by R S Surtees
Mr. Bunting of course knew what was coming, and demeaned himself accordingly, taking his seat with the air of a man entering a dentist’s throne. Mrs. McDermott did not begin as some of his lady confessors had done, by asking about his religious principles, his political opinions, or speaking on any extraneous subject, but after a dry prefatory hem, she glanced at the compliment he had paid to her daughter, and the high opinion they both entertained of him, and then proceeded to say that she was sure Mr. Bunting would agree with her that it was desirable to come to a distinct understanding as soon as possible, for that long engagements were always to be deprecated, and people did talk so that it made her quite nervous and uncomfortable, and in short she should like exceedingly to have the thing settled forthwith. And after a few repetitions she began to pinch the Baden Baden towel severely, as if in search of fresh ideas.
Mr. Bunting, who during this exordium had been twirling his turban hat, then dropped it on the floor, and clasping his hands, with upturned eyes, proceeded to indulge in the most high-flown panegyrics on the beauty of her daughter, the sweetness of her smile, the perfection of her figure, the elegance of her walk; declaring that her electric eyes had quite penetrated his heart the first moment he had seen her. To all which compliments Mrs. McDermott kept smirking and smiling and pinching the Baden towel, considering how she should get him worked round into the right tack. “Well, I’m sure Rosa has cause to be proud of your good opinion,” at length interposed she; “but courtship and matrimony, you know, are proverbially different, and it won’t do to marry smiles and dimples-and pretty figures alone; there must be prudence and consideration for the future, and now, you know, is the proper time for making all necessary arrangements.”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Mr. Bunting, “undoubtedly; though with the girl of one’s heart these matters are of very minor importance.” And before Mrs. McDermott could interpose her opinion to the contrary, our poetical friend had broken right away with his favourite quotation:
“With her convening I forget all time, All seasons and their change,” &c. going right through to the end of it.
Mrs. McDermott, however, kept the point steadily in her mind, and when he had concluded she looked up from her towel, and drily observed that love in a cottage was very well in theory, but it did not do in practice — that all ladies liked large houses, and concluded by asking him point blank if he hadn’t a castle in Scotland.
“Well — ye-es” drawled Mr. Bunting, looking at the tip of his Balmoral boot;.
Rosa would like a castle,” observed Mrs. Mc Dermott, drily “What was it called?”
“Buntingbury Castle,” replied our hero.
“Buntingbury Castle, indeed — called after himself?”
“After my grandfather, Admiral Bunting,” replied our friend.
“Oh, indeed! a family place, is it?” observed Mrs. McDermott, perking up — Goldspink and Garlandale rather going down.
“Was it large?” asked she.
“Well, no — not large — usual size of a castle, I suppose,” replied our hero; (just as if there was ever a usual size for a castle — Little Belvoir, and real Belvoir, for instance).
Mrs. McDermott then applied herself assiduously to her Baden Baden towel, taking some rapid stitches, and an equally rapid retrospect of the Roseberry Rocks anonymous letter. The writer, if she recollected right, couldn’t say that Mr. Bunting hadn’t a castle — only told her to question him about his castle. Well, she had questioned him about his castle, and he said he had one. What more could she do? She really thought the writer had just wanted to spoil Rosa’s chance. And Goldspink and Garlandale sunk still lower in her estimation. Buntingbury Castle on the top of a letter would sound far fine? than Garlandale, Garlandale Lodge, or Garlandale Villa, or whatever they decided to call it.
“Well,” said Mrs. McDermott, looking tip from her work with a smile, “I suppose it will be all right.”
“I suppose so,” replied Mr. Bunting, who had rather his misgivings about the castle. He could have wished that “dear mamma” had led off with some exposition of what she herself would do than thus throw the onus of the whole arrangement upon him. If she married the Jug, who was evidently after her, there would be very small chance of getting her to give up any part of her life interest in what there was to dear Rosa. Altogether Mr. Bunting was as depressed as Mrs. Me Dermott was elated. He was tired of the returns made to the castle inquiries, and would gladly have left that property out of the reckoning, or only brought it in incidentally.
