by R S Surtees
CHAPTER XVIII.
YOU, WHO THE sweets of rural life have known,
Despise the ungrateful luxury of the town.”
UNDER a spacious hay-rick, pitched beneath what had been a couple of ground-feathering spruce of gigantic size, now trimmed half way up to ‘ admit the awning, sat Mrs. Jorrocks in stately pride, decked out like a tragedy queen, surrounded by her school-girls in their Swiss costumes — white bedgowns, with scarlet petticoats, set off with large horse-hair bustles, pink stockings, and large flat-crowned straw hats, looking as unlike nature as anything could do. Mrs. Jorrocks wore a splendid red and white turban, entwined with enormous bands of sham pearls, and a bird-of-paradise feather reclining gracefully over the left ear, and sundry mosaic chains, necklaces, bracelets, and lockets about her shoulders and arms. Her dress was of many-coloured muslin, done in tiers like house-slating; next her dumpy waist came a pea-green tier, immediately below it a bright yellow, followed by red, then a sky blue, and a white, fringed with broad black lace at the bottom. Each tier was understood to be a separate affair, though, as we did not dissect her, of course we cannot speak confidently on that point. The presumption, however, is that it was so, for she “stood out,” looking like a rainbow dumpling.
Tea had been liberally supplied to the ladies at their pleasure, some of whom loitered in the tent with Mrs. Jorrocks, instead of taking advantage of the balmy fragrance of the summer’s evening, and wandering about in the sweet air, loaded with the perfume of jessamine, roses, and the lime-tree flowers. The little folk, too, had been entertained with amusements becoming their juvenile years, and several bluff little urchins wandered about the shrubberies with stained faces and clothes, got by blobbing in a treacle barrel for halfpence; while shouts of laughter rent the air from the far side of the enclosure, as boy after boy came sliding down a greasy pole, at the top of which was stuck an inviting leg of mutton, or a soapy-tailed pig eluded the grasp of a clown, and upset a fair lady or two as, grunting, it dived among the crowd.
The appearance of the dinner party added fresh impetus to the scene, and a course being formed down a smooth green alley, several of the village nymphs contended in a race for a petticoat, after which Mr. Jorrocks and a select party of friends, being blindfolded, tried their hands at a wheelbarrow race, and either from the novelty of the situation, or the confusion consequent on the drink they had taken, they severally landed at very different places to what they intended. Others then tried their hands with like success, and Joshua Sneakington being inveigled into an attempt, was deluded by the false cries of the boys in a wrong direction, and before he knew where he was, was soused over head in the pond. Out he came like a drowned rat, blowing and spluttering, with a green sort of net all over his person, formed by the slime and the weeds of the surface. Great was the joy at the sight, for Joshua was thoroughly detested. Even Mr. Jorrocks joined in the mirth his appearance created.
Twilight now drew on, and the sultry heat of the day was succeeded by a cool refreshing dew. The dining-room having been cleared of its tables and furniture, showed lights in various directions, enticing the company back to the house. The Marquis, who had been in waiting on Mrs. Jorrocks since his appearance in the garden, was now seen wending his way along with her on his arm. The fiddlers were scraping their catgut on the spot where the sideboard recently stood, and the flute-player was sucking and licking the joints of his flute, as if he was extremely fond of it. The appearance of the hostess, followed as she was by a traiu of her big-bustled girls, was the signal for the musicians to begin, and accordingly they struck up the usual “See the conquering hero comes,” though who was the hero, or whom he had been conquering, seemed somewhat problematical.
“We are to have a dance, are we?” said the Marquis, as they approached the window; “I’m glad of that. I wish Miss Flather had been here.”
“Miss Flather’s engaged at ‘ome,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks, rejoicing that she had done her. “Who would you like to dance with?” added she, sidling through the sash.
“Won’t you allow me the honour of opening the ball with you?” asked the Marquis.
“Thank you, my lordship, I’m only a werry poor dancer; howsomever I’ll try my ‘and; only it’s werry ‘ot work. Jun,” said she, going up to her spouse and giving him a shake of the shoulder, “get your partner, and let’s set to. Who are you a goin’ to dance with?”
