Mr. Tom Ingoldsby then made us all laugh by producing a bill for the feeding and care of his dog in a livery stable near by. One of the grooms there, being a dog-fancier, had offered to take Mr. Tom Ingoldsby’s bulldog under his particular care, and had just sent in his account as follows:
harf pound stick 2½
harf a gallin best Hail 1.4
Stror for kindle 3
2 pouns stick 10
‘I dare say you will be as perplexed as I was,’ said Mr. Tom. ‘I made out that stick stood for steak pretty easily, but why the groom should want to kindle straw I couldn’t imagine, till it occurred to me that it was his version of the word kennel. As for the best Hail, I am not sure whose throat it went down, his or Growler’s.’
‘Growler is a doat,’ said Emily. ‘Do you remember, Tom, the lines you made on him as a puppy? I could quote them yet.’
Emily should not speak in a languishing way to young men. It does not become her.
‘Fire away,’ said young Mr. Ingoldsby.
‘Now we are in for it,’ said Mr. Charles Seaforth.
‘Oh, Charles, what a vulgar expression!’ said Mrs. Seaforth, who, owing to her delicate state of health, was being spectator of rather than participant in our evening’s amusement.
‘Never mind, Emily, my girl, let us hear Tom’s lines,’ said Mr. Ingoldsby, interrupting a conversation on the Poor Law, on which subject he and my dear father seemed luckily to be in entire concurrence.
Emily, simpering, began.
It was a litter, a litter of five,
Four are drown’d and one left alive,
He was thought worthy alone to survive;
And his master resolved upon bringing him up,
To eat of his bread and drink of his cup,
He was such a dear little cock-tailed pup!
His master taught him many a trick;
He would carry and fetch, and run after a stick,
Could well understand
The word of command,
And appear to doze
With a crust on his nose
Till his master permissively waved his hand:
Then to throw up and catch it he never would fail,
As he sat up on end on his little cock-tail.
Every one applauded this jeu d’esprit, and Emily smiled complacently, as though it were meant for her.
‘When will you finish the magnum opus, Tom?’ asked Mr. Seaforth.
I thought young Mr. Ingoldsby looked a little conscious as he put his brother-in-law’s question aside. But now a frightful hubbub arose from the corner where my dear father and Mr. Ingoldsby were talking. Their views on the Corn Law had been more in unison than their views on the Government, and my dear father was driving Mr. Ingoldsby nearly to distraction by his attacks on Lord Melbourne.
‘When I think of our young Queen,’ said my father in a loud and rather talking-at-the-company kind of voice, ‘being perpetually exposed to the company of a WHIG Prime Minister, a man of doubtful morals, my blood boils. Would you let your daughter, Mr. Ingoldsby, spend an hour in the society of such a man?’
‘They say he is very charming,’ said Mrs. Seaforth plaintively, ‘and then his wife treated him so badly.’
‘And, of course, being the defendant in a crim. con. case makes him all the more charming in your eyes, ladies,’ said young Mr. Ingoldsby.
‘For my part,’ said Mrs. Seaforth, ‘I never can tell which is Mrs. Norton and which Miss Landon. They both write, do they not?’
‘My dear madam,’ exclaimed Mr. Darnley, ‘how can you say such a thing? Mrs. Norton may have genius — it runs in her family — but she is a woman who has suffered her reputation to become a by-word. Whether guilty or not guilty, she is none the less to be blamed, and is indeed hardly a fit subject for a conversation where ladies are in question. As for Miss Landon, her character is unstained and she has lately married the governor of Cape Coast Castle. There can be no possible comparison between the two.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs. Seaforth languidly, ‘I am sure they will always be exactly the same person to me, but I am no reader.’
‘If Melbourne was in a crim. con. case, it does but prove what I said,’ continued my father. ‘I’d have the fellow shot.’
‘Like the foxes, sir,’ said Mr. Darnley laughing.
Young Mr. Ingoldsby, who seems to share with my brother Ned a malicious pleasure in setting his elders on to bait each other, here interposed.
‘You should read Fraser’s Magazine, sir,’ said he to his father. ‘There’s an excellent poem on the Queen and Lord Melbourne. After comparing her with Queen Anne it runs:
Golden our hopes are, it would fairly dash ’em,
If Mother Melbourne proved your Mother Masham.
