The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  About half-past ten, Trussell made his appearance. He was dressed with unusual care; had a world of the finest lace at his wrists, and on his breast; and wore a green velvet coat, richly embroidered, a satin waistcoat of the same colour, woven with gold, and diamond buckles at his knees. The only part of his attire which appeared to be neglected was his peruke, and this did not escape Abel’s attention, as he scanned him contemptuously from head to foot.

  “It’s all very well,” he said, drily; “you are sufficiently be-laced and be-scented to fit you for the beau’s society, but your wig is out of order.”

  “Why you don’t surely think I am going in this old peruke, sir?” rejoined Trussell, smiling. “No, no, I’m not quite so careless. I’ve sent my best perriwig to be dressed by Peter Pokerich, the barber in the Little Sanctuary, and shall put it on as we pass on our way to Spring Gardens, where, as you know, Mr. Villiers resides.”

  “A barber in the Little Sanctuary,” cried Randulph; “why he must be the very person I met when—”

  Here a stern look from Uncle Abel stopped him, and called the colour to his cheeks.

  “Why did you send it there?” remarked Abel, angrily, to his brother. “Was there no other barber nearer at hand?”

  “Oh yes, sir, plenty,” replied Trussell; “but Pokerich understands the mode, and I desired to appear to advantage on this occasion. I wish I could induce you to adopt the present fashion, Randulph. Your own hair is certainly very fine, but a perriwig would be far more becoming.”

  “Be natural as long as you can, and keep your own hair, Randulph,” said Abel.

  “I intend to do so, sir,” replied the young man.

  “But at all events your dress must be improved,” pursued Trussell. “I will introduce you to M. Desmartins, the French tailor in Piccadilly. He will make you quite another thing.”

  “And empty your purse at the same time,” sneered Abel. “Wear out the dress you have on. It’s almost new.”

  “It is quite new,” said Randulph, a little abashed. “It was made expressly for my visit to town, by Stracey, of Chester, who works for all the best people in the county.”

  “Stracey of Chester — ha! ha!” exclaimed uncle Trussell, jeeringly. “You had better put by Mr. Stracey for your return. But it is time we started. I shall have to stop a few minutes at Pokerich’s.”

  They then set forth, and it was with a throbbing heart that the young man again found himself beside the dwelling of the miser’s daughter. He gazed eagerly at it, in the hope of catching a glimpse of her he loved, but could discern nothing through the barred and dust-begrimed windows.

  “May I ask what is the cause of uncle Abel’s aversion to Mr. Scarve?” he enquired of Trussell.

  “I would rather not be questioned on that subject,” replied the other, “because I am quite sure, if I told you, that Abel would discover from your manner, that I had disclosed his secret. By the by,” he added, “is Hilda Scarve really a fine girl?”

  Randulph returned a rapturous affirmative.

  “Egad, then,” pursued Trussell, as if debating some matter with himself, “I don’t know whether one speculation would not be as good as t’other.”

  “What do you mean, uncle,” enquired Randulph.

  “Why that a marriage with Hilda Scarve would answer as well as waiting for Abel’s money,” replied Trussell. “The miser must be immensely rich — immensely. I’ll call on him one of these days, and sound him on the subject of the union.”

  “Recollect your brother’s injunction, sir,” rejoined Randulph, who was, however, so enchanted by the proposition, that he could have flung his arms round his uncle’s neck, and hugged him,— “it may be hazardous.”

  “Tut — tut,” exclaimed Trussell, “he’ll never hear of it. They have no sort of communication. Abel hates him like the devil — as well he may. But I must not say more. And here we are at Pokerich’s.”

  With this, he entered Peter’s shop. The little barber was engaged at the moment in shaving a customer, and called to his apprentice to set chairs for the new comers. He did not at first notice Randulph, who was behind his uncle; but when the young man came full into view, his hand trembled so much that the razor slipped, inflicting a slight wound on the chin of the gentleman he was shaving.

  “Have a care, fellow,” cried this person angrily; “you have cut me.”

  “Ten thousand pardons, sir,” apologised Peter, “it is not much, sir — a mere trifle — a little sticking plaster will set all to rights.”

