Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  Mattyfat was anything but fat, being more like a pair of tongs on a horse than a man; and Smothergoose, the poulterer, seeing the fair ladies with their respective beaux riding out together, observed that they were “paired like rabbits — a good ‘un and a bad ‘un.” But we anticipate.

  Each board of guardians’ day Sophy availed herself of her father’s absence to ride towards Fleecyborough; and somehow or other, almost at the same spot, she met her darling Angelena, with her own beloved captain and Jug, or (on this occasion) Hall, riding on either side of her. How surprised and delighted they always were! — Well, who would have thought it? So nice! so unexpected! Why it was only last week that they met there. Then, riding four abreast till they met a coal cart, they fell into double line — Angelena and our Tom contemplating the wasp-waisted captain and the embonpoint of the fair Sophy from behind.

  Angelena was in full feather. On the strength of the great match she was about to make, she had treated herself — or rather, for the present, Downeyfelt, the hatter, had treated her — to a smart brown Garibaldi, with a rich black plume, while her London-made riding-habit set off her smart figure in advantageous contrast to the country-made thing of her companion’s.

  Lily-of-the-Valley had been most carefully groomed, and shone forth beautifully sleek. Indeed, as she was destined this day to make an impression, she had been exercised over the very ground they were now going, and regaled with a feed of corn and chopped carrots at the miller’s, of which she evidently entertained a lively recollection; for, instead of stopping, and starting, and trying to bolt down Endive-lane, or up Brocoli-bank, she stepped placidly on, playing merrily with the bit of the fancy packthread reined, pink silk-fronted bridle, while Angelena patted her and coaxed her and entwined her light whip in her flowing silvery mane.

  “Isn’t this a charming creature?” asked Angelena, leaning forward and patting her mare’s arch neck. “I do think she’s the most perfect creature that ever wore a bridle.”

  “Yes,” said Tom, regarding both rider and mare with an eye of ownership.

  “Will you ride me a race,” asked Angelena, gathering her reins for a start, “to the white house on the hill, there?” nodding to one about half a mile off.

  “Not this morning, I think,” replied Tom; “not this morning. The fact is, I’ve no seat in these things,” alluding to his wide-patterned woollen trousers.

  “Nor in any other, I should think,” thought Angelena, looking at his rolling seat.

  Just then Lily-of-the-Valley cocked her neat ears, and a gold-laced cap was seen bobbing above the irregular fence on the left.

  “Good mornin’, fair lady! Good mornin’, Mithter Hall!” lisped Major Fibs, greeting each with a military salute, as he emerged from the narrow intricacies of Lavender-lane. “This is indeed an unexpected pleasure,” continued he, sidling his horse up to them. “I had just gone out for a tholitary thaunter, little expectin’ the gratificathion that awaited me.”

  “Indeed!” smiled Angelena, struck with his fine natural talent for lying.

  “Hope I don’t intrude,” observed the major, with a knowing look at the lady, and a bend of his head towards Tom.

  “Oh, not at all,” replied Angelena; “most happy to see you. I was just asking Mr Hall to ride me a race.”

  “What a beautiful animal that is!” observed the major, eyeing Lily-of-the-Valley stepping easily along.

  “Isn’t she?” exclaimed Angelena, leaning forward, and patting her again.

  “Goes nearer and thafer than any orth I ever thaw in my life,” observed the major; “thows that lofty break-my-knee-against-my-tooth-acthon’s not eththenthal to thafety.”

  “She never makes a mistake,” replied Angelena, “though you can scarcely put a sixpence between her foot and the ground.”

  “What a tharmin’ cover ‘ack she would make!” observed he to Tom.

  “She would look well with a red coat on her,” replied Tom.

  The sound of a strange voice attracting the foremost lovers’ attention, they now reined in their steeds, to exchange compliments with the new-corner as he advanced. The party were just on the entrance of Heatherblow Heath; and, by a dexterous cavalry manœuvre, the major drew into line next Sophy, with Tom outside on his left. Mattyfat was thus placed between his lady-love and Angelena, who occupied the same position on the right that Tom did on the left. Having further separated Tom, so as to get him out of earshot of Angelena, after a few complimentary observations on his horse, and remarks on the state of the weather for hunting, he asked Tom, in a mysterious undertone, if he knew whether the colonel had heard from the Dook.

