by R S Surtees
Thus they chatted on; the Marquis sipping hot sherry and water, inwardly wishing Mrs. Flather anywhere but where she was; Emma, too, would gladly have dispensed with her common-minded mamma, but, like all half-witted people, Mrs. Flather thought there was no management or ingenuity equal to her own.
At length, the relentless clock struck one, and Mrs. Flather insisted upon the reluctant Emma going to bed, whither she retired with sad misgivings as to what might be the result of her indiscreet parent’s tête-à-tête with the Marquis, which certain significant looks too plainly intimated she meant to have. Mrs. Flather was fur too eager, plain-spoken, and matter-of-fact, for her delicate daughter’s refinement, though their objects were always the same, viz., to get a good match if they could.
“Well,” observed Mrs. Flather, with one of her halfcunning simpers, when she heard Emma’s slowly retiring footsteps die out on the landing, after receiving a parting squeeze of the hand from the Marquis as he bid her good night—” well, Emma and you seem to get on uncommonly well to-night,” said she.
“Very well,” replied the Marquis, running his fingers through his dishevelled curls—” she’s a very fine girl.”
“She will be,” observed Mrs. Flather—” wants taking out a little; she’s very shy.” —
The Marquis thought “middling,” but that he kept to himself. —
“To be sure she seems less shy with you,” simpered Mrs. Flather; “indeed, I never saw any young man she seemed more — more — more at home with than she does with you.”
Mrs. Flather rather bungled that sentence; she forgot she was not talking to one of Emma’s commonplace sweet-hearts, and she felt the words “young man” were not exactly those she ought to have made use of.
The Marquis smiled and bowed — a very convenient course when people don’t know exactly what to say.
“She’s very amiable,” observed Mrs. Flather, rather posed for want of an answer to the last observation.
“I’m sure she is,” replied the Marquis. “She looks it all.”
“She’ll be a great loss to me,” sighed Mrs. Flather, anxious to sustain the loss.
The Marquis hemmed assent.
“However, I must put up with it as best I can,” added she, still simpering and driving to her point.
“You could not expect to keep so pretty a girl long,” replied the Marquis with a yawn, for he had had about enough of the old girl, and wanted to be off to bed.
“Oh, your lordship flatters,” simpered Mrs. Flather. “However, I must only think of her happiness. Of that I am sure there can be no doubt,” added she, casting a most motherly eye on the Marquis. —
“I hope not, I’m sure,” said he, finishing his sherry and water, and looking at his diminutive watch. “Bless me! but I’m keeping you up a most unconscionable time,” exclaimed he, as he saw it was a quarter-past one; adding, “I had no idea it was so late.”
Mrs. Flather in vain pressed the sherry and water upon him, in hopes of getting him to the point in the course of another glass; but the Marquis was on his legs and resolute, and she at length most reluctantly rang for candles, and showed him to his room.
She then repaired to Emma, who was sitting in an agony of suspense, figuring to herself all sorts of gaucheries being committed by her zealous but indiscreet parent.
Meanwhile the Marquis curled himself up in his bed, congratulating himself that he had not had to pass the night under a hedge.
Mother and daughter then talked the matter anxiously over, each being most desirous of taking the management alone; Emma thinking she could do much better than Mrs.
Flather, who insisted that no person could manage these matters so well as herself. —
The result of these deliberations will presently appear.
A nice neat breakfast welcomed the Marquis in the morning, to which he sat down with the increased comfort of being in his own clothes. His valet had been sent for from Mr. Jorrocks’s, and arrived with the magnificent dressing-case, and all the paraphernalia of dandyism — brushes by the dozen, combs by the score, powders, perfumes, washes, oils, essences, and extracts; while the staple of his costume — coats, waistcoats, trousers, &c. — were supplied in equal profusion.
