by R S Surtees
CHAPTER III.
MRS. THOMAS TRATTLES.
MR. CHOUSET ADVERTISING, as well the arrival of his victims, as their departure and where they go to, our fair friends had hardly got themselves shook out in their pretty semi-detached villa in Sea view Place, and John Thomas his calves revised and hair powdered after the toils of unpacking, ere the well-known Mrs. Thomas Trattles came, card-case in hand, to pay her respects to the newly-arrived inmates. Mrs. Trattles knew a lady who knew a gentleman who knew another lady who knew a cousin of the late lamented Mr. McDermott, and upon the strength of their far-fetched introduction, she had called to see if she could be of any use to Mrs. McDermott, help her to a cook — tell her of a grocer, a blanchisseuse, a bather-woman, a butcher, a flyman — anything that was wanted.
Mrs. Trattles lived a good deal upon commission, and was always ready in the mediating way, to arrange introductions, adjust differences, recommend houses, engage musicians, or attend dinner-parties on the shortest notice. She knew everything and everybody, and was considered a great authority in the matter of money. She acquired this reputation, and maintained her ascendancy, by always descending to minutiae — telling the odd hundreds, instead of dealing in thousands, as most people do. Thus young Wheeler would have four thousand three hundred and twenty pounds a-year, instead of the five thousand that Mrs. Bolsterworth, the opposition matrimonial appraiser, boldly assigned to him;.while Mrs. Trattles knew that Captain Caret’s great expectations from an uncle were much overrated, the estate of Meadowbank upon which they chiefly dwelt, being close to a particular friend of hers, and barely worth fifteen hundred a-year, out of which there was a payment of eighty-two pounds a-year for keeping up a school, all very imposing information on account of its perspicuity. To say that Mrs. Trattles knew nothing about either case, would not be far from the mark. That, however, is neither here nor there; people like to believe what they wish, and it answered Mrs. Trattles’ purpose to accommodate them.
For fanning a flirtation she was truly invaluable, and was frequently retained on both sides. She was now busily engaged in endeavouring to clench a somewhat procrastinated courtship between Captain Longuisher of the Cooington Hussars, and pretty Sarah Snowball, whose face unfortunately was her fortune; as also in trying to induce Mr de Breezey to reciprocate Miss Nettie worth’s devotion, without any apparent progress in either case. Rides and drives, and boats and balls, had all been tried unsuccessfully, and now the fine weather had prompted an excursion to the beautiful ruins of Witchwood Priory.
The thing was about ripe when Mrs. Trattles found our fair Mends’ names in the list of arrivals, and learning from Mrs. Chousey, with whom she was on easy tea-drinking terms, that they were highly genteel people, and Miss very pretty, she determined to avail herself of the unlimited capability of a Pic-Nic, to enlist them in the service. Having now satisfied herself that they would do, she gradually unfolded her budget of gaiety and amusements, coming at length to the Pic Nic, and dwelling on the enchanting nature of the scenery around Witchwood Priory, with incidental mention of the great people who would be there. Sir Stephen Sappey, the member for Bluffshire’s eldest son, with eighteen thousand a-year landed property; Mr. Bolingbroke Benson, with a Peerage in expectancy; Mr. John and Mr. William Worthington, both very nice young men; Mr. Stanley Smith, Mr. Martin Hogg, and many other great catches.
