"Sir, you are an old man, and my father's brother, or you know very well
I would----"
"You would what, Sir? Upon my word, Barnes Newcome" (here the Colonel's
two hands and the bamboo cane came from the rear and formed in front),
"but that you are my father's grandson, after a menace like that, I would
take you out and cane you in the presence of your clerks. I repeat, sir,
that I consider you guilty of treachery, falsehood, and knavery. And if I
ever see you at Bays's Club, I will make the same statement to your
acquaintance at the west end of the town. A man of your baseness ought to
be known, sir; and it shall be my business to make men of honour aware of
your character. Mr. Boltby, will you have the kindness to make out my
account? Sir Barnes Newcome, for fear of consequences that I should
deplore, I recommend you to keep a wide berth of me, sir." And the Colonel
twirled his mustachios, and waved his cane in an ominous manner, and
Barnes started back spontaneously out of its dangerous circle.
What Mr. Boltby's sentiments may have been regarding this extraordinary
scene in which his principal cut so sorry a figure;--whether he narrated
the conversation to other gentlemen connected with the establishment of
Hobson Brothers, or prudently kept it to himself, I cannot say, having no
means of pursuing Mr. B.'s subsequent career. He speedily quitted his
desk at Hobson Brothers; and let us presume that Barnes thought Mr. B.
had old all the other clerks of the avuncular quarrel. That conviction
will make us imagine Barnes still more comfortable. Hobson Newcome no
doubt was rejoiced at Barnes's discomfiture; he had been insolent and
domineering beyond measure of late to his vulgar good-natured uncle,
whereas after the above interview with the Colonel he became very humble
and quiet in his demeanour, and for a long, long time never said a rude
word. Nay, I fear Hobson must have carried an account of the transaction
to Mrs. Hobson and the circle in Bryanstone Square; for Sam Newcome, now
entered at Cambridge, called the Baronet "Barnes" quite familiarly; asked
after Clara and Ethel; and requested a small loan of Barnes.
Of course the story did not get wind at Bays's; of course Tom Eaves did
not know all about it, and say that Sir Barnes had been beaten
black-and-blue. Having been treated very ill by the committee in a
complaint which he made about the Club cookery, Sir Barnes Newcome never
came to Bays's, and at the end of the year took off his name from the
lists of the Club.
Sir Barnes, though a little taken aback in the morning, and not ready
with an impromptu reply to the Colonel and his cane, could not allow the
occurrence to pass without a protest; and indited a letter which Thomas
Newcome kept along with some others previously quoted by the compiler of
the present memoirs.
It is as follows:--
Belgrave St., Feb. 15, 18--.
"Colonel Newcome, C..B., private.
"SIR--The incredible insolence and violence of your behaviour to-day
(inspired by whatever causes or mistakes of your own), cannot be passed
without some comment, on my part. I laid before a friend of your own
profession, a statement of the words which you applied to me in the
presence of my partner and one of my clerks this morning; and my adviser
is of opinion, that considering the relationship unhappily subsisting
between us, I can take no notice of insults for which you knew when you
uttered them, I could not call you to account."
"There is some truth in that," said the Colonel. "He couldn't fight, you
know; but then he was such a liar I could not help speaking my mind."
"I gathered from the brutal language which you thought fit to employ
towards a disarmed man, the ground of one of your monstrous accusations
against me, that I deceived you in stating that my relative, Lady Kew,
was in the country, when in fact she was at her house in London.
"To this absurd charge I at once plead guilty. The venerable lady in
question was passing through London, where she desired to be free from
intrusion. At her ladyship's wish I stated that she was out of town; and
would, under the same circumstances, unhesitatingly make the same
statement. Your slight acquaintance with the person in question did not
warrant that you should force yourself on her privacy, as you would
doubtless know were you more familiar with the customs of the society in
which she moves.
