Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “Humph! I thought it had been a dinner,” observed he, in tone of disappointment, to his hostess; “but there seems nothin’ but fruit and things, like a flower-show.”

  “Dinner à la Russe,” replied Mrs Watkins, thinking he was joking, at the same time handing him a finely-embroidered French bill of fare.

  “Ah, there’s nothin’ like a good cut at a round of beef when one’s hungry,” observed Facey, laying it down again.

  A servant, with two plates of soup, then asked him whether he would take thick or clear turtle?

  “Thick,” replied Facey, thinking it would be the most substantial of the two.

  The servant then set it down before him.

  “Here! give us both!” exclaimed he, seeing how little there was in the plate he had got. He then took the other and placed it in front of him until he was done with the first. And he supped and slushed just like one of his own hounds.

  “What’s this stuff?” now demanded Facey, as servant offered him a green glass of something.

  “Punch, sir,” replied the man.

  “Set it down,” replied Romford, continuing his soup. Having finished both plates of turtle, he quaffed off the glass, and was balancing himself on his chair, raking the guests fore and aft, and considering whether mock-turtle or real turtle was best, when his lisping friend on his right interrupted his reverie by asking him if he was fond of flowers.

  “Whoy, yes,” replied Facey, carelessly, “they are well enough in their way,” adding, “and I’m fond of hounds, but I don’t like havin’ them in the dinner-room.”

  Miss saw she had made a wrong cast, so did not follow up the inquiry by pointing out the beauty of the heaths and geraniums in the blue and silver vase before her, as she intended doing.

  Facey then got some fish, not so much as he liked, but still he would take it on account. So, helping himself copiously to lobster sauce — taking nearly half the boat — he proceeded to attack his turbot with great avidity.

  Then came some hock and white hermitage; next, some in comprehensible side-dishes, or rather entrées, for, of course, they never got on the table at all; then some sparkling Moselle and Burgundy, followed by more anonymous viands, of all of which Facey partook greedily, not knowing but that each chance might be the last. And when he had about ate to repletion, and was balancing himself as before on his chair, a servant came and offered him some mutton, which he couldn’t resist, saying, as he took it, “I wish you’d brought me that at first.” Next came the “sweet and dry,” to which he paid the same compliment, of wishing it had come before, observing confidentially to Mrs Watkins, that he thought champagne was just the best white wine there was, adding, that Lucy and he managed a bottle between them almost every hunting day. Meanwhile Miss Cassandra, baffled with her flowers, but anxious to be doing, thought to ingratiate herself by asking him a pertinent question connected with the chase; namely, whether he liked ladies hunting?

  “No — hate it,” replied he, with a frown and an angry shake of his broad shoulders.

  Miss was glad of that, for she was something like Mrs Rowley Rounding, better adapted for driving than riding. So she said she thought ladies had no business out hunting.

  “Dangerous enough for the men,” replied Facey, filling his mouth full of potato; adding, “besides, they’re always gettin’ in the way.”

  Having finished his mutton, they now offered him some turkey. Facey eyed it intently, wishing it, too, had come before. “Well — no,” said he, after a pause, “ar can’t eat any more!” So saying, he dived his hands into his trousers pockets, and stretched out his legs, as if he was done. But his persecution was not over yet.

  After another round of “sweet or dry,” the game began to circulate — grouse, woodcocks, partridges, snipes — to all of which offers our master returned a testy negative. “No! no!” exclaimed he, upon a third tease, “ar’ve had enough.”

  Still there were the sweets to come — sweets without end — sweets in every sort of disguise — for Lubbins was great in that line. And they baited Facey with creams and jellies, and puffs and pastry, till he was half frantic.

  “A man should have ten stomachs instead of one,” muttered he, “to stand such work.”

  He thought the dinner never would be done: he had never been so tormented before. If that was high life, he didn’t want any more of it. Give him his victuals when he wanted them — what he wanted, and no more. Rot the fellow! there he was again!

  Footman (with a silver dish).— “Little fondieu, sir?”

  Facey.— “No, ye beggar! I don’t want any more!” growled he.

