by R S Surtees
Such was the valuable animal that the colonel now thought of pawning off on our Tom, and which Mrs Blunt thought his washball seat was hardly adapted to contend with, especially when the sudden halts and wheels about were taken into consideration.
“He couldn’t ride her, could he?” was the observation she made when the colonel suggested the idea.
“Oh, I don’t know. Angelena rides her,” replied he, flourishing his whip over his head and attempting to crack it like a French postilion.
At this unwonted music Major Pendennis began to kick, Billy Roughun started forward, shook his head, and seemed inclined to follow suit, while the bars tickling Goody-two-Shoes’ hocks, caused him to squeal and wince, and the whole team seemed inclined to get clubbed. This brought the conversation to a somewhat abrupt conclusion; so, leaving the colonel to right matters, we will see what our friends inside are about; for which purpose we will begin a fresh chapter.
CHAPTER XIX.
A COURTSHIP MARRED.
ANGELENA, WHO WAS no advocate for long courtships, having decided that it was time to bring our Tom to book, proceeded to business as soon as she got him into the coach.
“Well, now, Mr Redcoat,” said she, drawing up the glass on her side, “I dare say you wish you were tearing after that silly old man and his hounds?”
“No, indeed I don’t!” exclaimed Tom, with great earnestness—” indeed I don’t! I’m quite happy where I am!”
“Ah, that’s flattery,” replied Angelena archly; “you gentlemen are all such flatterers, there’s no believing any one of you.”
“Honour bright!” exclaimed Tom.
“Well, then, have you got your portrait pinted as you promised?” asked she.
A crimson blush declared the contrary.
“Ah, there, you see!” pouted she, for they were sitting opposite each other, “and yet you pretend—” she was going to say “to love me,” but recollecting that she hadn’t got him so far as that, she stopped short and let him make the running.
“Well, but, Angelena,” exclaimed Tom, “hear me — hear me! I’ve been twice to Mr Ruddles to see about it, and he wasn’t in.”
“Oh, indeed!” replied she, brightening up, adding, “Well, and how were you going to be pinted?”
“In my uniform, as you said; only it’s not ready yet,” answered Tom.
“Why not in your hunting-dress? I’m sure you can’t look better than you do now,” replied she, looking him over, from his fat face down to his fat knees and bagging-over calves.
“Well, just as you like,” replied the obedient Tom—” just as you like; I’m ready either way.”
“No; it’s as you like. It makes no difference to me,” replied Angelena; “but I think it’s a pity for men not to be pinted when they’re young and—” Here she checked herself again, adding, “I mustn’t say all I think.”
Tom didn’t like that. He thought it as good as said she meant to be Mrs Jug — the Honourable Mrs Jug — detested name! He sat silent, biting his substantial lips, thinking how else he could construe the speech. If he thought it possible she was making a cat’s-paw of him, he would feign sickness and get out of the coach.
The fair flirt saw she had rather overshot the mark, and tried to hark back.
“It’s odd,” she said, “how well gentlemen look in red coats, and how ill snobs.”
This rather cheered Tom, following the assertion that he couldn’t look better than he did.
“And how will you be pinted — on horseback or on foot?” asked she.
“I don’t know. Which would you think?”
“Oh! on horseback, I should say — on your beautiful brown.”
“Well, I will,” said Tom, readily assenting.
“Jumping a gite,” suggested Angelena.
“Well,” said Tom, wondering whether he was equal to the performance.
“You should have your hat in your hand, as if you were viewing the fox,” continued Angelena.
“I don’t know,” paused Tom, thinking he couldn’t manage it. His idea was that he would want one hand for the bridle, and the other for the pommel of the saddle.
“Oh yes,” rejoined Angelena, “you must have your hat off — you must have your hat off; indeed, the artist would never be able to catch your fine commanding expression of countenance with your hat on,” looking at Tom’s vacant face, as if it was radiant with intellect.
“Suppose I was to be sitting on my horse, taking my hat off to you coming up,” suggested Tom, thinking that would be easier than leaping the gate hat in hand.
“Well,” replied Angelena, “I’ll be cantering up on my beautiful cream-colour.”