Now, if the before-mentioned much-wanted invention or instrument were in existence and use, our hero would have seen his way clearly through his dilemma — would have said at once when John Thomas ushered him up stairs instead of down, “Ah, my dear Mrs. McDermott, I know how it is — I know how it is — Mrs. Goldspink and you have had an imparlance, and as I can’t compete in the cash way, I must withdraw.” For want of that knowledge, as we shall now show, he was led on to the lawyers.
“I have no doubt it will be all right,” again observed Mrs. McDermott, who having considered the matter further over remembered what Mrs. Trattles had said about the property. “I have no doubt it will be all right,” repeated she, thinking Mr. Bunting was modest and did not wish to magnify his means.
Our friend inwardly wished that it might be all right.
“Well, then,” resumed Mrs. McDermott, measuring the towel off with her forefinger, “as ladies are not great hands at business, and I really know nothing about it (here she did herself injustice, for she was a dab hand at it, and always thought herself cheated, whatever she got) — as ladies are not great hands at business, and I really know nothing whatever about it, perhaps the best thing will be to leave the further arrangements to our respective lawyers.”
“Perhaps it will,” assented Mr. Bunting, who had a very wholesome dread of their perplexing interference. How many promising matches he had known them nip in the bud! In fact no man should say he is going to be married until he gets their assent. There are far more fires stamped out than fanned up.
“Mr. Ballivant — Mr. George Ballivant, of Hassenden, is my solicitor,” observed Mrs. McDermott. “There are two Ballivants, George and John — but I don’t like John, he let a party rather get the advantage of me in the matter of a cow. George is my man, and I’ll send for him to come over, say to-morrow — the sooner these matters are settled the better, and then we shall have nothing but pleasurable arrangements to occupy us.”
So be it,” said Mr. Bunting, with a bow, and certain inward qualms as to the result.
Well, then, shall we go and see Rosa?” asked Mamma, rising and folding her Baden Baden towel as she spoke.
“If you please,” said Mr. Bunting, getting up from the stool of repentance and proceeding to open the door.
Mamma then led the way down the step, and along the little passage to where a yellow ochre sheep-skin denoted the descent to the drawingroom. The door opened, when lo! who should appear but our fat friend Jasper; Jasper in the full swing of Miss Rosa’s work-box, just as if it were his own — Miss too smiling through her Ringlets at something he was saying.
“Holloa, old boy! how are you?” said Mr. Bunting haughtily, after squeezing Rosa’s soft hand with a gloveless embrace. He had come in with the full expectation of saluting her more enthusiastically, and was much disappointed at the result.
“Holloa, old boy, how are you?” was the familiar inquiry he now made of the destroyer of all his expected bliss.
“Tol-lol,” replied Jasper, now carelessly rolling a pink and a green silk winder backwards and forwards on the table in a race.
Mr. Bunting then took a seat on the other side of the charmer, who was busy pricking her fingers pretending to work, though in reality much perplexed at this unlucky meeting of her suitors. She well knew what Mamma had been doing, and now judged from her face that things had gone right, and that she ought not to have been in Ringlets. But Rosa maintained an equitable equilibrium between the tw
o gentlemen notwithstanding, giving as much of her attention to one as the other. And each ultimately left with a comfortable anticipation of the future. Jasper, who dined earliest, having to go first, Mamma was enabled to inform Mr. Bunting at parting that she had written to Mr. Rallivant to be at Privett Grove at twelve on the morrow, when she hoped Mr. Bunting would be able to come. And Mr. Bunting promised that he would; and being called away with her keys, our hero drew for the bliss and interest that he had been obliged to leave in Cupid’s treasury before.
The house being then quiet, Mamma and Miss had an anxious confab, in which each told the other what their respective guests had said and done — Jasper having in fact been, as Miss Rosa expressed it, quite “as rude to her as Mr. Bunting.” Mamma said well, that there would soon be an end of that work, inasmuch as she had written to Mr. Ballivant to come in the morning, and put things upon a proper footing, for she was getting tired of procrastination; and moreover she thought (though this she kept to herself), that these wild youths might be the means of keeping the steady old Jug away from the house. So she determined to close the accounts one way or other.
