Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “There’s Fleecyborough, I believe,” said Angelena, eyeing the white villas fringing the smoke of the blue-and-red town.

  “So there is,” replied Tom, thinking of his damaged tops, instead of expressing regret, or making any pleasant allusion to the quickness of time flying in pleasant company, or anything of that sort.

  Finding there was no chance of moving him to courtship, Angelena got the mare well by the head, so as to time herself properly, and thus came at once to the point.

  “By the way, Mr Talliho, what were you saying when we were upset?”

  “Saying — upset — upset — saying,” stammered Tom.

  “Yes, you know, about Jug — about my not being Mrs Jug.”

  “Oh, ah!” replied Tom, blushing crimson; “I was — I meant — I thought — I was glad—”

  “Glad at what?” snapped Angelena.

  “Oh! ah! yes — glad that you were not going to be Mrs Jug — the Honourable Mrs Jug.”

  “But why were you glad?” asked she.

  “Oh — why — to tell you the truth,” replied Tom, screwing his hands together for the great effort, “because — simply because — I hoped — I ventured to hope — that you would be Mrs H.”

  Shriek! — screech! — shriek! went Angelena, as if horrified at the thought — shriek! — screech! — shriek! startling the mare and astonishing a ploughman who happened to be turning on an adjoining headland.

  Fortunately, the loss of her presence of mind did not entail the loss of her command over the mare, whom she pulled up out of the undignified canter at which she went off, just as they met a Fleecyborough fly, with three Miss Gigglewells on the look-out for fatigued fox-hunters. How they stared! However, it was lost upon Tom. He was frightened. He feared he had offended the great heiress, and now saw the temerity of a man like him aspiring to the hand of a lady who had refused the son of a lord that-was-to-be. He wished himself well out of the gig.

  “Oh, Mr Hall! oh, Mr Hall!” gasped Angelena, as she got the mare calmed into a trot, “you’ve — you’ve completely unnerved me — I — I — am not myself — indeed I’m not — you — you—”

  “My dear Miss Blunt,” exclaimed Tom, thinking the sooner he dropped Angelena-ing her the better, “my dear Miss Blunt—”

  “Oh, don’t Miss Blunt me!” exclaimed she, putting her little hand up as if in deprecation of the word—” don’t Miss Blunt me — pray don’t.”

  “Well, but, my dearest Angelena,” resumed Tom, plucking up his courage again, “tell me how have I offended — how have I hurt you?”

  “Oh, Mr Hall, you’ve taken me so by surprise — you can’t think how you’ve astonished me.”

  Tom thought this was rather queer from a lady who seemed ready for an offer from the first.

  “I’m sure I appreciate the compliment of your partiality,” continued she, now driving very slowly; “I do appreciate the compliment of your partiality, for I believe it’s disinterested — yes, I believe it’s disinterested; but don’t, pray don’t think the worse of me for saying it — but girls in my situation — girls, you know, without brothers — heiresses, in fact, — are so liable to be persecuted by the unworthy, that, that—” and here her voice faltered. “Oh! what I would give for a brother!”

  “A husband would be a much better thing,” observed Tom, in his dry matter-of-fact way.

  “Oh, Mr Hall, a congenial spirit — one in whom I could confide — one whom I might look forward to for supplying the place of my dear, dear father. It isn’t wealth or station I ambition — I wouldn’t marry that little drunken Jug if he had a million a month.”

  “He is a nasty little varmint,” replied Tom, who hated the very name of Jug.

  “No, Mr Hall, no,” continued Angelena; “I believe you are sincere — I believe I may trust in you — it’s not my money you—”

  “Fourpence!” exclaimed a voice from the Tiptin turnpike-gate, through which she now drove without dispensing the usual compliment—” fourpence!” repeated a shirt-sleeved follower in a louder strain; adding, as he overtook the gig, “why don’t you pay your pike, you dirty bilks?”

