Thou canst not know how deep thou wound’st the heart till now so free.
The VAVASOUR, who in the fight was first among the brave,
Is now in silken fetters bound, FRANCESCA’S hapless slave.”’
My feelings may be better imagined than described. It was Mr. Vavasour’s verses, which I had left in the book, hoping to make Emily jealous. How justly was I to be punished!
‘Here, what’s this?’ asked my father. ‘Fanny getting poems from Vavasour? Damn those women, you can’t keep them from it. Just the same in Norfolk, always some of the officers hanging round the house. Well, Fan, you can whistle for him to come back now. All the clubs will know this morning that old Harcourt is broke, and you won’t see your beau again in a hurry.’
‘Papa!’ I cried. ‘How can you speak like that? Mr. Vavasour is the merest acquaintance, and indeed I cannot think how those foolish verses came there.’
‘He writes you pretty warm stuff for an acquaintance,’ said Ned, whom I could have killed on the spot.
‘Mr. Darnley,’ cried I, distracted, ‘surely’
‘I beg that Miss Harcourt will not trouble to make an explanation,’ said Mr. Darnley rising. ‘I have no right to demand one. I have been mistaken and I acknowledge my mistake. I had thought — but no! Farewell, Ned. Miss Dacre, I shall hope to see you when you are back at Tapton. Mr. Harcourt, do not forget that I am at your service.’
So saying he walked loftily from the room, leaving me a prey to despair. I blamed myself bitterly for my lightheaded conduct. In truth I had forgotten all about the lines, and now they had turned and rent me. I began to sob, and Emily came to my assistance with sal volatile.
‘Go it, Fan,’ said that odious Ned. ‘You’ll get a dozen more as good as Vavasour. I hate those conceited snobs of Oxonians.’
‘You must call him out,’ said my father.
‘Call him out?’ cried Ned, stupefied, ‘why?’
‘Damme, sir, do you want me to tell you, and before Miss Dacre, to protect your sister’s reputation?’ asked my father, now well in one of his rages. ‘If I were a younger man I’d do it myself. Why, sir, the fellow Vavasour has—’ but I cannot bring myself to set down on paper what my father said. I hid my face in Emily’s bosom and sobbed convulsively.
‘I say, governor, this is going a bit too far,’ protested Ned. ‘Vavasour’s a snob, and I don’t like him, but hang it all he’s a gentleman, and what’s more I owe him ten quid, so I can’t very well call him out, can I? If you’ll lend me the money, sir, I might have a go at it.’
Upon this my father burst into the most fearful imprecations saying that we were all ruined, that his estate would have to be sold, and that Ned need not look forward to inheriting an acre or a penny.
‘Oh, come, I say, you can’t expect us to swallow that,’ said Ned. But so violently did my father insist on his ruin, that we began to feel convinced of the truth of what he said.
‘Well,’ said Ned, ‘that’s a famous piece of bad luck. I hoped I was still drunk and imagining it all, but this is too much even for the rum punch we had last night. Poor Fan, you won’t get married at all now. What about a wash and a shave, sir? We both need it.’
‘I’ll see you d—d first,’ cried my father. ‘You insult a man when he’s down, do you? You insult your sister, sir? By the Lord, sir, you won’t get married either. You are a beggar, and a beggar’s son.’
On hearing this, Emily rose to her feet, looking, were her features better, almost sublime. With much dignity she walked to where Ned was sitting, the picture of astonishment and horror. Laying her hand upon his dressing-gown, she said, ‘You forget, Mr. Harcourt, that I have a large fortune of my own. That fortune is Ned’s on the day that he marries me.’
‘Oh, I say, Em, you are a trump,’ cried Ned, rapturously kissing her hand. ‘We’ll be as happy as badgers in a hole with your money. Look here, Em, when your father dies, not that I wish the old reverend any ill, but one must look ahead a bit you know, why shouldn’t Hal give me the living? It’s a good one, and I’ll take orders as soon as I can, and we’ll have a famous time and keep a pack of beagles and go to all the races. Hal has some good shooting at Tapton, I believe, and so have the Ingoldsbys at Tappington Everard.’
Emily gazed proudly upon him, like a mother upon a favourite child. Happy Emily, who could offer her hand and fortune to the man of her heart, even if it were only Ned! I, alas, had not a penny to offer, and was for ever estranged from the best, the noblest of beings, and by my own fault. My father, who had been staring at this scene with lustreless eyes, now rose, and loudly ding his eyes and soul, left the room.
