The History of Pendennis

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER XLIX. In Shepherd's Inn

  Our friend Pen said "How d'ye do, Mr. Bows," in a loud cheery voice onperceiving that gentleman, and saluted him in a dashing off-hand manner,yet you could have seen a blush upon Arthur's face (answered by Fanny,whose cheek straightway threw out a similar fluttering red signal); andafter Bows and Arthur had shaken hands, and the former had ironicallyaccepted the other's assertion that he was about to pay Mr. Costigan'schambers a visit, there was a gloomy and rather guilty silence in thecompany, which Pen presently tried to dispel by making a great rattlingnoise. The silence of course departed at Mr. Arthur's noise, but thegloom remained and deepened, as the darkness does in a vault if youlight up a single taper in it. Pendennis tried to describe, in a jocularmanner, the transactions of the previous night, and attempted to givean imitation of Costigan vainly expostulating with the check-taker atVauxhall. It was not a good imitation. What stranger can imitate thatperfection? Nobody laughed. Mrs. Bolton did not in the least understandwhat part Mr. Pendennis was performing, and whether it was thecheck-taker or the Captain he was taking off. Fanny wore an alarmedface, and tried a timid giggle; old Mr. Bows looked as glum as when hefiddled in the orchestra, or played a difficult piece upon the old pianoat the Back Kitchen. Pen felt that his story was a failure; his voicesank and dwindled away dismally at the end of it--flickered, and wentout; and it was all dark again. You could hear the ticket-porter, whololls about Shepherd's Inn, as he passed on the flags under the archway:the clink of his boot-heels was noted by everybody.

  "You were coming to see me, sir," Mr. Bows said. "Won't you have thekindness to walk up to my chambers with me? You do them a great honour,I am sure. They are rather high up; but----"

  "Oh! I live in a garret myself, and Shepherd's Inn is twice as cheerfulas Lamb Court," Mr. Pendennis broke in.

  "I knew that you had third-floor apartments," Mr. Bows said; "and wasgoing to say--you will please not take my remark as discourteous--thatthe air up three pair of stairs is wholesomer for gentlemen, than theair of a porter's lodge."

  "Sir!" said Pen, whose candle flamed up again in his wrath, and who wasdisposed to be as quarrelsome as men are when they are in the wrong."Will you permit me to choose my society without----?

  "You were so polite as to say that you were about to honour my umbledomicile with a visit," Mr. Bows said, with his sad voice. "Shall I showyou the way? Mr. Pendennis and I are old friends, Mrs. Bolton--veryold acquaintances; and at the earliest dawn of his life we crossed eachother."

  The old man pointed towards the door with a trembling finger, and a hatin the other hand, and in an attitude slightly theatrical; so were hiswords when he spoke somewhat artificial, and chosen from the vocabularywhich he had heard all his life from the painted lips of the oratorsbefore the stage-lamps. But he was not acting or masquerading, as Penknew very well, though he was disposed to pooh-pooh the old fellow'smelodramatic airs. "Come along, sir," he said, "as you are so verypressing. Mrs. Bolton, I wish you a good day. Good-bye, Miss Fanny; Ishall always think of our night at Vauxhall with pleasure; and be sureI will remember the theatre tickets." And he took her hand, pressed it,was pressed by it, and was gone.

  "What a nice young man, to be sure!" cried Mrs. Bolton.

  "D'you think so, ma?" said Fanny.

  "I was a-thinkin who he was like. When I was at the Wells with Mrs.Serle," Mrs. Bolton continued, looking through the window-curtain afterPen, as he went up the court with Bows, "there was a young gentlemanfrom the city, that used to come in a tilbry, in a white at, the veryimage of him, only his whiskers was black, and Mr. P.'s is red."

  "Law, ma! they are a most beautiful hawburn," Fanny said.

  "He used to come for Emly Budd, who danced Columbine in 'ArleykinOrnpipe, or the Battle of Navarino,' when Miss De la Bosky was tookill--a pretty dancer, and a fine stage figure of a woman--and he was agreat sugar-baker in the city, with a country ouse at Omerton; and heused to drive her in the tilbry down Goswell Street Road; and one daythey drove and was married at St. Bartholomew's Church, Smithfield,where they had their bands read quite private; and she now keepsher carriage, and I sor her name in the paper as patroness of theManshing-House Ball for the Washywomen's Asylum. And look at LadyMirabel--capting Costigan's daughter--she was profeshnl, as all verywell know." Thus, and more to this purpose, Mrs. Bolton spoke, nowpeeping through the window-curtain, now cleaning the mugs and plates,and consigning them to their place in the corner cupboard; and finishingher speech as she and Fanny shook out and folded up the dinner-clothbetween them, and restored it to its drawer in the table.