  This inopportune interruption, combined with the fretting of the mare while Tom fumbled for his pence, completely threw Angelena off her point; and as the half-acre allotments and little sentry-box summer-housed gardens of the outskirts now appeared, to be quickly followed by the bad pavement of the town, she just got the mare well in hand, and changing places with Tom, drove smartly through the streets that cut off an angle in the direction of the barracks, leaving a long train of excitement and speculation among the natives, whom the rattle of the wheels brought to the windows. Arrived at the barracks, they found all stir and consternation. Rumour with her hundred tongues had got there before them, inflicting every possible injury on the gallant colonel and his wife. Having ordered a servant to get ready the mail-phaeton, and an orderly to return with the dog-cart, the now nearly betrothed couple entered the colonel’s house, in whose comfortable privacy our Tom closed the rivets of the bargain, swearing eternal fidelity to the fair lady, and telling her as much of his father’s affairs as he could, computing him, of course, at the usual young gentleman’s rate of ten thousand a year.

  When Colonel and Mrs Blunt arrived, which, either from accident or design, they were in no great hurry to do, they found our Tom and Angelena comfortably seated on the old horse-hair sofa, Tom making a sandwich of the fair one’s little hand between his own fat ones. The first transports of joy were well over, and Tom was regarding Angelena — the future partner of his life — very much as a man does a new horse, wondering whether she was as good as she looked; indeed, if truth must be told, the idea had crossed his mind whether the little taper hand he then pressed would be equal to boxing his ears.

  Hearing her mother’s rustling satin coming first, Angelena just kept her hand where it was, and having satisfied herself that her mother saw it, she just slipped it out, adjusted her collar and gave her clothes a propriety shake, as the colonel appeared at the door.

  At first, of course, their conversation was all about their injuries and miraculous escapes, with anathemas at the horses for their bad behaviour, and speculations as to the probable damage to the drag. These interesting topics being exhausted, the lovers then sat silent for a time, Angelena expecting our Tom would give tongue, and Tom thinking it was as much her business to do it as his, particularly in her own house. Although this was her ninth offer, she was just as eager to be into the thick of it as she was with the first one; and mamma, who was well versed in her ways, saw she had a difficulty in containing herself. As Tom sat mute, now looking at her, now comparing his feet or eyeing his damaged tops and swelling calves, Angelena at length motioned her mother away; and, after a few minutes spent in consultation, the colonel was summoned to the council. Of course, among themselves they dispensed with the usual forms of surprise — forms that, in nine cases out of ten, are pure hypocrisy, for no woman ever gets an offer without expecting it — and went at once to the point. “What should they do?”— “Should they tell old Hall, or let Tom tell him; or carry it on as a sort of conditional engagement, to be ratified hereafter if both parties liked?” The ladies were all for trying to clench it at once, considering that Angelena — though a trifle older — was a most unexceptionable match for our Tom; while the colonel’s experience and ulterior views made him rather incline to keep it on, lest he might kill the goose that lay them the golden eggs in the horse way. The ladies, however, prevailed. Mrs Blunt thought it was due from her to “say something,” so, having exchanged her much damaged bonnet for a fly-away cap, full of poppies and wheat-ears, and arrayed her shoulders in a large profusely-worked collar, she emerged from the thinly-partitioned little room in which they had held their confab, and found Tom tying his damaged tops up with a little twine, leaving Angelena outside on her knees with her eye at the key-hole — a surveillance not very conducive to eloquence. After a good deal of hemming and hawing, and clearing of her
throat, she gave two or three downwards sweeps to her gown, and seating herself beside Tom, on the sofa, thus addressed him, punctuating every three words with a “hem” or a cough, or both.

  “Well, my dear — sir, my — darter has been telling — me the — compliment and honour, I may say, you have done her, which, I need hardly say, has taken the — colonel and me very much by — surprise, though we cannot but feel — grateful for the — preference you have shown; and though it must necessarily be a very — heinous and — painful separation, yet the colonel and I have such a high sense of your — integrity and excessive philanthropy — that, of course, we must yield to the — observances of nature, and wish you every — happiness that this — world can — supply.”

  Tom sat agape, for he had never been regularly overhauled before, and did not know where to make the responses. After waiting a time, to see if he would rise, Mrs Blunt resumed as follows —

  “My darter’s young,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye, as if she would shortly shed a tear, “and inexperienced in the ways of the world; but I’m sure we’re entrusting her to a gen’l’man who will — appreciate her — talents and excellencies, and preserve her in — affluence and — independence.”

