“Indeed!” exclaimed Randulph, turning pale.
“And how did she receive his attentions?” interposed Trussell, adroitly.
“Why, coldly enough, I must say,” replied Sir Singleton.
“Was her father with her? — did he sit near her?” asked Randulph, breathlessly.
“No; he was at cards, and thereby hangs a tale, which I will tell you anon. She was attended by Sir Norfolk Salusbury, who I believe, is a relation of her’s.”
“Sir Norfolk is her cousin on the mother’s side,” remarked Trussell.
“He is a stiff, punctilious old fellow,” laughed Sir Singleton. “He didn’t seem in the least to approve of Villiers’ attentions to Hilda, and I shouldn’t wonder if they fight about her tomorrow. But now for the story I promised you. Old Scarve, who, it seems, is a capital whist player—”
“He was always so reputed,” observed Trussell.
“And with reason, as you will find,” rejoined Sir Singleton. “Well, he sat down to cards, in the early part of the evening, with Sir Bulkeley Price, and in less than an hour won twelve thousand pounds of him.”
“Twelve thousand pounds! Sir Singleton,” exclaimed Trussell. “You amaze me.”
“It amazed everybody else, too, I assure you,” replied Sir Singleton. “Sir Bulkeley had had too much wine; and he went on losing and doubling his bets until his losses amounted to the sum I’ve mentioned. I tried to stop him; but it was of no avail. You should have seen the old miser rise from the table after his success. I never beheld such fearful exultation. His eyes literally blazed, and he walked like a young man.” Sir Bulkeley got up at the same time with a very flushed face, and said, “You shall have your winnings to-morrow, Mr. Scarve.” To which the miser replied, with a bitter sneer, “The mortgage will do as well, Sir Bulkeley.”
“A home thrust! and just like him,” said Trussell. “Well, I’ve lost some money in my time, but never anything like this.”
“I wish I could have such luck as the miser,” said Kitty, “I’d leave off acting, and take to gaming. But you’ve been talking so hard, that you’ve forgotten to eat, gentlemen. For my own part, I should be glad of some champagne.”
Her glass was instantly filled by Randulph, and Sir Singleton challenged the elderly lady. The conversation then became very lively; Kitty presently volunteered a song, which she executed so charmingly, that it quite ravished her auditors. In fact, her sprightliness, beauty, and accomplishments, coupled with her winning manners and good-nature, made her almost irresistible — and so Randulph found. The champagne circulated freely, and its effects began to be slightly manifested on the two elderly gentlemen. Again Kitty poured forth her clear and melodious voice in song, when the door opened, and a young man entered the room. It was Philip Frewin. He looked surprised and annoyed at seeing the party, and a flush of anger rose to his cheek as he recognised Randulph. Kitty Conway carelessly motioned him to a chair, which he took almost mechanically. Sir Singleton and Trussell slightly acknowledged his presence, but Randulph sternly regarded him.
“I believe, sir,” he said, “you are the person I saw at Mr. Scarve’s, and whom I previously met at the Folly on the Thames. May I ask the meaning of the masquerade attire you assumed yesterday?”
“You were under some mistake, sir,” rejoined Philip, with great effrontery. “I know nothing of Mr. Scarve.”
“Not know him!” cried Randulph, in amazement, “I understood you were his nephew, Philip Frewin.”
“I am no relation to Mr. Scarve, and my name is not Philip Frewin,” replied the other.
Kitty Conway here burst into a loud laugh, which she continued in spite of Philip’s angry looks.
“Will you oblige me with your real name, then?” demanded Randulph, after a pause.
“No, sir, I will not,” replied Philip. “What the devil is it to you what I am called? I am not accountable to you for my actions. How comes this impertinent fellow here, Kitty?” he added, turning to her.
“He comes by my invitation,” she rejoined. “And if you do not like his company, you can leave the house.”
“It is for him to leave the house, not me,” replied Philip. “If he won’t go out quietly, I shall be under the necessity of turning him out.”
Kitty uttered a faint scream, and Randulph sprang to his feet, while the rest of the party regarded each other in dismay, as if in expectation of a scene.
