being, as we have already stated, Mr. Cucumber’s prerogative to shield his Grace from that disagreeable plebeian necessity. Now, however, Cucumber had to take the other side, and learning from Monsieur Millefleur that he had got his Grace up for the day, paper boots, satin tie, smart coat, and so on, he stole softly into his Grace’s luxurious dressing-room, with a well-assumed flurry that plainly bespoke mischief.

  “What’s the matter?” asked the Duke who had seldom seen his Jidus Achates so discomposed.

  “Oh dear,” whispered Cucumber, “here’s that horrid boor of a banker come bothering about his pestilent balance.”

  “O send him to the devil!” retorted the Duke kicking out his right leg as he spoke.

  “Ah! but he’s in a very stiff mood,” replied Cucumber, “and doesn’t seem at all inclined to be put off.”

  “Send him to Mr. Acreage! send him to Mr. Acreage! I can’t have all these base mechanics coming here!” exclaimed the Duke indignantly.

  “Well, but he’s seen Mr. Acreage, and Mr. Acreage can do nothing for him,” replied Mr. Cucumber calmly.

  “Send him to Mr. Docket then! send him to Mr. Docket! He can talk to him better than I can,” retorted the Duke.

  “Ay, but he tells me that it is of the most vital importance that he should see you himself, that in fact (added Cucumber, sotto voce), the stability of his bank depends on his doing so.”

  “Confound the stability of his bank,” muttered the Duke “what have I to do with the stability of his bank? — honour enough that I take his nasty notes. They smell enough to mike one sick!”

  “Well; but if the bank stops,” whispered Mr. Cucumber, “it will only make matters worse, for the officious — I mean the official assignee will walk in, and people will all have to pay up their balances—”

  “The deuce!” exclaimed the Duke, not liking that view of the matter.

  “It will be so,” observed Mr. Cucumber, creeping up to his point.

  “But is there any run upon the old crazy concern?” asked the Duke.

  Mr. Cucumber. “Don’t know; but he evidently expects one, I should say.”

  The Duke, after a pause. “Well, well; tell him if it will restore confidence I will drive up to the door in my carriage and four — four grays you know!”

  “P’raps if your Grace was to see him and say so, it would come better from you than from me.”

  “Rot the fellow! I hate the sight of him, and detest him afresh every time I see him,” replied the Duke frowning. “I don’t see why you can’t smooth him over. You’ve had as obstinate fellows to deal with as him.”

  “True; only a bank, you see,” observed Mr. Cucumber, “is such a ticklish affair, that a man p’raps hardly likes to trust a third person like me.”

  “Well; but surely the four grays will do something,” observed the Duke soothingly; “promise him out-riders too, if you like.”

  Cucumber, however, still stood out. He wanted to get his cheque cashed, and thought obtaining the desired interview would be a step in that direction. So he pressed the Duke to see the poor man, observing that he could soon get him off his hands again — only to tell Garnett to announce somebody else, and so what with encouragments and alarms, he left the Duke much in the mood of a man about to take a black draught, and inveighing bitterly against the ingratitude of a man who could take his venison and then ask for his money.

  Meanwhile Mr. Cucumber returned to our friend, and after magnifying the favour he had done him, and charging him not to let out that he had not seen Mr. Acreage, he passed him on to Mr. Garnett to conduct to his Grace.

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  THE INTERVIEW.

  “AH, MY DEAR Mr.Goldspink!” exclaimed the Duke, advancing with outstretched hands with all the cheerful cordiality imaginable as our crab-actioned friend followed the smoothly gliding Mr. Barnett into the presence- “Ah, my dear Mr. Goldspink, this is indeed most kind and considerate. First neighbour that has come to greet us. How, may I ask, is your worthy wife and your excellent son?” taking both the banker’s hands and shaking them severely.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin and sivinty-sivin’s eighty-eight, on the gammon and spinach tack I guess — thank your Grace — his Grace — my Grace, that is to say — they are both pretty well, — hope the Duchess and my Lord Marchhare—”

  “The Duchess and Marchhare are both at this moment enjoying a quiet cup of tea in her pretty little boudoir, where I am sure they will be most happy to see Mr. Goldspink,” the Duke motioning him onwards to the gilt-moulded white door opposite.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin and sivin’s eighteen, must stop him from that,” decided our Mend, diving into his coat-pocket again for the ominous book. “I just called (hum), I just took the liberty of—”

  “Ah! but you haven’t seen my new
Swaneveldt!” interrupted the Duke; “grand Italian landscape, with peasants crossing a wooden bridge over a cascade which falls from a woody height,” now trying to turn the man of money to a door in another direction.

  “Thank ’e, your Grace, thank ’e,” rejoined the Banker, backing instead of advancing. “I would just wish to speak one word with your Grace in private before we go.”

  “By all means!” exclaimed the Duke, “by all means; only we can talk and look too, you know — got a new Velasquez as well — view of the Siena Morena; a chateau on the right, near a stream of water, with figures on a road — vast expanse of open country beyond enclosed by a mountainous background — painted with great spirit and masterly effect,” continued the Duke, still leading on to the other door.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin, and sivinty-four’s eighty-five; wonder whether it’s paid for or not,” mused our Mend, reluctantly following.

  They then got into the picture-gallery — a noble apartment full of portraits, pictures, carvings, busts, crystals, bronzes, all the ingredients of indefinite expense; for though the Duke might not be able to pay for a horse, he could always purchase a Hobbema, if there happened to be one in the market. And as every one thinks his hobby is interesting to others, so the Duke kept stopping his visitor’s musing with Titians and Tenierses and Rubenses, and articles of virtu generally.

  Though the Duke talked of the Duchess as an affable lady who would be glad to give Mr. Goldspink a Mendly cup of tea, yet our Banker knew better, and was not going to be cajoled that way; so whenever his Grace desisted from praising a background or expatiating on the effects of light and shade, he at him with his wants in such a steady persevering way, that at last not even a Snyders with a peacock, a turkey cock, a cock and hen, rabbits and guinea-pigs, could parry his importunities, and the Duke was at length obliged to succumb and hear what he had to say. The Banker then at him with his open newly written-up passbook, with a terrible bringing forward, to which he pointed with his fat forefinger, declaring that “it was going to be the ruin of his bank — bank ‘stablished sivinteen ‘underd and sivinty-four — and he really would be ‘bleged to his Grace if he would take immediate steps for reducing the amount.”