‘My dearest Fanny, calm yourself,’ said Emily, ‘and do you, Ned, go and make yourself fit to be seen at once.’
Ned shuffled away in his slippers and Emily spoke to me with such consoling kindness that my sobs redoubled.
‘As for Mr. Vavasour’s foolish verses,’ said she, ‘we will tear them up and forget them,’ upon which she reduced the card to the smallest fragments and threw them behind the grate.
A fresh peal at the front door bell presently made me jump from my seat in a transport of nerves, nor were my apprehensions unjustified, for it was Mr. Vavasour!
‘Tell Mr. Harcourt and Mr. Ned,’ said Emily to Matthews, ‘that Mr. Vavasour is here, and beg them to come down the moment they are dressed.’
Mr. Vavasour seemed strangely ill at ease. I had never before known him at a loss for conversation and did not feel inclined to help him. After much beating about the bush, he delivered to me a note from his aunt, which I asked permission to read at once.
‘Oh, it is of no particular importance,’ said he nervously, ‘pray read it when I have gone. I only wished to have a word with you and then I will take my leave.’
‘Pardon me,’ said Emily, ‘I think Fanny had better read it now, in case there is any answer to be sent.’
Encouraged by Emily’s firmness I opened the note and read it, while she looked over my shoulder, an act which I was too much upset to resent as I would when myself. It was a cold and civil note, regretting that Mrs. Vavasour would be going out of town to her ward’s country estate on the following day, and must therefore excuse herself from seeing us again before she left.
‘My aunt hopes, I hope, we both hope, that you will understand, Miss Harcourt,’ said Mr. Vavasour, fidgeting with his chains.
‘I understand perfectly,’ said I, fixing my glance upon him and feeling my courage return at this piece of impertinence, ‘and was about to write a similar note to Mrs. Vavasour myself, as I have persuaded my father to leave London and return to our real friends.’
Mr. Vavasour looked foolish. ‘May I,’ said he, ‘beg a word with Miss Harcourt in private?’
‘I think not,’ said I. ‘From Miss Dacre I have no secrets, nor have I from my father and brother,’ said I, as Papa and Ned, both very much improved in appearance, entered the room, followed by Ned’s dog.
‘Secrets? What’s that?’ asked my father.
For once my father’s annoying curiosity had its uses. ‘Oh, nothing, sir,’ said I, ‘only that Mr. Vavasour wished to speak with me in private. I cannot conceive any reason for such a request and must really beg to be excused. He brings me a note from Mrs. Vavasour, civilly declining the pleasure of our company for the future.’
‘Cross-eyed old bitch,’ said my father, almost pleasantly, so does shaving and a clean shirt refresh a man. ‘She liked the old Norfolk squire well enough when she thought he was a plum — set her cap at him, oh no! But now he is penniless he must eat the cold shoulder. Damme, hers would be a scraggy one!’
At this joke my father laughed quite in his old way.
‘Miss Harcourt,’ said Mr. Vavasour earnestly, ‘you have a generous heart. May I presume upon its kindness to ask you to let me have back the book that I gave you? You will doubtless have no further use for it.’
He said this with a meaning look, which, however, I did not choose to notice.
‘I am
sure Fan will give it back to you,’ said Ned, ‘provided she may keep the dedication. That was a famous piece of work.’
‘I suppose,’ said Emily, ‘you would like for “Francesca’’ to put “Almeria”. “Almeria’s hapless slave” would not sound so badly.’
At this Ned burst out laughing so loudly that Mr. Vavasour turned quite pale.
‘Miss Harcourt, I trust in your discretion,’ he said, casting an appealing glance at me. ‘Permit me to take my leave.’
‘After him, old girl,’ cried Ned to the dog, who flew like an arrow after our departing guest. Emily and I sprang to the window and were in time to perceive the languid Oxonian actually running down Queen Street, with Ned’s dog, the sweetest and mildest of creatures, snapping at his heels.
Mr. Tom Ingoldsby, who was coming up the street, leant against the railings splitting his sides with laughter, tradesmen’s boys hooted, maidservants jeered, pot-boys cried ‘Stop Thief!’, other dogs joined in the chase, and so the romantic Vavasour vanished from our lives for ever.
