CHAPTER LVI. In which Fanny engages a new Medical Man
Could Helen have suspected that, with Pen's returning strength, hisunhappy partiality for little Fanny would also reawaken? Though shenever spoke a word regarding that young person, after her conversationwith the Major, and though, to all appearances, she utterly ignoredFanny's existence, yet Mrs. Pendennis kept a particularly close watchupon all Master Arthur's actions; on the plea of ill-health wouldscarcely let him out of her sight; and was especially anxious that heshould be spared the trouble of all correspondence for the present atleast. Very likely Arthur looked at his own letters with some tremor;very likely, as he received them at the family table, feeling hismother's watch upon him (though the good soul's eye seemed fixed uponher teacup or her book), he expected daily to see a little handwriting,which he would have known, though he had never seen it yet, and hisheart beat as he received the letters to his address. Was he morepleased or annoyed, that, day after day, his expectations were notrealised; and was his mind relieved, that there came no letter fromFanny? Though, no doubt, in these matters, when Lovelace is tired ofClarissa (or the contrary) it is best for both parties to break at once,and each, after the failure of the attempt at union, to go his own way,and pursue his course through life solitary; yet our self-love, or ourpity, or our sense of decency, does not like that sudden bankruptcy.Before we announce to the world that our firm of Lovelace and Co. can'tmeet its engagements, we try to make compromises: we have mournfulmeetings of partners: we delay the putting up of the shutters, and thedreary announcement of the failure. It must come: but we pawn our jewelsto keep things going a little longer. On the whole, I dare say, Pen wasrather annoyed that he had no remonstrances from Fanny. What! could shepart from him, and never so much as once look round? could she sink, andnever once hold a little hand out, or cry, "Help, Arthur?" Well, well:they don't all go down who venture on that voyage. Some few drown whenthe vessel founders; but most are only ducked, and scramble to shore.And the reader's experience of A. Pendennis, Esquire, of the UpperTemple, will enable him to state whether that gentleman belonged to theclass of persons who were likely to sink or to swim.
Though Pen was as yet too weak to walk half a mile; and might not, onaccount of his precious health, be trusted to take a drive in a carriageby himself, and without a nurse in attendance; yet Helen could not keepwatch over Mr. Warrington too, and had no authority to prevent thatgentleman from going to London if business called him thither. Indeed,if he had gone and stayed, perhaps the widow, from reasons of her own,would have been glad; but she checked these selfish wishes as soonas she ascertained or owned them; and, remembering Warrington's greatregard and services, and constant friendship for her boy, received himas a member of her family almost, with her usual melancholy kindnessand submissive acquiescence. Yet somehow, one morning when his affairscalled him to town, she divined what Warrington's errand was, and thathe was gone to London to get news about Fanny for Pen.
Indeed, Arthur had had some talk with his friend, and told him moreat large what his adventures had been with Fanny (adventures which thereader knows already), and what were his feelings respecting her. He wasvery thankful that he had escaped the great danger, to which Warringtonsaid Amen heartily: that he had no great fault wherewith to reproachhimself in regard of his behaviour to her, but that if they parted, asthey must, he would be glad to say a God bless her, and to hope thatshe would remember him kindly. In his discourse with Warrington hespoke upon these matters with so much gravity, and so much emotion, thatGeorge, who had pronounced himself most strongly for the separation too,began to fear that his friend was not so well cured as he boasted ofbeing; and that, if the two were to come together again, all the dangerand the temptation might have to be fought once more. And with whatresult? "It is hard to struggle, Arthur, and it is easy to fall,"Warrington said: "and the best courage for us poor wretches is to flyfrom danger. I would not have been what I am now, had I practised what Ipreach.
"And what did you practise, George?" Pen asked, eagerly. "I knew therewas something. Tell us about it, Warrington."
"There was something that can't be mended, and that shattered my wholefortunes early," Warrington answered. "I said I would tell you about itsome day, Pen: and will, but not now. Take the moral without the fablenow, Pen, my boy; and if you want to see a man whose whole life has beenwrecked, by an unlucky rock against which he struck as a boy--here heis, Arthur: and so I warn you."
