by R S Surtees
That experienced and judicious old lady, always easy at the outset, but most urgent towards the end, was busy with her only maid, Martha, in the dining-room, putting away groceries, when the Captain came, and receiving for answer to her enquiry, as the maid peeped through the green trellis blinds, whether the ring proceeded from “petticoats or legs,” that it proceeded from “legs;” she had little difficulty in appropriating them, and, like a prudent matron, deliberately finished her work ’ere she adjourned to her bed-room, to make those little adjustments, or perhaps additions to her dress, that we will leave to the imagination of the reader.
And now, as our grinning friend sat lost in ecstasies, listening to the silvery notes of the syren, the door gently opened, and in sidled Mamma, the smiling autumn of her voluble daughter.
“My dear Captain Doleful,” said she, advancing, and extending her hand as she spoke, “My dear Captain Doleful,” repeated she, in a tone of mournful resignation, “this is indeed most kind — most considerate — my dear brother, Sir Archy, will be deeply grateful, when he hears of your early compliance with his wishes.” And thereupon she shook the Captain heartily by the hand, not a fine fore-finger shake, but a genuine confiding greeting, that spoke of confidence of the most substantial and inexhaustible order.
The Captain, who was up on the instant, to make one of his most elaborate bows, was now invited to occupy a berth by mamma, on the spring-cushioned sofa, instead of the ricketty fabric on which he had been getting mesmerised. Having subsided by her side, he harked back upon the weather, which he reviewed under various aspects, Harvest-ically — Turnip-ically — Potatoe-ically — Promenade-ically — Invalid-ically, and Handley Cross-ically.
They then went to the war, and just as Mrs. Brantinghame was making the unfortunate enquiry, if the Captain was at Waterloo, the noiseless butler announced luncheon (in reality dinner, the servants dining after), which saved our hero the humiliation of stating that he was only a militia captain, and had never been out of England. The announcement, however, stopped all this, and even if the Captain had been inclined to confess, we dare say the answer would have been lost upon Mrs. Brantinghame, so intent was she in hoping that Partridge, the butler, and Frederick, the footman, and Martha, the maid, had arranged everything, comme il faut, in the dining-room. After the lapse of a few seconds, for Mrs. Brantinghame was now quite on the “take-it-easy tack,” she hoped the dear Captain would come down stairs and take a little luncheon with them, whatever there was, for she feared it would only be of the serambling order, not having either her cook or her housekeeper, and only one footman with her, but she was sure he would excuse any little deficiency. So saying, she arose, and, taking the grinning Captain’s arm, conducted him down stairs, leaving his eight-and-sixpenny hat and twopenny cane to take care of themselves. The Captain went hugging himself, thinking he would save a dinner at home, for he had one of those convenient appetites that could be made to bear upon a dinner, whenever one came in the way. Thus they reached the lower apartment.
Upon the snowy, well got up cloth, of an elegantly set out table, stood a couple of beautiful cold Dorking fowls, a tongue, mashed potatoes, and greens, an uncut apricot tart, a shape of pastrycook’s blancmange, a bottle of pale Sherry (brown, watered), and as much of a bottle of Malmscy Madeira as Partridge could spare in the decanting, while the sideboard exhibited Seltzer water, a bottle of Allsop, and a quart of “Dobbs and Co.,” which Partridge intended for himself. Mamma took the top of the table, Miss the bottom, and Doleful the side opposite the fire. Partridge carved the fowls from the sideboard, Frederick handed them round, and the party were soon in the enjoyment of eating made easy. As Doleful sat munching away, he made a mental inventory of what he saw; bright plate, beautiful creaseless linen, crystal-like glass, noiseless butler, powdered footman, everything quite genteel; couldn’t be done under two thousand a year — no not for a halfpenny under two thousand a year — and he contrasted it with old Jorrocks’s rough and ready style, his bustling Batsay, bubbly Binjimin, and duplicate dishes. Then Partridge was so attentive, so anxious to draw the “Allsop,” so discouraging in his offer of the “Dobbs,” that Doleful was quite taken with him, and, after the third glass of wine, felt as if he could give him half-a-crown. Partridge, we are sorry to say, did not reciprocate Doleful’s admiration, for on getting down stairs, he declared to Martha, that Miss must be desperately in want of a husband, to take up such a death’s-head looking man, and thinking that Mrs. Markham, Sir Archy’s housekeeper, to whom he was privately married, would not have had him if he had been such a “guy.” The appetites of the parlour party being at length appeased, they return to the drawing-room, where Miss enchanted Doleful with her execution of “Vilikins” on her harp, an instrument she never travelled without, being admirably adapted for showing off her fine swelling figure. And after a long protracted sit, Doleful at length took his departure, feeling that Sir Archy was not half a bad fellow, and vowing that he would return without fail on the morrow.
