The Newcomes

by William Makepeace Thackeray

"Oh! Pen," says my wife, closing my mouth in a way which I do not choose

  further to particularise; "that man is the best, the dearest, the kindest

  creature. I never knew such a good man; you ought to put him into a book.

  Do you know, sir, that I felt the very greatest desire to give him a kiss

  when he went away; and that one which you had just now, was intended for

  him.

  "Take back thy gift, false girl!" says Mr Pendennis; and then, finally,

  we come to the particular circumstance which had occasioned so much

  enthusiasm on Mrs. Laura's part.

  Colonel Newcome had summoned heart of grace, and in Clive's behalf had

  regularly proposed him to Barnes, as a suitor to Ethel, taking an artful

  advantage of his nephew Barnes Newcome, and inviting that Barnes to a

  private meeting, where they were to talk about the affairs of the

  Bundelcund Banking Company.

  Now this Bundelcund Banking Company, in the Colonel's eyes, was in

  reality his son Clive. But for Clive there might have been a hundred

  banking companies established, yielding a hundred per cent, in as many

  districts of India, and Thomas Newcome, who had plenty of money for his

  own wants, would never have thought of speculation. His desire was to see

  his boy endowed with all the possible gifts of fortune. Had he built a

  palace for Clive, and been informed that a roc's egg was required to

  complete the decoration of the edifice, Tom Newcome would have travelled

  to the world's end in search of the wanting article. To see Prince Clive

  ride in a gold coach with a princess beside him, was the kind old

  Colonel's ambition; that done, he would be content to retire to a garret

  in the prince's castle, and smoke his cheroot there in peace. So the

  world is made. The strong and eager covet honour and enjoyment for

  themselves; the gentle and disappointed (once, they may have been strong

  and eager, too) desire these gifts for their children. I think Clive's

  father never liked or understood the lad's choice of a profession. He

  acquiesced in it as he would in any of his son's wishes. But, not being a

  poet himself, he could not see the nobility of that calling; and felt

  secretly that his son was demeaning himself by pursuing the art of

  painting. "Had he been a soldier, now," thought Thomas Newcome, "(though

  I prevented that) had he been richer than he is, he might have married

  Ethel, instead of being unhappy as he now is, God help him! I remember my

  own time of grief well enough: and what years it took before my wound

  wound was scarred over."

  So with these things occupying his brain Thomas Newcome artfully invited

  Barnes, his nephew, to dinner under pretence of talking of the affairs of

  the great B. B. C. With the first glass of wine at dessert, and according

  to the Colonel's good old-fashioned custom of proposing toasts, they

  drank the health of the B. B. C. Barnes drank the toast with all his

  generous heart. The B. B. C. sent to Hobson Brothers and Newcome a great

  deal of business, was in a most prosperous condition, kept a great

  balance at the bank, a balance that would not be overdrawn, as Sir Barnes

  Newcome very well knew. Barnes was for having more of these bills,

  provided there were remittances to meet the same. Barnes was ready to do

  any amount of business with the Indian bank, or with any bank, or with

  any individual, Christian or heathen, white or black, who could do good

  to the firm of Hobson Brothers and Newcome. He spoke upon this subject

  with great archness and candour: of course as a City man he would be glad

  to do a profitable business anywhere, and the B. B. C.'s business was

  profitable. But the interested motive which he admitted frankly as a man

  of the world, did not prevent other sentiments more agreeable. "My dear

  Colonel," says Barnes, "I am happy, most happy, to think that our house

  and our name should have been useful, as I know they have been, in the

  establishment of a concern in which one of our family is interested; one

  whom we all so sincerely respect and regard." And he touched his glass

  with his lips and blushed a little, as he bowed towards his uncle. He

  found himself making a little speech, indeed; and to do so before one

  single person seems rather odd. Had there been a large company present

  Barnes would not have blushed at all, but have tossed off his glass,

  struck his waistcoat possibly, and looked straight in the face of his

  uncle as the chairman; well, he did very likely believe that he respected

  and regarded the Colonel.

  The Colonel said--"Thank you, Barnes, with all my heart. It is always

  good for men to be friends, much more for blood relations, as we are."