We have shown how Mr. Huxter, in writing home to his Clavering friends,mentioned that there was a fashionable club in London of which he wasan attendant, and that he was there in the habit of meeting an Irishofficer of distinction, who, amongst other news, had given thatintelligence regarding Pendennis, which the young surgeon hadtransmitted to Clavering. This club was no other than the Back Kitchen,where the disciple of Saint Bartholomew was accustomed to meet theGeneral, the peculiarities of whose brogue, appearance, disposition, andgeneral conversation, greatly diverted many young gentlemen who usedthe Back Kitchen as a place of nightly entertainment and refreshment.Huxter, who had a fine natural genius for mimicking everything, whetherit was a favourite tragic or comic actor, or a cock on a dunghill, acorkscrew going into a bottle and a cork issuing thence, or an Irishofficer of genteel connexions who offered himself as an object ofimitation with only too much readiness, talked his talk, and twanged hispoor old long bow whenever drink, a hearer, and an opportunity occurred,studied our friend the General with peculiar gusto, and drew thehonest fellow out many a night. A bait, consisting of sixpennyworth ofbrandy-and-water, the worthy old man was sure to swallow: and under theinfluence of this liquor, who was more happy than he to tell his storiesof his daughter's triumphs and his own, in love, war, drink, and politesociety? Thus Huxter was enabled to present to his friends many picturesof Costigan: of Costigan fighting a jewel in the Phaynix--of Costiganand his interview with the Juke of York--of Costigan at his sonunlaw'steeble, surrounded by the nobilitee of his countree--of Costigan,when crying drunk, at which time he was in the habit of confidentiallylamenting his daughter's ingratichewd, and stating that his grey hairswere hastening to a praymachure greeve. And thus our friend was themeans of bringing a number of young fellows to the Back Kitchen, whoconsumed the landlord's liquors whilst they relished the General'speculiarities, so that mine host pardoned many of the latter's foibles,in consideration of the good which they brought to his house. Not thehighest position in life was this--certainly, or one which, if we had areverence for an old man, we would be anxious that he should occupy: butof this aged buffoon it may be mentioned that he had no particular ideathat his condition of life was not a high one, and that in his whiskiedblood there was not a black drop, nor in his muddled brains a bitterfeeling, against any mortal being. Even his child, his cruel Emily, hewould have taken to his heart and forgiven with tears; and what more canone say of the Christian charity of a man than that he is actually readyto forgive those who have done him every kindness, and with whom he iswrong in a dispute!
There was some idea amongst the young men who frequented the BackKitchen, and made themselves merry with the society of Captain Costigan,that the Captain made a mystery regarding his lodgings for fear of duns,or from a desire of privacy, and lived in some wonderful place. Norwould the landlord of the premises, when questioned upon this subject,answer any inquiries; his maxim being that he only knew gentlemen whofrequented that room, in that room; that when they quitted that room,having paid their scores as gentlemen, and behaved as gentlemen, hiscommunication with them ceased; and that, as a gentleman himself,he thought it was only impertinent curiosity to ask where any othergentleman lived. Costigan, in his most intoxicated and confidentialmoments, also evaded any replies to questions or hints addressed to himon this subject: there was no particular secret about it, as we haveseen, who have had more than once the honour of entering his apartments,but in the vicissitudes of a long life he had been pretty often in thehabit of residing in houses where privacy was necessary to his comfort,and wher
e the appearance of some visitors would have brought himanything but pleasure. Hence all sorts of legends were formed by wags orcredulous persons respecting his place of abode. It was stated that heslept habitually in a watch-box in the city: in a cab at a mews, where acab-proprietor gave him a shelter: in the Duke of York's Column etc,the wildest of these theories being put abroad by the facetious andimaginative Huxter. For Huxey, when not silenced by the company of"swells," and when in the society of his own friends, was a verydifferent fellow to the youth whom we have seen cowed by Pen'simpertinent airs, and, adored by his family at home, was the life andsoul of the circle whom he met, either round the festive board or thedissecting table. On one brilliant September morning, as Huxter wasregaling himself with a cup of coffee at a stall in Covent