Under the influence of excessive passion, which supplied him with a courage foreign to his craven nature, Philip strode towards Randulph, apparently with the intention of carrying his threat into execution; but before he could reach him, Kitty threw herself between them. Under her shelter, Philip became so violent in his manner, and offensive in his language, that at last Randulph lost his patience, and snatching Sir Singleton’s clouded cane from him, he pushed Kitty aside, and began to lay it with considerable energy upon Philip’s shoulders. Roaring lustily, the latter made for the door, and Randulph pursued him, Kitty following closely after them, to see that no mischief ensued. In this way, they hurried along the lobby, where Philip got open the street door, and darted out with such rapidity that he ran against a tall man who chanced to be passing at the time, and who instantly caught hold of him. Before his captor walked two other persons, preceded by a link-boy, and the latter hearing the noise, turned round, and threw his light full upon the party. The persons in advance were the miser and his daughter, who were returning from Lady Brabason’s, and the tall man was no other than Jacob Post. At this moment, Randulph rushed forth; but on seeing the miser and his daughter, he halted in dismay, which was not diminished as Kitty Conway came up and caught hold of his arm. It was an embarrassing situation certainly, and Randulph was so confounded that he could not utter a word.
Jacob, meanwhile, had discovered the prize he had caught, and he lost no time in announcing his good luck.
“Look here, sir!” he cried, triumphantly; “look at your miserly nephew! I have him fast enough. Look at the clothes he has on. Mayhap, he’ll deny himself now. Look at him, I say, sir! and satisfy yourself that it’s him, for he’ll outswear afterwards if you don’t.”
“What! Philip!” cried the miser, “is it really you?”
“It is, sir,” replied Philip. “And if you will order your servant to release me, I will explain how I came to be here, and in this dress. I have been put in peril of my life by Randulph Crew, who stands there with his mistress.”
“Release him, Jacob,” said the miser.
“I’d rather you’d let me take him to Saint James’s Round-house,” replied Jacob; “I’m sure it’s the fittest place for him.”
“Do as I bid you, rascal!” cried Scarve, authoritatively. “Now then, what is the meaning of all this, Philip?”
“Do not inquire further, father,” cried Hilda, trembling violently. “Come away, I beseech you.”
Seeing that Randulph was unable to speak, Kitty Conway advanced towards the miser.
“I can explain what has happened in a moment,” she said.
“Father!” said Hilda, in a determined tone, “If you will not accompany me, I will walk forward by myself.”
“I’m ready to go with you,” said Jacob.
“Well, well, I’m coming,” replied the miser— “some other time, nephew — some other time.” As the miser and his daughter moved off in one direction, Philip, fearful of the consequences of remaining, ran off in the other. At this moment, Trussell and Sir Singleton appeared at the door.
“Well, have you got rid of him?” cried the former.
“Look where he runs,” laughed Kitty. “Who, think you, chanced to be passing at the very time we came forth?”
“Perhaps the miser and his daughter,” said Trussell.
“A good guess,” replied Kitty.
“The devil!” exclaimed Trussell— “and they saw you with my nephew? Why, this is worse than the Folly on the Thames!”
“Far worse!” groaned Randulph. “My hopes are now utterly destroy
ed!”
“I don’t understand you,” said Kitty; “but come into the house.”
“No,” replied Randulph, bitterly; “and I would I had never entered it!”
“For Heaven’s sake, Randulph, consider what you are about,” cried Trussell— “this rudeness to a pretty woman, who has shewn you so much kindness! I blush for you.”
“I am no longer master of myself,” cried Randulph.
And murmuring some apology to Kitty, he bade her good night, and walked off with his uncle.
“Well, here’s a pretty conclusion to the supper,” said Kitty to the old beau. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry; but perhaps I’d better laugh. Randulph Crew is an odd young man, but he’s very handsome, and that makes up for a thousand singularities.”
“He has very bad taste, Kitty,” replied Sir Singleton, “for he’s blind to your attractions, and adores Hilda Scarve.”
“So it seems,” she replied, in a tone of pique. “And now, good night, Sir Singleton.”