  Although Costigan had once before been made pretty accurately tounderstand what Pen's pecuniary means and expectations were, I supposeCos had forgotten the information acquired at Chatteris years ago, orhad been induced by his natural enthusiasm to exaggerate his friend'sincome. He had described Fairoaks Park in the most glowing terms toMrs. Bolton, on the preceding evening, as he was walking about with herduring Pen's little escapade with Fanny, had dilated upon the enormouswealth of Pen's famous uncle, the Major, and shown an intimateacquaintance with Arthur's funded and landed property. Very likely Mrs.Bolton, in her wisdom, had speculated upon these matters during thenight; and had had visions of Fanny driving in her carriage, like Mrs.Bolton's old comrade, the dancer of Sadler's Wells.

  In the last operation of table-cloth folding, these two foolish women,of necessity, came close together; and as Fanny took the cloth and gaveit the last fold, her mother put her finger under the young girl's chin,and kissed her. Again the red signal flew out, and fluttered on Fanny'scheek. What did it mean? It was not alarm this time. It was pleasurewhich caused the poor little Fanny to blush so. Poor little Fanny! What?is love sin? that it is so pleasant at the beginning, and so bitter atthe end?

  After the embrace, Mrs. Bolton thought proper to say that she was a-goinout upon business, and that Fanny must keep the lodge; which Fanny,after a very faint objection indeed, consented to do. So Mrs. Boltontook her bonnet and market-basket, and departed; and the instant she wasgone, Fanny went and sae by the window which commanded Bows's door, andnever once took her eyes away from that quarter of Shepherd's Inn.

  Betsy-Jane and Ameliar-Ann were buzzing in one corner of the place, andmaking believe to read out of a picture-book, which one of themheld topsy-turvy. It was a grave and dreadful tract, of Mr. Bolton'scollection. Fanny did not hear her sisters prattling over it. Shenoticed nothing but Bows's door.

  At last she gave a little shake, and her eyes lighted up. He had comeout. He would pass the door again. But her poor little countenance fellin an instant more. Pendennis, indeed, came out; but Bows followed afterhim. They passed under the archway together. He only took off his hat,and bowed as he looked in. He did not stop to speak.

  In three or four minutes--Fanny did not know how long, but she lookedfuriously at him when he came into the lodge--Bows returned alone, andentered into the porter's room.

  "Where's your Ma, dear?" he said to Fanny.

  "I don't know," Fanny said, with an angry toss. "I don't follow Ma'ssteps wherever she goes, I suppose, Mr. Bows."

  "Am I my mother's keeper?" Bows said, with his usual melancholybitterness. "Come here, Betsy-Jane and Amelia-Ann; I've brought a cakefor the one who can read her letters best, and a cake for the other whocan read them the next best."

  When the young ladies had undergone the examination through which Bowsput them, they were rewarded with their gingerbread medals, and went offto discuss them in the court. Meanwhile Fanny took out some work, andpretended to busy herself with it, her mind being in great excitementand anger, as she plied her needle. Bows sate so that he could commandthe entrance from the lodge to the street. But the person whom, perhaps,he expected to see, never made his appearance again. And Mrs. Boltoncame in from market, and found Mr. Bows in place of the person whom shehad expected to see. The reader perhaps can guess what was his name?

  The interview between Bows and his guest, when those two mounted to theapartment occupie
d by the former in common with the descendant of theMilesian kings, was not particularly satisfactory to either party. Penwas sulky. If Bows had anything on his mind, he did not care to deliverhimself of his thoughts in the presence of Captain Costigan, whoremained in the apartment during the whole of Pen's visit; havingquitted his bedchamber, indeed, but a very few minutes before thearrival of that gentleman. We have witnessed the deshabille of MajorPendennis: will any man wish to be valet-de-chambre to our other hero,Costigan? It would seem that the Captain, before issuing from hisbedroom, scented himself with otto-of-whisky. A rich odour of thatdelicious perfume breathed from out him, as he held out the grasp ofcordiality to his visitor. The hand which performed that grasp shookwofully: it was a wonder how it could hold the razor with which the poorgentleman daily operated on his chin.