  So saying, he very dexterously wiped off the lather, and bathing the gentleman’s cheek with warm water, speedily succeeded in stanching the blood. He then finished shaving him, and taking a light flaxen wig from a block hard by, fitted it on his head. This done, the gentleman arose, walked towards a glass to ascertain the extent of the injury he had received, and finding it very trifling, laughed good humouredly. He was a middle-sized man, remarkably squarely and powerfully built; and as the barber assisted him to put on his coat, and fasten on his sword, Randulph could not help noticing his great apparent strength of frame.

  “You have not a very steady hand, friend,” remarked the stranger, as he took out his purse to pay the barber.

  “I never made such a mistake before, sir,” replied Peter; “never, on my honour.”

  “Then I suppose it was this young gentleman who startled you,” replied the other, laughing, “for the accident occurred just as he entered your shop.”

  “Why, really, I was rather surprised to see him, I must own,” returned Peter; “Mr. Randulph Crew, your most obedient.”

  “What!” cried the stranger, with a look of astonishment. “Is this Mr. Randulph Crew?”

  It was now Randulph’s turn to appear surprised.

  “You will wonder at my exclamation, sir,” pursued the stranger, advancing towards him, “but I knew a gentleman of your name, which is not a very common one, in Cheshire, years ago — knew him intimately.”

  “Probably my father,” said Randulph.

  “He is well, I hope?” asked the other.

  “Alas! sir, I lost him a year ago,” replied Randulph.

  Here the conversation dropped, for the stranger seemed a little embarrassed, as if he had something to say, and yet did not know how to set about it. He glanced at Trussell, who had taken his seat, and was submitting his bald pate to Peter, while the latter was adjusting upon it, with the utmost care, a very well-powdered peruke.

  “Is that a relative of your’s?” asked the stranger of Randulph.

  “My uncle, sir,” replied the young man.

  “Indeed!” exclaimed the stranger. And he again hesitated.

  “A very singular person,” thought Randulph.

  “There,” cried Trussell, rising and looking at himself in the glass; “that’ll do — capital — capital!”

  “Mr. Scarve lives over the way, barber, I believe?” said the stranger to Peter.

  “He does, sir,” replied the latter. “That’s the house. A very strange affair occurred there yesterday-evening.”

  “What might that be!” inquired the stranger.

  “Why,” replied the barber, “about five o’clock the whole street was alarmed by the arrival of a troop of fourteen horsemen, each with a thousand pounds in a couple of bags at his saddle-bow. Well, sir, these horsemen stopped at the miser’s door, and threw down their bags before it; and it turned out to be the payment of the sum of fourteen thousand pounds borrowed from old Starve — beg pardon, Scarve — on mortgage, by Sir Bulkeley Price, and which the latter was obliged to pay at a certain time, or his estate would have been foreclosed. It was a near run for Sir Bulkeley. He only just saved his distance. Ah! you should have seen how the old miser raved and swore when be found himself robbed of his prey. But for his daughter’s interference, he would certainly have laid violent hands on the knight. Ha! ha!”

  Randulph, whose breast was agitated with conflicting feelings, was about to question the barber further as to Hilda�
�s conduct on the occasion, when he was checked by the stranger, who, turning hastily to Peter, said, “This is an unheard-of mode of paying mortgage money, — and so large a sum too. Are you sure it was as much as fourteen thousand pounds?”

  “As that I have a comb in my hand,” replied the barber. “And it was paid in gold too. I heard the chink of the metal myself. Besides, Sir Bulkeley called upon me, together with the other spectators, to witness the payment.”

  “You surprise me!” exclaimed the stranger— “I must have a word with Mr. Scarve on the subject. — Good morning, gentlemen. Mr. Randulph Crew, we may possibly meet again.” And raising his hat, he walked across the street, and knocked at the miser’s door.

  “Who is that strange person?” asked Trussell of Peter.

  “Haven’t the least idea, sir.” replied the barber. “He came in here to be shaved; that’s all I know of him. Never ask customers’ names.”

  Randulph, meanwhile, ran to the door to see how the stranger would be received, and was somewhat chagrined to find that Jacob, after reconnoitring him according to custom, and detaining him while he consulted his master, admitted him.

  “He will see Hilda,” sighed the young man.

