The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER VII.

  I AM MADE WELCOME AT WALCOTE.

  As they came up to the house at Walcote, the windows from within werelighted up with friendly welcome; the supper-table was spread in theoak-parlor; it seemed as if forgiveness and love were awaiting thereturning prodigal. Two or three familiar faces of domestics were on thelook-out at the porch--the old housekeeper was there, and young Lockwoodfrom Castlewood in my lord's livery of tawny and blue. His dear mistresspressed his arm as they passed into the hall. Her eyes beamed out on himwith affection indescribable. "Welcome," was all she said, as she lookedup, putting back her fair curls and black hood. A sweet rosy smileblushed on her face; Harry thought he had never seen her look socharming. Her face was lighted with a joy that was brighter thanbeauty--she took a hand of her son who was in the hall waiting hismother--she did not quit Esmond's arm.

  "Welcome, Harry!" my young lord echoed after her. "Here, we are all cometo say so. Here's old Pincot, hasn't she grown handsome?" and Pincot,who was older, and no handsomer than usual, made a curtsy to theCaptain, as she called Esmond, and told my lord to "Have done, now."

  "And here's Jack Lockwood. He'll make a famous grenadier, Jack; and soshall I; we'll both 'list under you, Cousin. As soon as I'm seventeen,I go to the army--every gentleman goes to the army. Look! who comeshere--ho, ho!" he burst into a laugh. "'Tis Mistress Trix, with a newribbon; I knew she would put one on as soon as she heard a captain wascoming to supper."

  This laughing colloquy took place in the hall of Walcote House: in themidst of which is a staircase that leads from an open gallery, where arethe doors of the sleeping chambers: and from one of these, a wax candlein her hand, and illuminating her, came Mistress Beatrix--the lightfalling indeed upon the scarlet ribbon which she wore, and upon the mostbrilliant white neck in the world.

  Esmond had left a child and found a woman, grown beyond the commonheight; and arrived at such a dazzling completeness of beauty, thathis eyes might well show surprise and delight at beholding her. In hersthere was a brightness so lustrous and melting, that I have seen a wholeassembly follow her as if by an attraction irresistible: and that nightthe great Duke was at the playhouse after Ramillies, every soul turnedand looked (she chanced to enter at the opposite side of the theatre atthe same moment) at her, and not at him. She was a brown beauty: thatis, her eyes, hair, and eyebrows and eyelashes were dark: her haircurling with rich undulations, and waving over her shoulders; but hercomplexion was as dazzling white as snow in sunshine; except her cheeks,which were a bright red, and her lips, which were of a still deepercrimson. Her mouth and chin, they said, were too large and full, and sothey might be for a goddess in marble, but not for a woman whose eyeswere fire, whose look was love, whose voice was the sweetest low song,whose shape was perfect symmetry, health, decision, activity, whosefoot as it planted itself on the ground was firm but flexible, and whosemotion, whether rapid or slow, was always perfect grace--agile asa nymph, lofty as a queen,--now melting, now imperious, nowsarcastic--there was no single movement of hers but was beautiful. As hethinks of her, he who writes feels young again, and remembers a paragon.

  So she came holding her dress with one fair rounded arm, and her taperbefore her, tripping down the stair to greet Esmond.

  "She hath put on her scarlet stockings and white shoes," says my lord,still laughing. "Oh, my fine mistress! is this the way you set your capat the Captain?" She approached, shining smiles upon Esmond, who couldlook at nothing but her eyes. She advanced holding forward her head, asif she would have him kiss her as he used to do when she was a child.

  "Stop," she said, "I am grown too big! Welcome, cousin Harry," and shemade him an arch curtsy, sweeping down to the ground almost, with themost gracious bend, looking up the while with the brightest eyes andsweetest smile. Love seemed to radiate from her. Harry eyed her withsuch a rapture as the first lover is described as having by Milton.

  "N'est-ce pas?" says my lady, in a low, sweet voice, still hanging onhis arm.

  Esmond turned round with a start and a blush, as he met his mistress'sclear eyes. He had forgotten her, rapt in admiration of the filiapulcrior.

  "Right foot forward, toe turned out, so: now drop the curtsy, and showthe red stockings, Trix. They've silver clocks, Harry. The Dowager sent'em. She went to put 'em on," cries my lord.

  "Hush, you stupid child!" says Miss, smothering her brother with kisses;and then she must come and kiss her mamma, looking all the while atHarry, over his mistress's shoulder. And if she did not kiss him, shegave him both her hands, and then took one of his in both hands, andsaid, "Oh, Harry, we're so, SO glad you're come!"

  "There are woodcocks for supper," says my lord. "Huzzay! It was such ahungry sermon."

  "And it is the 29th of December; and our Harry has come home."