Mamma and Miss then talked him over, Mamma observing that she thought he “would do,” Miss, who always liked to run counter, replying, she “did’t know.”
CHAPTER LXXVI. THE GRAND FIELD DAY.
THE MORROW CAME, and with it came Doleful — Doleful, no longer an indifferent duty visitor on behalf of Sir Archy Depecarde, but Doleful, a very cock-a-hoopish caller on his own account, got up with uncommon care and circumspection. He sported a sixteen-shilling hat, with a flexible silk band instead of a rusty draggling crape, while a black and white watch-ribbon-like tie encircled his stiff round-about collar, with as much end floating over his machinery-worked shirt-front as could reasonably be expected for two-and-sixpence. A Regent Street registered Pardessus was thrown gaily back, to show as well its rich quilting as his new widesleeved coatee with a red silk cuff lining, his twelve-and-sixpenny vest to order, and his black clerical riding-trousers falling becomingly upon his bright Molière shoes. Thus attired, he led himself gaily to the charge, causing no little sensation as he passed through the streets.
Behold him entering Acacia Crescent, and now at the door of his charmer. The house never looked so attractive before. He could almost have kissed the scraper.
Visitors’ bells certainly are a great improvement upon the time when a man had to mark his own claims to consideration by an appeal to the knocker. It was all very well for ladies, with twelve or thirteen yards of powdered impertinence to act as their heralds, and pound at the panels, but for a humble pedestrian to have to indoctrinate the servants into his claim to attention by the number and freedom of his raps, was rather a nervous undertaking for gentlemen unaccustomed to public knocking. And yet, if one didn’t make a noise, they would often let one stand till one starved. So thought Doleful, as he turned the ivory-knobbed handle at the right of Mrs. Brantinghame’s door, and faced the sun as if for a wait. Quick as thought, the door opened — opened, not in a doubtful, hesitating sort of way, but flew wide open, as if there wasn’t a doubt upon the subject of the ladies being at home. Lowly bowed the smiling Frederick, who was powdered to perfection, and starched and ironed out down to his very shoe-ties. Partridge, too, was in full feather, and never did the horse-shoe breast of one of the winged tribe look more bright than did his ample chest in a rich blue, green, yellow, red, all the colours of the rainbow reflecting, cut velvet vest, set off with steel buttons. Indeed, he should rather have been called Pheasant. He had also a splendid velvet-collared blue coat, made of far better cloth than Doleful’s, decorated with hieroglyphical buttons, B. P. A. entwined (Butlers’ Perquisite Association), and superfine drab trowsers, with broad brown stripes down the sides. Thus attired, he received our suitor at the hands of Frederick, and as he helped him out of his registered Pardessus, woman-like, Martha the maid-of-all-work flitted in the background, arrayed in one of her young missus’s cast-off silks, enacting the character of upper servant. For the wages of one servant and a half, she did the work of three, eating only the victuals of one.