Garden,having spent a delicious night dancing at Vauxhall, he spied the Generalreeling down Henrietta Street, with a crowd of hooting blackguard boysat his heels, who had left their beds under the arches of the riverbetimes, and were prowling about already for breakfast, and the strangelivelihood of the day. The poor old General was not in that conditionwhen the sneers and jokes of these young beggars had much effect uponhim: the cabmen and watermen at the cabstand knew him and passed theircomments upon him: the policemen gazed after him and warned the boys offhim, with looks of scorn and pity; what did the scorn and pity of men,the jokes of ribald children, matter to the General? He reeled along thestreet with glazed eyes, having just sense enough to know whither he wasbound, and to pursue his accustomed beat homewards. He went to bed notknowing how he had reached it, as often as any man in London. He wokeand found himself there, and asked no questions, and he was tackingabout on this daily though perilous voyage, when, from his stationat the coffee-stall, Huxter spied him. To note his friend, to pay histwopence (indeed, he had but eightpence left, or he would have had a cabfrom Vauxhall to take him home), was with the eager Huxter the work ofan instant--Costigan dived down the alleys by Drury Lane Theatre,where gin-shops, oyster-shops, and theatrical wardrobes abound, theproprietors of which were now asleep behind their shutters, as thepink morning lighted up their chimneys; and through these courts Huxterfollowed the General, until he reached Oldcastle Street, in which is thegate of Shepherd's Inn.
Here, just as he was within sight of home, a luckless slice oforange-peel came between the General's heel and the pavement, and causedthe poor old fellow to fall backwards.
Huxter ran up to him instantly, and after a pause, during which theveteran, giddy with his fall and his previous whisky, gathered, as hebest might, his dizzy brains together, the young surgeon lifted up thelimping General, and very kindly and good-naturedly offered to conducthim to his home. For some time, and in reply to the queries which thestudent of medicine put to him, the muzzy General refused to say wherehis lodgings were and declared that they were hard by, and that he couldreach them without difficulty; and he disengaged himself from Huxter'sarm, and made a rush as if to get to his own home unattended: but hereeled and lurched so, that the young surgeon insisted upon accompanyinghim, and, with many soothing expressions and cheering and consolatoryphrases, succeeded in getting the General's dirty old hand under whathe called his own fin, and led the old fellow, moaning piteously, acrossthe street. He stopped when he came to the ancient gate, ornamented withthe armorial bearings of the venerable Shepherd. "Here 'tis," said he,drawing up at the portal, and he made a successful pull at the gatebell, which presently brought out old Mr. Bolton, the porter, scowlingfiercely, and grumbling as he was used to do every morning when itbecame his turn to let in that early bird.
Costigan tried to hold Bolton for a moment in genteel conversation, butthe other surlily would not. "Don't bother me," said he; "go to yourhown bed Capting, and don't keep honest men out of theirs." So theCaptain tacked across the square and reached his own staircase, up whichhe stumbled with the worthy Huxter at his heels. Costigan had a key ofhis own, which Huxter inserted into the keyhole for him, so that therewas no need to call up little Mr. Bows from the sleep into which the oldmusician had not long since fallen, and Huxter having aided to disrobehis tipsy patient, and ascertained that no bones were broken, helped himto bed and applied compresses an water to one of his knees and shins,which, with the pair of trousers which encased them, Costigan hadseverely torn in his fall. At the General's age, and with his habit ofbody, such wounds as he had inflicted on himself are slow to heal: agood deal of inflammation ensued, and the old fellow lay ill for somedays, suffering both pain and fever.
Mr. Huxter undertook the case of his interesting patient with greatconfidence and alacrity, and conducted it with becoming skill. Hevisited his friend day after day, and consoled him with lively rattleand conversation for the absence of the society which Costigan needed,and of which he was an ornament; and he gave special instructions to theinvalid's nurse about the quantity of whisky which the patient was totake--instructions which, as the poor old fellow could not for many daysget out of his bed or sofa himself, he could not by any means infringe.Bows, Mrs. Bolton, and our little friend Fanny, when able to do so,officiated at the General's bedside, and the old warrior was made ascomfortable as possible under his calamity.