Mr. Jorrocks had booked Mrs. Trotter, who, decked in a rich green and yellow Ancoat Yale velvet, made extremely tight, and short at the shoulder, and peaked at the waist with a cord and large tassels, as if to tie her up with, now, responded to his summons, and stationed herself next Mrs. Jorrocks.
“She’s a grand ‘un, isn’t she?” asked Mr. Jorrocks in a subdued tone — at least a subdued tone for him, with a nudge of the elbow in his lordship’s ribs, and a nod of his head forwards. “Clean made, hupright, clever-action’d thing; what a harm she’s got! you see her step.”
A long line of dancers had now fallen in, and the Marquis began to be puzzled what to do. Twice the leash of musicians ran over the “White Cockade” without their getting away; at length Mr. Jorrocks, anxious to foot it, said, “I think you’d better start next time.”
“I don’t know what it is!” exclaimed the Marquis in alarm.
“Vy, a country dance to be sure,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “‘ands across and back again, down the middle and hup again; simple as can be, nothin’ simpler, there, see, our ould gal ‘ill put you in the way of it; off you go!” said Mr.
Jorrocks, stamping with his foot and clapping his hands; Mrs. Jorrocks seizing the Marquis by the hand, and the three setting him a going, just as willing coach horses start a restive comrade, polling him along in fact.
The figure was soon learnt, and the Marquis and Mrs. Jorrocks bumped and danced most vigorously up and down, turning every couple till they got through the last juvenile pair at the end, and our now profusely-perspiring hostess leant against the wall and mopped herself Presently her place was wanted by another couple, and gradually, by dint of turning and elbowing, they again accomplished the top of the dance.
The Marquis, whose eyes had been attracted in going down by a graceful sylph-like figure, about the middle of the dance, now availed himself of the opportunity of inquiring who the beautiful dark-eyed girl, in white muslin with a broad blue sash, was.
“A tallish gal do you mean,” inquired Mrs. Jorrocks, “with werry black eyes?”
“This one,” said the Marquis, “with the swan-like head and neck; just dancing towards us,” pointing to a couple approaching from the bottom of the dance.
“Oh, that’s Eliza,” said Mrs. Jorrocks; “werry pretty gal she is too, good gal too, nice modest gal, beautiful figure, all nattural. Praps you’d like to dance with her.”
“Yes, I should very much,” replied the Marquis, who now stood admiring her richly-fringed, downcast eyes, and clear Italian complexion. “She certainly is an uncommon pretty girl,” observed his lordship confidentially to Mrs. Jorrocks.
“And as good as she’s pretty,” observed our hostess, who, without any particular partiality for the Trotters, was willing to use Eliza for the purpose of extinguishing Emma.
We will not make Eliza so unwomanly as to prefer Jack Smith of the Hill Farm, whom she was then dancing with, to his lordship; but the unexpected demand, and novelty of her situation, drew such a mantling blush over her beautiful features when the Marquis was presented to her as further ingratiated her in his favour. Finding he was nothing very awful, she gradually recovered courage, and turning her large lustrous languishing eyes upon him, she whispered forth such sweet silvery notes as perfectly enchanted him. We will not say how often they danced together. —
Capricious youth! Morning’s dawn found the finely rounded figure, greyish blue eyes, and alabaster-like complexion of Emma Flather banished from the Marquis’s recollection — at all events, completely eclipsed by the graceful form and Italian skin of the beautiful dark-eyed Eliza. Th
at is the worst of these young men; they are so very fickle, you never know where you have them. Mammas have terrible times with them, for they are scarcely to be trusted out of sight, and the only way of securing them is by tying them up tight (matrimonially of course) as quick as ever they can. They are easily caught, but as easily lost.
The Marquis was desperately smitten. This he candidly admitted to himself, and there is no mistake when a man does that. He tossed and tumbled about in bed, bemoaning the inequality that prevented his thinking of her. That was a step beyond what he had got with Emma, his ideas respecting her never having got further than the degree of simple flirtation — flirtation that he might be carrying on with half-a-dozen girls in different parts of the country at the same time.