  And, if it had not been for the look of the thing, Miss would quite as soon that our hero had not been so interrupted, for it interfered greatly with the progress of her proceedings. Whenever she thought she was what Facey would call well settled to the scent, a servant was sure to come and put her out. She wanted to know if he liked music — she wanted to know if he liked dancing — she wanted to know if he liked archery.

  At length there were symptoms of a lull. The chopped cheese having made its circuit, was duly followed by Port wine, Beaujolais, Badminton cup, bitter and sweet ales; and Facey began to feel a little more comfortable. His roving pig-eyes raked either side of the table — now glancing at Lolly, now at Miss Mowser, now at Felt, now at Salver, now at Lucy, and anon at Mrs Watkins. Then they reverted to his fair neighbour on his right. “Good-looking lass,” thought he, examining her minutely behind. “Good head and neck, good shoulders;” just as he would look at a horse. And at that moment a thought struck him that she might be his ——

  “Cream or water ice, sir?” now asked a footman.

  “Who said I wanted either?” growled Facey, just as he would to a shopkeeper who asked him, “What’s the next article, sir?”

  Miss, who thought that ices made her nose red, declined any also; and, passing her napkin across her rosy lips, she prepared for a little probing.

  “Is Beldon Hall comfortable?” lisped she.

  “Oh, yes,” replied Facey, “comfortable enough; more room than we want, a good deal.”

  “It’s a good thing to have plenty of room,” lisped the lady.

  “Not if you’ve to fix it,” replied Facey.

  “Is Abbeyfield large?” asked Miss.

  “Tol-lol,”, replied Facey. “Make up twenty or five-and-twenty beds, p’r’aps.”

  “Indeed!” lisped Miss. “That’s a good many.”

  “Master of hounds must be prepared for chance visitors,” observed he. “Never know how many you’ll sit down to dinner till the day comes.”

  Miss thought she would like that.

  “Is there a good neighbourhood?”

  “Much the same as elsewhere;” adding, “people all get sucked up to London, now-a-days.”

  “London’s a charming place!” ejaculated Miss Watkins; “but I never can get par and mar to go there.”

  “I don’t think so,” replied our master. “Give me the country — give me huntin’, and shootin’, and fishin’,” added he; “and oi’l give moy share of Lunnon to anyone who likes it.”

  Just then a persecution of fruit commenced — pineapple, grapes, and Jersey pears arrived — thus making a break in the conversation, and removing the occasion of an argument on the London point. Miss wanted to coincide, if she could; and, luckily, a most fortunate subject came to her aid — she touched the right chord at last: “Was Mr Romford musical?”

  “Very!” replied Facey, brightening up; “play the flute beautiful!” — [Of all broken-winded, asthmatical artistes, Facey Romford was the most dreary and forlorn; still he flattered himself, if he had set up as a professor, he would have made a great fortune!] “Very,” replied he. “Play the flute beautiful,” was the answer he gave to Miss Watkins’s inquiry.

  “Indeed!” rejoined she, smiling. “I wish you would come and accompany me sometimes.”

  “Well,” said he, “oi’l do that with pleasure.”

  “Ca
n you play Blumenthal’s Prière des Matelots?”

  “No; but oi can play ‘Dixie’s Land,’ ‘Old Bob Ridley,’ and a heap of other pop’lar airs. Nobody knows what flute-playing really is, who hasn’t heard me.”

  And the science of “eating made easy” having been further developed by Burlinson helping them all round to a glass of wine and offering them another, an ominous lull suddenly took place in the conversation, and all the guests arose simultaneously — the gentlemen standing a pace or two back, while the ladies extricated their enormous crinolines from under the table. Then, the door being opened by the obsequious host, Mrs Somerville sailed out of the room, with the same stately air with which she entered it; and, after a little of the usual mock-modesty about each not going first, Mrs Watkins at length got the whole party collected, and drove them before her like a flock of sheep. And, having returned them back into the radiant drawing-room, she devoted herself to the development of her Beldon Hall friend; while the gentlemen closed up at the table, to see what they could make of old Facey. Lucy played and sang in the drawing-room, and Facey talked about hunting in the dining one, acquitting themselves with considerable ability.

