by R S Surtees
“Nose, nose, nose, is my motto,” said Facey, thumping Lord Lovetin’s fine marqueterie centre table as he spoke. “Legs are of no use,” repeated he, “if they only drive the nose beyond the scent.”
Then Hazey sought to sound his brother master on the interesting subject of subscription; whether his was guaranteed, whether it was well paid, whether he paid much for cover rent, or had the country found.
Upon this subject, however, friend Facey could really give him very little information. There was, he said, a subscription attached to the country, and he meant to maintain it, not on his own account, because in all probability he should let it accumulate, to found what he had always been most anxious to see, namely, a hospital for decayed sportsmen; but because it might not be convenient to after-comers to hunt the country without a subscription, and indeed, upon the whole, he thought it rather tended to encourage sport, inasmuch as people always thought more highly of what they paid for, than what they had for nothin’ and, altogether, Facey talked in such a magnificent way as fairly to shut up Mr Hazey. The latter sat half lost in astonishment at Mr Romford’s liberality, yet half afraid that he might ask him to contribute to the funds for the hospital.
So they were mute for a time.
Mr Facey saw that he had taken the wind out of his brother master’s sails, and he wondered how long he was going to sit, and whether the mention of lunch would help to send him away. He thought it might, provided it were done cleverly. He would try.
“You’re sure you won’t take any lunch,” at length observed he, as if he had offered it before, muttering something about Cambridge brawn, venison pasty, rabbit pie (which latter there was); but Facey put such a decided negative upon his own proposition, that, though both Hazey and his boy Bill were extremely hungry and anxious for something to eat, yet neither of them had the courage to say that they would take any. Then, by way of keeping them up to the mark, Facey indulged in a tirade against luncheons generally, saying he never took any — he hated to fritter away a good appetite piecemeal — adding, that if a man was hungry, he had better dine at once, and not make two bites of a cherry, as some did.
The last ray of hope being thus utterly extinguished, there was nothing for it but to arise and depart; so, after a few observations about the crops and the state of the country, Hazey gave the boy Bill a wink, who forthwith used his leg like a mace, to draw his truant hat from under the table, and Hazey, having clutched his arm, arose, greatly in doubt, like the Watkinses, as to the right course to pursue, whether to offer his hand, or wait for Mr Romford to tender his; whether to go boldly up to Mrs Somerville, and take his chance of a shake, or to bow from where he stood, and so lose the intimation the shake, if he got one, might convey.
Romford, however, quickly cut the Gordian knot by tendering his great heavy hand to them both, in turn; while Mrs Somerville, rising from her violet-velvet throne, first rang the bell to summon the servants, and then, folding her arms, gave a couple of those captivating smiles and curtsies wherewith she used to express her gratitude to a Surrey audience after an encore. Nothing could be better done, for it relieved Mr Hazey at once, letting him see that, though Mr Romford was called upon, Mrs Somerville would not consider herself properly visited until Mrs Hazey had been there. Then the smiles were so sweet as to satisfy Mr Hazey that she considered his part of the compliment properly performed. So he backed gaily towards the now opened door, treading heavily on the angry corns of old Balsam, who happened to have obtruded his great foot in the way. Then Short, seeing what had happened, took the lead towards the front door, leaving the now string-halting Balsam to follow at his leisure.
“Away they go!” said Romford to Lucy, as the music-room door closed, adding, “now let you and I go and see them off.” So saying, Facey led the way to a side door that communicated with the back passage.
Lucy and he then ascended the back stairs, and taking up positions on either side of the usual window of observation, generally occupied by the Dirties, obtained a good view of the mount.
“It will be incumbent upon us to do that beggar,” whispered Facey to Lucy, as Hazey, with a dégagé air, approached the blue-coated, leather-breeched, cockaded groom, who now hurried his horses up to the front door, whither the guests were conducted by Balsam and Short in due form.
“They tell me that’s the biggest rogue under the sun,” continued Facey, as Hazey now swung himself carelessly into his saddle, and tit-tupped away from the door, provoking the caper that he seemed to chide.
Then, meeting old Balsam as they returned to the music-room, Lucy complimented him upon his performance, while Facey gave him a couple of ounces of shag, and a bottle of Lord Lovetin’s Old Tom gin to think with it.