CHAPTER LXXXVIII.
THE GRAND INQUISITION.
NEXT DAY AT eleven o’clock, for Mamma had made the appointment an hour earlier than she told Mr. Bunting to come, in order that she might, what she called, “insense Mr. Ballivant into the case,” a Hassenden fly drove up to the door, from which emerged a stout, elderly gentleman, in a shiny black coat and vest, a puddingy white cravat with flowing ends, and drab shorts and continuations, who, despite John Thomas’s caution, presently came head foremost into the drawingroom. After a series of stumbles, which looked very like bringing him on his knees altogether, he at length recovered his legs, and began with the bow that he intended for entering, Mrs. McDermott having apologised as usual for the step, then backed him into a well-cushioned chair, and drawing her own straight-hacked one close up to him, proceeded in a voluble manner to explain all how and about the cause of her wanting him.
Mr. Ballivant was well through the morning of life, and, moreover, had had three wives, with a numerous family by each, though never a penny with any, so that he was quite past all the romance and sentiment of the thing, and looked upon matrimony in a conveyancing point of view. A beautiful young lady about to be transferred to a well-looking gentleman, provided said gentleman satisfied the expectations of Mamma.
“Query — what are the expectations?” As much as she can get of course, replied Mr. Ballivant, answering his own question; and he thought he saw his way to what was wanted.
Mr. Ballivant was rather a good hand at this sort of work, and had tied some couples up so tightly that they were almost starved themselves in order that their descendants might live. Moreover he knew there was competition in this case, and though he did not like Sivin and-Four, he had no objection to his paper. So he thought what with one or other of the gentlemen, he would have a very good job, and doubtless get a large slice of sugary almondy bride-cake, of which he was particularly fond — as indeed we all are, only somehow we seldom get any now — cards are a very poor substitute for cake. Punctual to his appointment, scarcely had the drawing-room clock ceased striking eleven, for it was always an hour in arrear, when Mr. Bunting (who had come unattended, and put up puffing Billy, as sore-eyed Sam called the gray, himself ) was seen wending his way past the window, making for the front door. A gentle tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, of the bell, was quickly followed by the tramp of John Thomas’s feet to open the door.
“He will show him into the parlour,” observed Mrs. McDermott, as Mr. Ballivant began fidgetting and getting himself ready to rise for a presentation—” he will show him into the parlour, and now before we go,” continued she, gathering herself up, and growing urgent as she spoke, “Don’t forget to ask him about his castle, whether it has turrets and towers and everything becoming,” adding, “Rosa would like a nice place — now mind the step,” continued she, leading the way to the door, and pointing to the unfortunate impediment, which being cleared, she continued her course along the passage, giving Mr. Ballivant a similar caution as to the ascending step at the parlour door. That being opened, Mr. Bunting was discovered warming his hands before a spluttering fire, after a rather chilly ride, rendered more irksome by the unfortunate infirmity of his horse, who, indeed, seemed to get worse in his wind instead of better.
Mrs. McDermott advanced and received him most cordially, apologising for the badness of the fire, fearing he was cold, and then introducing Mr. Ballivant to warm him, after a few common-places about the weather, she said she would retire, as she really knew nothing about business, and they would do much better without her. So saying, she gave her crinoline a twirl, observing as she sailed away, that they would find her in the drawing-room when they were done. And in another second our hero found himself alone with his father confessor, pic-nics, polkas, sonnets, regattas, witchery of all sorts, coming at last to the dull shrine of Plutus. Half an hour would settle the hopes and aspirations of half a-year.
Mr. Ballivant was a rough man but an honest one, and treated every thing in a cool business-like way.