/> The Captain being now ready for presentation, Partridge preceded him up-stairs, making a mental bet with himself — for he was a bit of a wagerer — on the double events of something winning the Derby, and Miss capturing the Captain. Mrs. Brantinghame, who was arranging matters in the parlour, peeped up at her son-in-law’s legs as they ascended the stairs, and knowing that all was right above, resumed her occupation, like a nice, discreet old mouser as she was.
And now the drawing-room door opens, and in stalks the gallant Captain, bowing and grinning, and capering as usual. Miss receives him most cordially, as well with a shake of the hand as a stick-out-behind curtsey, and the Captain at once subsides upon an ottoman full of the usual odds and ends, and non-company things.
Miss is most carefully got up for the important occasion. Martha has had a good hour and a half’s spell at her toilette, between making the beds and preparing the lunch, and, by dint of careful sitting since, not a single hair is displaced. She has on a light blue barège dress, the body and flounces trimmed with plaited blue ribbon, and on her well turned arms she wears her first-class manacles, the product of many an ardent courtship, for she always made it a rule to confiscate the offerings of her suiters when the matches went off. She begins by apologising for the absence of Mamma, who had lain down to try to sleep off a sick headache, a statement that Mamma subsequently contradicted by saying she had been poring over her steward’s accounts for the last quarter, which was quite as agreeable a hearing to our Captain, who thought he would like to relieve her of that trouble in future.
Mamma has got on her best bib and tucker, and everything wears a holiday aspect. She is all smiles and serenity. The luncheon, too, was of the elegant order, without any make-weight dishes, or apparent ekingout from any other quarter. Indeed, Partridge took better care of the scraps than that, and already his onslaughts on the cold tongue, and his refusal to share the overplus of the “Dobbs” with Martha, had led to unpleasant bickerings between them. To-day, however, they seem to have merged their differences for the common weal, and play into each other’s hands in the most praiseworthy manner. Everything is cold, except the vegetables and game, which latter Mrs. Brantinghame would have insinuated came from her own manor, were she not afraid that the ever-watchful Partridge, who brought it from Sir Archy’s, would contradict her. Miss, however, did the fine by desiring Frederick to tell her maid to bring her a pocket-handkerchief; and Mrs. muttered something about the inconvenience of only having one footman, as Partridge followed Frederick out of the room for a bottle of Allsop, in which he hoped to get Doleful to give him a reversionary interest by having it opened. In fact, the ladies rather over-did the thing, as pretenders often do when they want to cut it fat. Doleful, however, was too much mixed up with them to see anything of the sort, and munched and eat, and munched and eat, with the greatest apparent satisfaction. At length, after a hearty repast, and a long tête-à-tête with Miss after (the affairs of the estate requiring Mamma’s attention elsewhere), the old grinner took his departure; and as Mamma surveyed the wreck of luncheon, above all, the greatly diminished Malmsey, and thought of the blabbishness of servants, she came to the counclusion that the sooner she got out her landing-net the better.
CHAPTER LXXVII. A SLOW COACH.
CAPTAIN DOLEFUL WAS so extremely well satisfied as well with the fare as the fair, that he did not feel at all inclined to press his suit to a termination, which he felt he could do at any moment he liked. He therefore just dropped in every day at luncheon time, and stayed till the shades of evening began to draw on, when he adjourned the High Court of Hymen until the next day, instead of letting the clock of courtship run down, and having to wind it up again. Thus he went on for above a week, much to the edification of the opposite neighbours, who, for “serious people,” were more curious than discreet.
Mrs. Brantinghame, on the other hand, waxed very impatient. She disliked the expense, and dreaded the information afforded by electric telegraphs, penny postage, Bernard Burkes, and busybodies generally. Partridge, too, was anything but tractable, and wanted to have everything as they had at Sir Archy’s, prigging included, which did not at all accord with Mrs. Brantinghame’s ideas of housekeeping. She was therefore all for pressing her daughter on, just as old J. pressed his hounds on after a fox. A council of war was held every evening, after the Captain’s departure, to hear as well how Miss had got on that day, as to arrange proceedings for the next. Miss always reported that she saw the offer was coming, but Mamma very wisely observed that “Christmas was coming too;” a season that conjured up all sorts of disagreeable associations,— “To bill delivered,” “Bill to deliver,” “Bill if not paid on or before,” &c., &c. — and then to think how ill she was providing for the future, by the expense she was then incurring. She wished the thing was settled, one way or other.