"I declare upon my honour as a gentleman, that I gave her the message
which I promised to deliver from you, and also that I transmitted a
letter with which you entrusted me; and repel with scorn and indignation
the charges which you were pleased to bring against me, as I treat with
contempt the language and the threats which you thought fit to employ.
"Our books show the amount of xl. xs. xd. to your credit, which you will
be good enough to withdraw at your earliest convenience; as of course all
intercourse must cease henceforth between you and--Yours, etc.
B. Newcome Newcome."
"I think, sir, he doesn't make out a bad case," Mr. Pendennis remarked to
the Colonel, who showed him this majestic letter.
"It would be a good case if I believed a single word of it, Arthur,"
replied my friend, placidly twirling the old grey moustache. "If you were
to say so-and-so, and say that I had brought false charges against you, I
should cry mea culpa and apologise with all my heart. But as I have a
perfect conviction that every word this fellow says is a lie, what is the
use of arguing any more about the matter? I would not believe him if he
brought twenty as witnesses, and if he lied till he was black in the
other liars' face. Give me the walnuts. I wonder who Sir Barnes's
military friend was."
Barnes's military friend was our gallant acquaintance General Sir George
Tufto, K.C.B., who a short while afterwards talked over the quarrel with
the Colonel, and manfully told him that (in Sir George's opinion) he was
wrong. "The little beggar behaved very well, I thought, in the first
business. You bullied him so, and in the front of his regiment, too, that
it was almost past bearing; and when he deplored, with tears in his eyes,
almost, the little humbug! that his relationship prevented him calling
you out, ecod, I believed him! It was in the second affair that poor
little Barnes showed he was a cocktail."
"What second affair?" asked Thomas Newcome.
"Don't you know? He! he! this is famous!" cries Sir George. "Why, sir,
two days after your business, he comes to me with another letter and a
face as long as my mare's, by Jove. And that letter, Newcome, was from
your young 'un. Stop, here it is!" and from his padded bosom General Sir
George Tufto drew a pocket-book, and from the pocket-book a copy of a
letter, inscribed, "Clive Newcome, Esq., to Sir B. N. Newcome." "There's
no mistake about your fellow, Colonel. No,----him!" and the man of war
fired a volley of oaths as a salute to Clive.
And the Colonel, on horseback, riding by the other cav
alry officer's side
read as follows:--
"George Street, Hanover Square, February 16.
"SIR--Colonel Newcome this morning showed me a letter bearing your
signature, in which you state--1. That Colonel Newcome has uttered
calumnious and insolent charges against you. 2. That Colonel Newcome so
spoke, knowing that you could take no notice of his charges of falsehood
and treachery, on account of the relationship subsisting between you.
"Your statements would evidently imply that Colonel Newcome has been
guilty of ungentlemanlike conduct, and of cowardice towards you.
"As there can be no reason why we should not meet in any manner that you
desire, I here beg leave to state, on my own part, that I fully coincide
with Colonel Newcome in his opinion that you have been guilty of
falsehood and treachery, and that the charge of cowardice which you dare
to make against a gentleman of his tried honour and courage, is another
wilful and cowardly falsehood on your part.
"And I hope you will refer the bearer of this note, my friend, Mr. George
Warrington, of the Upper Temple, to the military gentleman whom you
consulted in respect to the just charges of Colonel Newcome. Waiting a
prompt reply, believe me, sir--Your obedient servant, Clive Newcome.
"Sir Barnes Newcome Newcome, Bart., M. P., etc."
"What a blunderhead I am!" cries the Colonel, with delight on his
countenance, spite of his professed repentance. "It never once entered my
head that the youngster would take any part in the affair. I showed him
his cousin's letter casually, just to amuse him, I think, for he has been
deuced low lately, about--about a young man's scrape that he has got
into. And he must have gone off and despatched his challenge straightway.
I recollect he appeared uncommonly brisk at breakfast the next morning.
And so you say, General, the Baronet did not like the poulet?"
