by R S Surtees
“Hem!” coughed Mrs. Sacker.
“Not that I wish to say a word in disparagement of the Marquis of Bray,” added Mrs. Flather; “and if the Duke and Duchess had been anxious or agreeable, of course I should have thought it my duty to stifle my feelings, and meet them half way; but the slightest symptom of an objection determined me, and I assured the Duke and Duchess at once” that they had nothing to fear and everything to expect from me; for, hard as the task was of putting an end to the rational attachment of two interesting and amiable young people, I would not shrink from it.”
“Very noble of you, I’m sure,” observed Mrs. Sacker.
“Not at all,” replied Mrs. Flather; “on the contrary, I assure you, were it not for the unhappiness the step must occasion the young people, I would infinitely prefer, as I said before, seeing Emma marry some nice steady young man in the neighbourhood in her own rank of life,” Mrs. Flather thinking she would have to fall back on James Blake as soon as possible.
“No fear but there will be plenty delighted to have her,” observed the obsequious Mrs. Sacker.
“Oh, she has had many excellent offers,” replied Mrs. Flather; “Emma might have been married over and over again if she’d liked.”
“I am sure of it,” replied Mrs. Sacker.
“James Blake, for instance,” said Mrs. Flather, “is dying for her.” —
“So I hear,” assented Mrs. Sacker; “and a very fine young man he is,” added she.
“Very,” replied Mrs. Flather; “good-principled young man. It may seem strange, perhaps,” simpered Mrs. Flather, as if doubting whether Mrs. Sacker could swallow it or not— “it may seem strange, but I have always told Emma I would rather see her marry Mr. Blake than the Marquis of Bray.”
“I hope she will still do so, then,” replied Mrs. Sacker; “I’m sure I wish she may, for they are both great favourites of mine.”
“Emma’s hard to please,” observed Mrs. Flather.
“She’s young, and has plenty of time to look about her,” replied Mrs. Sacker.
With these and such like honest observations, the two ladies beguiled the twenty minutes’ sit of which the visit was composed, and Mrs. Sacker finally took her departure with the warmest expressions of attachment to mother and daughter, and the strongest assurances that the copy of the letter would be considered “strictly confidential,” a term too well understood among ladies to require any explanation from us. Mrs. Sacker then took her departure.
A party of pleasure, consisting of our worthy Squire and Mrs. Jorrocks, Mrs and five Miss Trotters, and James Blake, met Mrs. Sacker at the turn of the road leading up to the Manse, and nearly worried her with questions as to the result.
“And ‘ow’s it to he?” bellowed Mr. Jorrocks at the top of his voice, advancing towards her; adding, “ar’nt I right?”
“Yes or no?” asked Mrs. Trotter, rising up and down on her toes, with anxiety depicted on her fine, bright, olive complexion. Eliza’s black eyes sparkled brighter than usual.
“Tell us all about it,” said Mrs. Jorrocks, seating herself on the milestone.
“For goodness’ sake, don’t make such a noise!” exclaimed the cautious Mrs. Sacker; “consider, if Mrs. Flather should hear of this meeting she’ll blame me altogether — think we are all in league.”
“Never mind,” said Mr. Jorrocks, “I’ll underwrite you.”
“Do tell us!”— “Don’t kill us with suspense!”
“What’s the use of making a mystery about nothing?” and similar inquiries, now flew at Mrs. Sacker, who, panting with the haste she had hurried away to communicate the news, could hardly articulate.
“Pray don’t make such a noise,” gasped she; “consider, if Mrs. Flather should hear — what would she think of me?”
“That you’re a werry pretty little ‘ooman,” replied Mr. Jorrocks; adding, in a whisper to himself, “at least I do.”
“You don’t know who may be watching,” ejaculated Mrs. Sacker. “It isn’t right — it really isn’t — you shouldn’t have come. She’ll think we are all in league; that it’s a preconcerted plan. Pray walk quietly down,” urged she. “Divide into two parties. Come, Mr. Jorrocks, do” urged she, addressing herself to the Cockney Squire. “You go first, like a good man,” added she, giving him a gentle push of the arm.
“Tell us about it,” replied Mr. Jorrocks, “and we’ll go ‘ome like lambs.” —
“Tell you what?” said Mrs. Sacker, in full flutter.