Thus Huxter, whose affable manners and social turn made himquickly intimate with persons in whose society he fell, and whoseover-refinement did not lead them to repulse the familiarities of thisyoung gentleman, became pretty soon intimate in Shepherd's Inn, bothwith our acquaintances in the garrets and those in the porter's lodge.He thought he had seen Fanny somewhere: he felt certain that he had: butit is no wonder that he should not accurately remember her, for the poorlittle thing never chose to tell him where she had met him: he himselfhad seen her at a period, when his own views both of persons and ofright and wrong were clouded by the excitement of drinking and dancing,and also little Fanny was very much changed and worn by the fever andagitation, and passion and despair, which the past three weeks hadpoured upon the head of that little victim. Borne down was the head now,and very pale and wan the face; and many and many a time the sad eyeshad looked into the postman's, as he came to the Inn, and the sickenedheart had sunk as he passed away. When Mr. Costigan's accident occurred,Fanny was rather glad to have an opportunity of being useful and doingsomething kind--something that would make her forget her own littlesorrows perhaps: she felt she bore them better whilst she did her duty,though I dare say many a tear dropped into the old Irishman's gruel. Ah,me! stir the gruel well, and have courage, little Fanny! If everybodywho has suffered from your complaint were to die of it straightway, whata fine year the undertakers would have!
Whether from compassion for his only patient, or delight in his society,Mr. Huxter found now occasion to visit Costigan two or three times inthe day at least, and if any of the members of the porter's lodge familywere not in attendance on the General, the young doctor was sure to havesome particular directions to address to those at their own place ofhabitation. He was a kind fellow; he made or purchased toys for thechildren; he brought them apples and brandy-balls; he brought a mask andfrightened them with it, and caused a smile upon the face of pale Fanny.He called Mrs. Bolton Mrs. B., and was very intimate, familiar, andfacetious with that lady, quite different from that "aughty, artlessbeast," as Mrs. Bolton now denominated a certain young gentleman of ouracquaintance, and whom she now vowed she never could abear.
It was from this lady, who was very free in her conversation, thatHuxter presently learnt what was the illness which was evidently preyingupon little Fan, and what had been Pen's behaviour regarding her.Mrs. Bolton's account of the transaction was not, it may be imagined,entirely an impartial narrative. One would have thought from her storythat the young gentleman had employed a course of the most perseveringand flagitious artifices to win the girl's heart, had broken the mostsolemn promises made to her and was a wretch to be hated and chastisedby every champion of woman. Huxter, in his present frame of mindrespecting Arthur, and suffering under the latter's contumely, wasready, of course, to take all for granted that was said in the disfavourof this unfortunate
convalescent. But why did he not write home toClavering, as he had done previously, giving an account of Pen'smisconduct, and of the particulars regarding it, which had now come tohis knowledge? He soon, in a letter to his brother-in-law, announcedthat that nice young man, Mr. Pendennis, had escaped narrowly from afever, and that no doubt all Clavering, where he was so popular, wouldbe pleased at his recovery; and he mentioned that he had an interestingcase of compound fracture, an officer of distinction, which kept himin town; but as for Fanny Bolton, he made no more mention of her in hisletters--no more than Pen himself had made mention of her. O you mothersat home, how much do you think you know about your lads? How much do youthink you know?
But with Bows, there was no reason why Huxter should not speak his mind,and so, a very short time after his conversation with Mrs. Bolton, Mr.Sam talked to the musician about his early acquaintance with Pendennis;described him as a confounded conceited blackguard, and expressed adetermination to punch his impudent head as soon as ever he should bewell enough to stand up like a man.
Then it was that Bows on his part spoke and told his version of thestory, whereof Arthur and little Fan were the hero and heroine; how theyhad met by no contrivance of the former, but by a blunder of theold Irishman, now in bed with a broken shin--how Pen had acted withmanliness and self-control in the business--how Mrs Bolton was an idiot;and he related the conversation which he, Bows, had had with Pen, andthe sentiments uttered by the young man. Perhaps Bow's story caused sometwinges of conscience in the breast of Pen's accuser, and that gentlemanfrankly owned that he had been wrong with regard to Arthur, and withdrewhis project for punching Mr. Pendennis's head.
