CHAPTER LI. The happy Village again
Early in this history, we have had occasion to speak of the little townof Clavering, near which Pen's paternal home of Fairoaks stood, and ofsome of the people who inhabite the place; and as the society therewas by no means amusing or pleasant, our reports concerning it were notcarried to any very great length. Mr. Samuel Huxter, the gentleman whoseacquaintance we lately made at Vauxhall, was one of the choice spiritsof the little town, when he visited it during his vacation, andenlivened the tables of his friends there, by the wit of Bartholomew'sand the gossip of the fashionable London circles which he frequented.
Mr. Hobnell, the young gentleman whom Pen had thrashed in consequenceof the quarrel in the Fotheringay affair, was, whilst a pupil at theGrammar School at Clavering, made very welcome at the tea-table of Mrs.Huxter, Samuel's mother, and was free of the surgery, where he knew theway to the tamarind-pots, and could scent his pocket-handkerchief withrose-water. And it was at this period of his life that he formed anattachment for Miss Sophy Huxter, whom, on his father's demise, hemarried, and took home to his house of the Warren, at a few miles fromClavering.
The family had possessed and cultivated an estate there for manyyears, as yeomen and farmers. Mr. Hobnell's father pulled down theold farmhouse; built a flaring new whitewashed mansion, with capaciousstables; and a piano in the drawing-room; kept a pack of harriers; andassumed the title of Squire Hobnell. When he died, and his son reignedin his stead, the family might be fairly considered to be established ascounty gentry. And Sam Huxter, at London, did no great wrong in boastingabout his brother-in-law's place, his hounds, horses, and hospitality,to his admiring comrades at Bartholomew's. Every year, at a timecommonly when Mrs. Hobnell could not leave the increasing duties ofher nursery, Hobnell came up to London for a lark, had rooms atthe Tavistock, and he and Sam indulged in the pleasures of the towntogether. Ascot, the theatres, Vauxhall, and the convivial taverns inthe joyous neighbourhood of Covent Garden, were visited by the vivacioussquire, in company with his learned brother. When he was in London, ashe said, he liked to do as London does, and to "go it a bit," and whenhe returned to the west, he took a new bonnet and shawl to Mrs. Hobnell,and relinquished, for country sports and occupations during the nexteleven months, the elegant amusements of London life.
Sam Huxter kept up a correspondence with his relative, and supplied himwith choice news of the metropolis, in return for the baskets of hares,partridges, and clouted cream which the squire and his good-natured wifeforwarded to Sam. A youth more brilliant and distinguished they didnot know. He was the life and soul of their house, when he made hisappearance in his native place. His songs, jokes, and fun kept theWarren in a roar. He had saved their eldest darling's life, by takinga fish-bone out of her throat: in fine, he was the delight of theircircle.
As ill-luck would have it, Pen again fell in with Mr. Huxter, only threedays after the rencontre at Vauxhall. Faithful to his vow, he had notbeen to see little Fanny. He was trying to drive her from his mind byoccupation, or other mental excitement. He laboured, though not to muchprofit, incessantly in his rooms; and, in his capacity of critic forthe Pall Mall Gazette, made woeful and savage onslaught on a poem and aromance which came before him for judgment. These authors slain, hewent to dine alone at the lonely club of the Polyanthus, where the vastsolitudes frightened him, and made him only the more moody. He hadbeen to more theatres for relaxation. The whole house was roaring withlaughter and applause, and he saw only an ignoble farce that made himsad. It would have damped the spirits of the buffoon on the stage tohave seen Pen's dismal face. He hardly knew what was happening; thescene and the drama passed before him like a dream or a fever. Thenhe thought he would go to the Back Kitchen, his old haunt withWarrington--he was not a bit sleepy yet. The day before he had walkedtwenty miles in search after rest, over Hampstead Common and Hendonlanes, and had got no sleep at night. He would go to the Back Kitchen.It was a sort of comfort to him to think he should see Bows. Bows wasthere, very calm, presiding at the old piano. Some tremendous comicsongs were sung, which made the room crack with laughter. How strangethey seemed to Pen! He could only see Bows. In an extinct volcano, suchas he boasted that his breast was, it was wonderful how he should feelsuch a flame! Two days' indulgence had kindled it; two days' abstinencehad set it burning in fury. So, musing upon this, and drinking down oneglass after another, as ill luck would have it, Arthur's eyes lightedupon Mr. Huxter, who had been to the theatre, like himself, and, withtwo or three comrades, now entered the room. Huxter whispered to hiscompanions, greatly to Pen's annoyance. Arthur felt that the other wastalking about him. Huxter then worked through the room, followed by hisfriends, and came and took a place opposite Pen, nodding familiarly tohim, and holding him out a dirty hand to shake.