  “Come, nephew, come,” cried Trussell, impatiently, “We shall be late.”

  Sorely against his will, Randulph suffered himself to be dragged away, and they proceeded along King-street, in the direction of Spring Gardens.

  * * *

  CHAPTER X.

  The Beau’s Levie — The Breakfast — The Embarkation for the Folly.

  Beau Villiers’s residence looked upon St. James’s Park, and had a small garden attached to it. It was by no means a large house, but exquisitely furnished; the whole of the internal decorations being French, and in the gorgeous taste of Louis the Fourteenth. The visitors were admitted by a couple of powdered footmen in sumptuous liveries, and passing a large snow-white French poodle, of a peculiar breed, lying on a rug near the door, traversed a hall crowded with busts, statues, bronzes, and large porcelain jars. A page, in a fanciful costume, who might have played a part in one of Watteau’s pictures, met them at the foot of the stairs, and mounting before them, ushered them along a corridor, to the entrance of a chamber, before which stood two grinning Africans, arrayed in oriental habiliments, and wearing great brass earrings, and large muslin turbans, with brazen crescents upon them. One of them threw open the door, and the two visitors entered a waiting-room, in which a number of persons were assembled. Most of these were known to Trussell, and he very courteously returned their salutations.

  “Ah, mon ami,” he said, to a little bowing and cringing personage, very ill-dressed (as tailors are apt to be), from whose pockets depended a measuring-tape, while he carried a pattern book under his arm, “how are you? This is my nephew, Desmartins. I have told him he must put himself under your skilful hands.”

  “Proud to undertake him, Mr. Trussell, — enchante,—” replied the Frenchman. “Your nephew has a very fine figure, ma foi! But his dress is not at all a-la-mode. Very clownish — what you call it? — countrified — ha! ha!”

  “So I told him, Desmartins,” replied Trussell. “We shall look in upon you to-day or to-morrow, and put that to rights.”

  “Enchanted to see you, Mr. Trussell, and you, sare,” replied the tailor, bowing to Randulph.

  “Ah, Mr. Penrose, is that you?” pursued Trussell, turning to a slight, effeminate-looking young man with a paper box, and a casket under his arm; “I suppose you have got a new importation of gloves and perfumes — tuberose, orange, jasmine, essence d’Espagne — eh?”

  “I have just invented a new scent, sir,” replied the perfumer, “and am come to solicit Mr. Villiers’s permission to give it his name.”

  “And if he grants it, your fortune is made,” replied Trussell. “The bouquet a-la-Villiers will carry all before it. Ah, Chipchase,” turning to a little fellow, whose stunted figure, velvet cap, boots, and other equipments, left no doubt as to his being a jockey, “what news from Newmarket? Has Lord Haversham won the cup, or Sir John Fagg?”

  “Neither, sir,” replied the jockey. “Mr. Villiers is the winner.”

  “Bravo! bravissimo!” cried Trussell, clapping his hands. “That’s famous! Why, your news is worth twenty pounds to me, Chipchase. I took Mr. Villiers against the field, though, — I may now say it, — without a notion he would win, but merely out of compliment to him.”

  “The knowin’ ‘uns has been taken in this time, that’s certain, sir,” replied the jockey, with a sly wink. “Sir John thought himself safe, but he now finds he’s on the wrong side of the hedge. I hope your honour will allow me the pleasure of drinking your health.”

  “That I will,” returned Trussell, taking out his purse, and giving him a piece of money; “and in a crown bowl of punch too. Ah, Ned Oglethorpe,” he added, passing on to another person in a white flannel jacket, and with an open collar; “how are the rackets? My nephew Randulph, Ned. We will come and play a match at tennis with you one of these days. Let me know when the next main is to be fought at the cockpit. Captain Culpepper, your most obedient. Nay, don’t walk away, Captain, I’m not going to dun you for the few crowns you lost to me at trick-track, at the British. Randulph, this is Captain Culpepper, as brave a man as ever drew a sword, or brought off his friend from a street row, or,” he added, in a lower tone, “ever revenged a secret quarrel. Egad, at Mr. Villiers’ levees one is sure to meet all one’s friends. Here, nephew,” he added, addressing a lithe, active-looking man, in a close-fitting linen dress with a couple of foils under his arm, “here is the first master of fence in the world — Mr. Hewitt. You must have a few lessons in carte and tierce from him.”

