The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

you have. Everybody said so, and warned me. You draw them on, and get

  them to be in love, and then you fling them away. Am I to go back to

  London and be made the laughing-stock of the whole town--I, who might

  marry any woman in Europe, and who am at the head of the nobility of

  England?"

  "Upon my word, if you will believe me after deceiving you once," Ethel

  interposed, still very humbly, "I will never say that it was I who

  withdrew from you, and that it was not you who refused me. What has

  happened here fully authorises you. Let the rupture of the engagement

  come from you, my lord. Indeed, indeed, I would spare you all the pain I

  can. I have done you wrong enough already, Lord Farintosh."

  And now the Marquis burst forth with tears and imprecations, wild cries

  of anger, love, and disappointment, so fierce and incoherent that the

  lady to whom they were addressed did not repeat them to her confidante.

  Only she generously charged Laura to remember, if ever she heard the

  matter talked of in the world, that it was Lord Farintosh's family which

  broke off the marriage; but that his lordship had acted most kindly and

  generously throughout the whole affair.

  He went back to London in such a state of fury, and raved so wildly

  amongst his friends against the whole Newcome family, that many men knew

  what the case really was. But all women averred that that intriguing

  worldly Ethel Newcome, the apt pupil of her wicked old grandmother, had

  met with a deserved rebuff; that, after doing everything in her power to

  catch the great parti, Lord Farintosh, who had long been tired of her,

  flung her over, not liking the connexion; and that she was living out of

  the world now at Newcome, under the pretence of taking care of that

  unfortunate Lady Clara's children, but really because she was pining away

  for Lord Farintosh, who, as we all know, married six months afterwards.

  CHAPTER LX

  In which we write to the Colonel

  Deeming that her brother Barnes had cares enough of his own presently at

  hand, Ethel did not think fit to confide to him the particulars of her

  interview with Lord Farintosh; nor even was poor Lady Anne informed that

  she had lost a noble son-in-law. The news would come to both of them soon

  enough, Ethel thought; and indeed, before many hours were over, it

  reached Sir Barnes Newcome in a very abrupt and unpleasant way. He had

  dismal occasion now to see his lawyers every day; and on the day after

  Lord Farintosh's abrupt visit and departure, Sir Barnes, going into

  Newcome upon his own unfortunate affairs, was told by his attorney, Mr.

  Speers, how the Marquis of Farintosh had slept for a few hours at the

  King's Arms, and returned to town the same evening by the train. We may

  add, that his lordship had occupied the very room in which Lord Highgate

  had previously slept; and Mr. Taplow recommends the bed accordingly, and

  shows pride it with to this very day.

  Much disturbed by this intelligence, Sir Barnes was making his way to his

  cheerless home in the evening, when near his own gate he overtook another

  messenger. This was the railway porter, who daily brought telegraphic

  messages from his uncle and the London bank. The message of that day

  was,--"Consols, so-and-so. French Rentes, so much. Highgate's and

  Farintosh's accounts withdrawn." The wretched keeper of the lodge owned,

  with trembling, in reply to the curses and queries of his employer, that

  a gentleman, calling himself the Marquis of Farintosh, had gone up to the

  house the day before, and come away an hour afterwards,--did not like to

  speak to Sir Barnes when he came home, Sir Barnes looked so bad like.

  Now, of course, there could be no concealment from her brother, and Ethel

  and Barnes had a conversation, in which the latter expressed himself with

  that freedom of language which characterised the head of the house of

  Newcome. Madame de Moncontour's pony-chaise was in waiting at the hall

  door, when the owner of the house entered it; and my wife was just taking

  leave of Ethel and her little people when Sir Barnes Newcome entered the

  lady's sitting-room.

  The livid scowl with which Barnes greeted my wife surprised that lady,

  though it did not induce her to prolong her visit to her friend. As Laura

  took leave, she heard Sir Barnes screaming to the nurses to "take those

  little beggars away," and she rightly conjectured that some more

  unpleasantries had occurred to disturb this luckless gentleman's temper.