She gradually lowered the standard of entertainment, and instead of Dorking fowls and roast game, she jobbed a joint from Saveloy’s beef and sausage shop in Grudgington Street, which was weighed in and weighed out, to stop the unreasonable incursions of Partridge. The Sherry, and Malmsey Madeira too, were replaced by Marsala, and some of Walker and Walton’s Tent, one-and-sixpence a bottle (one-and-three, if the bottle was returned), and the Allsop supply was cut off altogether. Still the old Captain plodded on at his own pace; neither Mamma’s broad hints, nor Miss’s variously decorated charms nor wants of a brother, could get him beyond kissing her hand. This, as Mamma said, might mean anything. The servants began to see through the thing, and Partridge no longer took the trouble of appearing at the door, while Frederick gave himself up to fancy trowsers and flash ties, instead of the decorous apparel in which he had at first appeared. Mamma soon waxed dreadfully nervous, that is to say, desperately out of temper. Every time she saw Partridge’s broad back looming along the Crescent, she pictured to herself the stories he would be propagating at the Dun Cow, the Load of Hay, the Fox and Hounds, or whatever house he frequented, and she fancied she saw them all going to the Captain bound up in a sheaf. Still she was too wise to attempt to bribe the job butler to secresy, well knowing that the course of servitude is to keep the bribe and tell the secret.
She thought the Captain desperately slow. Mr. Cowmeadow hung off a long time with Catherine Christian Clementina Constance, and Captain Cushet was anything but as quick as he might have been with Winifred Rebecca Leonora Lucretia, but then they had other things to attend to, whereas Captain Doleful had really and truly nothing whatever to do or to think of, but to court and eat, and still he couldn’t be brought to book. It was very provoking. He was the slowest suitor she had ever seen, and she had had nearly a score through her hands, to say nothing of her own experience in that line. Why didn’t he propose?
CHAPTER LXXVIII. THE CAPTAIN CATCHES IT.
ONE FINE MORNING, as our hand-kissing friend came hopping, and grinning, and bounding up-stairs, without giving Frederick the trouble of announcing him, what should he find, instead of dear smiling Letitia sitting at the receipt of custom, but stiff old Mamma, with her front well down over her care-worn, wrinkled brow, and her once smiling lips compressed into a very firm, resolute-looking mouth. Doleful started at the sight. He saw there was mischief. She didn’t look like herself.
“Good morning, my dear Captain,” said Mrs. Brantinghame, extending her two forefingers for a salute, a sort of instalment of what he might get if he was a good boy; “Good morning, my dear Captain. Louisa Letitia will be down presently. But before she comes,” added she, in a lower tone, “I should like to have a few words with you,” motioning the taken-aback Captain to a seat on the sofa by her side. “You see, my dear (hem) Captain,” re-commenced she, sotto voce, as soon as he got settled; “you see, my dear Captain,” repeated she, with one of those nasty dry coughs with which old women generally preface their unpleasantness, “you see, my dear (hem) Captain,” added she for the third time, “though of course I’m extremely (hem) happy and (cough) pleased to see you (hem) here whenever you (cough — hem) like t
o come, yet the (hem) world is censorious, and when a (cough) young gentleman comes so often to the house where there is a (hem) young lady, ill-natured people will (cough) talk, and” — here she had recourse to her kerchief.
The Captain was non-plussed, for he had not calculated on overhauling time coming so soon; but, with the comfortable consciousness of having the wherewithal, he soon recovered his composure, very different to a young gentleman who feels that overhauling and kicking-out time will be all one.