  "Huzzay, old Pincot!" again says my lord; and my dear lady's lips lookedas if they were trembling with a prayer. She would have Harry lead inBeatrix to the supper-room, going herself with my young Lord Viscount;and to this party came Tom Tusher directly, whom four at least out ofthe company of five wished away. Away he went, however, as soon as thesweetmeats were put down, and then, by the great crackling fire, hismistress or Beatrix, with her blushing graces, filling his glassfor him, Harry told the story of his campaign, and passed the mostdelightful night his life had ever known. The sun was up long ere hewas, so deep, sweet, and refreshing was his slumber. He woke as ifangels had been watching at his bed all night. I dare say one that wasas pure and loving as an angel had blessed his sleep with her prayers.

  Next morning the chaplain read prayers to the little household atWalcote, as the custom was; Esmond thought Mistress Beatrix did notlisten to Tusher's exhortation much: her eyes were wandering everywhereduring the service, at least whenever he looked up he met them. Perhapshe also was not very attentive to his Reverence the Chaplain. "Thismight have been my life," he was thinking; "this might have been my dutyfrom now till old age. Well, were it not a pleasant one to be with thesedear friends and part from 'em no more? Until--until the destined lovercomes and takes away pretty Beatrix"--and the best part of Tom Tusher'sexposition, which may have been very learned and eloquent, was quitelost to poor Harry by this vision of the destined lover, who put thepreacher out.

  All the while of the prayers, Beatrix knelt a little way before HarryEsmond. The red stockings were changed for a pair of gray, and blackshoes, in which her feet looked to the full as pretty. All the rosesof spring could not vie with the brightness of her complexion; Esmondthought he had never seen anything like the sunny lustre of her eyes. MyLady Viscountess looked fatigued, as if with watching, and her face waspale.

  Miss Beatrix remarked these signs of indisposition in her mother anddeplored them. "I am an old woman," says my lady, with a kind smile; "Icannot hope to look as young as you do, my dear."

  "She'll never look as good as you do if she lives till she's a hundred,"says my lord, taking his mother by the waist, and kissing her hand.

  "Do I look very wicked, cousin?" says Beatrix, turning full round onEsmond, with her pretty face so close under his chin, that the softperfumed hair touched it. She laid her finger-tips on his sleeve as shespoke; and he put his other hand over hers.

  "I'm like your looking-glass," says he, "and that can't flatter you."

  "He means that you are always looking at him, my dear," says her mother,archly. Beatrix ran away from Esmond at this, and flew to her mamma,whom she kissed, stopping my lady's mouth with her pretty hand.

  "And Harry is very good to look at," says my lady, with her fond eyesregarding the young man.

  "If 'tis good to see a happy face," says he, "you see that." My ladysaid, "Amen," with a sigh; and Harry thought the memory of her dear lordrose up and rebuked her back again into sadness; for her face lost thesmile, and resumed its look of melancholy.

  "Why, Harry, how fine we look in our scarlet and silver, and our blackperiwig," cries my lord. "Mother, I am tired of my own hair. When shallI have a peruke? Where did you get your
steenkirk, Harry?"

  "It's some of my Lady Dowager's lace," says Harry; "she gave me this anda number of other fine things."

  "My Lady Dowager isn't such a bad woman," my lord continued.

  "She's not so--so red as she's painted," says Miss Beatrix.

  Her brother broke into a laugh. "I'll tell her you said so; by the Lord,Trix, I will," he cries out.

  "She'll know that you hadn't the wit to say it, my lord," says MissBeatrix.

  "We won't quarrel the first day Harry's here, will we, mother?" said theyoung lord. "We'll see if we can get on to the new year without a fight.Have some of this Christmas pie. And here comes the tankard; no, it'sPincot with the tea."

  "Will the Captain choose a dish?" asked Mistress Beatrix.

  "I say, Harry," my lord goes on, "I'll show thee my horses afterbreakfast; and we'll go a bird-netting to-night, and on Monday there's acock-match at Winchester--do you love cock-fighting, Harry?--betweenthe gentlemen of Sussex and the gentlemen of Hampshire, at ten pound thebattle, and fifty pound the odd battle to show one-and-twenty cocks."

  "And what will you do, Beatrix, to amuse our kinsman?" asks my lady.

  "I'll listen to him," says Beatrix. "I am sure he has a hundred thingsto tell us. And I'm jealous already of the Spanish ladies. Was thata beautiful nun at Cadiz that you rescued from the soldiers? Your mantalked of it last night in the kitchen, and Mrs. Betty told me thismorning as she combed my hair. And he says you must be in love, for yousat on deck all night, and scribbled verses all day in your tablebook."Harry thought if he had wanted a subject for verses yesterday, to-day hehad found one: and not all the Lindamiras and Ardelias of the poets werehalf so beautiful as this young creature; but he did not say so, thoughsome one did for him.