  "A relationship which honours me, I'm sure!" says Barnes, with a tone of

  infinite affability. You see, he believed that Heaven had made him the

  Colonel's superior.

  "And I am very glad," the elder went on, "that you and my boy are good

  friends."

  "Friends! of course. It would be unnatural if such near relatives were

  otherwise than good friends."

  "You have been hospitable to him, and Lady Clara very kind, and he wrote

  to me telling me of your kindness. Ahem! this is tolerable claret. I

  wonder where Clive gets it?"

  "You were speaking about that indigo, Colonel!" here Barnes interposes.

  "Our house has done very little in that way, to be sure but I suppose

  that our credit is about as good as Battie's and Jolly's, and if----" but

  the Colonel is in a brown study.

  "Clive will have a good bit of money when I die," resumes Clive's father.

  "Why, you are a hale man--upon my word, quite a young man, and may marry

  again, Colonel," replies the nephew fascinatingly.

  "I shall never do that," replies the other. "Ere many years are gone, I

  shall be seventy years old, Barnes."

  "Nothing in this country, my dear sir! positively nothing. Why, there was

  Titus, my neighbour in the country--when will you come down to Newcome?--

  who married a devilish pretty girl, of very good family, too, Miss

  Burgeon, one of the Devonshire Burgeons. He looks, I am sure, twenty

  years older than you do. Why should not you do likewise?"

  "Because I like to remain single, and want to leave Clive a rich man.

  Look here, Barnes, you know the value of our bank shares, now?"

  "Indeed I do; rather speculative; but of course I know what some sold for

  last week," says Barnes.

  "Suppose I realise now. I think I am worth six lakhs. I had nearly two

  from my poor father. I saved some before and since I invested in this

  affair; and could sell out to-morrow with sixty thousand pounds."

  "A very pretty sum of money, Colonel," says Barnes.

  "I have a pension of a thousand a year."

  "My dear Colonel, you are a capitalist! we know it very well," remarks

  Sir Barnes.

  "And two hundred a year is as much as I want for myself," continues the

  capitalist, looking into the fire, and jingling his money in his pockets.

  "A hundred a year for a horse; a hundred a year for pocket-money, for I

  calculate, you know, that Clive will give me a bedroom and my dinner."

  "He! he! If your son won't, your nephew will, m
y dear Colonel!" says the

  affable Barnes, smiling sweetly.

  "I can give the boy a handsome allowance, you see," resumes Thomas

  Newcome.

  "You can make him a handsome allowance now, and leave him a good fortune

  when you die!" says the nephew, in a noble and courageous manner,--and as

  if he said Twelve times twelve are a hundred and forty-four and you have

  Sir Barnes Newcome's authority--Sir Barnes Newcome's, mind you--to say

  so.

  "Not when I die, Barnes," the uncle goes on. "I will give him every

  shilling I am worth to-morrow morning, if he marries as I wish him."

  "Tant mieux pour lui!" cries the nephew; and thought to himself, "Lady

  Clara must ask Clive to dinner instantly. Confound the fellow. I hate

  him--always have; but what luck he has!"

  "A man with that property may pretend to a good wife, as the French say;

  hey Barnes?" asks the Colonel, rather eagerly looking up in his nephew's

  face.

  That countenance was lighted up with a generous enthusiasm. "To any

  woman, in any rank--to a nobleman's daughter, my dear sir!" exclaims Sir

  Barnes.

  "I want your sister; I want dear Ethel for him, Barnes," cries Thomas

  Newcome, with a trembling voice, and a twinkle in his eyes. "That was the

  hope I always had till my talk with your poor father stopped it. Your

  sister was engaged to my Lord Kew then; and my wishes of course were

  impossible. The poor boy is very much cut up, and his whole heart is bent

  upon possessing her. She is not, she can't be, indifferent to him. I am

  sure she would not be, if her family in the least encouraged him. Can

  either of these young folks have a better chance of happiness again

  offered to them in life? There's youth, there's mutual liking, there's

  wealth for them almost--only saddled with the encumbrance of an old

  dragoon, who won't be much in their way. Give us your good word, Barnes,

  and let them come together; and upon my word the rest of my days will be

  made happy if I can eat my meal at their table."

