by R S Surtees
And now, we declare, here is old Sir Felix Flexible! Sir Felix, with his star and all complete, bowing and scraping, and acknowledging the marked attention he receives from everybody. Now O’Dicey steps familiarly up to him and slapping him on the shoulder, exclaims, “Holloa, old boy! how goes it? How are Philip of Macedon and all our friends in Greece?” O’Dicey tendering the baronet his hand, who almost involuntarily takes it, before he recognises hi» speech-stealing friend at the “Rocks,” who, however, the baronet supposes, must be a proper acquaintance as he meets him at a Duke’s. So Sir Felix vouchsafes him a little notice, and O’Dicey looks about in hopes that people see it.
First love valse and supper dance! Who shall describe the commotion caused by that announcement? The rushing for partners — the claiming of partners — the evasion of partners. Miss Beauchamp is so sorry, she really thought it was number eleven dance, — would Mr. James Green Foozle kindly excuse her? and then she goes off laughing with Captain Winfield. How the Jug, who has been nursing a leg very carefully beside Mrs. McDermott, on a magnificent yellow and gold ottoman in the ante-room, suddenly lets it down, and rising offers her his arm, and Miss Rosa is only permitted to valse with Mr. Bunting on condition of surrendering to Jasper the moment it is over Captain Ambrose Lightfoot claims one Miss Springfield, and young Mr. Netherwood the other; and all the engaged and semi-engaged ones, whom it is needless to enumerate, presently coalesce, and go spinning about like teetotums.
Courtship is something like stag hunting, of which few care to see the finish. The indifferent spectator knows that after the offer comes the church, just as the sportsman knows that the stag will be taken sooner or later — in a pond, a bam, a brickfield, any place that comes uppermost. It is the beginning — the uncarting — that people want to see. Neither is it perhaps necessary for us to follow the guests to the demolition of all the viands we described as getting gathered together, seeing that the whole affair was chronicled in the county papers in far more accurate form than we can pretend to — Mr. Cucumber sketched it out, the Duke filled it in, and the Duchess polished it off.
There used to he a funny fellow in the north of England some time ago, called Billy Purvis, a sort of half conjuror half play-actor, who found it his interest to occasionally give a performance for the benefit of some charity; and one day, after exhibiting on behalf of the Newcastle Infirmary, he presented himself to pay over the proceeds to the credit of the institution. The treasurer having counted the cash and thanked Billy for it, chanced to observe, as he was going away, “Perhaps, Mr. Purvis, you would like this to appear in the papers?” whereupon, Billy turning sharp round and spread-eagleing himself, exclaimed with astonishment, “Papors! aye te be shu-er. Why, whaat would be the use o’ mar givin’ it if it wasn’t put i’ the papors?” We often think honest Billy’s answer accounts for a good deal of the philanthropy of this world. Where would be the use of people doing this or that, if it wasn’t put “i’ the papors?”
And so that there might be no mistake about the matter, the Duke always did his own reporting himself, letting the public know when he had a dinner, when he had a dance, when he had a battue, when he went from home, when he came back, and when, as in this instance, he had a grand ball. Of course the newspaper people did not sell him, as some of them occasionally do the quack medicine mongers, by putting “Advertisement” at the top of the paragraph; on the contrary, they let him have the full swing of the paper, as if he was really great “We” himself, a deception that was aided by occasional affectation of ignorance; as for instance, in giving a list of the guests, his grace would write “as far as we have been able to learn,” or in reporting his own speech, the paper would have it, “the noble Duke spoke nearly as follows,” as if the reporter had not been able to catch all he said.
Still, with a little allowance for a certain couleur de rose style, the accounts were very accurate, and on an occasion like the present embraced the variety of topics other than the splendour of the ball, such as the pedigree of the Prince, who “We” were sorry to hear was going away; also the cordiality of the Duke; the beauty and affability of the Duchess; the magnificence of the place; the success of the late battue; the staunchness of the hounds — winding up with a well-turned eulogium on the advantages of having such an exemplary family resident in the county, and the expression of the decided conviction of great “We,” that such enlarged liberality would be duly remembered at the coming crisis — meaning of course the general election.