‘Bravo!’ cried my father. ‘Any man who speaks ill of the Queen should be shot.’
‘That’s enough, Tom,’ roared Mr. Ingoldsby, and it was some moments before quiet was restored.
I had meanwhile been turning over the pages of the Monthly Magazine, and my attention was caught by a poem over the initials L. E. L., which seemed to me so exquisite that I could not but wish to share my pleasure.
‘Pray, Mr. Tom,’ said I to young Mr. Ingoldsby, ‘do listen to this poem by Miss Landon. I do think it excessively beautiful. It is called The Zegri Ladye.’
‘And what exactly is a Zegri Ladye?’ asked that sarcastic Mr. Tom.
‘That’s enough, Tom,’ said Emily, with so just an imitation of old Mr. Ingoldsby’s words and tone of a moment ago, that general good humour was restored.
‘Indeed, I do not exactly know,’ said I. ‘But the sentiment and the language are so affecting that I am sure you will agree with me.’
I then read aloud a portion of the poem, but on coming to the lines, which form a kind of refrain,
Round the purple curtains sweep,
Heavily their shadows creep
Around the Zegri Ladye,
The Ladye weeping there …
my sensitive nerves were so much affected that I could not go on. Mr. Darnley, seeing my distress, took the book from me and finished reading the poem with excellent expression. Under cover of the applause which ensued, Mr. Darnley said to me in a low voice:
‘Your sensibility, Miss Harcourt, does you honour, and I applaud your taste. Those lines which caused your voice to falter will remain graven in my memory.’
I gave him a grateful glance.
Mr. Tom Ingoldsby in his ironical way declared that the Zegri Ladye was probably frightened of vermin, and that the poem alluded to this fact, and should run
Round the sable beetles sweep …
which caused Mrs. Seaforth to scream.
‘Really, Tom, you might have more consideration for your sister,’ said Mr. Seaforth angrily.
‘My dearest Caroline,’ said young Mr. Ingoldsby going down on his knees, ‘believe me, ’twas all a jest.
But Charles must not lodge an ill
Fear that his progeny’ll
Be like the beetles you find in the kitchen;
Two twins and three triplets I’m bound he’ll be rich in!’
‘Get up, dear Tom, and don’t be so ridiculous,’ said Mrs. Seaforth to her brother. ‘But how Mrs. Norton could write such a poem, about black beetles of all things, I really do not know. No wonder Lord Melbourne did not like her.’
A general movement now took place, and after a plan had been made that we should all drive down to the Epsom races, we went back to Queen Street. Mr. Darnley accompanied us to the door, and as he left he pressed my hand, saying: ‘May the Zegri Ladye have sweet slumbers.’
These words lulled me to sleep.
Chapter Five — A Day at Epsom
When Emily and I went to Madame Jupon’s establishment to have our dresses fitted, we had very little fault to find. I did, indeed, have occasion to call Madame Jupon’s attention to a slight misfit in one sleeve, so she spoke with great severity to Miss Smith the assistant, sent her out of the
room, and made the alteration herself.
‘But,’ said I, and quite truly, ‘I would not wish the young woman to get into any kind of trouble on my account.’
‘You are too kind, madam,’ said Madame Jupon, ‘but I am having to discharge her in any case. She has fainted twice in the workroom, which I cannot allow, and if she behaves in that way now, what will it be in three weeks when the dresses are needed for the Coronation? For it is quite settled that it is to take place on the twenty-eighth of June, as you have doubtless heard, and by far the most suitable time, for the dresses which we are now making for it can be worn in July for any further festivities, but if it had been put off till August, my ladies would have had no further use for their new gowns. I am dressing five peeresses for the court balls and the Coronation itself in the Abbey, as well as my usual customers and a few special ladies like yourselves.’ We then chose materials for evening dresses, which were to be made with a corsage a pointe cut very low and several flounces. Mine was to be in pink crape and Emily’s in cream-coloured blonde. Madame Jupon, having all our measurements, promised them within a few days.
On our return we described the dresses to Mrs. Bellows, who takes the greatest interest in our personal belongings. Emily asked her if she would recommend a good but cheap shop where she might purchase stockings as Christmas gifts for the Vicarage servants and her Sunday School children.