“Not just yet, sweet Kitty,” he cried, following her. “I’ve a great deal to say to you. I shall make you another handsome present tomorrow.”
“Then keep what you have to say till then,” she rejoined, slapping the door unceremoniously in his face.
* * *
CHAPTER IV.
Randulph’s Career of Gaiety — Abel’s Remarks Upon It to Mr. Jukes.
Randulph’s reflections on awaking the next morning were not of the most enviable kind; and bitterly did he reproach himself for his imprudence. Fate seemed determined to place an insurmountable bar between him and the object of his hopes, and he, at last, in some degree, consoled himself, as many others have done before him, by thinking that he was rather the victim of necessity than of his own misconduct. Throughout the early part of the day, he continued in a state of deep depression, from which Trussell in vain tried to rouse him. As to Abel, having ascertained from Mr. Jukes the cause of his despondency, he forbore to question him about it, and even feigned not to notice it. It required some little persuasion to induce him to dine with Lady Brabazon that day; but once in the atmosphere of her ladyship’s wit and pleasantry, he soon revived. Divining, with true feminine tact, the cause of his dejection, she speedily dissipated it by her fine powers of raillery; and, to his own surprise, he passed a very agreeable evening, and quitted the house more than half in love with its fair mistress.
Satisfied of the impression, she had produced, Lady Brabazon did not fail to improve it. She included him in all her parties for a month to come, and took care to involve him in such a round of gaiety and fashionable dissipation, that he could not by any means extricate himself from it. The effect of this was soon manifest in his habits, in his attire, and in his manners; and though the change was mightily approved of by Trussell, it was viewed in a very different light by his more sagacious and far sighted uncle.
“Well, Jukes,” said the latter, one day to his butler, “my first opinion of Randulph is fully borne out by his conduct.”
“Why he is rather gay, to be sure,” replied Mr. Jukes. “But I don’t give him up yet. Young men, as Mr. Trussell says, will be young men.”
“But there’s no occasion for them to be young rakes,” cried Abel, sharply. “My nephew is a sad dissipated dog. Lady Brabazon seems to have got him completely into her toils.”
“Ah! she’s a dangerous woman!” said Mr. Jukes, lifting up his hand— “a dangerous woman!”
“And the pretty actress, Kitty Conway?” pursued Abel. “He sups with her occasionally, eh?”
“I fear he does, sir,” replied Mr. Jukes.
“Fear — you know he does, sirrah,” cried Abel. “Why attempt to equivocate? What masquerade were they talking of at breakfast this morning?”
“What haven’t you heard of it, sir?” replied the butler. “It’s a grand masquerade to be held at Ranelagh on Thursday. All the world is going there; and, amongst others, my graceless nephew, Crackenthorpe Cripps.”
“What! in his master’s clothes, as before?” said Abel.
“No, sir,” replied Mr. Jukes; “as harlequin.”
“Harlequin!” echoed Abel; “that will suit him exactly. And I hope the silly widow he is paying his addresses to will go as Columbine.”
“Precisely what she means to do, sir,” laughed Mr. Jukes.
“Get me a domino before Thursday, Jukes; I’ll go to this masquerade myself,” said Abel.
“Why, sir, you’re becoming as great a rake as your nephew,” returned Mr. Jukes, laughingly. “If I might be permitted, I should like to go with you to Ranelagh. I wish to have an eye on Crackenthorpe. Ah, sir! our nephews are sad plagues to us — sad plagues!”
“My nephew shall not plague me much longer,” replied Abel. “I’ll give him another month, and then—”
“You’ll give him another after that,” interrupted the butler,
“No I won’t,” rejoined Abel; “I won’t give him a day, nor an hour longer. I’ve spent nearly a hundred pounds upon him already — upon his dress — his amusements — his profligacies. No, I’ll pack him off into the country. By-the-bye, his mother has written to say she is coming to town. I’ve endeavoured to dissuade her from the step, but she says she is uneasy about Randulph.”
“Well, I hope she’ll come,” returned Mr. Jukes; “I’m sure she’s wanted just now.”
“I’ve no wish to see her,” said Abel, sternly. “There has been a coolness between us for years.”
