CHAPTER XIV
JAWLEYFORD COURT
True to a minute, the hissing engine drew the swiftly gliding train beneaththe elegant and costly station at Lucksford--an edifice presenting a rarecontrast to the wretched old red-tiled, five-windowed house, called the RedLion, where a brandy-faced blacksmith of a landlord used to emerge fromthe adjoining smithy, to take charge of any one who might arrive per coachfor that part of the country. Mr. Sponge was quickly on the platform,seeing to the detachment of his horse-box.
Just as the cavalry was about got into marching order, up rode John Watson,a ragamuffin-looking gamekeeper, in a green plush coat, with a verytarnished laced hat, mounted on a very shaggy white pony, whose hide seemedquite impervious to the visitations of a heavily-knotted dogwhip, withwhich he kept saluting his shoulders and sides.
'Please, sir,' said he, riding up to Mr. Sponge, with a touch of the oldhat, 'I've got you a capital three-stall stable at the Railway Tavern,here,' pointing to a newly built brick house standing on the rising ground.
'Oh! but I'm going to Jawleyford Court,' responded our friend, thinking theman was the 'tout' of the tavern.
'Mr. Jawleyford don't take in horses, sir,' rejoined the man, with anothertouch of the hat.
'He'll take in _mine_,' observed Mr. Sponge, with an air of authority.
'Oh, I beg pardon, sir,' replied the keeper, thinking he had made amistake; 'it was Mr. Sponge whose horses I had to bespeak stalls for,'touching his hat profusely as he spoke.
'Well, _this_ be Mister Sponge,' observed Leather, who had been listeningattentively to what passed.
''Deed!' said the keeper, again turning to our hero with an 'I beg pardon,sir, but the stable _is_ for you then, sir--for Mr. Sponge, sir.'
'How do you know that?' demanded our friend.
''Cause Mr. Spigot, the butler, says to me, says he, "Mr. Watson," sayshe--my name's Watson, you see,' continued the speaker, sawing away at hishat, 'my name's Watson, you see, and I'm the head gamekeeper. "Mr. Watson,"says he, "you must go down to the tavern and order a three-stall stable fora gentleman of the name of Sponge, whose horses are a comin' to-day"; andin course I've come 'cordingly,' added Watson. 'A _three_-stall'd stable!'observed Mr. Sponge, with an emphasis.
'A three-stall'd stable,' repeated Mr. Watson.
'Confound him, but he said he'd take in a hack at all events,' observedSponge, with a sideway shake of the head; 'and a hack he _shall_ take in,too' he added. 'Are your stables full at Jawleyford Court?' he asked.
''Ord bless you, no, sir,' replied Watson with a leer; 'there's nothin' inthem but a couple of weedy hacks and a pair of old worn-outcarriage-horses.'
'Then I can get this hack taken in, at all events,' observed Sponge, layinghis hand on the neck of the piebald as he spoke.
'Why, as to that,' replied Mr. Watson, with a shake of the head, 'I can'tsay nothin'.'
'I must, though,' rejoined Sponge, tartly; 'he _said_ he'd take in my hack,or I wouldn't have come.'
'Well, sir,' observed the keeper, 'you know best, sir.'
'Confounded screw!' muttered Sponge, turning away to give his orders toLeather. 'I'll _work_ him for it,' he added. 'He sha'n't get rid of _me_ ina hurry--at least, not unless I can get a better billet elsewhere.'
Having arranged the parting with Leather, and got a cart to carry histhings, Mr. Sponge mounted the piebald, and put himself under the guidanceof Watson to be conducted to his destination. The first part of the journeywas performed in silence, Mr. Sponge not being particularly well pleased atthe reception his request to have his horses taken in had met with. Thissilence he might perhaps have preserved throughout had it not occurred tohim that he might pump something out of the servant about the family he wasgoing to visit.
'That's not a bad-like old cob of yours,' he observed, drawing rein so asto let the shaggy white come alongside of him.
'He belies his looks, then,' replied Watson, with a grin of his cadaverousface, 'for he's just as bad a beast as ever looked through a bridle. It's aparfect disgrace to a gentleman to put a man on such a beast.'
Sponge saw the sort of man he had got to deal with, and proceededaccordingly.
'Have you lived long with Mr. Jawleyford?' he asked.
'No, nor will I, if I can help it,' replied Watson, with another grin andanother touch of the old hat. Touching his hat was about the only piece ofpropriety he was up to.
'What, he's not a brick, then?' asked Sponge.
'Mean man,' replied Watson with a shake of the head; 'mean man,' herepeated. 'You're nowise connected with the fam'ly, I s'pose?' he askedwith a look of suspicion lest he might be committing himself.
'No,' replied Sponge; 'no; merely an acquaintance. We met at LaverickWells, and he pressed me to come and see him.'
'Indeed!' said Watson, feeling at ease again.
