CHAPTER XV
THE JAWLEYFORD ESTABLISHMENT
The loud peal of the Jawleyford Court door-bell, announcing Mr. Sponge'sarrival, with which we closed the last chapter, found the inhabitantsvariously engaged preparing for his reception.
Mrs. Jawleyford, with the aid of a very indifferent cook, was endeavouringto arrange a becoming dinner; the young ladies, with the aid of a somewhatbetter sort of maid, were attractifying themselves, each looking withconsiderable jealousy on the efforts of the other; and Mr. Jawleyford wastrotting from room to room, eyeing the various pictures of himself,wondering which was now the most like, and watching the emergence ofcurtains, carpets, and sofas from their brown holland covers.
A gleam of sunshine seemed to reign throughout the mansion; thelong-covered furniture appearing to have gained freshness by itsretirement, just as a newly done-up hat surprises the wearer by itsgoodness; a few days, however, soon restores the defects of either.
All these arrangements were suddenly brought to a close by the peal of thedoor-bell, just as the little stage-tinkle of a theatre stops preparation,and compels the actors to stand forward as they are. Mrs. Jawleyford threwaside her silk apron, and took a hasty glance of her face in the oldeagle-topped mirror in the still-room; the young ladies discarded theircoarse dirty pocket-handkerchiefs, and gently drew elaborately fringed onesthrough their taper fingers to give them an air of use, as they took ahasty review of themselves in the swing mirrors; the housemaid hurried offwith a whole armful of brown holland; and Jawleyford threw himself intoattitude in an elaborately carved, richly cushioned, easy-chair, with aDisraeli's _Life of Lord George Bentinck_ in his hand. But Jawleyford'sthoughts were far from his book. He was sitting on thorns lest there mightnot be a proper guard of honour to receive Mr. Sponge at the entrance.
Jawleyford, as we said before, was not the man to entertain unless he coulddo it 'properly'; and, as we all have our pitch-notes of propriety up towhich we play, we may state that Jawleyford's note was a butler and twofootmen. A butler and two footmen he looked upon as perfectly indispensableto receiving company. He chose to have two footmen to follow the butler,who followed the gentleman to the spacious flight of steps leading from thegreat hall to the portico, as he mounted his horse. The world is governed agood deal by appearances. Mr. Jawleyford started life with two mostunimpeachable Johns. They were nearly six feet high, heads well up, andlegs that might have done for models for a sculptor. They powdered with thegreatest propriety, and by two o'clock each day were silk-stockinged andpumped in full-dress Jawleyford livery; sky-blue coats with massive silver_aiguillettes_, and broad silver seams down the front and round theirwaistcoat-pocket flaps; silver garters at their crimson plush breeches'knees: and thus attired, they were ready to turn out with the butler toreceive visitors, and conduct them back to their carriages. Gradually theycame down in style, but not in number, and, when Mr. Sponge visited Mr.Jawleyford, he had a sort of out-of-door man-of-all-work who metamorphosedhimself into a second footman at short notice.
'My dear Mr. Sponge!--I am delighted to see you!' exclaimed Mr. Jawleyford,rising from his easy-chair, and throwing his Disraeli's _Bentinck_ aside,as Mr. Spigot, the butler, in a deep, sonorous voice, announced our worthyfriend. 'This is, indeed, most truly kind of you,' continued Jawleyford,advancing to meet him; and getting our friend by both hands, he beganworking his arms up and down like the under man in a saw-pit. 'This is,indeed, most truly kind,' he repeated; 'I assure you I shall never forgetit. It's just what I like--it's just what Mrs. Jawleyford likes--it's justwhat we _all_ like--coming without fuss or ceremony. Spigot!' he added,hailing old Pomposo as the latter was slowly withdrawing, thinking what ahumbug his master was--'Spigot!' he repeated in a louder voice; 'let theladies know Mr. Sponge is here. Come to the fire, my dear fellow,'continued Jawleyford, clutching his guest by the arm, and drawing himtowards where an ample grate of indifferent coals was crackling andspluttering beneath a magnificent old oak mantelpiece of the richest andcostliest carved work. 'Come to the fire, my dear fellow,' he repeated,'for you feel cold; and I don't wonder at it, for the day is cheerless anduncomfortable, and you've had a long ride. Will you take anything beforedinner?'