And as Hazey trotted gaily home, he thought to improve the occasion by pointing out to his boy Bill the superiority of well-bred people’s manners over commoner ones, illustrating his position by a comparison of Mrs Somerville’s with those of Mrs Watkins, greatly to the advantage of Mrs Somerville; and there being now the chance of an intercourse, Mr Hazey promoted a call from his wife, cushioning that inconvenient question, “Who is Mrs Somerville?” with a general assertion that she was an extremely lady-like woman, who would be a great acquisition in Doubleimupshire. And Hazey reported most favourably of the Beldon establishment, saying, that the butler was out, but they were received by two most respectable-looking family footmen, — not little, weedy, calveless shrimps, but great substantial men, who looked as if they had lived in the family all their lives. And Mrs Hazey thought she would like to give them a mistress as well as a master.
XXXI. MR AND MRS WATKINS AGAIN
THE USUAL THREE DAYS’ LAW having elapsed, our friends at Dalberry Lees began to look out for the return visit from our new master of hounds and his elegant sister Mrs Somerville, whereupon to found the further ingratiation of an invitation to dinner. Mrs Lubbins was anxious to be doing, not having had an uproar for some time. But from the circumstance of the tight-booted teapot-handle maker having been mainly instrumental in resuscitating the Larkspur hunt under the auspices of Mr Romford (believing him to be the other Mr Romford), the honour of the opening meet would most likely have been accorded to the gentleman “who hunted for conformity,” viz., Mr Watkins of Dalberry Lees, who gave his £100 a year to the hounds, and paid it punctually, which, we are sorry to say, was more than all the Doubleimupshireites did. However, the teapot-handle maker had it, and the Watkinses consoled themselves with the reflection that Mr Romford would soon find out what upstarts the Joseph Larges were, and appreciate them (the Watkinses) accordingly. It, therefore, did seem rather strange that our captivating heiress, Miss Cassandra Cleopatra, should array herself in her most becoming attire, — one morning in cerulean blue, another in delicate pink, a third in virgin white with puce trimmings, and that no Mr Romford, no Mrs Somerville, should draw near the scene of her attractions. The Brogdales came, and the Bigmores came, and Mr and Mrs Nackington came; but they didn’t want any of these. They wanted Mr Romford — Romford alone, if they could get him, if not, with any other person.
But when Independent Jimmy let out as he did to Miss Florence Brown, their lady’s-maid, as he gave her a lift home on the buss from Mother Floyd’s, the wise woman of the district, whom she had been to consult when she (Florence) would be married, that second-hand Neddy, as Jimmy called Mr Hazey, had been at Beldon Hall, Mrs Watkins — all things considered — resolved that it was time to lay aside ceremony, and go boldly in for their dues. The Larges had not been punctilious, and she was quite sure the Hazeys wouldn’t, so she wouldn’t either. And the bloom having been taken off the introductory process by the Pippin Priory breakfast, Mrs Watkins resolved not to wait any longer for the ceremony of the return call, but to assume the neighbourly fashion, and ask Mr Romford and his sister Mrs Somerville to come and dine, and stay all night at Dalberry Lees, and let the hounds meet there on the morrow.
In truth, Lubbins had rather fallen off in her cooking for want of practice, a
nd had it not been that the wages were large, and the “kitchen-stuff” liberal, she would infallibly have been turning Watkins’s off; for she was a show-off cook, and required the excitement of brandy and constant display: she didn’t undertake mere family dinners. The kitchen-maid could do those. But as somehow people will not lend themselves out for the mere purpose of eating and drinking and showing their clothes, so the Watkins’s invitation became more and more shirked (causing, we fear, a considerable amount of falsehood, too easily detected in the country), until they could hardly raise a party at all. In vain they protracted the length of their invitations, — drew upon their acquaintances at three weeks instead of ten days or a fortnight. It always came to the same thing in the end — the table had to be shortened a third, if not full half; and the least desirable part of the company only coming under these circumstances, the reader will readily imagine how important it was to the Watkinses, bent altogether on ostentatious display, to make the most of such an attraction as a new master of hounds — especially a master so favourably circumstanced as the great Mr Romford of Abbeyfield Park and Beldon Hall, J.P., D.L., patron of, &c. Miss, too, as we have said before, was marriageable; indeed had had two or three indifferent offers — a curate, a cornet, and a nibble from a count, or a person who called himself one — though some said he was only a courier. And hope deferred having made Mrs Watkins’s heart rather sick, she resolved to be doing without further delay. So, having duly consulted Lubbins as to the state of the larder, Miss Cassandra Cleopatra, who acted as amanuensis for mamma, drew forth a sheet of her highly-musked cream-laid note-paper, and with many twirls of the pen, and appeals to the ceiling for inspiration, at length produced the following document: —
Dalberry Lees,
Tuesday.