“Whether Emma’s caught the Markis or not,” responded Mr. Jorrocks.
“Caught the Marquis!” repeated Mrs. Sacker. “Yes, no doubt she has.”
“Hurrah!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks, throwing his hat in the air. “Hurrah!” repeated he, catching and throwing it up again; adding, “I told you so. Won two ‘ats!”
“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks.
“Nor I,” responded Mrs. Trotter.
“Nor I!” added James Blake.
“Nor you!” roared Mr. Jorrocks, looking irately at the last speaker. “Vy shouldn’t you believe the lady, sir?” adding, “is that your Christian doctrine, sir?”
“Do you mean they’re a goin’ to be married?” asked Mrs. Jorrocks, sidling up to Mrs. Sacker.
“I didn’t say they were going to be married,” snapped Mrs. Sacker, dreading the consequences of this unexpected and unwelcome rencontre. —
“Then vot did you say?” snapped Mrs. Jorrocks in return.
“Oh, do walk quietly on,” entreated Mrs. Sacker; adding, “and I’ll tell you all about it. Only don’t make such a noise and hubbub.”
“Yell, tell me quietly,” said Mr. Jorrocks, poking up to Mrs. Sacker, and putting his arm through hers; adding, as they walked on together, “is she goin’ to be married to the Markis or not?”
“No, she’s not,” replied Mrs. Sacker, in an undertone.
“No, she’s not!” screamed Mr. Jorrocks; “vy, didn’t you. say this werry minute that she was?”
“No, I said she’d caught the Marquis,” replied Mrs. Sacker.
“Caught him!” ejaculated Mr. Jorrocks; adding, “vy, vot do you call catchin’ on him if they don’t tie him hup? Safe bind, safe find, I say.”
“Oh then, she’s not!” screamed Mrs. Trotter and Mrs. Jorrocks, clapping their hands and exulting. Joy beamed on the faces of the rest.
“The ‘ooman’s mad — mad as a March hare,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks, taking his arm out of Mrs. Sacker’s.
“Tell us ’ow it is?” asked Mrs. Jorrocks, supplying her husband’s place, and trying the soothing system.
“Well, you see, the Duke and Duchess are rather against it,” said Mrs. Sacker; “and Mrs. Flather won’t hear of it unless they are agreeable.”
“‘Ookey Yalker!” grunted Mr. Jorrocks; adding, “whoever thought they’d be for it?”
“And vot was she doin’ at Donkeyton?” asked Mrs. Jorrocks.
“I don’t know that,” replied Mrs. Sacker; “possibly went to talk to the Duke and Duchess about it.”
“What a fool the woman must be,” observed Mrs. Trotter, glad that Mrs. Flather had had the errand instead of herself.
“Why, there’s no doubt that the Marquis was desperately attached to Emma,” observed Mrs. Sacker.
“Just as much as he was to half-a-dozen other girls,” observed Mrs. Trotter, looking at Eliza, who was busy looking at James Blake. —
“Then it’s no go,” muttered Mr. Jorrocks, putting his hands behind his back, preparing to saunter home alone.
“Quite finished,” observed Mrs. Sacker. “Miss Emma, indeed, is quite of her mamma’s opinion, and has written a most proper letter to the Marquis on the subject.”
“Vot about?” asked Mr. Jorrocks, turning short round.
“Releasing him from his engagement,” replied Mrs. Sacker.
“That’s all nonsense,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks.
“They were never engaged,” added Mrs. Trotter.
“Only wanted to be,”
rejoined Mrs. Jorrocks; “that’s to say, she wanted.”
“I assure you it’s the fact,” replied Mrs. Sacker.
“Who told you so?” inquired Mrs. Jorrocks.
“Mrs. Flather herself. Indeed, I’ve a copy of the letter in my bag,” added she, recollecting herself, and diving into her reticule for it.
“Let’s see it,” said Mr. Jorrocks, taking it out of her hand as she tumbled it up above the miscellaneous collection of the bag. “I’ll read it to you,” said he, stopping short. “I’ll get on to this ’ere gate,” added he. So saying, he climbed up, and seating himself on the top-rail, unfolded the wire-wove paper, and read the well-written document to the anxious circle below.