  “The what?” asked Tom, who was not quick of comprehension.

  “The Dook — old Wellington,” replied the major, as Tom still kept staring.

  “No,” replied Tom, “I didn’t know that he had written to him.”

  “Didn’t you!” exclaimed the major, with well-feigned surprise. “Haven’t you heard that the colonel’s written to ask the Dook to the wedding — to give Miss Angelena away, in fact?”

  “No,” replied Tom, staring with astonishment at the idea of such an honour, and wondering what his mother would say.

  “Oh yes; the Dook and the colonel are very thick, you know,” observed the major—” doothed thick, I may say — and I’ve no doubt the gallant F.M. will come down most handsomely with the necklaces and things. A thousand’s about his mark, but I shouldn’t be at all thurprithed if he was to make it two in your case.”

  “Indeed!” gasped Tom, with astonishment.

  “You’d better not menthon the letter, p’r’aps,” observed the major, “as the colonel hasn’t told you of it himself.”

  “No,” said Tom, as all people do say, whether they intend to keep their promises or not.

  The confab was interrupted by the ladies challenging the gentlemen to a brush over the heath, whose springy sward seemed to have imparted elasticity to their horses’ legs. Sophy’s mealy-legged bay and Lily-of-the-Valley were off in a canter before the gentlemen had gathered their reins, and Tom’s brown, starting forward to follow their example, nearly unshipped our friend.

  “Near go!” exclaimed the major, as Tom, after sundry uncertain efforts, at length got shuffled back into the saddle.

  “‘Deed was it!” replied our friend, adding his former excuse, “The fact is, I have no seat in these nasty slacks.”

  “Well, let us puth on,” said the major, settling himself into a charging seat, and riding as if he had swallowed the poker.

  Tom prepared to obey; but although his horse was generally as dull and tractable as a circus horse, it found that it had a rider who might be disposed of, and with a sideway sort of prance began ducking its head, and dashing out its forelegs it went bounding and hopping among the gorse bushes, sometimes bounding when Tom expected it to hop, sometimes hopping when he expected it to bound, and sometimes walking in preference to either; causing our Tom to show much daylight, to the infinite amusement of the party, and repeated exhortations from Angelena to “stick to the shopboard whatever he did!”

  “Ah,” observed the major, as Tom at last got the animal reined in, and his own equilibrium re-established, “he’s not used to hacking, that orth; he’s a nithe animal — a very nithe animal, but hunting’s his forte, not hacking.”

  “Exactly so,” replied Tom, glad of an excuse for his inglorious display.

  “That palfrey of Miss Angelena’s is the model of a hack,” observed the major, nodding towards it.

  “So it seems,” said Tom; “very quiet — very easy, too, I should think. This animal is rather rough — stots me off the saddle, and when I pull the curb he stops so short that he’s like to shoot me over his head.”

  “Ah, that’s merely from confined space for action. If you had that orth once fairly away with ‘ounds, there’d be no further occathon for pulling or holding; you might give him his head, and sit as if you were in an arm-chair.”

  “Indeed,” said Tom, thi
nking that hunting must be much easier work than hacking. He then took a richly-flowered bandana out of his queer little coat-pocket, and proceeded to mop his profusely perspiring brow.

  “Misther Hall covets your beautiful cream-colour, Miss Angelena,” observed the major, sidling up to her.

  “Well, he must have her, I suppose,” replied she resignedly, after a pause, fearing she had offended her fat friend by laughing at him.

  “Not until after Wednesday, though, Tom,” continued she, addressing him direct as he now came up; “not until after Wednesday,” repeated she.

  “Oh, thank you,” replied Tom; “but I mustn’t rob you of your pet.”

  “Oh, after Wednesday you shall be welcome to her,” adding, in an undertone, “I couldn’t refuse you anything.”