Mrs. McDermott heard all Mrs. Trattles had to say with well-feigned indifference. She was extremely obliged — very much so indeed — but they were not there for gaiety, merely on a bathing excursion while their house was getting painted, and if they were to go, they wouldn’t know anybody, and altogether, she was afraid they must decline; at the same time, they were extremely obliged to Mrs. Trattles for thinking of them, very much obliged indeed, and so on. Mrs. Trattles, on the other hand, charged with vigorous determination— “Oh, dear, indeed; but she would take care that they should know everybody, she would introduce them herself.” But Mrs. McDermott, not knowing her Mend, wisely left the offer open, promising to let Mrs. Trattles know in the evening if they could come. And Mrs. Trattles having presented her card, presently cleared herself out — hoops and all — leaving Mamma and Miss to con the matter over, who shortly after put on their things to go out for a stroll, but in reality, to call at Comfit, the confectioner’s, to eat themselves into the information they required. Suffice it to say, that what they heard of Mrs. Trattles was so satisfactory, that they were next seen at that interesting repertory, Madame Bergamotte’s bonnet shop, trying on bonnet after bonnet, until all idea of what they intended to have was entirely lost sight of. It ended, however, in two blue boxes and a bill arriving that evening in Seaview Place. Nor was this all; for next day, Monsieur Julian Millefleurs, the famous Parisian hairdresser, who tires for three and sixpence a trip, was summoned along, who immediately on seeing our fair Mend’s soft blue eyes beaming botween two bunches of light-brown ringlets, denounced those bar-maid looking things, and insisted upon dressing her hair in plain bonds, which both Mrs and Miss afterwards agreed were very becoming. And they wondered what a “certain person” would say if he saw her, said “certain person” being an admirer of ringlets.
CHAPTER IV.
THE LAD WE LEFT BEHIND.
THE WHOLESOME MAXIM, that “it is well to be off with the old love before we are on with the new,” applying to a certain extent to the fair as well as to the ruder sex, we may here say a few words about our hero No. 1, ere we bring No. 2 upon the tapis. Jasper Goldspink, if not a smart youth, had some very excellent attributes. He was the son of a rich banker, and it is remarkable, that though people will abuse most other callings, it is a rare thing to hear any one say a word against a banker, simply, we suppose, because abusing a banker would be symptomatic of having been refused a loan. Jasper therefore was a very great man in the country, and only required the aid of Lady Airyworth, Lady Plumage, or some other great leader of fashion, to make him pass muster in town. It is singular how people worship wealth even though there is no chance of getting any of it themselves. If Jasper hadn’t been rich, or on the highway to riches, such an ordinary every-day looking youth would never have attracted attention at all; as it was, people winked and nudged each other as he passed, and said, “Oh that will be a rich man”; or, “Oh, what a sight of money that man will have!” He walked the streets with a strut and a stare, that os good as said, “I’ll be a deal richer than you.” Old Goldspink was one of the cautious money-scraping order of bankers, as contradistinguished to the go-a-head Scotch school, who run a-muck at everything. He thought of nothing but money, revolving a thing over in his mind many times before he did it, always in a doubtful point calling in the aid of figures, beginning with his favourite apophthegem of sivin and four being elivin, and so piling up numbers until he arrived at a satisfactory solution of the mystery. Thus, for instance, if he saw Mr. Cordy Brown, the butcher, stealing out of town, with his spurs in his hat, concealing, as he thought, his hunting apparel under his olive-coloured Macintosh, he would immediately begin, “sivin and four’s elivin, and eighteen, is twenty-nine — there’s that Cordy Brown going out hunting again — and eight is thirty-sivin — much better be taking up Willowedge and Co’s overdue bill, than breaking people’s hedges scrambling after Jonathan Jobling’s harriers — and fourteen is fifty-one — Jonathan will be coming to grief himself some day, see his name to a great deal of very suspicious paper — and sivin is fifty-eight — take care he don’t do me” — with which wise resolution he would dive his hands into the depths of his capacious trowser pockets and begin his sivin-and-four calculations upon somebody else. Not that old Goldspink altogether disapproved of hunting, for at the instigation of his ambitious wife, he had bought our hero No. 1, what he called “a pair of hunting horses,” to enable him to follow the chase with his noble but sadly overdrawing customer, the Duke of Tergiversation’s foxhounds; but our young Mend, after two or three spread-eagleings on his back, became so disgusted with a sharpish switch across the bridge o
f his nose from the return branch of an ash tree, that he gladly took advantage of a temporary ailment to one of his horse’s “back legs,” to withdraw from the chase, and at the period of our story, was turning his attention to what he considered the more profitable occupation of the Turf. As we shall presently have him down at Roseberry Rocks Races, we will defer a further description of his person until he comes; it being evident that a man’s looks depend very much upon what he puts on, just as a lady is one person in a bonnet, and another in a riding-hat. We will, therefore, now return to the Rocks, and amuse ourselves there as best we can, till Jasper arrives.
CHAPTER V.
WITCHWOOD PRIORY.