"By no means; never saw a fellow show such a confounded white feather. At
first I congratulated him, thinking your boy's offer must please him, as
it would have pleased any fellow in our time to have a shot. Dammy! but I
was mistaken in my man. He entered into some confounded long-winded story
about a marriage you wanted to make with that infernal pretty sister of
his, who is going to marry young Farintosh, and how you were in a rage
because the scheme fell to the ground, and how a family duel might
occasion unpleasantries to Miss Newcome; though I showed him how this
could be most easily avoided, and that the lady's name need never appear
in the transaction. 'Confound it, Sir Barnes,' says I, 'I recollect this
boy, when he was a youngster throwing a glass of wine in your face! We'll
put it upon that, and say it's an old feud between you.' He turned quite
pale, and he said your fellow had apologised for the glass of wine."
"Yes," said the Colonel, sadly, "my boy apologised for the glass of wine.
It is curious how we have disliked that Barnes ever since we set eyes on
him."
"Well, Newcome," Sir George resumed, as his mettled charger suddenly
jumped and curvetted, displaying the padded warrior's cavalry-seat to
perfection. "Quiet, old lady!--easy, my dear! Well, when I found the
little beggar turning tail in this way I said to him, 'Dash me, sir, if
you don't want me, why the dash do you send for me, dash me? Yesterday
you talked as if you would bite the Colonel's head off, and to-day, when
his son offers you every accommodation, by dash, sir, you're afraid to
meet him. It's my belief you had better send for a policeman. A 22 is
your man, Sir Barnes Newcome.' And with that I turned on my heel and left
him. And the fellow went off to Newcome that very night."
"A poor devil can't command courage, General," said the Colonel, quite
peaceably, "any more than he can make himself six feet high."
"Then why the dash did the beggar send for me?" called out General Sir
George Tufto, in a loud and resolute voice; and presently the two
officers parted company.
When the Colonel reached home, Mr. Warrington and Mr. Pendennis happened
to be on a visit to Clive, and all three were in the young fellow's
painting-room. We knew our lad was unhappy, and did our little best to
amuse and console him. The Colonel came in. It was in the dark February
days: we lighted the gas in the studio. Clive had made a sketch from some
favourite verses of mine and George's: those charming lines of Scott's:--
"He turned his charger as he spake,
Beside the river shore;
He gave his bridle-rein a shake,
With adieu for evermore,
My dear!
Adieu for evermore!"
Thomas Newcome held up a finger at Warrington, and he came up to the
picture and looked at it; and George and I trolled out:
"Adieu for evermore,
My dear!
Adieu for evermore!"
From the picture the brave old Colonel turned to the painter, regarding
his son with a look of beautiful inexpressible affection. And he laid his
hand on his son's shoulder, and smiled, and stroked Clive's yellow
moustache.
"And--and did Barnes send no answer to that letter you wrote him?" he
said, slowly.
Clive broke out into a laugh that was almost a sob. He took both his
father's hands. "My dear, dear old father!" says he, "what a--what an--
old--trump you are!" My eyes were so dim I could hardly see the two men
as they embraced.
CHAPTER LIV
Has a Tragical Ending
Clive presently answered the question which his father put to him in the
last chapter, by producing from the ledge of his easel a crumpled paper,
full of Cavendish now, but on which was written Sir Barnes Newcome's
reply to his cousin's polite invitation. Sir Barnes Newcome wrote, "that
he thought a reference to a friend was quite unnecessary, in the most
disagreeable and painful dispute in which Mr. Clive desired to interfere
as a principal; that the reasons which prevented Sir Barnes from taking
notice of Colonel Newcome's shameful and ungentlemanlike conduct applied
equally, as Mr. Clive Newcome very well knew, to himself; that if further
insult was offered, or outrage attempted, Sir Barnes should resort to the
police for protection; that he was about to quit London, and certainly
should not delay his departure on account of Mr. Clive Newcome's
monstrous proceedings; and that he desired to take leave of an odious
subject, as of an individual whom he had striven to treat with kindness,
but from whom, from youth upwards, Sir Barnes Newcome had received
nothing but insolence, enmity, and ill-will."