He came down uncommonly smart; his well-waxed ringlets dangled over each ear from the division of his hair up the centre of his head; an immense pearl pin fastened the folding ends of a lilac satin scarf with white flowers, filling the full rolling collar of his waistcoat, and almost concealing the elaborate workmanship of his shirt front; he wore a bright mulberry-coloured frock-coat, with almost white kerseymere trousers, and very thin patent leather boots.
Emma’s toilet was of the happiest order — neat, simple, and well put on. Her glossy hair, worn in the Madonna style, was confined by a sweet little cap — scarcely coming over the parting place of the hair — and ornamented with sprigs of forget-me-not, imparting a little of their blueness to the paler colour of her eyes; while her alabaster complexion gained a slight tinge from the pink ribbons with which the cap was made up. Her healthy cherry lips and pearly teeth accorded with the general freshness of her morning air. Late hours had made no inroads on Emma; on the contrary, there was the full glow of country health without its coarseness. But we have forgot the lady’s dress. It was a checked white muslin, well washed, well starched, and well set out, fastened down the front with pink ribbons. Her petticoats were of a rational length, instead of trailing an inch or two on the ground, and showed the symmetry of her well-turned feet and ankles.
Mrs. Flather was too good a manager to lose the advantage of a tête-à-tête between Emma and the Marquis; indeed, the whole arrangement had been made during the night. Accordingly, when Mrs. Flather heard his bedroom door close as he vacated his dormitory, she quietly slipped out of the parlour, and went to superintend the toasting and buttering in the kitchen. The Marquis, like all youths of his age, was delighted at finding the fair Emma alone, ‘ looking so fresh and blooming, exhibiting such a contrast to the pale and haggard features of a hackneyed London belle at breakfast time. Moreover, the absence of competition and rivalry was greatly in Emma’s favour, hiding or softening any little coarseness of figure, and bringing the more captivating points prominently forward. She was a fine-looking girl at all times, but only a beauty when alone. One often sees these sort of girls in the country; girls that rustics rave about, and whom some practised eyes really think something of, but who sink into utter and irretrievable insignificance the moment they enter the competition of a London room.
“Good morning, my dear Miss Flather,” said the Marquis, advancing gaily towards Emma, who had just begun fussing among her myrtles and geraniums before the window, in order to be found busy among her flowers as the Marquis entered. “Good morning,” repeated he, extending his hand, and squeezing Emma’s with a considerable degree of empressement. Emma smiled bewitchingly, as she accepted the proffered hand, displaying her beautiful pearly teeth, and establishing a couple of little dimples on her cheeks.
“And how do you find yourself this morning after your night’s adventures?” inquired Emma, throwing all the enthusiasm she could muster into her eyes.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed the Marquis, shuddering, “don’t mention it; I wouldn’t have last night’s performance repealed for the world. Fancy wandering about the country all night, getting shot at for a robber, or worried by sheep-dogs. I do wonder what pleasure that extraordinary old man sees in these sort of devilries.
“He is a curiosity,” laughed Emma, anxious to have a cut at old Jorrocks, but afraid to lead the charge.
“He’s a good old fellow, too,” rejoined the Marquis, “but really, to see a man at his time of life playing such pranks is rather extraordinary. However, he will not get me to accompany him again.”
“I should think not,” observed Emma, smiling sweetly.
“And yet,” continued the Marquis, “I ought not to find fault with the old fool, since it procures me the pleasure of your society.
”
“Oh!” replied Emma, “that is a pleasure, perhaps, you would as soon have dispensed with.”
“Indeed, no!” exclaimed the Marquis, seizing her receding hand. “I assure you the charm of this interview outweighs all the over-night désagrémens.”
“You flatter me,” faltered Emma, with a sigh.
“Don’t say that,” rejoined the Marquis, still keeping and pressing the slightly withdrawing hand.
His lordship then kissed it, and Emma flattered herself she was a marchioness.
“You must cause sad devastation among the country swells in these parts,” observed the Marquis, eyeing Emma’s fair alabaster complexion, now tinged with the slightest possible pink.
“Me!” exclaimed Emma. “Oh no. Indeed, I know nothing of anybody about here.”