  Whilst the poor Colonel was making his appeal, Barnes had time to collect

  his answer; which, since in our character of historians we take leave to

  explain gentlemen's motives as well as record their speeches and actions,

  we may thus interpret. "Confound the young beggar!" thinks Barnes, then.

  "He will have three or four thousand a year, will he? Hang him, but it's

  a good sum of money. What a fool his father is to give it away! Is he

  joking? No, he was always half crazy--the Colonel. Highgate seemed

  uncommonly sweet on her, and was always hanging about our house.

  Farintosh has not been brought to book yet; and perhaps neither of them

  will propose for her. My grandmother, I should think, won't hear of her

  making a low marriage, as this certainly is: but it's a pity to throw

  away four thousand a year, ain't it?" All these natural calculations

  passed briskly through Barnes Newcome's mind, as his uncle, from the

  opposite side of the fireplace, implored him in the above little speech.

  "My dear Colonel," said Barnes, "my dear, kind Colonel! I needn't tell

  you that your proposal flatters us, as much as your extraordinary

  generosity surprises me. I never heard anything like it--never. Could I

  consult my own wishes I would at once--I would, permit me to say, from

  sheer admiration of your noble character, say yes, with all my heart, to

  your proposal. But, alas, I haven't that power."

  "Is--is she engaged?" asks the Colonel, looking as blank and sad as Clive

  himself when Ethel had conversed with him.

  "No--I cannot say engaged--though a person of the very highest rank has

  paid her the most marked attention. But my sister has, in a way, gone

  from our family, and from my influence as the head of it--an influence

  which I, I am sure, had most gladly exercised in your favour. My

  grandmother, Lady Kew, has adopted her; purposes, I believe, to leave

  Ethel the greater part of her fortune, upon certain conditions; and, of

  course, expects the--the obedience, and so forth, which is customary in

  such cases. By the way, Colonel, is our young soupirant aware that papa

  is pleading his cause for him?"

  The Colonel said no; and Barnes lauded the caution which his uncle had

  displayed. It was quite as well for the young man's interests (which Sir

  Barnes had most tenderly at heart) that Clive Newcome should not himself

  move in the affair, or present himself to Lady Kew. Barnes would take the

  matter in hand at the proper season; the Colonel might be sure it would

  be most eagerly, most ardently pressed. Clive came home at this juncture,

  whom Barnes saluted affectionately. He and the Colonel had talked over

  their money business; their conversation had been most satisfactory,

  thank you. "Has it not, Colonel?" The three parted the very best of

  friends.

  As Barnes Newcome professed that extreme interest for his cousin and

  uncle, it is odd he did not tell them that Lady Kew and Miss Ethel

  Newcome were at that moment within a mile of them, at her ladyship's

  house in Queen Street, Mayfair. In the hearing of Clive's servant, Barnes

  did not order his brougham to drive to Queen Street, but waited until he

  was in Bond Street before he gave the order.

  And, of course, when he entered Lady Kew's house, he straightway asked

  for his sister, and communicated to her the generous offer which the good

  Colonel had made.

  You see, Lady Kew was in town, and not in town. Her ladyship was but

  passing through, on her way from a tour of visits in the North, to

  another tour of visits somewhere else. The newspapers were not even off

  the blinds. The proprietor of the house cowered over a bed-candle and a

  furtive teapot in the back drawing-room. Lady Kew's gens were not here.

  The tall canary ones with white polls, only showed their plumage and sang

  in spring. The solitary wretch who takes charge of London houses, and the

  two servants specially affected to Lady Kew's person, were the only

  people in attendance. In fact, her ladyship was not in town. And that is

  why, no doubt, Barnes Newcome said nothing about her being there.

  CHAPTER LII

  Family Secrets

  The figure cowering over the furtive teapot glowered grimly at Barnes as

  he entered; and an old voice said--"Ho, it's you!"

  "I have brought you the notes, ma'am," says Barnes, taking a packet of

  those documents from his pocket-book. "I could not come sooner, I have

  been engaged upon bank business until now."