But the cessation of his hostility for Pen did not diminish Huxter'sattentions to Fanny, which unlucky Mr Bows marked with his usualjealousy and bitterness of spirit, "I have but to like anybody" the oldfellow thought, "and somebody is sure to come and be preferred to me. Ithas been the same ill-luck with me since I was a lad, until now that Iam sixty years old. What can such a man as I am expect better than to belaughed at? It is for the young to succeed, and to be happy, and not forold fools like me. I've played a second fiddle through life," he said,with a bitter laugh; "how can I suppose the luck is to change after ithas gone against me so long?" This was the selfish way in which Bowslooked at the state of affairs: though few persons would have thoughtthere was any cause for his jealousy, who looked at the pale andgrief-stricken countenance of the hapless little girl, its object.Fanny received Huxter's good-natured efforts at consolation and kindattentions kindly. She laughed now and again at his jokes and games withher little sisters, but relapsed quickly into a dejection which ought tohave satisfied Mr. Bows that the new-comer had no place in her heart asyet, had jealous Mr. Bows been enabled to see with clear eyes.
But Bows did not. Fanny attributed Pen's silence somehow to Bows'sinterference. Fanny hated him. Fanny treated Bows with constant crueltyand injustice. She turned from him when he spoke--she loathed hisattempts at consolation. A hard life had Mr. Bows, and a cruel returnfor his regard.
When Warrington came to Shepherd's Inn as Pen's ambassador, it was forMr. Bows's apartments he inquired (no doubt upon a previous agreementwith the principal for whom he acted in this delicate negotiation), andhe did not so much as catch a glimpse of Miss Fanny when he stopped atthe Inn-gate and made his inquiry. Warrington was, of course, directedto the musician's chambers, and found him tending the patient there,from whose chamber he came out to wait upon his guest. We have said thatthey had been previously known to one another, and the pair shook handswith sufficient cordiality. After a little preliminary talk, Warringtonsaid that he had come from his friend Arthur Pendennis, and from hisfamily, to thank Bows for his attention at the commencement of Pen'sillness, and for his kindness in hastening into the country to fetch theMajor.
Bows replied that it was but his duty: he had never thought to haveseen the young gentleman alive again when he went in search of Pen'srelatives, and he was very glad of Mr. Pendennis's recovery, and thathe had his friends with him. "Lucky are they who have friends, Mr.Warrington," said the musician. "I might be up in this garret and nobodywould care for me, or mind whether I was alive or dead."
"What! not the General, Mr. Bows?" Warrington asked.
"The General likes his whisky-bottle more than anything in life," theother answered; "we live together from habit and convenience; and hecares for me no more than you do. What is it you want to ask me, Mr.Warrington? You ain't come to visit me, I know very well. Nobody comesto visit me. It is about Fanny, the porter's daughter, you are come--Isee that--very well. Is Mr. Pendennis, now he has got well, anxiousto see her again? Does his lordship the Sultan propose to throw his'andkerchief to her? She has been very ill, sir, ever since the day whenMrs. Pendennis turned her out of doors--kind of a lady, wasn't it?The poor girl and myself found the young gentleman raving in a fever,knowing nobody, with nobody to tend him but his drunken laundress--shewatched day and night by him. I set off to fetch his uncle. Mamma comesand turns Fanny to the right-about. Uncle comes and leaves me to pay thecab. Carry my compliments to the ladies and gentleman, and say we areboth very thankful, very. Why, a countess couldn't have behaved better,and for an apothecary's lady, as I'm given to understand Mrs. Pendenniswas--I'm sure her behaviour is most uncommon aristocratic and genteel.She ought to have a double-gilt pestle and mortar to her coach."
It was from Mr. Huxter that Bows had learned Pen's parentage, no doubt,and if he took Pen's part against the young surgeon, and Fanny's againstMr. Pendennis, it was because the old gentleman was in so savage a mood,that his humour was to contradict everybody.