WITCHWOOD PRIORY IS well adapted for expeditions of a romantic order, being a spacious ivy-grown ruin, whose crypts, and corridors, and pillars, have been rescued by the present generation from the vandalism of the last, and converted from a damp, deserted, nettle-grown rubbish corner, into a picturesque architectural exhibition, situated in the midst of ground-sweeping trees, interspersed with grottoes, and labyrinths, and every convenience for losing oneself. It is a nice easy distance from the Rocks — say, a cabman’s five miles, or a Christian’s four, over undulating downs, whose sound elastic turf gives spirits to the rider, and sprightliness to the steed. Nor are the creature comforts of life altogether unknown at the for end, for as soon as “Smiling spring her earliest visit pays,”
John Baccoman of the “Cat and Compasses” licensed eating-house, in Shell Street, packs up his beverages, while his wife clutches the tea-caddy, and away they go with their portable emigrant’s house which they pitch beneath the beautiful remains of the large gothic window on the east of the ruin, and momentarily dispel the poetry of the place by the exhibition of baskets, and buns, and labels, announcing bitter beer, cigars, and hot water for tea. Still this eye-sore is somewhat redeemed by the presence of a veritable gipsy — one of the real dark-skinned, black-eyed, black-ringletted race, who goes fluttering about in her red shawl, russet gown, and ankle boots, dispensing titles, and honours, and fortunes, to all who will listen to her. And a rare business she had done during this our Comet year; for if half the titles she had promised were to come true, Sir Bernard Burk might publish a new edition of his Peerage immediately. Though we all profess to laugh at the creatures, it is wonderful how many of us like to have our fortunes told on the sly. Baccoman too had done pretty well in his line, charging a shilling for a glass of ale, ninepence for a cigar, and sixpence for a penny bun; but then, as John says, summer does last such a werry short time with them, and they maun make hay while the sun shines. And though he predicted that each fine day would be the last, and always pointed out indications of the coming storm, still the sun set with undiminished splendour, and rose with unalloyed brightness; and still John’s Union Jack ascended the staff on the ivy-grown flag-tower, and still the white kicking pony came lilting and tilting over the downs, with a spring-cart load of comestibles; and still the gipsy’s cry, as regarded the visitors, was, “They come! they come! I see them galloping! I see them galloping!” up to the very day on which our particular party assembled.
CHAPTER VI.
OUR PIC-NIC DAY.
IT WAS A lovely day — the bright green sea stretched glassily away in lazy languor, scarce deigning to break silence with a gentle ripple against the shingly shore, while the saucy gulls hovered and dipped, and hovered and dipped, regardless of the pop, pop, popping from the guns of the unsteady handed sportsmen in the boats. Bathing-machines were engaged three or four deep, and the fair occupants got good deep remunerative dips instead of being splashed over with a little saltwater, as they lay on the beach like fish on a fishmonger’s slab. The “Victoria and Albert,” the “Empress Eugenie,” the “Wedding Ring,” the “Honeymoon,” the “John and Nancy,” — all the gay white-sailed party-coloured boats pushed away from the shore with merry giggling groups who thought they could never be sick with such a smooth sea. Every available vehicle, from the pair of horse fly down to the little goat-chaise, were taken up on the very fullest of full terms. The fineness of the day drew all parties to the door, windows were thrown up, passages left exposed, while the buff-slippered owners, stretched listlessly on the benches, stared at the sea, indulged in vacuity, or polished their nails with a pebble, thinking how sharp they would be when they got back to town. It was a regular dozy, do-nothing sort of day. The new Reform Bill ought to exempt people from labour when the thermometer is at a certain height.