“My dear Lord” —
“Faith, but they’ve been pretty frindly,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking down at the group.
“My dear Lord,” repeated he, “so long as I conceived your wisits were sanctioned by your parents, I freely confess I was proud to receive your attentions.”
“Wisits!” exclaimed Mrs. Jorrocks—” he never made no wisits to them! It was to Jun and me.”
“Except after the farmer’s ball, when he slept there by mistake,” sneered Mrs. Trotter.
“Does she say she was proud to receive his attentions?” asked Eliza of James Blake.
“Silence in the court,” cried Mr. Jorrocks; adding, “or I’ll commit some on you.”
“I freely confess, I was proud to receive your attentions. But,” read he, “no power on airth — no rank — no title — (no nothin’),” added Mr. Jorrocks, “could induce me to receive them without their consent.”
“That’s comin’ it strong,” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking down on the anxious faces of the auditors. “There must have been summut in it.”
“I don’t believe it for all that!” exclaimed Mrs. Trotter.
“Nor I neither,” rejoined Mrs. Jorrocks.
“The girl’s always fancying the men are in love with her,” added Mrs. Trotter.
“She’s none so captiwatin’,” sneered Mrs. Jorrocks.
Mr. Jorrocks read on —
“I could not be insensible to the objections difference of station might create, though, perhaps, I had reason to believe they would be overlooked in my case” —
“I wonders what that means?” observed Mr. Jorrocks, looking knowingly up at the sky. He could not hit upon the reason, so he resumed his reading —
“Finding, however, from my dearest mamma’s interview with the Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton this morning, that such is not likely to be the case, I lose not a moment in declaring that I will never enter any family without the full approbation — nay, encouragement of its members.”
“There’s for you!” exclaimed Mr. Jorrocks. “She’ll ‘ave it all on the square. ‘Love me, love my dog,’ and so on.”
“Sour grapes, I think!” observed Mrs. Trotter.
“I say ditto to that,” added Mrs. Jorrocks.
“I say silence!” retorted our Squire; adding, “or I’ll horder some on you hout o’ court.”
He then read on —
“This being the case, you will not be surprised at receiving this hurried communication, relinquishing, as I now do, all claim and pretension to your hand.”
“Ay I ay! but that’s comin’ to the pint,” nodded Mr. Jorrocks.
“Story of the well-bred dog, I think!” observed James Blake.
“I cannot conclude without wishing your lordship, in all sincerity, a more exalted and more fortunate choice.”
“‘Umbug!” grunted Mrs.- Jorrocks.
“Your merits, your wealth, and your connections forbid any doubt on that point, though I am equally sure you will never meet with any one more sincerely, devotedly attached, than your Emma.”
“God save the Queen,’ Prince Halbert, et kids,” added Mr. Jorrocks, folding up the letter, and descending from his gate to return it to Mrs. Sacker. “A werry pretty letter, and werry well written,” said he, handing it back to her with a bow.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
TAKE A FRIENDLY cup of tea with us.”
MRS. FLATHER had a little tea-party a few evenings after, as soon as the model of propriety’s sick headache enabled her to see company.
Mr and Mrs. Jorrocks, Mr and Mrs. Trotter, Mr and Mrs. Sacker, and Miss Emily Badger, a cousin of Mrs. Sacker’s, were the guests.
The model of propriety was decked out for the occasion in plain white muslin, with a little lace cap with blue flowers and ribbons.
Mr. Jorrocks, though not much of a “tea and turn-out man,” was glad to go to anything to vary the monotony of evenings at home with Mrs. Jorrocks. As the days shortened, and farming pursuits relaxed, he felt more keenly the difference between town and country.
In London a man of business’s day does not commence till the evening, when everything is over in the country, save the easy-chair and the newspaper. The Londoner has his theatres, his billiard-rooms, his libraries, his reading-rooms, his houses of call, his convivial meetings — something fresh for every night in the week; but night draws its sombre veil over everything in the country, and the winter dulness is only helped along by anticipation of parties for the next full moon.
“Mind, you are engaged to us the next full moon.”
Mrs. Flather’s soirée being extra, there was no full moon — no moon at all, indeed.
The copy of the letter to the Marquis having been intrusted in confidence to Mrs. Sacker, and shown by her in a similar spirit, of course the rest of the party felt bound to be ignorant of it, and Mrs. Flather being equally constrained to believe that they were so, matters threatened to be rather awkward at starting.