“You know the Jorrockses, at all events,” observed the Marquis.
“Oh, I thought you meant young men,” replied Emma. “Of course I know the Jorrockses,” added she.
“You don’t mean to say you’ve no admirers?” observed the Marquis, eyeing Emma with an air of incredulity.
“Why, as to admirers,” replied Emma, with a toss of her head, “I don’t mean to say that there are not those who are kind enough to think flatteringly of me; but I’m quite sure all the admiration is on their side.”
“But all young ladies should have a lover or two,” observed the Marquis.
“I’m afraid my ideas differ from your lordship’s there,” said Emma, slightly bridling up; “I look upon matrimony as anything but a jesting matter.”
“True,” replied the Marquis—” true; but matrimony and a little simple flirtation, you know, are different things.”
“I don’t approve of flirting,” replied Emma, looking grave.
“But you don’t object to admiration,” rejoined the Marquis, eyeing her now slightly animated eyes.
“If it’s accompanied with respect,” observed the fair Emma.
“Well, but admiration always precedes love; and you have no objection to the latter, I suppose?”
“If the admiration was mutual,” replied Emma, casting one of her sweetest looks upon the Marquis; “but, for my own part, I don’t profess to be able to fall in love with anybody.”
“I should think not,” said the Marquis, feeling the compliment.
“My idea is that a person is never really in love but once,” observed Emma; “and so they should be very careful not to misplace their affections,” — a favourite assertion with ladies angling for offers.
“And has your once not come yet?” asked the Marquis.
Emma blushed slightly, and hung her head — whether conscience-stricken, or in hopes, we cannot say.
“He’ll be a happy man who gains that victory,” said the Marquis, taking her hand and squeezing it as before — a proceeding that, we are shocked to say, Emma slightly returned.
The Marquis then put his arm round her waist, and gave her a kiss — such a kiss as sounded along the passage, and startled the boy in buttons, who was coming along with the breakfast-tray.
“There’ll be white ribbons’ for me,” said he to himself, tripping against the low step leading into the room, and landing head-foremost among the contents of the tray, with his cheek in a preserve-plate. Great was the crash!
It brought Mrs. Flather in an instant from her neighbouring ambush, where she had been forming all sorts of anticipations as to what might be going on in the parlour. The downfall of the best crockery, however, is more than female nerves can withstand, and she was on the spot almost before the boy had gathered himself up. Lucky for him that the Marquis was there, otherwise she would-have visited the unpreserved side of his face with a hearty slap. As it was, she said, with an ominous shake of her head, “You stoopid boy!” — and then proceeded to greet her intended son-in-law with as little unconcern as she could muster under the circumstances. Fortunately for all parties there was not much damage done. Two swans had been ejected from the butter-boat without injury to the vessel itself, the cream ewer had been upset over a currant-cake, while some bread and butter had coalesced with a saucer of marmalade. The eggs and dry toast had escaped.
The mischief was soon repaired, and mother, daughter, and Marquis were presently at their morning meal. Tea and coffee, butter and eggs, then occupied their attention for some time. During the repast, however, Emma managed to convey, by signs, to her mother that the Marquis had still not come to book; and, by previous arrangement, Emma retired a little while after breakfast, leaving his lordship in the skilful hands of her mother. The old lady presently began screwing herself up for action; and again commenced with the old question — How he got on with Emma?
“Oh, very well,” replied the Marquis. “She’s a very fine girl,” added he.
“She’ll improve,” again observed Mrs. Flather. “She wants taking out a little — lost here — no suitable companions for her.”
“A London milliner would brush her up,” rejoined the Marquis.
“Oh dear, yes,” replied Mrs. Flather; “make her quite a different person.”
“No doubt,” said the Marquis. —
“And what does the Duke think of her?” asked Mrs. Flather, after a pause, during which she determined to go to her point.
“Oh, my pa thinks very highly of her, I assure you,” replied the Marquis.