Smiling cantering bevies of beauties, with their shining hair in gold and silver beaded nets, and party-coloured feathers in their jaunty little hats, alone imparted energy to the scene as they tit-tup-ed along with quickly following tramp, led by the most magnificent and affable of riding-masters, who thus advertise their studs, just as Howes and Cushing advertise their grand United States Circus. Bless us, what a pace some of them go! That gentleman with all the honours looks as if he were leading his fair squadron into action, while Napoleon the First, with his clean white leathers and shining jack-boots and no less interesting miscellany, follows at a pace that is perfectly appalling. If the fair-haired lady on the right of the Emperor were to fall, she would be crushed by the flaunting habits in the rear. But people who ride by the hour must go fast, or else they think they don’t get anything for their money. The Roseberry Rocks hacks, however, are the exception to all other watering-place hacks, for instead of the wretched sunken-eyed, woe-begone bags of bones peculiar to other places, we have well-bred, well-conditioned, well-caparisoned animals, that but for their constant change of riders might pass for the party’s own. No Humane Society’s “posters” disfigure the walls of the town, cautioning the owners against cruelty to animals, and calling upon the hirers to aid in their protection. Wonderful are the capabilities of the ordinary hack-horses! They can put two days work into one, provided of course that the owner gets paid for two days instead of one; and the poor creatures are never so fresh and “fit to go,” according to the owner’s account, as when they have just come off a twenty-miles’ trot. Parties should be paid for risking their necks on such animals, instead of being charged for their use.
But we are getting into the activity of life instead of pursuing the lassitude of heat. Let us get out into the country, for it is one of the peculiarities of the English always to want to be somewhere eke than where they are.
Roseberry Rocks is one of those fine large independent places that even Paul Pry himself would be utterly at fault in appropriating the consumption of pie to this person or to that, of knowing who k going to one place and who to another. As in London on the Derby day, it is only when the extemporised drags begin to move dangerously about the streets, and the silken-jacketed post-boys to coax their jibbing screws up to the doors, that the streets become alive to the gaiety of the Greens or the Browns; so at the Rocks, it k only when the hamper-laden footmen begin to follow looming young ladies, dressed if possible with more than usual care and expansion, to their respective rendezvous, that people begin speculating upon what is going on, and wondering whose party it is. Still there are so many resources and outlets for gaiety at the Rocks, and so many converging roads, that it is not until the town is well cleared, and the concomitant brick-fields and linen-flying drying-grounds gassed, that any decided opinion can be formed upon the points of attraction — or, indeed, where all dress so fine, who is going gadding, and who is merely grinding for exercise.
After all is said and done, perhaps there k nothing so potent as a turnpike-gate for settling the contributories to a party, for as nine-tenths of the watering-place people who drive out only do so for the sake of the bump — neither looking to the right nor the left — they may just as well bump two miles twice over on one side of a turnpike-gate as two miles on one side and two on the other; and Checkley-view-bar being most judiciously placed, it required a good deal of whip-cord, accompanied by certain guttural objurgations, to induce a well-accustomed back to face its devouring jaws; and while the driver of a turn-abou
t vehicle would have nothing to do but give hk hone its head on coming to the well-defined semi-circular wheel-marks on the road, the outward bound Jehu has to get his horse by the head, and jip and jag and flagellate up to the white-aproned janitor who stands at the receipt of custom, giving parsimonious bits of paper in return for well-proportioned halfpence. The money being paid, the trustees of the road then seem to let people down gently, for the theretofore well-kept road gradually becomes rough and rutty, and presently degenerating into a toilsome short sea hill sort of track, which the drivers endeavour to circumvent by diagonal deviations over the sound carpet of the downs. Then it is that the difference between the masters and the men is apparent, the masters getting off to ease their horses up the oft-recurring hills, while the slug of a servant slouches on his seat and plies the whip as he goes. Out upon the great lout who cannot ease a horse, even though it is not his own, say we! All then becomes openness and space. The swelling downs roll along in continuous folds to the grey dim of the horizon, while occasional clumps and belts of trees vary the monotony of the scene, and denote the habitations of the cultivators of the improved patches of land in the valleys. The uplands are dotted with gorse, increasing in strength towards the top, and affording comfortable jumps to such equestrians as prefer the downs to doing the Howes and Cushing of the streets. Bleater the shepherd leaves his tinkling-belled flock to the care of his sensible dog, and stands, crook in hand, by the road Bide, staring and wondering what can bring so many fine ladies and gentlemen out of the town every day. Carnage after carriage goes creaking past, and canter after canter go the three-and-sixpence an hour-ers; some in flocks, some in pairs, the ladies enlivening the landscape with their fluttering veils and their varied paces, the riders taking occasional peeps at the watches, to see that they are not going too far for their money.