“That would do very nicely,” observed Tom, thinking the pull was now in his favour as against Jug.
“We must have a ride together,” exclaimed the accomplished tactician—” to-morrow, let us say. Sophy Fergey wants me to play pretty to her and Captain Mattyfat to the cottage by the windmill on Heatherblow Heath, and there’s no reason why I should not have a beau as well as her.”
“I shall be most proud,” replied Tom, bowing before her, thinking he would beat Jug in a canter.
“You’ve seen my beautiful pop-pet-ty, haven’t you?” asked she.
“Your what?” gaped Tom.
“My pop-pet-ty — my own delightful palfrey, my own Lily of the Valley.”
“Oh yes,” said Tom, “I saw her in the stables at the barracks.”
“Such a love — such a dear — my pa is so kind — gives me everything I want — I might eat gold if I could. Ah! I’ve a happy home,” sighed she, clasping her hands, and thinking, with upturned eyes, what she would give to be away from it, “and I’m very, very thankful,” continued she, dropping hands slowly and reverently before her.
And Tom gaped in admiration of her piety, and thought whether he could make her as happy at his father’s house in Newbold-street.
Angelena, who expected something better for this display, looked out of the window to give Tom time to brew up a bit of sentiment, but as none seeming inclined to come, she determined to change her tactics and endeavour to pique him.
“Mr Jug wanted to buy my beautiful Lily,” observed she, flourishing a handkerchief redolent of otto of roses.
“Did he,” replied Tom, nothing comforted by the information.
“Yes; he took a fancy to her one day out riding with me, and wanted pa to put a price upon her, but he wouldn’t.”
“Indeed,” mused Tom.
“Mr Jug is very rich — at least will be,” observed Angelena casually, “though he has nothing to do with tride. He’s a grandson of old Lord Pitchers,” continued she, as if Tom hadn’t the same information as well from herself as from a score of other sources. A sprig of nobility was not so common in the Heavysteeds that they could afford to put the light of one under a bushel, though they sunk the fact of there being a whole row of little Jugs when it suited their purpose.
“I wonder you could refuse such a swell anything,” observed our Tom.
“Oh, pa didn’t refuse him exactly — he referred him to me. He said she was mine, and I might do as I liked.”
“What, it was you, then, that refused him, was it?” asked Tom.
“Yes, it was me,” replied Angelena.
“I wonder at that.”
“Why do you wonder at it?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Tom.
“Nay, you must know,” replied Angelena winningly; “tell me why you wonder at it?” continued she, looking imploringly at our hero.
“Oh, I don’t know,” repeated Tom, half-afraid to say.
“Nay, that’s not worthy of you, Mr Hall,” observed Angelena pettishly, “making an assertion without a reason.”
“Well, then, to tell you the truth,” said Tom, screwing up his courage, “because they say—”
“What do they say?” asked Angelena, shaking with impatience.
“That you are to he Mrs Jug,” replied Tom, biting his lips af
ter saying it.
“Me Mrs Jug!” exclaimed the artless innocent, throwing up her hands as if horrified at the idea—” me Mrs Jug!” repeated she. “Don’t believe a word they say, Mr Hall!” exclaimed the fair lady emphatically —
“don’t believe a word they say about Mr Jug! — he is nothing to me — he never was anything to me — he never will be anything to me — I never had the slightest fancy for him — his fortune, his title, have no attractions for me.
This declaration comforted Tom exceedingly, for he had had some frightful dreams, in which Jug appeared in various forms — now as a bold dragoon, with his bright sword gleaming ready for insertion in his stomach; next, that Jug had him at twelve very short paces well covered with his pistol; anon, that Angelena and the dread comet were kissing their hands to him from the car of a balloon, with the words “Gretna Green” in raised gilt letters on the panels; and now that they were whisking away by northern express to the same destination.
Hall was exceedingly comforted, for though he had not got back the promise of marriage letter from dear Jane Daiseyfield, it was so long since he had heard anything about her, that he made no doubt she had taken up with some one else; at all events, he was quite ready to risk an engagement with Angelena, who, apart from her fifty thousand pounds, he looked upon as the most interesting captivating creature he had ever beheld.