‘I’m sure I don’t know, miss,’ said Mrs. Bellows. ‘There did use to be a warehouse in the Poultry kept by Mr. R. Kipling where they had something very cheap in stockings. If I have to go to the City on business, as I sometimes do, would you like me to look in on Mr. Kipling and inquire?’
‘Thank you,’ said Emily, ‘I should be much obliged. Tell me, Mrs. Bellows, do you think we would do well to wear our new walking dresses, which are to come home this evening, for the races, or should we keep them for a more select occasion?’
‘My dear young lady,’ said Mrs. Bellows, ‘if you will excuse the liberty, you cannot be young but the once, wherefore, I say, make hay while the sun shines. Wear ’em and tear ’em, as the saying goes, and get your fun while you can. There’ll be a plenty of young gentlemen looking at you, I’ll be bound.’
On the morning of the Epsom races we sustained a slight disappointment. We drove round in the new barouche to Mivart’s Hotel, and there found Mr. Ingoldsby with Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth, already seated in their carriage, but neither Mr. Tom Ingoldsby nor Mr. Darnley were to be seen.
‘Aha! young ladies!’ Mr. Ingoldsby called out as we drove up, ‘I can see you are looking for Hal Darnley and my Tom. But don’t cry your pretty eyes out. They have decided to go by the new railway to Epsom, so off they went to Nine Elms in a hack cab, and are to meet us on the course.’
We then set out for Epsom, much regretting the absence of Mr. Darnley, who would have been able to point out the sights to us. Several officers were on horseback in front of the barracks at Knightsbridge, who cast most impudent glances at Emily and myself. When we had passed through Kensington, trying in vain to guess which was the house where Lady Blessington and Count D’Orsay have their literary conversaziones, there was little more of interest to observe. My father slept most of the time, and our chief amusement was to wave at the Ingoldsbys as they overtook us or were overtaken.
When we arrived at the course, our two barouches were drawn up side by side, the coachmen took the horses out, and the footmen unpacked the luncheon we had brought. Under the enlivening influence of champagne my father and old Mr. Ingoldsby became warmly affectionate, and united in drinking destruction to O’Connell and all rick-burners and poachers.
‘Mind you,’ said Mr. Ingoldsby, ‘I am a Whig, but I’m all for Church and State, and I’ll take nothing against the Whigs from any man alive, but I’d no more think of being a Radical than I’d think of moving from Brooks’s to the Reform Club. That’s all very well for these young fellows like Hal, but they’ll come round as they get older.’
‘Brooks’s is a good club,’ said my father gravely, ‘but there’s too much gaming there. Now at White’s we are as steady a set of fellows as you would wish to see.’
They then drank to each other’s clubs, so Mr. Seaforth suggested that the ladies should take a stroll with him and leave the elders to enjoy themselves in their own way. Accordingly, with Matthews the footman behind us, Emily and I accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Seaforth on a tour of the grounds. Emily, who had been to Epsom on previous occasions was inclined to be a little ennuyée and superior, but Mrs. Seaforth and I were in ecstasies at all we saw. The press of vehicles was incredible. Omnibuses, hackney coaches, phaetons, stage coaches, cabs, gigs, carts, chaises, britskas, tilburies, dennets, had been pressed into service for the day. Some of the poorer visitors had come on a kind of flat barrow drawn by a donkey, some looked as if they had walked. On every side were tents for refreshments of all kinds, and booths where showmen and vendors of quack medicines were driving a furious trade. Gipsies in gay attire offered to tell fortunes, but Emily and I did not care to consult them without the protection of a gentleman, and Mr. Seaforth was fully occupied in looking after his wife. It was just at this moment, when both Emily and I were feeling in low spirits, that we beheld Mr. Darnley and young Mr. Ingoldsby.
‘Why, Tom,’ cried Mr. Seaforth, ‘where have you been this long time?’
‘Justifying all the Jeremiads of Miss Harcourt’s father against the steam locomotive,’ said Mr. Tom, laughing, ‘but that can wait. Hal and I are here, and have found our party, and that is all that matters for the present. Have you laid your money, ladies?’
Mr. Seaforth explained that having three ladies under his care he could not very well do any betting.