'What time do you dine?' asked Mr. Sponge, rubbing his hands as he spoke.
'Six o'clock,' replied Mr. Jawleyford, 'six o'clock--say six o'clock--notparticular to a moment--days are short, you see--days are short.'
'I think I should like a glass of sherry and a biscuit, then,' observed Mr.Sponge.
And forthwith the bell was rung, and in due course of time Mr. Spigotarrived with a tray, followed by the Miss Jawleyfords, who had ratherexpected Mr. Sponge to be shown into the drawing-room to them, where theyhad composed themselves very prettily; one working a parrot in chenille,the other with a lapful of crochet.
The Miss Jawleyfords--Amelia and Emily--were lively girls; hardlybeauties--at least, not sufficiently so to attract attention in a crowd;but still, girls well calculated to 'bring a man to book,' in the country.Mr. Thackeray, who bound up all the home truths in circulation, and manythat exist only in the inner chambers of the heart, calling the whole'Vanity Fair,' says, we think (though we don't exactly know where to layhand on the passage), that it is not your real striking beauties who arethe most dangerous--at all events, that do the most execution--but sly,quiet sort of girls, who do not strike the beholder at first sight, butsteal insensibly upon him as he gets acquainted. The Miss Jawleyfords wereof this order. Seen in plain morning gowns, a man would meet them in thestreet, without either turning round or making an observation, good, bad,or indifferent; but in the close quarters of a country house, with all theable assistance of first-rate London dresses, well flounced and set out,each bent on doing the agreeable, they became dangerous. The MissJawleyfords were uncommonly well got up, and Juliana, their mutual maid,deserved great credit for the impartiality she displayed in arraying them.There wasn't a halfpenny's worth of choice as to which was the best. Thiswas the more creditable to the maid, inasmuch as the dresses--sea-greenglaces--were rather dashed; and the worse they looked, the likelier theywould be to become her property. Half-dashed dresses, however, that wouldlook rather seedy by contrast, come out very fresh in the country,especially in winter, when day begins to close in at four. And here we mayobserve, what a dreary time is that which intervenes between the arrival ofa guest and the dinner hour, in the dead winter months in the country. TheEnglish are a desperate people for overweighting their conversationalpowers. They have no idea of penning up their small talk, and bringing itto bear in generous flow upon one particular hour; but they keep dribblingit out throughout the live-long day, wearying their listeners withoutbenefiting themselves--just as a careless waggoner scatters his load on theroad. Few people are insensible to the advantage of having their champagnebrisk, which can only be done by keeping the cork in; but few ever think ofkeeping the cork of their own conversation in. See a Frenchman--how lightand buoyant he trips into a drawing-room, fresh from the satisfactoryscrutiny of the looking-glass, with all the news, and jokes, andtittle-tattle of the day, in full bloom! How sparkling and radiant he is,with something smart and pleasant to say to every one! How thoroughly happyand easy he is; and what a contrast to phlegmatic John Bull, who standswith his great red fists doubled, looking as if he thought whoever spoke tohim would be wanting him to endorse a bill of exchange! But, as we saidbefore, the dread hour before dinner is an awful time in thecountry--frightful when there are two hours, and never a subject in commonfor the company to work upon. Laverick Wells and their mutual acquaintancewas all Sponge and Jawleyford's stock-in-trade; and that was a very smallcapital to begin upon, for they had been there together too short a time tomake much of a purse of conversation. Even the young ladies, with theirinquiries after the respective flirtations--how Miss Sawney and CaptainSnubnose were 'getting on'? and whether the rich Widow Spankley was likelyto bring Sir Thomas Greedey to book?--failed to make up a conversation; forSponge knew little of the ins and outs of these matters
, his attentionhaving been more directed to Mr. Waffles than any one else. Still, themere questions, put in a playful, womanly way, helped the time on, andprevented things coming to that frightful deadlock of silence, that causesan involuntary inward exclamation of 'How _am I_ to get through the timewith this man?' There are people who seem to think that sitting and lookingat each other constitutes society. Women have a great advantage over men inthe talking way; they have always something to say. Let a lot of women behuddled together throughout the whole of a livelong day, and they will yethave such a balance of conversation at night, as to render it necessary toconvert a bedroom into a clearing-house, to get rid of it. Men, however,soon get high and dry, especially before dinner; and a host ought to be atliberty to read the Riot Act, and disperse them to their bedrooms, tillsuch times as they wanted to eat and drink.