  While Randulph was returning the fencing-master’s bow, the door of the inner room was opened by Mr. Cripps. On discerning Trussell and his companion, the valet immediately hastened towards them, and entreated them to step in to his master, who, he affirmed, had been expecting them for some time.

  The apartment into which they were ushered was the beau’s dressing-chamber — that part of it, however, devoted to the toilette-table and its appliances being separated from the rest by a magnificent Indian japanned screen. It was furnished with the most refined and luxurious taste. Rose-coloured curtains drawn across the windows subdued the light, and threw a warm tint on all around, while the air was loaded with delicious perfumes. A very diminutive monkey, clothed in a scarlet coat, and wearing a bag-wig and a little sword, played its diverting tricks in one corner, while a gaudily plumaged macaw screamed in the opposite angle. Choice flowers in pots added their fragrance to the artificial odours; and a couple of exquisite little spaniels of Charles the Second’s breed, with the longest and silkiest ears imaginable, and large, gazelle like eyes, occupied a cushion on the hearth. At a table, covered with the whitest and finest linen, and glittering with silver of the rarest workmanship, together with a superb service of china, sat, or rather reclined, in the easiest of easy chairs, Beau Villiers. He did not rise on the appearance of his guests; but moving slightly, and graciously, to them, though with somewhat, Randulph fancied, of a patronizing air, motioned Mr. Cripps to set them chairs. He was quite in dishabille; his graceful figure being enveloped in a loose dressing-robe of the richest brocade, while the place of a peruke was supplied by a green silk cap, very becomingly put on. His shirt was open at the throat, and decorated with a profusion of lace at the bosom and wrists. Pink silk hose and velvet slippers completed his costume. There were two other persons present; Sir Singleton Spinke, and a very portly gentleman with puffed-out, inflamed cheeks, who was introduced as Sir Bulkeley Price, and whom Randulph concluded must be the hero of the story he had just heard related by the barber — a circumstance which gave him a peculiar interest in his eyes. Meanwhile, Mr. Cripps, who, together with the page, officiated at breakfast, proceeded to do the honors, and twirling the mill of a richly chased silver chocolate-pot, poured out two well-frothed cups of the unctuous beverage, and handed them to th
e new comers.

  A small modicum of a Strasbourg pate, washed down by a cup of green tea and a glass of claret, constituted the beau’s breakfast. Sir Singleton Spinke took chocolate, picked the wing of a chicken, and wound himself up with a glass of usquebaugh. Ample justice was done to the cutlets, the broils, and various other dishes with which the covers were filled, by Sir Bulkeley Price; nor did Trussell or Randulph come far behind him, notwithstanding the preliminary breakfast of the latter. Just before the introduction of the usquebaugh, Sir Bulkeley, after looking round and coughing significantly, said, in a low tone, to the chief valet, “I suppose, Mr. Cripps, there is no ale in the house?”

  “No what! Sir Bulkeley?” rejoined Mr. Cripps, staring as if he could not possibly imagine he had heard aright.

  “Ale, rascal — ale!” replied the knight, emphatically, and rather angrily.

  “No, Sir Bulkeley,” replied Mr. Cripps, bowing; “there is no ale, but there is toasted cheese, if that will serve your turn.”

  Angry as he was, the knight could not help laughing at the valet’s impertinence; and a glass of usquebaugh, in which he pledged the old beau, entirely appeased him. The conversation during the meal was lively enough, and was chiefly maintained by the beau and Trussell, their discourse running on all sorts of fashionable topics, scandal, women, play, public amusements; in which, as he knew so little about the matters discussed, Randulph took no great interest. His attention, however, was instantly aroused, when Trussell, turning laughingly to Sir Bulkeley, told him he had heard of his “new way of paying old debts.”

  “I mentioned the matter to Villiers before your arrival,” returned Sir Bulkeley; “and it diverted him as much as it appears to do you. Egad! we had to ride hard though. Several of my tradesmen met me at Highgate, and offered to escort me through the town, but I declined the attention, being of opinion that we were a sufficiently large party without them. You should have seen how the folks stared as we rode along the streets.”