Pen shook hands with his fellow-townsman. He thought he had beenneedlessly savage to him on the last night when they had met. As forHuxter, perfectly at good-humour with himself, and the world, it neverentered his mind that he could be disagreeable to anybody; and thelittle dispute, or "chaff," as he styled it, of Vauxhall, was a triflewhich he did not in the least regard.
The disciple of Galen having called for "four stouts," with which he andhis party refreshed themselves, began to think what would be the mostamusing topic of conversation with Pen, and hit upon that precise onewhich was most painful to our young gentleman.
"Jolly night at Vauxhall--wasn't it?" he said, and winked in a veryknowing way.
"I'm glad you liked it," poor Pen said, groaning in spirit.
"I was dev'lish cut--uncommon--been dining with some chaps at Greenwich.That was a pretty bit of muslin hanging on your arm--who was she?" askedthe fascinating student.
The question was too much for Arthur. "Have I asked you any questionsabout yourself, Mr. Huxter?" he said.
"I didn't mean any offence--beg pardon--hang it, you cut up quitesavage," said Pen's astonished interlocutor.
"Do you remember what took place between us the other night?" Pen asked,with gathering wrath. "You forget? Very probably. You were tipsy, as youobserved just now, and very rude."
"Hang it, sir, I asked your pardon," Huxter said, looking red.
"You did certainly, and it was granted with all my heart. I am sure. Butif you recollect, I begged that you would have the goodness to omit mefrom the list of your acquaintance for the future; and when we met inpublic, that you would not take the trouble to recognise me. Will youplease to remember this, hereafter? and as the song is beginning, permitme to leave you to the unrestrained enjoyment of the music."
He took his hat, and making a bow to the amazed Mr. Huxter left thetable, as Huxter's comrades, after a pause of wonder, set up such a roarof laughter at Huxter, as called for the intervention of the presidentof the room; who bawled out, "Silence, gentlemen; do have silencefor the Body Snatcher!" which popular song began as Pen left theBack Kitchen. He flattered himself that he had commanded his temperperfectly. He rather wished that Huxter had been pugnacious. He wouldhave liked to fight him or somebody. He went home. The day's work, thedinner, the play, the whisky-and-water, the quarrel,--nothing soothedhim. He slept no better than on the previous night.
A few days afterwards, Mr. Sam Huxter wrote home a letter to Mr. Hobnellin the country, of which Mr. Arthur Pendennis formed the principalsubject. Sam described Arthur's pursuits in London, and his confoundedinsolence of behaviour to his old friends from home. He said he was anabandoned criminal, a regular Don Juan, a fellow who, when he did comeinto the country, ought to be kept out of honest people's houses. He hadseen him at Vauxhall, dancing with an innocent girl in the lower ranksof life, of whom he was making a victim. He had found out from an Irishgentleman (formerly in the army), who frequented a club of which he,Huxter, was member, who the girl was, on whom this conceited humbug waspractising his infernal arts; and he thought he should warn her father,etc. etc.,--the letter then touched on general news, conveyed thewriter's thanks for the last parcel and the rabbits, and hinted hisextreme readiness
for further favours.
About once a year, as we have stated, there was occasion for achristening at the Warren, and it happened that this ceremony took placea day after Hobnell had received the letter of his brother-in-law intown. The infant (a darling little girl) was christened Myra Lucretia,after its two godmothers, Miss Portman and Mrs. Pybus of Clavering, andas of course Hobnell had communicated Sam's letter to his wife, Mrs.Hobnell imparted its horrid contents to her two gossips. A pretty storyit was, and prettily it was told throughout Clavering in the course ofthat day.