The result of the Marquis’s musings was that though he knew that it was very naughty and very dangerous too, he would spend that day with Mr. Jorrocks. Accordingly, when Adolphe made his appearance in his bedroom, he inquired about the state of his wardrobe, and finding that he had about as many clothes as would serve a moderate man a week, he resolved on sounding his farmer friend whether it would be convenient to keep him.
Of course it was, and Mrs. Jorrocks, like all women, being uncommonly quick at smelling a rat, as soon as ever she got her tea-caddy locked after breakfast, and the dinner ordered, put on her bonnet and shawl, and went to the Trotters to bid them spend the day and dine at the Hall. Need we Bay that she went a little further, and dropped in at the Manse? Assuredly not, for the triumph would not have been complete without. With what eagerness she watched the countenance of mother and daughter as with becoming circumlocution and embellishment she detailed the doings of the previous evening — how delightful the Markis had been — how genteel he was — and her decided conviction that he was desperately smitten with Eliza. Neither could she resist the additional mortification of adding, that she expected her to spend the day to meet the Marquis, which must be an apology for her hurried visit.
Poor Mrs. Flather! Never were such unwelcome tidings conveyed with such apparent indifference; and it was only a pretty intimate knowledge of the sex that made Mrs. Flather sensible of the cutting cruelty of Mrs. Jorrocks’s conduct. A man would have thought it odd, a “curious coincidence,” telling a mother whose daughter had had designs on a man; but ladies know each other better.
Cobbett, who understood the sex well, was fully conscious of their discrimination. “Women,” he said, “are much quicker-sighted than men; they are more suspicious as to motives, and less liable to be deceived by professions and protestations; they watch words with a more scrutinising ear, and looks with a keener eye; and making due allowance for their prejudices, their opinions ought not to be set at naught without great deliberation.” Still, though all women know this perfectly well, they can’t help playing at deceiving each other.
Mrs. Flather knew what Mrs. Jorrocks came about just as well as Mrs. Jorrocks knew herself; and Mrs. Jorrocks knew that Mrs. Flather knew that she did, just as well as if she had told her. However, vive la humbug!
Now, Mr. Jorrocks was not at all quick at smelling a rat — at least not unless the rat was after some of his bacon; and moreover, being tolerably conceited, he concluded the Marquis had prolonged his visit from sheer enamourment of himself, and cut out quite a different day’s work to that of his missis, and quite contrary to what would have suited his lordship. Having got the breakfast disposed of, and the usual stare out of window and lounge about the door that follows that repast in the country, Mr. Jorrocks looked at the Marquis’s paper boots, and proposed investing him in a pair of his thick shoes for what he called a “stretch” across country seven or eight miles, to see “a fine ball” — a bull being the object of Mr. Jorrocks’s ambition at that time. The Marquis was horrified — such a walk would be the death of him — such a sultry day too. Besides, he knew nothing about bulls, and had talked farming nonsense enough over night to serve him some time — better keep himself cool — take a stroll about the grounds — see the garden, and admire the beauties of the place.
Mr. Jorrocks started off alone.
Towards the afternoon Mrs. Jorrocks and Mrs. Trotter were seen wending their way up the village of Hillingdon at that usual flirtation-encouraging distance which all mammas know so well how to measure, followed, of course, by Eliza and the Marquis at a proper elbow-touching, side-bumping sort of space. Mind, not arm in arm. What the old women talked about is immaterial — perhaps they didn’t talk at all, but kept their ears cocked back to try what they could catch from the conversation of the juvenile pair in the rear.
It would puzzle a shorthand writer to make sentences of what the Marquis and Eliza said; it was so mixed, so general, and so broken by such pleasing interruptions from the stares of the villagers and the dazzling novelty of her situation as her luminous dark eyes met the Marquis’s flashing blue ones. Suffice it to say, they were both very happy, and their conversation, if not very enlightening, was very agreeable to each other. But let us take a glance at the Manse.