  Bows's room was as neat, on the other hand, as his comrade's wasdisorderly. His humble wardrobe hung behind a curtain. His books andmanuscript music were trimly arranged upon shelves. A lithographedportrait of Miss Fotheringay, as Mrs. Haller, with the actress'ssprawling signature at the corner, hung faithfully over the oldgentleman's bed. Lady Mirabel wrote much better than Miss Fotheringayhad been able to do. Her Ladyship had laboured assiduously to acquirethe art of penmanship since her marriage; and, in a common note ofinvitation or acceptance, acquitted herself very genteelly. Bows lovedthe old handwriting best, though; the fair artist's earlier manner.He had but one specimen of the new style, a note in reply to a songcomposed and dedicated to Lady Mirabel, by her most humble servantRobert Bows; and which document was treasured in his desk amongst hisother state papers. He was teaching Fanny Bolton now to sing and towrite, as he had taught Emily in former days. It was the nature of theman to attach himself to something. When Emily was torn from him he tooka substitute: as a man looks out for a crutch when he loses a leg; orlashes himself to a raft when he has suffered shipwreck. Latude hadgiven his heart to a woman, no doubt, before he grew to be so fond of amouse in the Bastille. There are people who in their youth have felt andinspired an heroic passion, and end by being happy in the caresses,or agitated by the illness of a poodle. But it was hard upon Bows, andgrating to his feelings as a man and a sentimentalist, that he shouldfind Pen again upon his track, and in pursuit of this little Fanny.

  Meanwhile, Costigan had not the least idea but that his company wasperfectly welcome to Messrs. Pendennis and Bows, and that the visitof the former was intended for himself. He expressed himself greatlypleased with that mark of poloightness and promised, in his own mind,that he would repay that obligation at least--which was not the onlydebt which the Captain owed in life--by several visits to his youngfriend. He entertained him affably with news of the day, or rather often days previous; for Pen, in his quality of Journalist, remembered tohave seen some of the Captain's opinions in the Sporting and TheatricalNewspaper, which was Costigan's oracle. He stated that Sir Charles andLady Mirabel were gone to Baden-Baden, and were most pressing in theirinvitations that he should join them there. Pen replied with greatgravity, that he had heard that Baden was very pleasant, and the GrandDuke exceedingly hospitable to English. Costigan answered, that the lawsof hospitalitee bekeam a Grand Juke; that he sariously would think aboutvisiting him; and made some remarks upon the splendid festivities atDublin Castle, when his Excellency the Earl of Portansherry held theViceraygal Coort there, and of which he, Costigan, had been a humble butpleased spectator. And Pen--as he heard these oft-told well-rememberedlegends--recollected the time when he had given a sort of credence tothem, and had a certain respect for the Captain. Emily and first love,and the little room at Chatteris, and the kind talk with Bows on thebridge, came back to him. He felt quite kindly disposed towards his twoold friends; and cordially shook the hands of both of them when he roseto go away.

  He had quite forgotten about little Fanny Bolton whilst the Captain wastalking, and Pen himself was absorbed in other selfish meditations. Heonly remembered her again as Bows came hobbling down the stairs afterhim, bent evidently upon following him out of Shepherd's Inn.

  Mr. Bows's precaution was not a lucky one. The wrath of Mr. ArthurPendennis rose at the poor old fellow's feeble persecution. Confoundhim, what does he mean by dogging me? thought Pen. And he burst outlaughing when he was in the Strand and by himself, as he thought of theelder's stratagem. It was not an honest laugh, Arthur Pendennis. Perhapsthe thought struck Arthur himself, and he blushed at his own sense ofhumour.

  He went off to endeavour to banish the thoughts which occupied him,whatever those thoughts might be, and tried various places of amusementwith but indifferent success. He struggled up the highest stairs ofthe Panorama; but when he had arrived, panting at the height of theeminence, Care had come up with him, and was bearing him company. Hewent to the Club, and wrote a long letter home, exceedingly witty andsarcastic, and in which, if he did not say a single word about Vauxhalland Fanny Bolton, it was because he thought that subject, howeverinteresting to himself, would not be very interesting to his mother andLaura. Nor could the novels or the library table fix his attention, northe grave and respectable Jawkins (the only man in town), who wished toengage him in conversation; nor any of the amusements which he tried,after flying from Jawkins. He passed a Comic Theatre on his way home,and saw 'Stunning Farce,' 'Roars of Laughter,' 'Good Old English Fun andFrolic,' placarded in vermilion letters on the gate. He went into thepit, and saw the lovely Mrs. Leary, as usual, in a man's attire; andthat eminent buffo actor, Tom Horseman, dressed as a woman. Horseman'stravesty seemed to him a horrid and hideous degradation; Mrs. Leary'sglances and ankles had not the least effect. He laughed again, andbitterly, to himself, as he thought of the effect which she hadproduced upon him, on the first night of his arrival in London, a shorttime--what a long long time ago!