“That’s diplomacy,” said the Duke, as, having received the revised account from the Duchess and interpolated the passage about the departure of the Prince, he sealed the missive and dropped it into the letter-box for transmission by post.
CHAPTER XCIV.
MR. BALLIVANT AGAIN.
OUR FRIEND MR. Bunting was soon enlightened as to the result of the Buntingbury Castle enquiry. The day after the memorable ball, as he was laying in bed feverish with excitement and with the ghost of a tune in his head, he overheard a colloquy between his valet and a voice which he presently recognised as belonging to Mr. Ballivant. Bonville was presently at his bed side with the ominous name written in the old unmistakeable characters on a small slip of not over-clean paper.
“Ballivant!” gasped Mr. Bunting, feeling that the long-delayed crisis was come at last. “Ballivant,” repeated he, dropping the slip of paper down the bed-side— “Show him up stairs — get him the Times and tell him I’ll be with him directly.” So saying, our hero, bounded out of bed and extemporised a costume wherein to receive judgment.
“To be or not to be,” that was the point thought he as he rushed into his trowsers, combed out his whiskers, and frizzed up his hair with both hands. Knotting the silken cord of his cerulean blue dressing-gown hastily around him, he threw open the door in the wooden partition that separated his bed-room from his sitting-room, and stood in the dread presence.
“Sc-cuse my toilette,” said he, bowing and advancing to greet him.
“By all means,” replied Mr. Ballivant, rising and bowing.
“Have you breakfasted?” asked Mr. Bunting, pointing to the cable equipage.
“Many hours since,” replied Mr. Ballivant drily, resuming his seat by the fire, and at the same time, diving into his outside coat-pocket for the dread “Daftun.”
Mr. Bunting took a chair beside him.
“I’ve brought back your book,” said Mr. Ballivant, producing and presenting it to Mr. Bunting.
“Thank ye,” said our nervous hero, receiving it.
“It is an illustration of the truth of the old saying, that if you will allow a man to use figures, he may undertake to prove any thing,” observed Mr. Ballivant drily.
“How so,” asked Mr. Bunting, fearing the answer.
“Because,” said Mr. Ballivant, “Mr. Daftun calculates that if he plants a tree it must necessarily grow and be of a certain size at a certain age, regardless of soil, climate, situation, and everything else, whereas nothing can be more fallacious, for the growth of one tree is no criterion for the growth of another, even on the same spot, let alone all the world over.”
“Hum,” mused Mr. Bunting, feeling it was too true. “Well, then, you think Daftun is wrong,” observed Mr. Bunting.
“Certain he’s wrong in this case,” replied Mr. Ballivant—” Out altogther.”
“Dash the Daftun,” inwardly growled Bunting — thinking how often he had been thrown over by him. Mr. Bunting now thought ho would have his turn, and throw Daftun over.
“Then how about the other property,” asked he, after a short pause.
“The other property is very purty,” replied Mr. Ballivant, “very purty for a single man’s property, but it would hardly support the requirements of married life — not at least according to the high standard at which expectations are now pitched.”
“Not if there’s love on both sides?” demanded Mr. Bunting eagerly.
“I think not,” said Mr. Ballivant drily, with an ominous shake of
his head.
Mr. Bunting gasped for breath.
“The fact is,” said Ballivant, sotto voce, “we have two strings to our bow, and can afford to be a little fastidious.”
“I see,” said Mr. Bunting resignedly.
“Not that I advocate mercenary matches,” observed Mr. Ballivant, “but every day’s experience shows one the necessity of prudence and caution.”
“No doubt,” replied Mr. Bunting, “no doubt — only when there is mutual attachment and tolerable sufficiency it seems hard.”
“True,” rejoined Mr. Ballivant, “true, only sufficiency is a thing that no one has ever been able to define. It is something like riches — a man considers himself rich enough when he has got a little more than he has. People want to begin life where their parents used to end it. Women are educated now solely for the ornamental.”
“Well, but am I to understand that all this comes from the young lady herself?” asked Mr. Bunting.