  On the morrow, dearest Ethel's usual courier, one of the boys from the

  lodge, trotted over on his donkey to dearest Laura at Rosebury, with one

  of those missives which were daily passing between the ladies. This

  letter said:--

  "Barnes m'a fait une scene terrible hier. I was obliged to tell him

  everything about Lord F., and to use the plainest language. At first, he

  forbade you the house. He thinks that you have been the cause of F.'s

  dismissal, and charged me, most unjustly, with a desire to bring back

  poor C. N. I replied as became me, and told him fairly I would leave the

  house if odious insulting charges were made against me, if my friends

  were not received. He stormed, he cried, he employed his usual language,

  --he was in a dreadful state. He relented and asked pardon. He goes to

  town to-night by the mail-train. Of course you come as usual, dear, dear

  Laura. I am miserable without you; and you know I cannot leave poor

  mamma. Clarykin sends a thousand kisses to little Arty; and I am his

  mother's always affectionate--E. N.

  "Will the gentlemen like to shoot our pheasants? Please ask the Prince to

  let Warren know when. I sent a brace to poor dear old Mrs. Mason, and had

  such a nice letter from her!"

  "And who is poor dear Mrs. Mason" asks Mr. Pendennis, as yet but

  imperfectly acquainted with the history of the Newcomes.

  And Laura told me--perhaps I had heard before, and forgotten--that Mrs.

  Mason was an old nurse and pensioner of the Colonel's, and how he had

  been to see her for the sake of old times; and how she was a great

  favourite with Ethel; and Laura kissed her little son, and was

  exceedingly bright, cheerful, and hilarious that evening, in spite of the

  affliction under which her dear friends at Newcome were labouring.

  People in country-houses should be exceedingly careful about their

  blotting-paper. They should bring their own portfolios with them. If any

  kind readers will bear this simple little hint in mind, how much mischief

  may they save themselves,--nay, enjoy possibly, by looking at the pages

  of the next portfolio in the next friend's bedroom in which they sleep.

  From such a book I once cut out, in Charles Slyboots' well-known and

  perfectly clear handwriting, the words, "Miss Emily Hartington, James

  Street, Backingham Gate, London," and produced as legibly on the

  blotting-paper as on the envelope which the postman delivered. After

  showing the paper round to the company, I enclosed it in a note and sent

  it to Mr. Slyboots, who married Miss Hartington three months afterwards.

  In such a book at the club I read, as plainly as you may read this page,
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  a holograph page of the Right Honourable the Earl of Bareacres, which

  informed the whole club of a painful and private circumstance, and said,

  "My dear Green,--I am truly sorry that I shall not be able to take up the

  bill for eight hundred and fifty-six pounds, which becomes due next

  Tu----" and upon such a book, going to write a note in Madame de

  Moncontour's drawing-room at Rosebury, what should I find but proofs that

  my own wife was engaged in a clandestine correspondence with a gentleman

  residing abroad!

  "Colonel Newcome, C.B., Montagne de la Cour, Brussels," I read, in this

  young woman's handwriting; and asked, turning round upon Laura, who

  entered the room just as I discovered her guilt: "What have you been

  writing to Colonel Newcome about, miss?"

  "I wanted him to get me some lace," she said.

  "To lace some nightcaps for me, didn't you, my dear? He is such a fine

  judge of lace! If I had known you had been writing, I would have asked

  you to send him a message. I want something from Brussels. Is the letter

  --ahem--gone?" (In this artful way, you see, I just hinted that I should

  like to see letter.).

  "The letter is--ahem--gone," says Laura. "What do you want from Brussels,

  Pen?"

  "I want some Brussels sprouts, my love--they are so fine in their native

  country."

  "Shall I write to him to send the letter back?" palpitates poor little

  Laura; for she thought her husband was offended, by using the ironic

  method.

  "No, you dear little woman! You need not send for letter the back: and

  you need not tell me what was in it: and I will bet you a hundred yards

  of lace to a cotton nightcap--and you know whether I, madam, am a man a

  bonnet-de-coton--I will let you that I know what you have been writing

  about, under pretence of a message about lace, to our Colonel."