A most scientifically sounded gong, beginning low, like distant thunder,and gradually increasing its murmur till it filled the whole mansion withits roar, at length relieved all parties from the labour of furtherefforts; and, looking at his watch, Jawleyford asked Mrs. Jawleyford, in aninnocent, indifferent sort of way, which was Mr. Sponge's room; though hehad been fussing about it not long before, and dusting the portrait ofhimself in his green-and-gold yeomanry uniform, with an oldpocket-handkerchief.
'The crimson room, my dear,' replied the well-drilled Mrs. Jawleyford; andSpigot coming with candles, Jawleyford preceded 'Mr. Sponge' up a splendidrichly carved oak staircase, of such gradual and easy rise that an invalidmight almost have been drawn up it in a garden-chair.
Passing a short distance along a spacious corridor, Mr. Jawleyfordpresently opened a door to the right, and led the way into a large gloomyroom, with a little newly lighted wood fire crackling in an enormous grate,making darkness visible, and drawing the cold out of the walls. We needscarcely say it was that terrible room--the best; with three creaking,ill-fitting windows, and heavy crimson satin-damask furniture, so old asscarcely to be able to sustain its own weight. 'Ah! here you are,'observed Mr. Jawleyford, as he nearly tripped over Sponge's luggage as itstood by the fire. 'Here you are,' repeated he, giving the candle aflourish, to show the size of the room, and draw it back on the portrait ofhimself above the mantelpiece. 'Ah! I declare here's an old picture ofmyself,' said he, holding the candle up to the face, as if he hadn't seenit for some time--'a picture that was done when I was in the Bumperkinyeomanry,' continued he, passing the light before the facings. 'That wasconsidered a good likeness at the time,' said he, looking affectionately atit, and feeling his nose to see if it was still the same size. 'Ours was acapital corps--one of the best, if not the very best in the service. Theinspecting officer always spoke of it in the highest possibleterms--especially of _my_ company, which really was just as perfect asanything my Lord Cardigan, or any of your crack disciplinarians, canproduce. However, never mind,' continued he, lowering the candle, seeingMr. Sponge didn't enter into the spirit of the thing; 'you'll be wanting todress. You'll find hot water on the table yonder,' pointing to the farcorner of the room, where the outline of a jug might just be descried;'there's a bell in the bed if you want anything; and dinner will be readyas soon as you are dressed. You needn't make yourself very fine,' added he,as he retired; 'for we are only ourselves: hope we shall have some of ourneighbours to-morrow or next day, but we are rather badly off forneighbours just here--at least, for short-notice neighbours.' So saying, hedisappeared through the dark doorway.
The latter statement was true enough, for Jawleyford, though apparentlysuch a fine open-hearted, sociable sort of man, was in reality a veryquarrelsome, troublesome fellow. He quarrelled with all his neighbours insuccession, generally getting through them every two or three years; andhis acquaintance were divided into two classes--the best and the worstfellows under the sun. A stranger revising Jawleyford after an absence of ayear or two, would very likely find the best fellows of former daystransformed into the worst ones of that. Thus, Parson Hobanob, that petvictim of country caprice, would come in and go out of season like lamb orasparagus; Major Moustache and Jawleyford would be as 'thick as thieves'one day, and at daggers drawn the next; Squire Squaretoes, of SquaretoesHouse, and he, were continually kissing or cutting; and even distance--ninemiles of bad road, and, of course, heavy tolls--could not keep the peacebetween lawyer Seedywig and him. What between rows and reconciliations,Jawleyford was always at work.
Mr. Sponge's Sporting Tour Page 15