“To a certain extent — to a certain extent,” replied Mr. Ballivant. “The fact is, Miss Rosa places herself a good deal in the hands of her Mamma, who consults me, and—” he was going to say, “takes my advice or not as she likes it,” but he checked himself at the “and.”
“And you think it won’t do?” suggested Mr. Bunting.
“I don’t say that,” replied Mr. Ballivant. “I don’t say that — it might do with prudence and economy — in fact, I have known many people marry upon much less, but then this young lady has the option of a great deal more, and—” here he checked himself again.
“Which you’ll advise her to take, I suppose,” observed Mr. Bunting.
“I don’t say that either,” replied Mr. Ballivant, “I don’t say that either, but—”
“It’s a great temptation I suppose you think,” continued Mr. Bunting.
“Undoubtedly it is,” assented Mr. Ballivant. “Undoubtedly it is — nobody who scratches so grey a head as I do can be insensible to the advantages of money; but you had better see the ladies themselves — you had better see the ladies themselves,” continued he, “and if you can arrange matters with them, I assure you I shall be quite as happy to draw your settlement as Mr. Whats-his-name.” So saying, our visitor arose and tendering his hand withdrew, leaving our unhappy hero transfixed with depression. Mr. Ballivant made the descent of the tortuous staircase, regained his vehicle, was shut in with a loud slam of the door, and a shout of “right!” from sore-eyed Sam, while the sound of the wheels had died out in the distance, ere he awoke to a full consciousness of his situation.
“I’ll go and see them myself,” at length muttered he, ringing the bell for his breakfast, and, — ordering a — horse to — be — got ready immediately, he commenced the — to and fro — operation — of — eating and dressing at the same time. Having gulped a cup of coffee, and accomplished a half négligé toilette, careless cravat with dejected collars, but assiduous coat, waistcoat, and trowsers, he mounted Puffing Billy, and was presently urging him — along at a — pace that by no means comported with the horse’s infirmities. In — due time — he — arrived at Privett Grove.
Mrs. McDermott had anticipated his coming, and was on the watch to receive him. No castle no courtship being her fixed resolution, she greeted him kindly, but quite in the close-the-account style. After a little talk about the boll, she at once led up to the subject, by expressing her high opinion of Mr. Bunting’s character, manners, and acquirements, but candidly stated that both Mr. Ballivant and she were greatly (cough) disappointed at the (hem) result of their enquiries; and Mr. Bunting knowing well where the shoe pinched, durst not try to combat the point. Chalker and Chargers, and Biter and Co’s, bills, rose up in judgment against him.
“But you had better see Rosa herself,” continued Mrs. McDermott, thinking to shift the responsibility on her daughter; and Mr. Bunting, glad to escape the now austere lady, readily sought the solace of Boss’s charms.
He found her in the drawing-room, elegantly attired in a new blue silk dress, with a plurality of small flounces, and either with a view of still holding him on, or from a desire of leaving a favourable impression, she had her hair plain as it was on the eventful Pic Nic day, instead of in the Kinglets she had lately worn. Mr. Bunting at first looked upon this as a favourable omen, but our prudent young lady soon gave him to understand that though she had the highest opinion of him, and should ever think of him with the greatest esteem and regard, and hoped they would long remain friends; yet she would not think of acting contrary to her beloved Mamma’s wishes. Perish Savoy! if she would. And not all the vows he made, or the sentiment he could muster, seemed to have the slightest effect upon her resolution.
Mamma, however, having timed them pretty accurately, came in just as, having exhausted his arguments, he was invoking poetry to his aid, when ringing for cake and wine, she sat down to her needlework — the old Baden-Baden towel again — as if she meant to remain; and when that is the case the sooner the suitor goes the better. So without any extra formality our friend took leave, and just as ho regained the gate who should come up but the Jug — the Jug in a bran new hat, blue frock coat, and fancy vest, with a mauve coloured tie, and mauve coloured kid gloves, mounted on Billy Rough’un’, with Billy Button in a blue and yellow livery riding behind him. The Jug turned nearly mauve colour himself, for the day was chilly, and he had taken a stiffish glass of brandy to brace himself, which, coupled with his natural rubicund hue, worked upon by a guilty conscience, contributed to the effect. Mr. Boyston was much embarrassed, for he was just going to qualify as he thought, to be Mr. Bunting’s stepfather, and ought perhaps to be saying something facetious on the subject, whereas poor Mr. Bunting was in reality going away, and would gladly have avoided the collision; so after sundry splutters at each other, and nearly knocking their horses’ heads together in their anxiety to get out of each other’s way, they passed and proceeded on their respective routes — Boyston for Elysium, Bunting for Burton St. Leger.