  “You’re going to see the hounds on Wednesday, then, I thuppose?” observed the major. “Where are they Wednesday — Merryfield?”

  “No — Merryfield, Monday,” replied Angelena; “Silver-spring Firs, Wednesday.”

  “Ah, Thilverspring Firs, Wednesday, so it is; not a bad country — best about here by far. Do you hunt Wednesday?” asked he of our friend.

  “Oh yes,” replied Tom, with a matter-of-course sort of air, adding, “Do you?”

  “Why, no, I think not,” replied the major—” I think not. The fact is, I don’t much fancy old Cheer.”

  The fact was, old Cheer didn’t much fancy him; and these sort of likings and dislikings are generally reciprocal.

  “I don’t like your stiff-necked, overbearing, private ethablithments. Cheer may be a very good feller, but he’s not one of my thort.”

  “Nor mine,” assented Tom, who liked to give an opinion, though he knew nothing at all about his lordship.

  “All private packs are objectionable,” continued the major; “nothin’ like a thubscripthon for keeping masters of hounds in order. Why, this old buffer rides as if the country was made for him, and no one else; won’t let a man come near a fence till he’s over.”

  “And does he cram along?” asked Tom.

  “Oh, he’ll ride,” replied the major—” he’ll ride; but where’s the merit of riding such horses as he has? He began life as a rider; and though he’s so old that he ought to be ashamed to be seen out of his grave, he thinks he has a character to keep up, and is just as jealous as a beginner.”

  “You don’t say so!” said Tom, who only knew jealousy of another sort. That observation put him upon the tack. “He’s a great man among the ladies, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, the old fool, he’s always philandering with some one — thinks himself captivating — forgets that he’s near a hundred,” lisped the major.

  “But he’s a fine-looking old man,” observed Angelena, who was lenient where age — gentlemen’s age, at least — was concerned.

  “The man’s well enough,” sneered the major, “if he wasn’t such a confounded disagreeable old jackass, so jealous of his riding, so conceited of his looks; he’s as jealous as a woman, and as vain as a girl,” added he, spurring his horse.

  The start the major’s horse gave set them all a-doing, and Tom was presently stotting and bumping and crying “Who-ay, who-ay,” to his horse, and jagging its mouth, while Angelena’s light hand guided her fractious brute as if the characters of the animals were changed.

  This enabled the major to expatiate afresh on Rumtouch’s beauty, her merits, her action, and powers of endurance; and though Tom was pretty much of George the Third’s opinion, who used to say, “Hang all presents that eat,” he began to think she might be cheap — at all events, not dear — in a gift. As yet Tom had not compassed the fact that a horse was not like a carriage, that only requires washing, greasing, and certain little attentions of that sort to make it go from year’s end to year’s end; and he didn’t see the use of keeping two horses where one would do. Still, as the major insisted that he must have a cover-hack, and that, of all colours, cream colour was the most becoming for a red coat, he was not indisposed to submit; particularly as, in the ‘Times’ City article of the day before, he had read the old stereotyped line, “Com ruled dull, with the turn in favour of the buyer.”

  During the remainder of the ride he regarded the mare with an eye of ownership, and we are almost ashamed to say, bethought him of dismounting Angelena, and riding the cream-colour to the meet on the Silverspring Firs day. That, however, he saw required a little diplomacy; and before he had time to broach the subject the gift horse assumed a new aspect.

  Arrived at the barracks, after separating from Sophy at the place where they so accidentally met, and Tom having resigned his horse to the care of the soldier-groom who came to take Angelena’s, he followed the fair one upstairs to the drawing-room, where they found the colonel and Adjutant Collop hard at work at a game of dominoes. Collop, though too good a judge to think of beating the colonel, more especially as they were only playing for sixpences, nevertheless ran him pretty hard, which elated the colonel; and Angelena, taking advantage of his exultation, proceeded, with due exhortations “not to be angry,” to tell him what she had done with her valuable — or rather invaluable — mare.