  "He promised to send it me. He really did. Lady Rockminster gave me

  twenty pounds----" gasps Laura.

  "Under pretence of lace, you have been sending over a love-message. You

  want to see whether Clive is still of his old mind. You think the coast

  is now clear, and that dearest Ethel may like him. You think Mrs. Mason

  is growing very old and infirm, and the sight of her dear boy would----"

  "Pen! Pen! did you open my letter?" cries Laura; and a laugh which could

  afford to be good-humoured (followed by yet another expression of the

  lips) ended this colloquy. No; Mr Pendennis did not see the letter--but

  he knew the writer;--flattered himself that he knew women in general.

  "Where did you get your experience of them, sir?" asks Mrs. Laura.

  Question answered in the same manner as the previous demand.

  "Well, my dear; and why should not the poor boy be made happy?" Laura

  continues, standing very close up to her husband. "It is evident to me

  that Ethel is fond of him. I would rather see her married to a good young

  man whom she loves, than the mistress of a thousand palaces and coronets.

  Suppose--suppose you had married Miss Amory, sir, what a wretched worldly

  creature you would have been by this time; whereas now----"

  "Now that I am the humble slave of a good woman there is some chance for

  me," cries this model of husbands. "And all good women are match-makers,

  as we know very well; and you have had this match in your heart ever

  since you saw the two young people together. Now; madam, since I did not

  see your letter to the Colonel--though I have guessed part of it--tell

  me, what have you said in it? Have you by any chance told the Colonel

  that the Farintosh alliance was broken off?"

  Laura owned that she had hinted as much.

  "You have not ventured to say that Ethel is well inclined to Clive?"

  "Oh, no--oh dear, no!" But after much cross-examining and a little

  blushing on Laura's part, she is brought to confess that she has asked

  the Colonel whether he will not come and see Mrs. Mason, who is pining to

  see him, and is growing very old. And I find out that she has been to see

  this Mrs. Mason; that she and Miss Newcome visited the old lady the day

  before yesterday; and Laura thought from the manner in which Ethel looked

  at Clive's picture, hanging up in the parlour of his father's old friend,

  that she really was very much, etc. etc. So, the letter being gone, Mrs.

  Pendennis is most eager about the answer to it, and day after day

  examines the bag, and is provoked that it brings no letter bearing the

  Brussels post-mark.

  Madame de Moncontour seems perfectly well to know what Mrs. Laura has

  been doing and is hoping. "What, no letters again to-day? Ain't it

  provoking?" she cries. She is in the conspiracy too; and presently Florac

  is one of the initiated. "These women wish to bacler a marriage between

  the belle miss and le petit Claive," Florac announces to me. He pays the

  highest compliments to Miss Newcome's person, as he speaks regarding the

  marriage. "I continue to adore your Anglaises," he is pleased to say.

  "What of freshness, what of beauty, what roses! And then they are so

  adorably good! Go, Pendennis, thou art a happy coquin!" Mr. Pendennis

  does not say No. He has won the twenty-thousand-pound prize; and we know

  there are worse blanks in that lottery.

  CHAPTER LXI

  In which we are introduced to a New Newcome

  No answer came to Mrs. Pendennis's letter to Colonel Newcome at Brussels,

  for the Colonel was absent from that city, and at the time when Laura

  wrote was actually in London, whither affairs of his own had called him.

  A note from George Warrington acquainted me with this circumstance; he

  mentioned that he and the Colonel had dined together at Bays's on the day

  previous, and that the Colonel seemed to be in the highest spirits. High

  spirits about what? This news put Laura in a sad perplexity. Should she

  write and tell him to get his letters from Brussels? She would in five

  minutes have found some other pretext for writing to Colonel Newcome, had

  not her husband sternly cautioned the young woman to leave the matter

  alone.

  The more readily perhaps because he had quarrelled with his nephew Sir

  Barnes, Thomas Newcome went to visit his brother Hobson and his

  sister-in-law; bent on showing that there was no division between him and

  this branch of his family. And you may suppose that the admirable woman

  just named had a fine occasion for her virtuous conversational powers in

  discoursing upon the painful event which had just happened to Sir Barnes.