Arrived at home, he indignantly thrust his “Daftun’” into the fire, and summoning Bonville, desired him to prepare for instant departure. He resolved to go down into Renfrewshire and get rid of a property that brought him in nothing but grief and annoyance. Cushion it as he would the Castle would always rise up against him, and then when people had deceived themselves they talked and blamed Mr. Bunting, as if he had done it. He would be off and done with it; and Mons. Bonville having no predilections for Burton St. Leger — on the contrary, thought it a very uncivilised, unbilliard-tabled sort of place — readily seconded the motion, and presently had the valuable wardrobe in marching order; it being much easier to make a total flit than to pick and choose for a journey.
Crop, the groom, was ordered to return to town with the horses; but that worthy having succeeded in supplanting Sore-eyed Sam with Rebecca Mary, intimated his intention of retiring from service altogether, and taking the Malt Shovel Inn, which was then becoming vacant; whereupon Mr. Bunting most generously presented him with the valuable animals, which Welter the blacksmith declared when Crop took them to him to shoe that it would be like robbing Crop to put shoes upon for they really weren’t worth it. But whether they were worth shoeing or not they appeared to have been very expensive keeping, for Matty Muldoon, with the aid of his “missis,” sent our hero up a bill that would do credit to Chousey himself. And having at length discharged all the obligations of life, Mr. Bunting again availed himself of Dr. Catcheyside’s carriage, in which he reached the railway station in a very different frame of mind to that in which he had left it.
The first intimation Miss Rosa had of the departure was receiving in a pink lined envelope the familiar lines, beginning, “Lovely Rose, farewell!
If ever fondest prayer for other’s weal availed on high, Mine shall not all be lost in air, but waft thy name beyond the sky,” Ac., Ac.
But as the envelope gave no address, Miss Rosa was unable to return Mr. Bunting a beautiful pearl and amethyst ring be had given her — which, howe
ver, indeed she rather preferred keeping.
CHAPTER XCV.
MR. BALLIVANT ON RACING.
MR. BUNTING BEING now clear of the premises, Mrs. McDermott had ample opportunity of running him down, and expatiating on the providential escape dear Rosa had had from a penniless adventurer old enough to be her father. And ill-natured stories being at a premium, several accommodating gossips who could talk on either side, contributed their quota to the undervaluation. Altogether they made him out to be a very bad man, a shocking bad man in fact. Meanwhile Mrs. Goldspink and Mrs. McDermott kept up such a friendly intercourse that it was not long before Mr. Ballivant was wanted again. Rosa had brought the young banker to book, and there was a little preliminary arrangement to be done. The Jug, too, was ardent, especially on non-hunting days, and altogether matters were hastening to a climax.
Mr. Ballivant was one of the Ale order of lawyers, and united a little of the milk of human kindness with the stem leaven of the law. He had lived through the rise and growth of the present struggle for station, and did not consider great wealth and happiness altogether synonymous. Moreover, he was not particularly fond of old Sivin-and-four, still less of our young friend Jasper, whom he looked upon as a very idle boy. So when Mrs. McDermott broached the cause of Mr. Ballivant’s coming, which indeed he knew pretty well without her telling, he made such a strong representation of the danger and profligacy of the turf, that he quite frightened Mamma as to the consequences. He would not advise her to let her daughter marry any one who had anything to do with it, certainly not a banker, who had such unlimited means of obtaining money — many people seeming to think it quite a favour for a man who issued five pounds to take it. And his arguments were so forcible that she quite came into Mr. Ballivant’s view of the matter, and commissioned him to see and talk with young Plutus on the subject — not to say anything harsh, but to reason him out of it if he could — put it upon Rosa and her if Mr. Ballivant liked.