“Oh, my dearest, my sweetest Angelena!” exclaimed he, seizing both her hands, and starting forward on his seat to fall on his knees, when lo! the coach began to rock, and, before he knew where he was, Angelena was sprawling a-top of him. The colonel had upset them at this most critical moment.
CHAPTER XX.
TOM BROUGHT TO THE SCRATCH.
THE CATASTROPHE WITH which we closed our last chapter happened as follows: Colonel Blunt, who was at all times rather rash with the reins, was doubly so when under the influence of liquor; and having got his horses well clubbed in going downhill, his difficulties were further increased by the cry of the hounds and the cheering of the men who presently crossed the road a little before him. Old Major Pendennis, who had a taste for the chase, though it had not been much indulged, first set the bars a-rattling, which, being responded to by his brother leader, Billy Roughun, there was such a milling and rearing and squealing and snatching as soon broke the pole, and landed the coach against the bank of a wide newly-cleaned ditch, shooting the ponderous colonel on to his head in the next field, with Mrs Blunt a little beyond him., The hounds had been running some fifteen or twenty minutes, with a breast-high scent over a stiffish country, settling all parties in their places with the regularity of a table of precedence. First came Bill Brick, the head whip, breaking the fences for Dicky Thorndyke, who was as pleased to ride second as first; after him came Lord Heartycheer, going as straight as a fine, followed by a groom in scarlet to keep off the crowd, his lordship’s maxim being that the real danger in hunting consists in being ridden over, not in falling at your fences.
“Y-o-n-der they go!” cried his lordship, flourishing his whip in the air, as he flew the hedge and wide ditch on to the Fleecyborough-road; “y-o-n-der they go!” repeated he, eyeing the hounds settling to the scent on the pasture beyond. Just then his quick eye caught the prostrate vehicle on the road: “Ha — hem — haw — corpulent captain capsized!” exclaimed he, glancing at the glorious confusion, as he gathered his horse for the off-the-road leap;— “haw — ha — hem; sorry we can’t offer him any assistance,” added he, flying the fence into the next field. He then dropped his elbows, and rising in his stirrups, set to and hustled the white horse along as hard as ever he could lay legs to the ground, whooping and halloaing as if he was mad.
Fortunately, some of the field were less engrossed with the hunt than his lordship and the half-dozen composing his immediate tail; indeed, some were very glad of an excuse to pull up; and ere the second whip was out of sight, a crowd of dismounted horsemen had gathered round the vehicle, joining their clamorous directions with the kicking and struggling and groaning of the horses.
“Sit on their heads!” shouted one;— “Cut the traces!” cried another; “Get the lady out!” roared a third;— “Where’s the colonel?” asked a fourth; “Catch my horse!” exclaimed a fifth.
Lord Heartycheer’s country being a good deal infested by sheep, as Dicky Thorndyke said, most of the gallant sportsmen carried knives to cut the nets, and Mr Shirker had scarcely seated himself on Major Pendennis’ head, before a cry of “Now they’re loose! stand clear!” was raised, and kicks and cuffs began to resound upon the horses’ hides, making first one and then another rise like horses at Astley’s; when, after surveying the scene on their haunches, they regained all fours, and stood shaking themselves, and staring wildly round them.
Just at this juncture, and while the smoking steeds were scattered all about the road, Angelena emerged through the window in the arms of farmer Quickfall, and Tom came scrambling all-fours after her. The colonel, too, with Mrs Blunt, now appeared, at the white gate a little lower down — the colonel having sorely damaged his shoulder and cardinal-like hat, and Mrs Blunt having completely crushed her new terry velvet bonnet.
Great was the wrathful indignation of the colonel, now vented on Mrs Blunt for catching at the reins, now on Pendennis for kicking, now on Billy Roughun for swerving, now on the wheelers for jibbing, now on this person, now on that, but never a word against his own coachmanship! The coach was well embedded in the bank, the splinter-bar was broken to shivers, and the harness had been cut and mangled into a state of utter uselessness. Our Tom, too, shared in the common misfortune; for his tops, which had been sadly too tight for him all along, had now so swelled his fat calves that he could no longer bear them, and gladly availed himself of Quickfall’s penknife to rip them open behind.