‘Lassy me!’ said Emily, ‘it’s Tom Ingoldsby. I declare I had forgotten that we were to go to the Hyde Park Fair with them. Shall we send him away, Mr. Harcourt?’
‘No, no, my girl,’ said my father who was roaring with laughter, despite his dejection, at Mr. Vavasour’s discomfiture. ‘You and Fan and Ned go and amuse yourselves.’
‘Look here, governor,’ said Ned, ‘I’ll stay here. Can’t desert a sinking ship you know. Tom will take the girls along.’
My father was so much affected that he turned away. Ned whispered to me to keep my spirits up, and that it would be much better for me to show myself as if nothing had happened. So, though with a heavy heart, I put on my walking dress and went with Emily and Mr. Tom to Mivart’s.
Old Mr. Ingoldsby received us with particular kindness and asked meaningly what was the news with us.
‘None, sir,’ said I, ‘except that Emily has consented to become a sister to me. She and Ned are to be married when old Mr. Dacre is no more. She is a lucky creature,’ I added, my eyes filling with tears.
‘Tut, tut, Miss Harcourt,’ said old Mr. Ingoldsby, ‘don’t cry. A little bird tells me that you will be down in our part of the country before long, and you will find a hearty welcome from all of us at Tappington Everard. Cheer up, for we must smoke Emily about this affair.’
A great deal of congratulating and joking then took place. Mr. Ingoldsby insisted that we should have some lunch before starting on our expedition, and ordered champagne to drink Emily’s and Ned’s health. In the general gaiety I almost forgot my own troubles. Mr. Tom rallied Emily archly about the fatal letter T.
‘My heart is broken now that you prefer N.,’ said he. ‘And what will poor Hal Darnley do?’
Emily said something in a low voice to him which I could not hear. I felt so wretchedly uncomfortable I could have cried, and was glad when we were en route for Hyde Park. Mr. Tom excused himself saying that he had an important engagement, but the rest of us, including Mrs. Seaforth, who insists upon exposing herself to every kind of fatigue in almost a bold way, considering her condition, set out on foot.
Never have I seen such a sight. Several acres of the park must have been covered with the booths, tents, and sideshows there erected. Here one might see a Punch and Judy show, there a tent for beer or refreshments. Loud-voiced men called our attention by shouting the wares they had to sell, or extolling the rarities they had to show. Ruffianly looking fellows, like Bill Sikes, jostled and hustled the crowd while their light-fingered associates, Artful Dodgers in the fullest sense of the words, took advantage of the confusion to make off with handkerchiefs, reticules, watch-chains, and other small articles. Warned by Mr. Seaforth we avoided the thickest parts of the crowd and were lucky enough to escape the attentions of the pickpockets.
Others were not so fortunate, and we saw a stout, elderly woman of respectable appearance run up to a policeman, saying she had been robbed of a silk handkerchief. The policeman very civilly asked her to describe the individual who had taken it, but she could only say that she had been jostled in the crowd and found her handkerchief gone. Just at that moment another policeman came up, with a thin rat-faced man in custody.
‘Here’s another of the watch-and-chain gang, Wickens,’ said he to the first policeman. ‘I nabbed him with these ’ere watches and five silk hankerchers, just as he was a-trying to pinch an old gent’s pocket book.’
‘Let’s see the wipes,’ said the first officer.
Accordingly the second man exhibited a number of silk handkerchiefs, one of which the woman asserted with loud outcries to be hers.
‘Well, you’ll have to come along to the station and tell the Inspector there about it, mum,’ said the second man.
‘But it’s my hankercher,’ cried the stout woman. ‘Any one as knows me will tell you so. I live down near the New Cut, and if that partickler hankercher ain’t mine, you ask all the neighbours or ask my little girl here.’
‘Afraid we haven’t time to go to the New Cut, mum,’ said the officer called Wickens, grinning, ‘but we’ll hear what the little gel’s got to say.’
‘Speak up, lovey,’ said the woman, ‘and tell the gentleman about auntie’s hankercher.’
‘Please sir,’ piped up the little girl, holding up a large bandanna, ‘here’s auntie’s wipe. She told me to prig it off an old party, and I done it that quiet as he never seed me.’ At this the stout woman flew at the little girl and began cuffing her. The child screamed, and the policemen took them both away, kicking and scratching, to the police station.