Warrington was curious, and not ill pleased at the musician's taunts andirascibility. "I never heard of these transactions," he said, "or gotbut a very imperfect account of them from Major Pendennis. What was alady to do? I think (I have never spoken with her on the subject) shehad some notion that the young woman and my friend Pen were on--onterms of--of an intimacy which Mrs. Pendennis could not, of course,recognise----"
"Oh, of course not, sir. Speak out, sir; say what you mean at once,that the young gentleman of the Temple had made a victim of the girl ofShepherd's Inn, eh? And so she was turned to be out of doors--or brayedalive in the double-gilt pestle and mortar, by Jove! No, Mr. Warrington,there was no such thing: there was no victimising, or if there was,Mr. Arthur was the victim, not the girl. He is an honest fellow, he is,though he is conceited, and a puppy sometimes. He can feel like a man,and run away from temptation like a man. I own it, though I suffer byit, I own it. He has a heart, he has: but the girl hasn't, sir. Thatgirl will do anything to win a man, and fling him away without a pang,sir. If she's flung away herself, sir, she'll feel it and cry. She had afever when Mrs. Pendennis turned her out of doors; and she made love tothe Doctor, Doctor Goodenough, who came to cure her. Now she has takenon with another chap--another sawbones, ha, ha! d---- it, sir, she likesthe pestle and mortar, and hangs round the pill-boxes, she's so fondof 'em, and she has got a fellow from Saint Bartholomew's, who grinsthrough a horse-collar for her sisters, and charms away her melancholy.Go and see, sir: very likely he's in the lodge now. If you want newsabout Miss Fanny, you must ask at the Doctor's shop, sir, not of an oldfiddler like me--Good-bye, sir. There's my patient calling."
And a voice was heard from the Captain's bedroom, a well-known voice,which said, "I'd loike a dthrop of dthrink, Bows, I'm thirstee." Andnot sorry, perhaps, to hear that such was the state of things, and thatPen's forsaken was consoling herself, Warrington took his leave of theirascible musician.
As luck would have it, he passed the lodge door just as Mr. Huxter wasin the act of frightening the children with the mask whereof we havespoken, and Fanny was smiling languidly at his farces. Warringtonlaughed bitterly. "Are all women like that?" he thought. "I thinkthere's one that's not," he added, with a sigh.
At Piccadilly, waiting for the Richmond omnibus, George fell in withMajor Pendennis, bound in the same direction, and he told the oldgentleman of what he had
seen and heard respecting Fanny.
Major Pendennis was highly delighted: and as might be expected of sucha philosopher, made precisely the same observation as that which hadescaped from Warrington. "All women are the same," he said. "La petitese console. Daymy, when I used to read 'Telemaque' at school, Calypso nepouvait se consoler,--you know the rest, Warrington,--I used to sayit was absard. Absard, by Gad, and so it is. And so she's got a newsoupirant, has she, the little porteress? Dayvlish nice little girl. Howmad Pen will be--eh, Warrington? But we must break it to him gently, orhe'll be in such a rage that he will be going after her again. We mustmenager the young fellow."
"I think Mrs. Pendennis ought to know that Pen acted very well in thebusiness. She evidently thinks him guilty, and according to Mr. Bows,Arthur behaved like a good fellow," Warrington said.
"My dear Warrington," said the Major, with a look of some alarm, "inMrs. Pendennis's agitated state of health and that sort of thing, thebest way, I think, is not to say a single word about the subject--or,stay, leave it to me: and I'll talk to her--break it to her gently,you know, and that sort of thing. I give you my word I will. And soCalypso's consoled, is she," And he sniggered over this gratifyingtruth, happy in the corner of the omnibus during the rest of thejourney.
Pen was very anxious to hear from his envoy what had been the result ofthe latter's mission; and as soon as the two young men could be alone,the ambassador spoke in reply to Arthur's eager queries.
"You remember your poem, Pen, of Ariadne in Naxos," Warrington said;"devilish bad poetry it was, to be sure."
"Apres?" asked Pen, in a great state of excitement.
"When Theseus left Ariadne, do you remember what happened to her, youngfellow?"
"It's a lie, it's a lie! You don't mean that!" cried out Pen, startingup, his face turning red.
"Sit down, stoopid," Warrington said, and with two fingers pushed Penback into his seat again. "It's better for you as it is, young one," hesaid sadly, in reply to the savage flush in Arthur's face.
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