“Then the sooner it is got rid of the better,” rejoined the butler. “Don’t let the grave close over it. Her presence, I think, is very desirable. And on her son’s account, as well as yours, I’m glad she’s coming.”
“Don’t calculate upon it,” cried Abel, “for I don’t think it likely. If I can hinder it, I will.”
“While we’re on confidential matters, sir,” said Mr. Jukes, “may I ask how Miss Scarve is getting on?”
“Well enough, for aught I know,” rejoined Abel, testily; “I’ve neither heard from her, nor seen her, since my visit to her father. And now I wish to be alone. Take care to get me a domino before Thursday.”
* * *
CHAPTER V.
Randulph Receives a Letter from His Mother — Its Effect upon Him — His Good Resolutions Defeated by Trussell.
Randulph’s mother had only written to him twice since his arrival in town, — for in those days ladies, especially country ladies, were neither so active nor so exacting in their correspondence, as at present, — when one day, just as he was sallying forth on a pleasurable expedition with Trussell, a letter was delivered to him by Mr. Jukes, bearing her superscription. Glancing at it with some misgiving, he would have broken the seal, but Trussell, noticing his reluctance, and guessing the cause, advised him to put it in his pocket, and read it on his return at night.
“Good advice,” he said, laughingly, “is all the better for keeping, — its chief recommendation being that it is just as effectual a month afterwards as at the moment given.”
“If it had been a billet from Lady Brabazon or Kitty Conway he would have opened it without hesitation,” remarked Abel, who stood by.
“To be sure,” replied Trussell, “and he would have done quite right, because such a note would require immediate attention, and as a man of breeding he could not leave it a moment unanswered.”
“And am I to infer, therefore, that a mother’s letter is to be put aside?” rejoined Abel.
“Not exactly, sir,” rejoined Trussell; “but when one knows that it contains a lecture, one naturally feels indisposed to read it. That I suppose you can understand.”
“I understand no such thing,” replied Abel, tartly, “but I perfectly understand how excessive addiction to pleasure injures the best principles, and chills the warmest affections. Filial love and duty have little influence when dissipation has obtained the sway.”
“I acknowledge the justness of your rebuke, uncle,” said Randulph, “and will read the letter instantly.�
�
“On no account,” rejoined Abel; “pursue your first impulse. It will keep, as my brother says, till to-night, and you may possibly be then in a better frame of mind for its perusal. When you have possessed yourself of its contents, I shall be glad to be made acquainted with them.” And turning away, he retreated to the library.
It was late when Randulph returned, after a day spent in gaiety, as usual, and on retiring to his own room, his first business was to take out his mother’s letter. Opening it, he eagerly scanned its contents, which ran thus: —
“My Dear Son, — The accounts I have received of your mode of life have given me inexpressible uneasiness. A mother’s hopes are perhaps seldom fulfilled, and my expectations, I now feel, were too sanguine ever to be realized. Still, I did not anticipate such complete disappointment as I have experienced. With your generous nature and quick impulses, I should not have been surprised at your being led into slight indiscretions; but that you should have plunged so deeply into dissipation, and connected yourself with persons so very profligate, grieves me to the heart. Your conduct, I believe is mainly attributable to bad advice, and therefore, in some degree, to be excused. Your uncle Trussell is not without principle, and has a kindly disposition, but the enjoyment of the moment is all he cares for, and he is utterly reckless of consequences. I thought I had sufficiently guarded you against him, but I now see my error, and feel that I ought never to have introduced you to society so dangerously. My reliance was in your uncle Abel. I persuaded myself you would discern the good that lies beneath the surface of that excellent man, and anticipated much from your introduction to him. Not the least, therefore, of my affliction is the knowledge that you have forfeited his good opinion. Let me hope it is not too late to regain it.
“In your first letter you spoke of Hilda Scarve in terms of the highest admiration. I have been informed from another source that she is as highly gifted as beautiful, and I confess it would have delighted me to see you united to her. I am aware there are obstacles in the way; but they might, perhaps, have been removed. Here again, your misconduct, or, to give it its mildest term, your imprudence, has been prejudicial to you.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 307