  “Yes,” said Tom.

  “It’s an anxious moment, settlin’ a young lady with the pretensions of our darter,” observed Mrs Blunt, much to the satisfaction of the fair listener at the door, who was afraid her mamma was going to omit touching on that important point—” it’s an anxious moment settlin’ a young lady with the pretensions of our darter,” repeated she; “for, of course, the — reputation of — riches awakens the cupidity of the dangerous, and exposes a gal to great persecution, not to say temptation; but, I must say, Angelena has always shown a discretion far beyond her years, and no — parents ever had a more satisfactory child. She might have made great matches — great — lords, great — baronets; but she has always shown a disposition for the enjoyment of — intellectual society, and the — tranquillity of country life. She’s quite different with you to what she’s been with all her other admirers,” added Mrs Blunt, looking smilingly on her fat son-in-law to be.

  “Indeed,” said Tom, “I’m sure I’m very much flattered” — and he thought what a triumph he would have, brushing past Jug, with Angelena on his arm.

  And now the fair lady, thinking her mother had said quite enough, and fearing she might commit herself, rose from her knees, and after a prefatory glance at the looking-glass, smoothing her glossy hair, she sidled into the room, and announced that her dear papa thought of going to bed. Mrs Blunt, auguring from this that he was worse, lost no time in leaving our young friends alone; and Tom, being shortly after seized with the qualms of hunger, and smelling nothing in the way of dinner where he was, resolved to avail himself of a fly that had just set down at the officers’ quarters, and drawn up to wait the chance of a fare. Hailing it from the window, it was quickly at the door, and after a most affectionate lover-like leavetaking, Tom jumped in with his packthread-tied tops, and, kissing his hand from the window, was presently whisked out of sight — he loved, and drove away — and, ere he was well clear of the gates, Jug was occupying his place on the sofa with Angelena, laughing at her other suitor.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  A MEETING OF THE FATHERS.

  “WELL, TUMMUS, AND have you caught the fox?” asked old father Hall, as his muddied, tatter’d, booted son nearly upset him travelling from the cellar to the parlour with a bottle of port in each hand, a bottle of sherry under his arm—” well, Tummus, and have you caught the fox?” asked he, as he recovered his balance.

  “No; but I’ve caught something better,” replied Tom, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Indeed!” exclaimed the old man. “I thought there was nothin’ but foxes to catch out a-huntin’.”

  “Yes, but there is,” replied Tom, full grin as before.

  “What is it?” asked the old man, passing on into the parlour.

  “Guess,” said the son, following him.

  “Can’t,” replied the father, after a pause.

  “What do you think of an heiress? — a fifty thousand pounder?”

  “Fifty thousand pounder!” gasped the old man. “Impossible, Tom.”

  “Fact, I assure you,” said Tom, with a look of compassion.

  “Wonderful,” observed the old man, eyeing him intently.

  “Wonderful! I don’t see anything wonderful in it,” replied Tom, recollecting Angelena’s pretty compliments, and how irresistible Miss Sowerby and Jane Daiseyfield had found him.

  “And who is it?” at length asked the old man, thinking it time to come to particulars.

  “Guess,” replied Tom again.

  “Nay; I don’t know,” replied the banker, running all the monied people through his mind, and thinking who was likely to have such a sum as fifty thousand pounds, or anything like it. “Somebody you’ve met at the castle?” at length suggested he.

  “No,” replied Tom.

  “No,” repeated the father. “I don’t know who it can be, then. Anybody I’ve ever seen?”

  “Don’t know,” replied Tom; “not sure — p’r’aps you may. No; I think not.”

  “Can’t think,” replied the father.

  “The lovely Miss Angelena Blunt!” proclaimed Tom, with victorious emphasis.

  “Miss Angelena Blunt!” repeated old Hall, with terror-stricken looks—” Miss Angelena Blunt! What, do you mean the colonel’s daughter?”