  This was his dear lady, who, after the meal was over, and the youngpeople were gone, began talking of her children with Mr. Esmond, and ofthe characters of one and the other, and of her hopes and fears forboth of them. "'Tis not while they are at home," she said, "and in theirmother's nest, I fear for them--'tis when they are gone into the world,whither I shall not be able to follow them. Beatrix will begin herservice next year. You may have heard a rumor about--about my LordBlandford. They were both children; and it is but idle talk. I know mykinswoman would never let him make such a poor marriage as our Beatrixwould be. There's scarce a princess in Europe that she thinks is goodenough for him or for her ambition."

  "There's not a princess in Europe to compare with her," says Esmond.

  "In beauty? No, perhaps not," answered my lady. "She is most beautiful,isn't she? 'Tis not a mother's partiality that deceives me. I markedyou yesterday when she came down the stair: and read it in your face.We look when you don't fancy us looking, and see better than you think,dear Harry: and just now when they spoke about your poems--you writpretty lines when you were but a boy--you thought Beatrix was a prettysubject for verse, did not you, Harry?" (The gentleman could only blushfor a reply.) "And so she is--nor are you the first her pretty face hascaptivated. 'Tis quickly done. Such a pair of bright eyes as hers learntheir power very soon, and use it very early." And, looking at himkeenly with hers, the fair widow left him.

  And so it is--a pair of bright eyes with a dozen glances suffice tosubdue a man; to enslave him, and inflame him; to make him even forget;they dazzle him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him; and heso prizes them that he would give all his life to possess 'em. What isthe fond love of dearest friends compared to this treasure? Is memory asstrong as expectancy? fruition, as hunger? gratitude, as desire? I havelooked at royal diamonds in the jewel-rooms in Europe, and thought howwars have been made about 'em; Mogul sovereigns deposed and strangledfor them, or ransomed with them; millions expended to buy them; anddaring lives lost in digging out the little shining toys that I valueno more than the button in my hat. And so there are other glitteringbaubles (of rare water too) for which men have been set to kill andquarrel ever since mankind began; and which last but for a score ofyears, when their sparkle is over. Where are those jewels now thatbeamed under Cleopatra's forehead, or shone in the sockets of Helen?

  The second day after Esmond's coming to Walcote, Tom Tusher had leaveto take a holiday, and went off in his very best gown and bands to courtthe young woman whom his Reverence desired to marry, and who was nota viscount's widow, as it turned out, but a brewer's relict atSouthampton, with a couple of thousand pounds to her fortune: for honestTom's heart was under such excellent control, that Venus herself withouta portion would never have caused it to flutter. So he rode away on hisheavy-paced gelding to pursue his jog-trot loves, leaving Esmond to thesociety of his dear mistress and her daughter, and with his young lordfor a companion, who was charmed, not only to see an old friend, but tohave the tutor and his Latin books put out of the way.

  The boy talked of things and people, and not a little about himself, inhis frank artless way. 'Twas easy to see that he and his sister had thebetter of their fond mother, for the first place in whose affections,though they fought constantly, and though the kind lady persisted thatshe loved both equally, 'twas not difficult to understand that Frank washis mother's darling and favorite. He ruled the whole household (alwaysexcepting rebellious Beatrix) not less now than when he was a childmarshalling the village boys in playing at soldiers, and caning themlustily too, like the sturdiest corporal. As for Tom Tusher, hisReverence treated the young lord with that politeness and deferencewhich he always showed for a great man, whatever his age or his staturewas. Indeed, with respect to this young one, it was impossible not tolove him, so frank and winning were his manners, his beauty, his gayety,the ring of his laughter, and the delightful tone of his voice. Whereverhe went, he charmed and domineered. I think his old grandfather theDean, and the grim old housekeeper, Mrs. Pincot, were as much hisslaves as his mother was: and as for Esmond, he found himself presentlysubmitting to a certain fascination the boy had, and slaving it like therest of the family. The pleasure which he had in Frank's mere companyand converse exceeded that which he ever enjoyed in the society of anyother man, however delightful in talk, or famous for wit. His presencebrought sunshine into a room, his laugh, his prattle, his noble beautyand brightness of look cheered and charmed indescribably. At the leasttale of sorrow, his hands were in his purse, and he was eager withsympathy and bounty. The way in which women loved and petted him, when,a year or two afterwards, he came upon the world, yet a mere boy, andthe follies which they did for him (as indeed he for them), recalledthe career of Rochester, and outdid the successes of Grammont. His verycreditors loved him; and the hardest usurers, and some of the rigidprudes of the other sex too, could deny him nothing. He was no morewitty than another man, but what he said, he said and looked as noman else could say or look it. I have seen the women at the comedy atBruxelles crowd round him in the lobby: and as he sat on the stage morepeople looked at him than at the actors, and watched him; and I rememberat Ramillies, when he was hit and fell, a great big red-haired Scotchsergeant flung his halbert down, burst out a-crying like a woman,seizing him up as if he had been an infant, and carrying him out of thefire. This brother and sister were the most beautiful couple ever seen;though after he winged away from the maternal nest this pair were seldomtogether.