“Well, now,” said he, scrutinising our dandified friend attentively as the rustle of the departing petticoats subsided, “I ‘spose you know what I’ve come for. I’ve nothing to do with your looks, or your manners, or your figure, or nothing of that sort — those the ladies will please themselves about — but just to inquire into your circumstances, what you have got, and what you will do, in short.”
“Just so,” replied Mr. Bunting, who knew the point quite as well as Mr. Ballivant did.
“Miss McDermott will have a purty fortune,” observed Mr. Ballivant, beginning by enhancing his offering, “and for looks, I think, I may say she is unsurpassed.”
“She’s beautiful!” exclaimed Mr. Bunting enthusiastically, “and as good as she’s beautiful;”
“in fact,” added he, “hers is
‘ Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.’” saying, he placed a couple of chairs side by side at the table, and diving into his outside coat pocket, drew forth a sheet of note paper, and a little brown Russia leather inkstand.
“Always travel with my own implements,” observed he, unscrewing the top of the inkstand, and placing it before him; “ladies’ pens never write, only scratch,” continued he, taking one of his own out. He then put on a pair of formidable-looking tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles, through which, having glanced at the great broad nib of his pen, he smoothed out his paper, and after a good steady stare at our friend, as though he were about to take his portrait, said, “What shall we begin with, land or cash, £. 8. d.?”
“Ah, Sir, I see it’s the old Hudibrastic story,
“For when upon their ungot heirs
Th’entail themselves and all that’s theirs,
What blinder bargain e’er was driven
Or wager laid at six or seven,
To pass themselves away, and turn
Their childrens’ tenants ere they’re born,”
exclaimed Mr. Bunting, “everything tied up now-a-days.”
“Safe bind, safe find,” replied Mr. Ballivant, nothing moved by Mr. Bunting’s poetry; but moving his pen as if he wished to be writing.
Seeing there was no help for it, Mr. Bunting began with his money, rehearsing his oft-repeated lesson with the ease of a charity school-boy saying his catechism, so much in consols, so much in Indian debentures, so much in railway shares, &c., all of which Mr. Ballivant recorded in tremendous thick mile-stone-like letters as Mr. Bunting spoke.
When Mr. Ballivant invited him to his land, our hero went very delicately over that part of his story, observing that he did not exactly know how they could make it the subject of a settlement, inasmuch as it was forest which yielded an uncertain income — much or little — dependent of course upon the quantity of wood they cut; but Mr. Ballivant having duly consulted the nib of his pen, thought Mr. Coupler, the conveyancer, would make something of
it, at all events he would record the name, age, and acreage of the wood. And our hero having supplied him with these particulars, and given him a good deal of visionary information into the bargain, referring him to “Daftun on Planting” in corroboration of what he said, tried to have his own innings by asking about the “purty fortune” which his interrogator had mentioned at starting.
Mr. Bunting had been to Doctors’ Commons, and knew that Mamma had the property for life. This turn rather threw the man-of-law off his point, and put him upon the evasive tack.
“Yes, she would have a purty fortune — purty fortune for a lady at least,” replied Mr. Ballivant, feeling that Mr. Boyston was going to pinch him in return.
“Well, but is it in possession?” asked our friend.
“Possession? yes, in possession — possession of her Mamma — Mrs. McDermott, at least.”
“Ah, that’s another matter,” replied our hero. “It will be a long time before her Mamma is done with — at least I hope so.”
Mr. Ballivant hoped so too.
“Well, but Mr. Bunting supposed her Mamma would make Miss Rosa an allowance?”
Mr. Ballivant really could not answer that question.
The two then sat mute for a while, Ballivant conning over the result of his inquiries as it appeared in his great thick penmanship; Bunting considering whether he should ask Ballivant if, in the event of Mrs. McDermott marrying again, any part of the fortune went away from her. He had forgotten to look at that part of the will, the Jug no; being then in the held. Thinking that might be too pointed a question, he essayed to put it sideways: They talk of Madam marrying again,” observed he, rubbing his hands with ill-counterfeited glee.
“Do they?” replied the man of law, raising his brows, as if he had never heard of it before.