‘Very right, Charles,’ said young Mr. Ingoldsby. ‘I therefore propose that Hal and I should go and do a little business with the bookmakers, after which we will take Emily and Miss Harcourt to the Grand Stand, while you look after Caroline. Ladies, the betting is now about to begin! Have you any favourite?’
I disclaimed any knowledge of the horses, but Emily, with her usual boldness, asked Mr. Ingoldsby to back Lord G. Bentinck’s Grey Momus for her.
‘Six pairs of gloves if you win,’ said young Mr. Ingoldsby making off.
‘If Miss Harcourt has no objection,’ said Mr. Darnley to me, ‘I shall back Amato for us both. The odds are long, but Sir George Heathcote knows a horse, and I love to challenge fortune. The name Amato is one of favourable augury, and with Miss Harcourt as partner, I feel assured that fortune will be on my side.’
So saying, he rapidly followed Mr. Tom Ingoldsby, leaving me hardly knowing what to think. When the gentlemen returned they escorted us to the Grand Stand, where we had excellent seats and saw many interesting celebrities, including Madame Grisi, the opera singer, Taglioni, the famous dancer, and the celebrated Count D’Orsay.
‘Do you see that dark-looking foreigner with the Grisi?’ asked Mr. Tom Ingoldsby. ‘That is her husband, de Melcy. Some say he is a count, some say he isn’t. They say Lord Castlereagh is sweet on the lady and that de Melcy is only waiting an opportunity to challenge him, but the lady is prudence and virtue itself. Now, Emily, the great race is going to begin. Shut your mouth and use your eyes.’
Mr. Darnley kindly lent me an excellent pair of glasses, by the means of which I was enabled to see the noble equines ranged up to start. They seemed very unequal to the occasion, rearing, pawing, going backwards instead of forwards, and exhibiting as much nervousness as if they were human. At last after several false starts they were fairly off, but such was my excitement, that from that moment I saw nothing but flashes of brown or black as they sped past. Emily shrieked several times in a subdued way, and I so far forgot myself as to lay my hand on Mr. Darnley’s arm and say:
‘Oh, Mr. Darnley, how I hope our horse will win.’
Suffice it to say that the gallant bay did win at thirty to one, and his portrait with his jockey Chappie was later painted by the celebrated equine artist Herring. Grey Momus
was third.
‘The gloves are yours, Miss Harcourt,’ said Mr. Darnley as we returned to our seats in the barouche.
‘Pray, pray,’ said I, in some confusion, ‘I was not aware that there was any such arrangement. For Emily to take gloves from Mr. Tom Ingoldsby is quite proper, for they have been friends from childhood, but for me’
‘You are right, Miss Harcourt,’ returned Mr. Darnley after a moment’s silence, ‘and I applaud your nice feeling of propriety. But do not think that you can so escape the consequences of our bet,’ added he smiling.
I was at a loss for his meaning, but did not pursue the subject.
We found my father and old Mr. Ingoldsby in excellent spirits, as both had backed Amato, and, with a little squeezing, room was found in our barouche for the whole party. Further supplies of champagne enlivened us, and Mr. Ingoldsby asked his son how he had enjoyed the steam locomotive.
‘Indeed, sir,’ said Mr. Tom, a little ruefully, ‘we never so much as got near it. When Hal and I arrived at Nine Elms, the terminus, we found such a crowd at the station that we could barely force our way through. The waiting-room doors were locked and we could only see through the windows the train, standing in the station, crowded with people of all kinds. Every one was pushing and shoving, the women shrieking like Emily here, and the children squalling. The crowd, pushed on from behind, became more and more “hobstroppylous” as Thady puts it, and at last burst right through the doors, which were carried off their hinges. Men jumped over the counters and stormed the nearest carriages when, to our great amusement, the railway officials coolly detached the already full carriages whose occupants had paid for their places, and they were drawn away, leaving the rioters behind. No one could tell us whether the remaining coaches would start, and Hal and I were just debating whether we should try our luck in them, when we heard a woman caterwauling so loudly that we had to go to her help. She had had her pocket picked by a light-fingered gentleman, and was hanging on to his coat-tails, shrieking for the police. The ruffian turned round and tried to hit her, but Hal gave him such a blow with his stick as tapped his canister.’
Coronation Summer Page 7