‘It is unfortunate,’ said Mr. Seaforth, ‘that we missed the balloon ascent yesterday, which must have been very impressive.’
‘But, Charles dear, they came down in Marylebone Lane, you told me so yourself,’ said Mrs. Seaforth, ‘and I cannot think that it is worth going up in a balloon to get to Marylebone, whatever people may say about science.’
‘Come along, girls, and see the donkey races,’ called old Mr. Ingoldsby.
A number of sailors added here to the gaiety of the scene, as these gallant fellows are always in the best of spirits. A band of them were patronizing the donkey races, and we were amused to see one who had been unhorsed, or rather un-assed, run forward, and seizing the foremost donkey by the tail endeavour to keep it back while he caught his own steed. Mr. Seaforth remarked that the race was hardly being run under Jockey Club rules.
Another party of gallant tars was gathered round the so-called aerial ships, and was expressing in no measured terms its contempt for such land-lubberly affairs. A dispute had arisen between two of the proprietors and a party of the sailors, and a policeman coming up inquired ‘what the row was about.’
‘Why,’ said one of the sailors, ‘this here feller calls his bumboat a ship, and so, d’ye see, he was on the gangway and I gave him a shove, quite a gentle hit-like, and down he goes, plumpendickler on the ground, starn uppermost.’
‘Vy,’ screamed the gentleman in question, ‘if you ain’t the werry cove as cotched me a preshus whop under my ear, wot knocked me bang out!’
‘And you’re the werry identical vun,’ cried his friend, ‘as giv’d me sich a gallus kick as I ain’t bin able to sit down comfortable ever since.’
The policeman recommended them all to be on their good behaviour and walked away, saying he would keep an eye on them. The owners of the aerial ship went grumbling back to their employ, while the sailors, seizing a number of not unwilling females who were standing invitingly by, drew them to a booth where all were soon engaged in the mazy convolutions of the dance.
We strolled about for some time, noticing among other evidences of the care of our police force that there was a marquee for the reception of lost children, which is indeed a tribute to the humanity of our times. But the noise was excessive and the dust made the atmosphere as thick as though there were a fog, so we were quite glad, after purchasing a printed souvenir of the Fair, to take a coach back to Miva
rt’s. Old Mr. Ingoldsby pressed us warmly to stay and dine, but we were both so tired after our sleepless night, and I for one so oppressed with anxiety, that we excused ourselves. We therefore made our farewell to the Ingoldsby family, who were to return to the country on the following day, Emily charging them with affectionate messages for her father.
Old Mr. Ingoldsby was particularly affectionate to me, patting my hand with various sly looks, which were at the time totally incomprehensible to me, while the Seaforths in the kindest manner expressed the pleasure they would have in seeing me in their part of the country.
‘I fear,’ said I, ‘that I am not likely to be in Kent. My father has to return to Norfolk at once on business, and unless he will permit me to visit Emily, it is not likely that I shall be able to leave home for some time to come.’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ said Mrs. Seaforth, ‘and I count upon seeing you before long. In fact, I have hopes that you may be a godmother to the next little Seaforth. The sixth letter of the alphabet is a favourite in our neighbourhood, you know,’ she added archly.
This reminder of what I had lost filled me with such misery and confusion that I could barely stammer my thanks and escape.
‘Dearest Fanny, pray do not take on so,’ said Emily as we walked back to Queen Street. ‘Darnley cannot be indifferent to you. Indeed his annoyance over the verses proves as much. Patience, my love, and all will be well.’
‘It is all very well for you to say so, Emily,’ I replied, ‘who can marry Ned when you please. But my position is indeed unfortunate. If Papa’s affairs are so bad, we shall have to live in quite a humble way, I suppose, and never leave Norfolk, so what chance shall I have of seeing him again? Besides, my shocking levity has exposed me to his righteous censure, and no explanation can efface the impression this morning must have made on his mind. Oh, Emily, I am so very unhappy.’
Emily did not attempt to console me, and we arrived at Queen Street in silence. In the sitting-room we found Ned and Mr. Tom Ingoldsby.
‘Where is Papa?’ I asked, almost afraid to hear that his lifeless corpse, dripping with river weeds, or gore-bespattered, lay in the back bedroom.
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