'Who did you live with before you came here?' asked Mr. Sponge, after apause.
'I lived many years--the greater part of my life, indeed--with Sir HarrySwift. _He_ was a _real_ gentleman now, if you like--free, open-handedgentleman--none of your close-shavin', cheese-parin' sort of gentlemen, orimitation gentlemen, as I calls them, but a man who knew what was due togood servants and gave them it. We had good wages, and all the proper"reglars." Bless you, I could sell a new suit of clothes there every year,instead of having to wear the last keeper's cast-offs, and a hat that woulddisgrace anything but a flay-crow. If the linin' wasn't stuffed full ofgun-waddin' it would be over my nose,' he observed, taking it off andadjusting the layer of wadding as he spoke.
'You should have stuck to Sir Harry,' observed Mr. Sponge.
'I did,' rejoined Watson. 'I did, I stuck to him to the last. I'd have beenwith him now, only he couldn't get a manor at Boulogne, and a keeper was ofno use without one.'
'What, he went to Boulogne, did he?' observed Mr. Sponge.
'Aye, the more's the pity,' replied Watson. 'He was a gentleman, every inchof him,' he added, with a shake of the head and a sigh, as if recurring tomore prosperous times. 'He was what a gentleman ought to be,' he continued,'not one of your poor, pryin', inquisitive critturs, what's always fancyin'themselves cheated. I ordered everything in my department, and paid for ittoo; and never had a bill disputed or even commented on. I might havecharged for a ton of powder, and never had nothin' said.'
'Mr. Jawleyford's not likely to find his way to Boulogne, I suppose?'observed Mr. Sponge.
'Not he!' exclaimed Watson, 'not he!--safe bird--_very_.'
'He's rich, I suppose?' continued Sponge, with an air of indifference.
'Why, _I_ should say he was; though others say he's not,' replied Watson,cropping the old pony with the dog-whip, as it nearly fell on its nose. 'Hecan't fail to be rich, with all his property; though they're desperatehands for gaddin' about; always off to some waterin'-place or another,lookin' for husbands, I suppose. I wonder,' he continued, 'that gentlemencan't settle at home, and amuse themselves with coursin' and shootin'.' Mr.Watson, like many servants, thinking that the bulk of a gentleman's incomeshould be spent in promoting the particular sport over which they preside.
With this and similar discourse, they beguiled the short distance betweenthe station and the Court--a distance, however, that looked considerablygreater after the flying rapidity of the rail. But for these occasionalreturns to _terra firma_, people would begin to fancy themselves birds.After rounding a large but gently swelling hill, over the summit of whichthe road, after the fashion of old roads, led, our traveller suddenlylooked down upon the wide vale of Sniperdown, with Jawleyford Courtglittering with a bright open aspect, on a fine, gradual elevation, abovethe broad, smoothly gliding river. A clear atmosphere, indicative either ofrain or frost, disclosed a vast tract of wild, flat, ill-cultivated-lookingcountry to the south, little interrupted by woods or signs of population;the whole losing itself, as it were, in an indistinct grey outline,commingling with the fleecy white clouds in the distance.
'Here we be,' observed Watson, with a nod towards where a tarni
shedred-and-gold flag, floated, or rather flapped lazily in the winter'sbreeze, above an irregular mass of towers, turrets, and odd-shapedchimneys.
Jawleyford Court was a fine old mansion, partaking more of the character ofa castle than a Court, with its keep and towers, battlements, heavilygrated mullioned windows, and machicolated gallery. It stood, sombre andgrey, in the midst of gigantic but now leafless sycamores--trees that hadto thank themselves for being sycamores; for, had they been oaks, or othermarketable wood, they would have been made into bonnets or shawls longbefore now. The building itself was irregular, presenting different sortsof architecture, from pure Gothic down to some even perfectly modernbuildings; still, viewed as a whole, it was massive and imposing; and asMr. Sponge looked down upon it, he thought far more of Jawleyford and Co.than he did as the mere occupants of a modest, white-stuccoed,green-verandahed house, at Laverick Wells. Nor did his admiration diminishas he advanced, and, crossing by a battlemented bridge over the moat, heviewed the massive character of the buildings rising grandly from theirrocky foundation. An imposing, solemn-toned old clock began striking four,as the horsemen rode under the Gothic portico, whose notes re-echoed andreverberated, and at last lost themselves among the towers and pinnacles ofthe building. Sponge, for a moment, was awe-stricken at the magnificence ofthe scene, feeling that it was what he would call 'a good many cuts abovehim'; but he soon recovered his wonted impudence.
'He _would_ have me,' thought he, recalling the pressing nature of theJawleyford invitation.
'If you'll hold my nag,' said Watson, throwing himself off the shaggywhite, 'I'll ring the bell,' added he, running up a wide flight of steps tothe hall-door. A riotous peal announced the arrival.
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 14