  The ladies thought Mrs Somerville would be pretty, if it wasn’t for her affected manner; and Facey delivered a lecture to the men on the character and habits of the fox, very much in the style of a gamekeeper. Though they might think his manner queer, they couldn’t gainsay his facts.

  At length our friend, who was no drinker, having passed the wine two or three times, asked his host if he hadn’t better “stop the tap”? and, the proposition seeming to meet with general approval, there was another unanimous rise from the table, and a general consultation of whiskers and ties. They then followed Mr Romford out of the room, who led the way, as he said, to the holloa of the distant music in the drawing-room. Very clear and sounding it was! How he wished he had brought his flute — would have tickled his trout in no time! He then opened the door, and astonished himself with a blaze of light — fourfold what it was when he left.

  Then came a charge of tea and coffee trays and cakes, and everything a man doesn’t want; and Facey was hunted about till he almost upset one. “Rot it, if this is pleasure,” muttered he, when the Curaçoa man came with his picturesque bottle, “ar don’t want any more of it.” And he was heartily glad when the sound of wheels outside the house proclaimed the coming conclusion; still more happy when the footmen began announcing the carriages, and the Paterfamiliases commenced beckoning their wives and daughters, and talking about not keeping their valuable horses waiting, standing shivering and shaking in the cold.

  At length, after many trots to the front door, Mr Watkins got the last of the leavers away; and, it not being prudent to indulge in the usual worry before strangers and remanets, after a slight discharge of seltzer and soda, the instincts of all the party seemed to point towards bed. So there was a general bobbing and cooing, and bidding of good-nights — with hopes that Mrs Somerville and Mr Romford found everything in their rooms that they wanted. And, as the only thing Mr Facey particularly wanted was his pipe, and he had that with him, he unhesitatingly answered “Yes.” And he went along, knocking his knees together, well pleased that the penance was over. Barring the mistake of old Felt, he didn’t know that he had done so far amiss. Callin’ Salver Silver, was nothin’ — just a slip of the tongue; but the other was awkward: however, it couldn’t be helped. So, taking off and putting his new dress scarlet carefully away in the wardrobe, he resumed his morning jacket; and drawing a luxuriously-cushioned easy-chair right in front of the fire, he adjusted and lit his pipe, and then soused himself down in its voluminous depths to enjoy his sublime tobacco.

  “Well,” mused he to himself, as he puffed and smoked; “well, old boy, you are well laid in here — that white-shouldered girl is evidently in love with you! Quite inclined to meet you half way, old gal!”

  It may seem strange that it should not have occurred to a fox-hunting fortune-hunter like Mr Romford, that Miss Cassandra Cleopatra Watkins was the very sort of girl he was in search of; but then the reader must take into account the fact that he was a perfect stranger in the country, with no one but Independent Jimmy to give him any information, and that neither Mrs Somerville nor her mother were at all likely to forward any matrimonial arrangement.

  So friend Facey was left a good deal to his own devices, — to pick up what he could from this person and from that; and, having picked it up, to put that and that together, so as to make a reliable story of the whole.

  To be sure, Miss Cassandra Cleopatra was good enough to inform him, very early in the day, that she was an only child; but there were a good many more things that Mr Facey would like to know, and that she could not inform him of — where the money was, for instance; whether it was settled, and so on; above all, how much there was of it.

  “The mother-familias, too, seems to be quite agreeable! Wonder what the father would say? That confounded uncertificated bankrupt,” as he called his host, “is far too young,” continued he. “Wonder if there’s any way, now, of playin’ at leapfrog with the money — passin’ it over the present holder’s back, so as to prevent his spendin’ it, and securing it to some one beyond? Should think there was,” continued he, blowing a voluminous upward cloud, after a long-drawn respiration. “The lawyers can do almost anything — anything except make a scent! Scent’s a queer thing!” continued he; “dash’d if it isn’t. Wonder if we’ll have one to-morrow?” And then he emitted another great cloud, thinking as he did it that there would be a scent in the room, at all events. Hoped the next comer would like tobacco!