  “The same,” replied Tom; “most charming captivating creature.”

  “Hem!” mused old Hall.

  His wife and he had had their misgivings about the lavender-coloured flounces, but little dreamt they were so near mischief.

  “Ain’t I a lucky fellow?” asked Tom, wondering that his father didn’t hug him for joy.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin, and fourteen is twenty-five, and nine is thirty-four. If I throw cold water on it, it will only make him worse,” mused he; “and twenty-five is fifty-nine. I’d better humour him. I s’pose she’s a beauty, into the bargain?” observed he, having heard that she was not.

  “Oh! she’s lovely — she’s angelic — she’s perfectly divine!” exclaimed Tom, thinking over all her pretty speeches and prudent inquiries.

  “Sivin and four’s elivin, and ninety-one’s a ‘under’d and two. I’ll sound him about the £ s d.,” thought Hall. “Fifty thousand punds, did you say she had?” asked he.

  “Fifty thousand pounds,” repeated Tom. “Fifty thousand solid substantial sovereigns,” continued he, repeating Major Fib’s information.

  “It’s a vast of money,” observed the father, with a shake of the head.

  “It is,” replied the son; “but not more than such an angel deserves.”

  “Oh, no,” replied the father, who was not to be surfeited with money.

  “It’s near dinner, I s’pose,” said Tom, seeing his father reverting to the bottles, “so I’ll go upstairs and change” — the tightness of his nether garments making him wish to be out of them.

  He then went lobbing upstairs to his room; and old Hall, having hastily deposited the bottles in the cellaret, went to communicate the dread intelligence to his wife in the kitchen. Mrs Hall was horrified. Independently of having set Tom out for a titled lady, she had had a good look at Angelena while cheapening some Irish poplins in Frippery & Co.’s back-shop, and had come to the conclusion that she was nearer thirty than twenty. The fifty thousand pounds she declared she looked upon as purely imaginary; nor did the prospect of having the colonel to protect them from the “new Boney,” as Mrs Hall called the now Prince President of the French, reconcile her to the military connection. However, she took her husband’s advice not to appear to oppose the match — nay, rather to approve it; and dinner over, the evening was spent in narrating the adventures of the day, varied by reiterated explosions respecting Angelena’s beauty, and confidence in the abundance of her wealth. So satisfied was Tom on this latter point,
and so plausible did the ladies’ speeches appear, that the old people came to the conclusion that there might be something in it; and if the “something” amounted to fifty, or even to five-and-twenty thousand pounds, old Hall was inclined for a deal. So, with his usual tumbler of toddy, the old banker at length went to bed.

  Morning brought no change of opinion on the subject; and, urged by his wife, our cautious friend decked himself out in his best black coat and waistcoat, with knee-breeches and black silk stockings, to pay a complimentary fishing visit to the great commander at the barracks. The sooner the thing was settled one way or another the better, they both thought. Having breakfasted, and seen the bank fairly open, and cautioned Trueboy against the “paper” of certain weakly parties who he thought might call, he stepped into Jack Flopperton’s fly, and was soon lilting and tilting over the irregularities of the pavement, raising the speculations of the curious as to whether he was going to a funeral or to a meeting of creditors.

  The colonel and Mrs Blunt had had their talk over the matter, and it had occurred to them that such a visit was likely; so they had had the little room tidied, the colonel’s spare swords and weapons arranged in a conspicuous way, and themselves got up in an extraelegant style. The colonel had anticipated a clean dressing-gown by at least six weeks.

  The grinding of the fly through the barrack-yard attracted Mrs Blunt’s attention, and looking out of the window she saw, dangling over the door, such a fat hand as could belong to none but Tom’s father; so, raising a cry of “Here he is!” the colonel soused himself into the sofa, and Mrs Blunt, sweeping away a pair of his old flannel drawers that she was darning, and the remains of a bottle of stout, threw a painted crimson-and-black cover over the table, and dealt a dirty old “Keepsake,” a copy of ‘Fistiana,’ and an army list around it, as Hall came heaving and puffing upstairs. The flounce of her dress just swept through one door as the soldier-footman announced “Mr Hall” at the other.