“And the Duchess — what does she say?”
“Oh, my ma likes her too, uncommonly. It was only the other day she was talking about asking you both to come and stay with us.”
“How very kind!” exclaimed Mrs. Flather, in ecstasies.
“You’ll come, I hope,” observed the Marquis.
“Indeed, we shall be too happy,” replied Mrs. Flather, scarcely able to contain herself.
“You have not spoken to Emma yet, I suppose,” observed Mrs. Flather, very significantly.
“Not yet,” replied the Marquis; “I thought I’d better hear what you had to say first.”
“Oh, I’m sure you need anticipate no objection on my part: on the contrary, every — Oh dear! here’s that horrid old man!” exclaimed Mrs. Flather, breaking off as she heard a carriage-wheel grinding up to the door, and saw Dickey Cobden’s nose poking past the window. What an interruption!
It was too late to say “Not at home;” indeed, Mrs. Flather did not know how the Marquis might like to have his old friend denied. She was, therefore, again doomed to sit on thorns, while the following dialogue sounded through the thin partition wall of the passage into the room; the Marquis sitting listening and laughing as it proceeded.
“Now, young man,” said Mr. Jorrocks to the boy in buttons, as the latter replied to the lusty pull our Squire gave the bell. “Now, young man,” repeated he, “take off your glove and take this ’ere book in your right ‘and.”
“The glove is off,” replied the boy sulkily.
“Then you’ve got a werry dirty paw,” observed Mr. Jorrocks. “Howsomever, take this ’ere book in it, and listen to wot I’ve got to say to you.”
“Yes, sir,” grunted the boy.
“You swear that you will true answer make to all sich questions as I shall ax on you: you shall speak -the truth, the ‘ole truth, and nothin’ but the truth, so ‘elp you God! Kiss the book.” —
The boy kissed it.
“Now, young man,” continued he, taking back the book, “you’re on your oath, and mind you speak the truth, otherwise I’ll — I’ll — make a present on you to General Tom Thumb: is your missis at ‘ome?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy.
“And is the Markis ’ere?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the boy.
“Then you go in and say Mr. Jorrocks is ’ere — Mr. Jastice Jorrocks, in fact — and then you come back and ‘old my quadruped.”
Presently the boy returned with Mrs. Flather’s compliments, and she begged Mr. Jorrocks would walk in; whereupon our friend alighted from his fire-engine, and left it in charge of the boy. Mr. Jorrocks then
rolled in, in his usual free-and-easy way, upsetting all Mrs. Plather’s and Emma’s arrangements, and finally carried off the Marquis before their eyes.
CHAPTER XXXI.
OLD AGE LAMENTS his vigour spent.” — SOMERVILLE.
YE dinna want ne hunds, ar’s warned?” said Pigg, popping his head into his master’s sanctum, where the worthy Justice was busy hammering away at his Journal of General Genius.
Ho vot, James?” asked Mr. Jorrocks, scarcely looking up.
“Ye dinna want ne hunds, ar’s warned?” repeated Pigg; “harriers, that’s te say?”
‘Arriers! not I,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “Vy do you ax?”
“Why, here’s a man o’ mar acquentance has getten five couple of uncommon nice ‘uns at the door — beagles, that’s to say, and he nabbut wants five pund for them.”
Humph!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks; “vot should I want with beagles?”
“Ah! hunt hares with them, to be sure — grand divarsion; ye like hare-soup, ar’s warned.”
“Vy, ‘are-soup’s werry pleasant,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “But I can buy an ‘are for half-a-crown, what will make as much soup as will serve me and Mrs. J. five days.”
“Ay, but ye dinna get the exercise, the divarsion, ye ken. Sink, ye’ll be gettin’ o’er fat.”
“‘Ang the exercise; I’m an exercisin’ of my intellect — my mental faculties,” replied Mr. Jorrocks. “See,” said he, holding up a pile of manuscript; “see wot a heap o’ matter I’ve got for my Journal o’ General Genius.”