“Now mind, Jun, you don’t let out that you knows anything about the match being off,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks out of her calash, as they call the cab-head things tea-drinking ladies in the country put over their smart turbans and flowered caps. “Now mind, Jun, you don’t let out that you knows anything about the match bein’ off,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks to her spouse, as, in company with the Trotters and Miss Emily Badger, they trooped up to the Manse.
“Do you think I can’t keep a secret as well as you?” grunted Mr. Jorrocks, buttoning his zephyr about him. “The evenins are a gettin’ cool,” observed he to Mrs. Trotter—” the dew’ll be strong as we return, and there’s never no broughams, nor patent safetys, nor nothin’ to get.”
“We never care about those sort of things in the country,” replied Mrs. Trotter out of her cab-head. “Cloaks and thick shoes,” added she, “are all we want.”
The ladies having to put the finishing stroke to their toilettes, were met by a maid, who showed them upstairs, where, with the aid of a looking-glass, they repaired any little derangement of costume the cab-heads and cloaks had occasioned. Mr. Jorrocks and little Trotter were shown into the parlour.
Mr. Jorrocks, who still had a penchant for Mrs. Flather, and moreover saw that the women wanted to run her down, met her with more than usual empressement, and squeezed Emma’s and her hands with sundry winks and contortions of countenance, meant to indicate “never mind, better luck next time.”
The ladies presently came in, and their inquiries were exchanged about each other’s healths, and hopes that Emma’s headache had left her, with many “so sorries to hear she had been indisposed — so glad to see she was looking so well.”
They then formed themselves into a circle round the pocketful of fuel they called a fire, and an agreeable circle it was, the ladies longing to pull caps, and the gentlemen staring vacantly at the yellow gassey smoke as it curled up the chimney. The ladies tried hard to drive a conversation — talked of worsted-work, patch-work, and all sorts of work.
At length the tea-tray made its appearance, and things began to brighten up — more candles too came in. The hissing urn followed, and then came bread and cakes of various forms and composition. The party adjourned from the fire to the round table on which the things were placed, Mrs. Jorrocks squeezing in next Mrs. Flather, Mr.
Jorrocks got between Mrs. Trotter and Mrs. Sacker, while Emma and the other two filled up the remaining places. The women talked, the men talked, they all talked together. Cup succeeded cup, and toast succeeded cake, and cake succeeded toast. Conversation became general. Claudius Sacker was a great talker, and did his best to earn his hyson. Mr. Jorrocks talked, Mrs. Sacker talked, and they all talked.
Mrs. Jorrocks got Mrs. Flather into a quiet mumble — in what is called a conversational chair — after the din of cups and saucers had subsided, and very soon led the way to the Marquis and Donkeyton Castle.
“Well,” said she, “and is it to be a match between” — (nodding to Emma, who was patronising Miss Badger) “and the Markis?”
“No,” faltered Mrs. Flather; “haven’t you heard?” asked she involuntarily.
“No,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks, with the greatest composure.
“It’s a long story,” observed Mrs. Flather.
“Is it?” replied Mrs. Jorrocks; “I should like to hear it.”
“Well, but you’ll have the kindness not to repeat it,” said Mrs. Flather.
“Certainly not,” replied Mrs. Jorrocks.
“Promise me that!” said Mrs. Flather, clearing her throat with a hem. —
“Not for the world,” responded Mrs. Jorrocks.
“Why, you see, I was never particularly anxious for it,” observed Mrs. Flather.
Mrs. Jorrocks coughed. —
“Not that I think there is much against the young man,” added she; “but I don’t think these unequal matches are desirable; besides, the Marquis is very young.”
“He’ll mend o’ that,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks.
“Still, youth is volatile,” continued Mrs. Flather, “and exposed to the many temptations of London, there is no saying but he might have repented, and then what a shocking thing it would have been for Emma.”
“But she would have been a Marchioness for all that,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks.
“Wealth and titles won’t compensate for the want of domestic happiness,” sighed Mrs. Flather.
“She’d have had diamonds,” observed Mrs. Jorrocks, “powdered footmen, and a coachman with three rolls of curls to his vig.”