"He is an ill man to offend," remarked Mr. Pendennis. "I don't think he
has ever forgiven that claret, Clive."
"Pooh! the feud dates from long before that," said Clive; "Barnes wanted
to lick me when I was a boy, and I declined: in fact, I think he had
rather the worst of it; but then I operated freely on his shins, and that
wasn't fair in war, you know."
"Heaven forgive me," cries the Colonel; "I have always felt the fe
llow
was my enemy: and my mind is relieved now war is declared. It has been a
kind of hypocrisy with me to shake his hand and eat his dinner. When I
trusted him it was against my better instinct; and I have been struggling
against it these ten years, thinking it was a wicked prejudice, and ought
to be overcome."
"Why should we overcome such instincts?" asks Mr. Warrington. "Why
shouldn't we hate what is hateful in people and scorn what is mean? From
what friend Pen has described to me, and from some other accounts which
have come to my ears, your respectable nephew is about as loathsome a
little villain as crawls on the earth. Good seems to be out of his
sphere, and away from his contemplation. He ill-treats every one he comes
near; or, if, gentle to them, it is that they may serve some base
purpose. Since my attention has been drawn to the creature, I have been
contemplating his ways with wonder and curiosity. How much superior
Nature's rogues are, Pen, to the villains you novelists put into your
books! This man goes about his life business with a natural propensity to
darkness and evil--as a bug crawls, and stings, and stinks. I don't
suppose the fellow feels any more remorse than a cat that runs away with
a mutton-chop. I recognise the Evil Spirit, sir, and do honour to
Ahrimanes, in taking off my hat to this young man. He seduced a poor girl
in his father's country town--is it not natural? Deserted her and her
children--don't you recognise the beast? married for rank--could you
expect otherwise from him? invites my Lord Highgate to his house in
consideration of his balance at the bank;--sir, unless somebody's heel
shall crunch him on the way, there is no height to which this aspiring
vermin mayn't crawl. I look to see Sir Barnes Newcome prosper more and
more. I make no doubt he will die an immense capitalist, and an exalted
Peer of this realm. He will have a marble monument, and a pathetic
funeral sermon. There is a divine in your family, Clive, that shall
preach it. I will weep respectful tears over the grave of Baron Newcome,
Viscount Newcome, Earl Newcome; and the children whom he has deserted,
and who, in the course of time, will be sent by a grateful nation to New
South Wales, will proudly say to their brother convicts,--'Yes, the Earl
was our honoured father.'"
"I fear he is no better than he should be, Mr. Warrington," says the
Colonel, shaking his head. "I never heard the story about the deserted
children."
"How should you, O you guileless man!" cries Warrington.
"I am not in the ways of scandal-hearing myself much: but this tale I had
from Sir Barnes Newcome's own country. Mr. Batters of the Newcome
Independent is my esteemed client. I write leading articles for his
newspaper, and when he was in town last spring he favoured me with the
anecdote; and proposed to amuse the Member for Newcome by publishing it
in his journal. This kind of writing is not much in my line: and, out of
respect to you and your young one, I believe--I strove with Mr. Batters,
and--entreated him and prevailed with him, not to publish the story. That
is how I came to know it."
I sate with the Colonel in the evening, when he commented on Warrington's
story and Sir Barnes's adventures in his simple way. He said his brother
Hobson had been with him the morning after the dispute, reiterating
Barnes's defence of his conduct: and professing on his own part nothing
but goodwill towards his brother. "Between ourselves the young Baronet
carries matters with rather a high hand sometimes, and I am not sorry
that you gave him a little dressing. But you were too hard upon him,
Colonel--really you were." "Had I known that child-deserting story I
would have given it harder still, sir," says Thomas Newcome, twirling his
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