  "I dare say! You smell of smoke like a courier."

  "A foreign capitalist: he would smoke. They will, ma'am. I didn't smoke,

  upon my word."

  "I don't see why you shouldn't, if you like it. You will never get

  anything out of me whether you do or don't. How is Clara? Is she gone to

  the country with the children? Newcome is the best place for her."

  "Doctor Bambury thinks she can move in a fortnight. The boy has had a

  little----"

  "A little fiddlestick! I tell you it is she who likes to stay, and makes

  that fool, Bambury, advise her not going away. I tell you to send her to

  Newcome. The air is
good for her."

  "By that confounded smoky town, my dear Lady Kew?"

  "And invite your mother and little brothers and sisters to stay Christmas

  there. The way in which you neglect them is shameful, it is, Barnes."

  "Upon my word, ma'am, I propose to manage my own affairs without your

  ladyship's assistance," cries Barnes, starting up, "and did not come at

  this time of night to hear this kind of----"

  "Of good advice. I sent for you to give it you. When I wrote to you to

  bring me the money I wanted it was but a pretext; Barkins might have

  fetched it from the City in the morning. I want you to send Clara and the

  children to Newcome. They ought to go, sir. That is why I sent for you;

  to tell you that. Have you been quarrelling as much as usual?"

  "Pretty much as usual," says Barnes, drumming on his hat.

  "Don't beat that devil's tattoo; you agacez my poor old nerves. When

  Clara was given to you she was as well broke a girl as any in London."

  Sir Barnes responded by a groan.

  "She was as gentle and amenable to reason, as good-natured a girl as

  could be; a little vacant and silly, but you men like dolls for your

  wives; and now in three years you have utterly spoiled her. She is

  restive, she is artful, she flies into rages, she fights you and beats

  you. He! he! and that comes of your beating her!"

  "I didn't come to hear this, ma'am," says Barnes, livid with rage

  "You struck her, you know you did, Sir Barnes Newcome. She rushed over to

  me last year on the night you did it, you know she did."

  "Great God, ma'am! You know the provocation," screams Barnes.

  "Provocation or not, I don't say. But from that moment she has beat you.

  You fool, to write her a letter and ask her pardon. If I had been a man I

  would rather have strangled my wife, than have humiliated myself so

  before her. She will never forgive that blow."

  "I was mad when I did it; and she drove me mad," says Barnes. "She has

  the temper of a fiend, and the ingenuity of the devil. In two years an

  entire change has come over her. If I had used a knife to her I should

  not have been surprised. But it is not with you to reproach me about

  Clara. Your ladyship found her for me."

  "And you spoilt her after she was found, sir. She told me part of her

  story that night she came to me. I know it is true, Barnes. You have

  treated her dreadfully, sir."

  "I know that she makes my life miserable, and there is no help for it,"

  says Barnes, grinding a curse between his teeth. "Well, well, no more

  about this. How is Ethel? Gone to sleep after her journey? What do you

  think, ma'am, I have brought for her? A proposal."

  "Bon Dieu! You don't mean to say Charles Belsize was in earnest!" cries

  the dowager. "I always thought it was a----"

  "It is not from Lord Highgate, ma'am," Sir Barnes said, gloomily. "It is

  some time since I have known that he was not in earnest; and he knows

  that I am now."

  "Gracious goodness! come to blows with him, too? You have not? That would

  be the very thing to make the world talk," says the dowager, with some

  anxiety.

  "No," answers Barnes. "He knows well enough that there can be no open

  rupture. We had some words the other day at a dinner he gave at his own

  house; Colonel Newcome and that young beggar, Clive, and that fool, Mr.

  Hobson, were there. Lord Highgate was confoundedly insolent. He told me

  that I did not dare to quarrel with him because of the account he kept at

  our house. I should like to have massacred him! She has told him that I

  struck her,--the insolent brute--he says he will tell it at my clubs; and

  threatens personal violence to me, there, if I do it again. Lady Kew, I'm

  not safe from that man and that woman," cries poor Barnes, in an agony of