“MY DEAR MRS SOMERVILLE, — If Mr Romford has not yet fixed his meets for next week, would you oblige me by having one here, and giving us the pleasure of your company the day before, when we will endeavour to get a few sporting neighbours to meet you? We dine at seven; but, as there is no moon, pray come early. Mr Watkins (who promises Mr Romford a good fox) joins in kindest regards with, my dear Mrs Somerville,
Ever yours, very sincerely,
LETITIA WATKINS.
To which, in order to prevent any mistake, Willy caused to be added the following: —
“P.S. Of course you will stay all night.”
The note, thus amended, was then sealed with the large butterpat seal of the Watkins’s arms — three rings, three doves, three bulls, four bears, and five stags; and, after a division as to whether Lord Lovetin’s arms should be added or not, it was decided that it would be grander to do so, and the note was ultimately addressed to —
MRS SOMERVILLE,
At the Right Honourable
Lord Viscount Lovetin’s
Beldon Hall,
and despatched by a groom in the Watkins’s livery.
The note produced very different sensations in the mind of Mrs Somerville and her pseudo-brothet Mr Romford: Mrs Somerville was all for going to Dalberry Lees; Mr Facey was all for staying at home. He didn’t feel comfortable out, he said. The napkin business had rather upset him, Lucy having explained to him that they were not meant to carry away; and she had had the Pippin Priory one washed and returned with a note, saying that her brother had taken it away accidentally in his ‘kerchief. Then Facey hadn’t a dress-coat; but Lucy would undertake that Tick would have one down in no time. Still he demurred. The women bothered him. He didn’t know what to say to them. He didn’t know how to get them in to dinner. He didn’t know how to get them out again. But Lucy combated all the objections. She would tell him what to say; she would teach him what to do. He should have one of the Dirties in, to practise with beforehand. Very little talk did for the mistress of the house, who was always too busy thinking about her dinner, and praying that the sweets might come in safe, to pay much attention to what was said. And so poor Facey was at length obliged to submit; and having duly conned over his country as far as he knew it, he determined to meet at Dalberry Lees on the Wednesday, which would give him the non-hunting Tuesday to get there upon. Whereupon Lucy reciprocated the sweetness of Mrs Watkins’s note, and sent her answer back with the turbot-seal crest. She then wrote off to town for a dress-coat for Facey, scarlet, with velvet collar and frosted buttons; and then began to consider what she herself should wear on the important occasion.
Great was the joy at Dalberry Lees on receipt of the Beldon Hall answer, and forthwith Miss Watkins was reinstalled at her pembroke writing-table, issuing the first batch of invitations for parties to come to meet Mr Romford and Mrs Somerville at dinner on Tuesday next, apologising for the shortness of the notice, and requesting the favour of an early answer. And, as guests will come if you can only bait the trap properly, — and there was a good deal of excitement and curiosity in the country about the new master and his handsome sister, — the party was soon made up, much to the joy of the Watkins’s and the satisfaction of Mrs Lubbins, who had really begun to think she would never have another uproar worth mentioning at Dalberry Lees, arid who instantly commenced a grand scouring of the country for consumables.