  “Ah, well,” said the colonel; “well,” considered he, shaking the sixpences up in his hand, to see that they were all good, “very kind of you, my dear — very kind — just like you, though — always say you’re the kindest-hearted creature that ever lived — would give your last sixpence away. You’ve given Mr Hall a most excellent animal — very kind of you — very good of you — very pretty of you. She’s an excellent animal, Hall; you’ll say so when you’ve ridden her — never saw a finer-actioned, finer-tempered animal. Isn’t she, Collywobbles?”

  “Wonderful animal,” replied the adjutant, who had had the pleasure of a slide over her tail in a rear.

  “But I thought you were going to see the hounds throw off at the Firs upon her,” observed the colonel, after a pause.

  “So I am,” replied Angelena—” so I am; Mr Hall is not to have her till after that.”

  “Ah, well,” said the colonel, “that may do — that may do. I don’t know, either,” continued he, after a pause, and a dry shave of his great double chin—” better have no obligation perhaps — better have no obligation. I’ll tell you how we’ll manage it. Obligations are disagreeable to gentlemen — should always be avoided.

  There shall be no obligation in this matter. You,” addressing Tom, “shall give Angelena a cheque — for, say, a hundred — just for form’s sake, you know. It will be returned to you afterwards — and then mare and money will be both yours.”

  “Oh,” exclaimed Tom, who was by no means keen about it, and knew that both his father and Trueboy would say he had better learn to ride one horse before he got two — besides having no authority to draw on the bank—” oh,” exclaimed he, “I — I — I wouldn’t rob Angelena of her mare for the world. I — I — I”

  “My dear fellow,” interposed the colonel, “you’re most welcome to the mare, I’m sure — most welcome. I wouldn’t be any obstacle to carrying out my daughter’s wishes for the world; all I mean to say is that obligations are disagreeable, and, where possible, ought to be avoided. Now, you know, of course, whatever is Angelena’s in due time becomes yours, and what I propose is a mere temporary arrangement, so that there may be no obligation in the meantime — you understand — eh?” looking earnestly at him.

  Tom didn’t understand, but he said “yes” all the same, which sealed the fate of the transaction.

  “Just you, then,” said the colonel to Collop, “write out a cheque on Hall & Co for a hundred — a hundred guineas, say — guineas sounds better than punds — and Mr Hall will sign it. You haven’t a blank cheque on you, I s’pose?” turning to Tom.

  “No,” replied Tom.

  “No matter,” rejoined the colonel—” no matter; a bit of letter-paper will do quite as well. You’ll find some inside ‘Fistiana’ there,” nodding at a little book-shelf against the wall—” obliged to hide it, to keep it from th
e servants. There,” added he, as the paper fell out, “now, Collop, take a pen and write a cheque on Hall & Co. — great man that Co. — is in partnership with almost everybody — haw, haw, haw! — ho, ho, ho! — he, he, he!”

  “He, he, he! — haw, haw, haw! — ho, ho, ho!” chuckled the obsequious adjutant, as he took a pen and did as directed.

  “Now, Tom, sign that,” said the colonel, as Collop ceased writing, “and give it to Angelena. When she’s Mrs Hall, you’ll get it back; meanwhile, there’ll be no obligation, you know.”

  And Tom complied with the matter of form.

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  LORD HEARTYCHEER AT SILVERSPRING FIRS.

  “SHALL HAVE A large field to-day, I’m thinkin’, my lord,” observed Dicky Thorndyke, replacing his cap on his grizzly head, after the sky-scraping he gave it as his lordship cantered up on his way to cover with the hounds.

  “What makes you think so?” asked his lordship, riding gently in among the glad pack.

  “Several horses on,” replied Dicky, pointing with his whip to the imprints on the side of the road; “and I was in Fleecyborough yesterday, and heard there were a good many elegant extracts going from there.”

  “Indeed!” mused his lordship, who didn’t like the townspeople.

  “The Colonel’s daughter — Miss what-d’ye-call-her’s — comin’,” observed Dicky, rising corkily in his stirrups, as he always did when he had anything particular to communicate.