  And having thus done his best to secure him the luxury, and exhausted his pipe in a further consideration of the fertile subject of scent, our friend at length undressed and turned into bed, at twenty minutes to twelve.

  XXXIV. THE HUNT BREAKFAST

  MR ROMFORD AWOKE AT DAYBREAK next morning with a parched mouth and a somewhat winey headache; not at all himself, in fact. The late dinner and multiplicity of dishes had disagreed with a gentleman accustomed to early hours and simple fare. He had never tried such a mixture before; “meat, puddin’, and cheese” (all the delicacies of the season, as the sailor said), being the utmost extent of his wants.

  But that he had been gradually inducted into magnificence through the instrumentality of Beldon Hall, he would now scarcely have known himself, stretched in a great canopy-topped state bed in a noble room, with brilliant chimney-glass, splendid cheval one, tapestry carpet, and every imaginable luxury. What did a man want with so many baths, who always took a header when he was heated!

  Of course the capital Louis Quinze clock on the marble mantel-piece did not go, so Facey appealed to his own great silver watch under the pillow to know what o’clock it was, and finding it wanted several hours to breakfast, he did not see any reason why, because the bed was a fine one, he should lie in it longer than he liked; so he bounded out, and making for a window, proceeded to reconnoitre the landscape.

  “Aye,” said he to himself, after an identifying stare, “that is Wavertree in the distance, the village with the spire is Dronefield, and the white house beyond will be Mr Bullinger’s, of Prestonworth.”

  So he settled the matter satisfactorily in his own mind, and then moved the previous question, — namely, that he should dress. But where were his clothes? They had taken them away to brush, or perhaps mop up the beer-slops with in the servants’ hall, and then fold and return, and there was nothing for him but the choice between his hunting things and dress ones. Neither of those would do, so he must try to recover the Tweeds. But they had put the bell where nobody could find it; and Facey had to cast about as he would for the scent of a fox. When he did find it, nobody would answer it; for the girl in charge of the numbers merely announced “Number one bell” in the hall, and every servant who heard her concluded that the occupant of such a magnificent apartment — the best room — would be sure to have a valet to answer it, and thought no more of the matter
. And when Facey, having taken another rather fretful survey of the landscape, returned again to the charge, an exclamation of “Number one bell!” was all that the ring produced; and so on for a third.

  “Rot the fellow!” exclaimed Facey, swinging round with vexation; and after taking a turn about the spacious apartment, he at length settled before his hunting clothes. “S’pose I must put them on,” said he, taking up the Bedford cords, and proceeding to jump into his other clothes in the promiscuous sort of way of a man going to bathe. He then opened his door, and emerged from his room in search of adventures. The landings and staircase were only half awake; and when he got downstairs he found everything in the uncomfortable state familiar only to early, too early, risers. One housemaid on her knees pipeclaying the passage, another raising a cloud of dust with her broom; rugs, mats, pails, dusters, all higgledy-piggledy — everything in the height of confusion. The fine overnight footmen were hurrying about in caps and all sorts of queer clothes, bearing trays full of plate, linen, and china, — the ingredients of another great spread. Worming his way cautiously among the obstacles, Facey at length reached the front door, and emancipating himself from the house, was presently in the fresh air. Very fresh and pleasant it was, and most grateful it felt to his fevered frame.

  “Oh, Francis Romford, my beloved friend,” said he, “you had too much wine last night. Oh, Francis Romford, this dinin’ out doesn’t suit you. Oh, Francis Romford, it’s a great luxury to have just what you want to eat and drink, and no more. Oh, Francis Romford, it’s bad to hunt with a sore head. Huntin’ and drinkin’ are two men’s work.”

  Then he thought a pipe would do him good; and a pipe he accordingly proceeded to take, sauntering along the fine Kensington gravelled drive as he made the necessary preparation for a smoke. This brought him within sight of the stables, — a well-built, rough-cast range, with coachhouses in the centre.