Myra did not--she was too much shocked to do so--speak on the matter toher mamma, but Mrs. Pybus had no such feelings of reserve. She talkedover the matter not only with Mrs. Portman, but with Mr. and theHonourable Mrs. Simcoe, with Mrs. Glanders, her daughters being to thatend ordered out of the room, with Madame Fribsby, and, in a word, withthe whole of the Clavering society. Madame Fribsby looking furtively upat her picture of the dragoon, and inwards into her own wounded memory,said that men would be men, and as long as they were men would bedeceivers; and she pensively quoted some lines from Marmion, requestingto know where deceiving lovers should rest? Mrs. Pybus had no wordsof hatred, horror, contempt, strong enough for a villain who could becapable of conduct so base. This was what came of early indulgence, andinsolence, and extravagance, and aristocratic airs (it is certain thatPen had refused to drink tea with Mrs. Pybus), and attending the corruptand horrid parties in the dreadful modern Babylon! Mrs. Portman wasafraid that she must acknowledge that the mother's fatal partiality hadspoiled this boy, that his literary successes had turned his head, andhis horrid passions had made him forget the principles which DoctorPortman had instilled into him in early life. Glanders, the atrociousCaptain of Dragoons, when informed of the occurrence by Mrs. Glanders,whistled and made jocular allusions to it at dinner-time; on which Mrs.Glanders called him a brute, and ordered the girls again out of theroom, as the horrid Captain burst out laughing. Mr. Simcoe was calmunder the intelligence; but rather pleased than otherwise; it onlyserved to confirm the opinion which he had always had of that wretchedyoung man: not that he knew anything about him--not that he had read oneline of his dangerous and poisonous works; Heaven forbid that he should:but what could be expected from such a youth, and such frightful, suchlamentable, such deplorable want of seriousness? Pen formed the subjectfor a second sermon at the Clavering chapel-of-ease: where the dangersof London, and the crime of reading or writing novels, were pointed outon a Sunday evening to a large and warm congregation. They did notwait to hear whether he was guilty or not. They took his wickedness forgranted: and with these admirable moralists, it was who should fling thestone at poor Pen.
The next day Mrs. Pendennis, alone and almost fainting with emotion andfatigue, walked or rather ran to Dr. Portman's house to consult the goodDoctor. She had had an anonymous letter;--some Christian had thoughtit his or her duty to stab the good soul who had never done mortal awrong--an anonymous letter with references to Scripture, pointing outthe doom of such sinners and a detailed account of Pen's crime. She wasin a state of terror and excitement pitiable to witness. Two orthree hours of this pain had aged her already. In her first momentof agitation she had dropped the letter, and Laura had read it. Laurablushed when she read it; her whole frame trembled, but it was withanger. "The cowards," she said.--It isn't true.--No, mother, it isn'ttrue."
"It is true, and you've done it, Laura," cried out Helen fiercely. "Whydid you refuse him when he asked you? Why did you break my heart andrefuse him? It is you who led him into crime. It is you who flung himinto the arms of this--this woman.--Don't speak to me.--Don't answer me.I will never forgive you, never. Martha, bring me my bonnet and shawl.I'll go out. I won't have you come with me. Go away. Leave me, cruelgirl; why have you brought this shame on me?" And bidding her daughterand her servants keep away from her, she ran down the road to Clavering.
Doctor Portman, glancing over the letter, thought he knew thehandwriting, and, of course, was already acquainted with the charge madeagainst poor Pen. Against his own conscience, perhaps (for the worthyDoctor, like most of us, had a considerable natural aptitude forreceiving any report unfavourable to his neighbours), he strove toconsole Helen; he pointed out that the slander came from an anonymousquarter, and therefore must be the work of a rascal; that the chargemight not be true--was not true, most likely--at least, that Pen mustbe heard before he was condemned; that the son of such a mother was notlikely to commit such a crime, etc. etc.
Helen at once saw through his feint of objection and denial. "You thinkhe has done it," she said,--"you know you think he has done it. Oh, whydid I ever leave him, Doctor Portman, or suffer him away from me? Buthe can't be dishonest--pray God, not dishonest--you don't think that,do you? Remember his conduct about that other--person--how madly hewas attached to her. He was an honest boy then--he is now. And I thankGod--yes, I fall down on my knees and thank God he paid Laura. You saidhe was good--you did yourself. And now--if this woman loves him--and youknow they must--if he has taken her from her home, or she tempted him,which is most likely--why still, she must be his wife and my daughter.And he must leave the dreadful world and come back to me--to his mother,Doctor Portman. Let us go away and bring him back--yes--bring himback--and there shall be joy for the--the sinner that repenteth. Let usgo now, directly, dear friend--this very----"
Helen could say no more. She fell back and fainted. She was carried toa bed in the house of the pitying Doctor, and the surgeon was called toattend her. She lay all night in an alarming state. Laura came toher, or to the rectory rather; for she would not see Laura. And DoctorPortman, still beseeching her to be tranquil, and growing bolder andmore confident of Arthur's innocence as he witnessed the terrible griefof the poor mother, wrote a letter to Pen warning him of the rumoursthat were against him and earnestly praying that he would break offand repent of a connexion so fatal to his best interests and his soul'swelfare.
And Laura?--was her heart not wrung by the thought of Arthur's crime andHelen's estrangement? Was it not a bitter blow for the innocent girl tothink that at one stroke she should lose all the love which she caredfor in the world?
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