  When we fail, how our friends cry out for us! Mrs. Hobson's homilies must

  have been awful. How that outraged virtue must have groaned and lamented,

  gathered its children about its knees, wept over them and washed them;

  gone into sackcloth and ashes and tied up the knocker; confabulated with

  its spiritual adviser; uttered commonplaces to its husband; and bored the

  whole house! The punishment of worldliness and vanity, the evil of

  marrying out of one's station, how these points must have been explained

  and enlarged on! Surely the Peerage was taken off the drawing-room table

  and removed to papa's study, where it could not open, as it used

  naturally once, to
Highgate, Baron, or Farintosh, Marquis of, being shut

  behind wires and closely jammed in on an upper shelf between Blackstone's

  Commentaries and the Farmer's Magazine! The breaking of the engagement

  with the Marquis of Farintosh was known in Bryanstone Square; and you may

  be sure interpreted by Mrs. Hobson in the light the most disadvantageous

  to Ethel Newcome. A young nobleman--with grief and pain Ethel's aunt must

  own the fact--a young man of notoriously dissipated habits but of great

  wealth and rank, had been pursued by the unhappy Lady Kew--Mrs. Hobson

  would not say by her niece, that were too dreadful--had been pursued, and

  followed, and hunted down in the most notorious manner, and finally made

  to propose! Let Ethel's conduct and punishment be a warning to my dearest

  girls, and let them bless Heaven they have parents who are not worldly!

  After all the trouble and pains, Mrs. Hobson did not say disgrace, the

  Marquis takes the very first pretext to break off the match, and leaves

  the unfortunate girl for ever!

  And now we have to tell of the hardest blow which fell upon poor Ethel,

  and this was that her good uncle Thomas Newcome believed the charges

  against her. He was willing enough to listen now to anything which was

  said against that branch of the family. With such a traitor,

  double-dealer, dastard as Barnes at its head, what could the rest of the

  race be? When the Colonel offered to endow Ethel and Clive with every

  shilling he had in the world, had not Barnes, the arch-traitor,

  temporised and told him falsehoods, and hesitated about throwing him off

  until the Marquis had declared himself? Yes. The girl he and poor Clive

  loved so was ruined by her artful relatives, was unworthy of his

  affection and his boy's, was to be banished, like her worthless brother,

  out of his regard for ever. And the man she had chosen in preference to

  his Clive!--a roue, a libertine, whose extravagances and dissipations

  were the talk of every club, who had no wit, nor talents, not even

  constancy (for had he not taken the first opportunity to throw her off?)

  to recommend him--only a great title and a fortune wherewith to bribe

  her! For shame, for shame! Her engagement to this man was a blot upon

  her--the rupture only a just punishment and humiliation. Poor unhappy

  girl! let her take care of her wretched brother's abandoned children,

  give up the world, and amend her life.

  This was the sentence Thomas Newcome delivered: a righteous and

  tender-hearted man, as we know, but judging in this case wrongly, and

  bearing much too hardly, as we who know her betters must think, upon one

  who had her faults certainly, but whose errors were not all of her own

  making. Who set her on the path she walked in? It was her parents' hands

  which led her, and her parents' voices which commanded her to accept the

  temptation set before her. What did she know of the character of the man

  selected to be her husband? Those who should have known better brought

  him to her, and vouched for him. Noble, unhappy young creature! are you

  the first of your sisterhood who has been bidden to traffic your beauty,

  to crush and slay your honest natural affections, to sell your truth and

  your life for rank and title? But the Judge who sees not the outward acts

  merely, but their causes, and views not the wrong alone, but the

  temptations, struggles, ignorance of erring creatures, we know has a

  different code to ours--to ours, who fall upon the fallen, who fawn upon

  the prosperous so, who administer our praises and punishments so

  prematurely, who now strike so hard, and, anon, spare so shamelessly.

  Our stay with our hospitable friends at Rosebury was perforce coming to a

  close, for indeed weeks after weeks had passed since we had been under

  their pleasant roof; and in spite of dearest Ethel's remonstrances it was