By the time our friends had got on their feet, and the actual damage ascertained, the assemblage had very greatly increased; and Dr Bolus, who led the roadsters, having at length arrived with his tail, and examined the colonel and assured him, with a shake of his head, that he must be very careful of his shoulder, it was arranged that our Tom should take Farmer Quickfall’s dog-cart and drive to the barracks for the colonel’s carriage. Quickfall’s house, Hawthorn-hill, being close at hand, thither our party proceeded on foot, accompanied by the horses and cushions, leaving the old coach to be righted when they got some available harness. Mrs Quickfall, little used to such quality guests, insisted on ushering them into the best parlour, where they underwent the usual process of lighting a spluttering, smoking, greenwood fire, while there was a fine hot one burning in the kitchen. While Quickfall was out ordering the dogcart, Angelena, who was the least damaged of the party, having fallen soft on our Tom and only deranged her ringlets, arranged, with great adroitness, to accompany Tom in it. A lady so close upon an offer was not likely to be put off without an effort to recover the line. Fortunate indeed it was that she did accompany him, for our Tom, though a very enterprising youth, had never before tried his hand at driving a gig, and Quickfall’s mare being rather fresh, he would assuredly have walked into a waggon-load of turnips, had not Angelena caught the reins at the moment. Tom then very prudently resigned the command to her, and, without changing her seat, the fair lady drove. On coming to rising ground, she got the hot animal eased down into a walk, and recommenced operations on Tom.
Never did Dicky Thorndyke make a more knowing cast to recover a fox than she did to recover the line of conversation the upset had interrupted. Like Dicky’s casts, it was wide and comprehensive, and made at a good brisk pace. She began with the “pinting” again. Well, now, he mustn’t forget to be pinted. “Couldn’t he now, couldn’t he go to Mr Ruddle’s and make an appointment? Artists always pretended to be busy. Dared say he had nothing to do — nothing, at least, that he couldn’t put aside for such a customer as you. He told Mr Jug just the same thing — said he was so busy he didn’t know when he could appoint his first sitting. Mr Jug just turned on his heel and said, ‘Well, I don’t care ab
out it; it’s my granddad, Lord Pitcher, who wants it.’ It wasn’t, you know,” said Angelena, confidentially to Tom; “the silly boy meant it for me” — a piece of information that caused Tom to bite his lips. “‘It’s my granddad, Lord Pitcher, who wants it,’ said he. And would you believe it, as soon as Ruddle heard he was the grandson of a lord, he immediately said he would arrange it, and gave him his first sitting the next day. He was pinted in full uniform, with his hair curled like a cauliflower. Silly boy, he’s so vain — thinks himself handsome — thinks, because he’ll be an honourable, everybody must want him. No patience with such conceited boys,” added she, whipping the mare on, vexed at Tom for not catching at the opening she had now given him. “I think you’ll wish now you’d gone with the hounds,” observed Angelena, as Tom began rubbing the dry mud off his knees.
“No, indeed I don’t,” replied he; “I’m quite happy where I am.”
“Stupid dolt,” thought she, whipping the mare again; “that’s what he said before.”
“What! and saved the upset?” asked she.
“Oh, I don’t care about an upset,” replied Tom. No more he did, so long as he fell soft.
“But you’d have tried your fine new horse,” observed she.
“Oh, I’ll, have plenty of opportunities of doing that,” replied Tom; “the season’s only just beginning.”
“A bad beginning for us,” observed Angelena, “seeing the hounds upset the coach. I declare I haven’t got over the fright yet,” after a pause, as if she had been revolving the matter in her mind.
“Nor I either,” replied Tom, who felt excessively for his tops; indeed, the pain of his swelled calves, and the damage to his boots, which would wholly prevent the perambulation of the streets in his red coat, operated against a return of the enthusiasm the upset of the coach had interrupted.
After several more fruitless attempts to get up the steam of Tom’s ardour again, they now rose Benningborough-hill, from whence Fleecyborough, with its railway station, its spiral churches, its tall-chimnied opposition gasometers, its barn-like opposition tanneries, and towering town hall, burst conspicuous on the view.