XXXII. DALBERRY LEES
THE WATKINSES WERE NOW IN their glory; dressing and dinner-giving being about the extent of Willy’s ability, while the ladies thought simpering and expanding their persons in preposterous crinolines were the great end and aim of society. These are the people who exaggerate a fashion till they make it ridiculous. They looked forward with great pleasure to showing off their new dresses, and felt the importance to be acquired by entertaining the new master. Mrs Somerville, too, was a charming woman and altogether they were most fortunate in securing them. The outside plot thickened. So far from people shirking them, as they used to do, they asked to be allowed to bring friends, to exchange a son for a daughter, or vice versâ. There was a great desire to see Mr Romford in a room. Some said he was a bear, others that he was a bean. There was a great difference of opinion. They wanted to judge for themselves.
The Romfords, on their part, set about maintaining their position. Mr Tick, of Civil Row, responded gallantly to Lucy’s order, sending Mr Facey down a splendid scarlet dress-coat, with crimson velvet collar, silk linings and facings; also a pair of speculative black kerseymeres and two white vests ready for putting on; altogether rather a striking get-up, and most handsomely packed in a new deal box, directed to “Francis Romford, Esq., at the Lord Viscount Lovetin’s, Beldon Hall. By passenger train.”
Though the address of Beldon Hall alone was tolerably taking, still Lucy found that the addition of the “Lovetin” title precipitated orders very considerably. Indeed she felt as if she could have half London for sending for. And she was no niggard in her orders, either for Facey, her mother, or herself; writing for cloaks, Malta shawls, mantles, muffs, and Spanish mantillas, for herself; Stiltons, and bloaters, and nourishing stout — whatever the Lovetin cellar was without — for Facey.
Whenever Lucy received an article of dress that she did not like, she repacked it and sent it to Betsey Shannon, or some of her old stage friends, as a present. Her dashed dresses she adapted to Ruth Mustard — Dirtiest of the Dirty, as she was originally called, but who, under Lucy’s skilful guidance, presently became “Cleanest of the Clean.”
Ruth, as we said before, was a pretty girl, — pretty even in déshabille, — very pretty when cleaned and properly put on; and she took to lying as readily as she had done to picking and stealing. Though Mrs Somerville couldn’t hope to pass her off at Dalberry Lees as anything but a Mustard, still she held out to Ruth that if her own maid, who she said was at Tunbridge Wells for the benefit of her health, did not get better, Ruth might, by due care and attention, be installed in her very lucrative place so that Dirtiest of the Dirty was for the present entitled to rank as a lady’s-maid in the table of precedence amongst servants.
And to the now all-absorbing Dalberry Less feast let us now devote our attention.
It may
seem strange in these gastronomic times, when a master of hounds is supposed to be able to eat two or three dinners a day, that Mr Romford should have got through so long a time with the Heavyside Hunt without ever having assisted at any of their festivities; but so it was, and he had now all his duties in the eating line to learn and perform. Of course he had often put in at Squire This or Farmer That’s for a “snack,” and came out with a wedge of cheese in one hand and a slice of bread in the other; but those scrambles have no sort of affinity to the stately solemnities of modern English dinner parties. Lucy felt this, and greatly feared that her brother Romford might commit himself if he had not some little previous instruction; and, knowing the nature of rehearsals, she got up a drawing-room scene by seating Dirtiest of the Dirty in a chair in the breakfast-room, while Facey hovered near till Dirty No.2 (supposed to be the Watkins’s butler) entered the room and announced dinner; whereupon Facey, tendering his arm to Dirtiest of the Dirty, led her off to the Beldon Hall dining-room, just as he would have to lead off Mrs Watkins or some other lady at the Dalberry Lees feast. As to talking, Lucy again assured Facey very little conversation would do; a few compliments on the ladies’ dress, or remarks on the weather, or the splendour of the house, being amply sufficient. All he had to mind was, if he came after another lady, not to tread on her train. And after two or three attempts, our master of the hounds accomplished the dining-room manœuvre pretty well, though he still did not like the idea of what he had to go through after.
“All very well,” muttered he, “tellin’ one there’s nothin’ to do after; it’s very much like tellin’ a man there’s nothin’ on the other side of the fence, when perhaps there’s a great yawnin’ ditch big enough to hold both him and his horse.”
However, friend Facey felt he was committed to the engagement, and, much as he disliked the idea, he must go through it with courage and fortitude. “Grin and bear it,” as he said. So he left the rest of the arrangements to Lucy.