Mrs. Flather could have eaten Mrs. Jorrocks — whether she could have digested her or not is another thing, for she declared she always thought her a disagreeable-looking woman, and now “perfectly disgusting.” The conduct of parties has a great deal to do with their looks. If they are for us, let them be ever so ugly, there is always a certain something in their favour; whereas, if they are against us, the bestlooking are little better than monsters in our eyes. Mrs. Flather, as we said before, could have eaten Mrs. Jorrocks.
Emma was desperately hurt too; for though coldblooded, calculating, and passionless, and willing to jump from one suitor to another, as she would from one dress to another, just as the “turn of the market,” as Mr. Jorrocks would say, seemed in his favour, still she could not be insensible of the value of attentions from a man like the Marquis, even though they went no further than “attentions;” but, in her case, she thought she had fair legitimate claims, if not a downright hold upon him. Indeed, the line of policy to be pursued in consequence of what had passed at Donkeyton Castle had occupied mother and daughter many anxious hours both by day and by night, and nothing but the natural pride and delicacy of their sex, of which they both had a large stock in theory, prevented their making a crusade against the Castle. It would have been a grand sight to see the old Duke blundering to a conception of what they were after, and bowing them out with all the dignity of offended pride. “A duchess forsooth!” he would say, as he saw them bundling away in their rattle-trap.
The question now was, whether to go boldly down and demand the Marquis, or try what a little circumventing would do. Had the engagement been satisfactorily ratified by the Duke and Duchess, Mrs. Flather would have had no hesitation in demanding the Marquis, or, at all events, in writing to his “ma,” to bid her come and look after her boy; but that confounded old marplot, Mr. Jorrocks, if our readers remember, interposed his troublesome old person at the critical moment that Mrs. Flather was bringing the Duke to book. The Flathers clearly saw the mistake in their policy had been snubbing the Jorrockses, by which they had not only set the Jorrockses against them, but had played them into the hands of the Trotters. They censured themselves, but protested nobody could foresee the turn the agricultural concern had taken. They should have nailed the Marquis at the moment, and never given him a chance of getting into the hands of the Trotters; had a regular understanding with the Duke — pocketed their delicacy in fact. Mr. Jorrocks, Mrs. Flather thought, would befriend her; but time pressed, and perhaps she could not lay hold of him; and then the affair was more in the ladies’ department, and there was little to hope from Mrs. Jorrocks, who had stolen the Marquis from them. The thing was how to get him back; a man’s never fairly lost till he’s churched. The only plan was to pique him — play some one off against him. In these emergencies, very forlorn hopes are sometimes resorted to — in short, anything in the shape of a man. Mrs. Flather and Emma were too good generals to be left totally destitute, and James Blake, whom we have already s
lightly introduced to our readers, was raked up for the enviable appointment of cat’s-paw. James was one of those desperately over-righteous, cushionthumping, jump-Jim-crow breed of parsons, so sanctified that he could hardly suffer the light of heaven to shine upon him, and he ate cold roast potatoes to save his servant the sin of cooking on the Sunday.
Well, James Blake, like many weak young men, was desperately violent. He had preached two sermons that had enraptured all the servant-maids, and astonished the quietgoing people. As the chemist said, “they were full of sulphur.” Common people like to be d — d in heaps.
James was fished up to rescue the Marquis from the clutches of the designing Mrs. Trotter — not by the persuasive eloquence of his tongue, or the admonitions of a Christian minister, but simply by being “played off” against his lordship. It may seem an odd game to men, but it is a very popular one among women.
Since the visit to Donkey ton, James had been nearly discarded, at least they had commenced the operation of “letting him down gently;” now, however, they had to draw him up again at short notice, and we hope our fair readers will not, close the volume in disgust when we say how they set about it. We know they will say it was very wrong — shockingly indelicate — improbable! perhaps impossible! — and we fully agree with them — only mind, fair ladies, that you don’t do it yourselves some time.