  Sitting at dinner two days after Esmond's arrival (it was the last dayof the year), and so happy a one to Harry Esmond, that to enjoy it wasquite worth all the previous pain which he had endured and forgot, myyoung lord, filling a bumper, and bidding Harry take another, drank tohis sister, saluting her under the title of "Marchioness."

  "Marchioness!" says Harry, not without a pang of wonder, for he wascurious and jealous already.

  "Nonsense, my lord," says Beatrix, with a toss of her head. My LadyViscountess looked up for a moment at Esmond, and cast her eyes down.

  "The Marchioness of Blandford," says Frank. "Don't you know--hath notRouge Dragon told you?" (My lord used to call the Dowager of Chelsey bythis and other names.) "Blandford has a lock of her hair: the Duchessfound him on his knees to
Mistress Trix, and boxed his ears, and saidDr. Hare should whip him."

  "I wish Mr. Tusher would whip you too," says Beatrix.

  My lady only said: "I hope you will tell none of these silly storieselsewhere than at home, Francis."

  "'Tis true, on my word," continues Frank: "look at Harry scowling,mother, and see how Beatrix blushes as red as the silver-clockedstockings."

  "I think we had best leave the gentlemen to their wine and their talk,"says Mistress Beatrix, rising up with the air of a young queen, tossingher rustling flowing draperies about her, and quitting the room,followed by her mother.

  Lady Castlewood again looked at Esmond, as she stooped down and kissedFrank. "Do not tell those silly stories, child," she said: "do not drinkmuch wine, sir; Harry never loved to drink wine." And she went away,too, in her black robes, looking back on the young man with her fair,fond face.

  "Egad! it's true," says Frank, sipping his wine with the air of a lord."What think you of this Lisbon--real Collares? 'Tis better than yourheady port: we got it out of one of the Spanish ships that came fromVigo last year: my mother bought it at Southampton, as the ship waslying there--the 'Rose,' Captain Hawkins."

  "Why, I came home in that ship," says Harry.

  "And it brought home a good fellow and good wine," says my lord. "I say,Harry, I wish thou hadst not that cursed bar sinister."

  "And why not the bar sinister?" asks the other.

  "Suppose I go to the army and am killed--every gentleman goes to thearmy--who is to take care of the women? Trix will never stop at home;mother's in love with you,--yes, I think mother's in love with you. Shewas always praising you, and always talking about you; and when shewent to Southampton, to see the ship, I found her out. But you see it isimpossible: we are of the oldest blood in England; we came in with theConqueror; we were only baronets,--but what then? we were forced intothat. James the First forced our great grandfather. We are above titles;we old English gentry don't want 'em; the Queen can make a duke any day.Look at Blandford's father, Duke Churchill, and Duchess Jennings, whatwere they, Harry? Damn it, sir, what are they, to turn up their noses atus? Where were they when our ancestor rode with King Henry at Agincourt,and filled up the French King's cup after Poictiers? 'Fore George, sir,why shouldn't Blandford marry Beatrix? By G--! he SHALL marry Beatrix,or tell me the reason why. We'll marry with the best blood of England,and none but the best blood of England. You are an Esmond, and you can'thelp your birth, my boy. Let's have another bottle. What! no more? I'vedrunk three parts of this myself. I had many a night with my father; youstood to him like a man, Harry. You backed your blood; you can't helpyour misfortune, you know,--no man can help that."

  The elder said he would go in to his mistress's tea-table. The younglad, with a heightened color and voice, began singing a snatch of asong, and marched out of the room. Esmond heard him presently callinghis dogs about him, and cheering and talking to them; and by a hundredof his looks and gestures, tricks of voice and gait, was reminded of thedead lord, Frank's father.

  And so, the sylvester night passed away; the family parted long beforemidnight, Lady Castlewood remembering, no doubt, former New Years' Eves,when healths were drunk, and laughter went round in the company of him,to whom years, past, and present, and future, were to be as one; and socared not to sit with her children and hear the Cathedral bells ringingthe birth of the year 1703. Esmond heard the chimes as he sat in his ownchamber, ruminating by the blazing fire there, and listened to the lastnotes of them, looking out from his window towards the city, and thegreat gray towers of the Cathedral lying under the frosty sky, with thekeen stars shining above.

  The sight of these brilliant orbs no doubt made him think of otherluminaries. "And so her eyes have already done execution," thoughtEsmond--"on whom?--who can tell me?" Luckily his kinsman was by,and Esmond knew he would have no difficulty in finding out MistressBeatrix's history from the simple talk of the boy.