The Newcomes

Home > Fiction > The Newcomes > Page 88
The Newcomes Page 88

by William Makepeace Thackeray

freely during his noble harangue. At not a shilling under twenty thousand

  pounds would he estimate the cost of his client's injuries. The jury was

  very much affected: the evening papers gave Rowland's address in extenso,

  with some pretty sharp raps at the aristocracy in general. The Day, the

  principal morning journal of that period, came out with a leading article

  the next morning, in which every party concerned and every institution

  was knocked about. The disgrace of the peerage, the ruin of the monarchy

  (with a retrospective view of the well-known case of Gyges and

  Candaules), the monstrosity of the crime, and the absurdity of the

  tribunal and the punishment, were all set forth in the terrible leading

  article of the Day.

  But when, on the next day, Serjeant Rowland was requested to call

  witnesses to prove that connubial happiness which he had depicted so

  pathetically, he had none at hand.

  Oliver, Q.C., now had his innings. A man, a husband, and a father, Mr.

  Oliver could not attempt to defend the conduct of his unfortunate client;

  but if there could be any excuse for such conduct, that excuse he was

  free to confess the plaintiff had afforded, whose cruelty and neglect

  twenty witnesses in court were ready to prove--neglect so outrageous,

  cruelty so systematic, that he wondered the plaintiff had not been better

  advised than to bring this trial, with all its degrading particulars, to

  a public issue. On the very day when the ill-omened marriage took place,

  another victim of cruelty had interposed as vainly--as vainly as Serjeant

  Rowland himself interposed in Court to prevent this case being made

  known--and with piteous outcries, in the name of outraged neglected

  woman, of castaway children pleading in vain for bread, had besought the

  bride to pause, and the bridegroom to look upon the wretched beings who

  owed him life. Why had not Lady Clara Pulleyn's friends listened to that

  appeal? And so on, and so on, between Rowland and Oliver the battle waged

  fiercely that day. Many witnesses were mauled and slain. Out of that

  combat scarce anybody came well, except the two principal champions,

  Rowland, Serjeant, and Oliver, Q.C. The whole country looked on and heard

  the wretched story, not only of Barnes's fault and Highgate's fault, but

  of the private peccadilloes of their suborned footmen and conspiring

  housemaids. Mr. Justice C. Sawyer charged the jury at great length--those

  men were respectable men and fathers of families themselves--of course

  they dealt full measure to Lord Highgate for his delinquencies; consoled

  the injured husband with immense damages, and left him free to pursue the

  further steps for releasing himself altogether from the tie which had

  been bound with affecting episcopal benediction at St. George's, Hanover

  Square.

  So Lady Clara flies from the custody of her tyrant, but to what a rescue!

  The very man who loves her, and gives her asylum, pities and deplores

  her. She scarce dares to look out of the windows of her new home upon the

  world, lest it should know and reproach her. All the sisterhood of

  friendship is cut off from her. If she dares to go abroad she feels the

  sneer of the world as she goes through it; and knows that malice and

  scorn whisper behind her. People, as criminal but undiscovered, make room

  for her, as if her touch were pollution. She knows she has darkened the

  lot and made wretched the home of the man whom she loves best; that his

  friends who see her, treat her with but a doubtful respect; and the

  domestics who attend her, with a suspicious obedience. In the country

  lanes, or the streets of the county town, neighbours look aside as the

  carriage passes in which she sits splendid and lonely. Rough hunting

  companions of her husband's come to her table: he is driven perforce to

  the company of flatterers and men of inferior sort; his equals, at least

  in his own home, will not live with him. She would be kind, perhaps, and

  charitable to the cottagers round about her, but she fears to visit them

  lest they too should scorn her. The clergyman who distributes her

  charities, blushes and looks awkward on passing her in the village, if he

  should be walking with his wife or one of his children. Shall they go to

  the Continent, and set up a grand house at Paris or at Florence? There

  they can get society, but of what a sort! Our acquaintances of Baden,--

  Madame Schlangenbad, and Madame de Cruchecassee, and Madame d'Ivry, and

  Messrs. Loder, and Punter, and Blackball, and Deuceace, will come, and

  dance, and flirt, and quarrel, and gamble, and feast round about her; but

  what in common with such wild people has this poor, timid, shrinking

  soul? Even these scorn her. The leers and laughter on those painted faces

  are quite unlike her own sad countenance. She has no reply to their wit.

  Their infernal gaiety scares her more than the solitude at home. No

  wonder that her husband does not like home, except for a short while in

  the hunting season. No wonder that he is away all day; how can he like a

  home which she has made so wretched? In the midst of her sorrow, and

  doubt, and misery, a child comes to her: how she clings to it! how her

  whole being, and hope, and passion centres itself on this feeble infant!

  ----but she no more belongs to our story; with the new name she has

  taken, the poor lady passes out of the history of the Newcomes.

  If Barnes Newcome's children meet yonder solitary lady, do they know her?

  If her once-husband thinks upon the unhappy young creature whom his

  cruelty drove from him, does his conscience affect his sleep at night?

  Why should Sir Barnes Newcome's conscience be more squeamish than his

  country's, which has put money in his pocket for having trampled on the

  poor weak young thing, and scorned her, and driven her to ruin? When the

  whole of the accounts of that wretched bankruptcy are brought up for

  final Audit, which of the unhappy partners shall be shown to be most

  guilty? Does the Right Reverend Prelate who did the benedictory business

  for Barnes and Clara his wife repent in secret? Do the parents who

  pressed the marriage, and the fine folks who signed the book, and ate the

  breakfast, and applauded the bridegroom's speech, feel a little ashamed?

  O Hymen Hymenaee! The bishops, beadles, clergy, pew-openers, and other

  officers of the temple dedicated to Heaven under the invocation of St.

  George, will officiate in the same place at scores and scores more of

  such marriages: and St. George of England may behold virgin after virgin

  offered up to the devouring monster, Mammon (with many most respectable

  female dragons looking on)--may see virgin after virgin given away, just

  as in the Soldan of Babylon's time, but with never a champion to come to

  the rescue!

  CHAPTER LIX

  In which Achilles loses Briseis

  Although the years of the Marquis of Farintosh were few, he had spent

  most of them in the habit of command; and, from his childhood upwards,

  had been obeyed by all persons round about him. As an infant he had but

  to roar, and his mother and nurses were as much frightened as though he

  had been
a Libyan lion. What he willed and ordered was law amongst his

  clan and family. During the period of his London and Parisian

  dissipations his poor mother did not venture to remonstrate with her

  young prodigal, but shut her eyes, not daring to open them on his wild

  courses. As for the friends of his person and house, many of whom were

  portly elderly gentlemen, their affection for the young Marquis was so

  extreme that there was no company into which their fidelity would not

  lead them to follow him; and you might see him dancing at Mabille with

  veteran aides-de-camp looking on, or disporting with opera-dancers at a

  Trois Freres banquet, which some old gentleman of his father's age had

  taken the pains to order. If his lordship Count Almaviva wants a friend

  to carry the lanthorn or to hold the ladder; do you suppose there are not

  many most respectable men in society who will act Figaro? When Farintosh

  thought fit, in the fulness of time and the blooming pride of manhood, to

  select a spouse, and to elevate a marchioness to his throne, no one dared

  gainsay him. When he called upon his mother and sisters, and their

  ladyships' hangers-on and attendants; upon his own particular kinsmen,

  led captains, and toadies; to bow the knee and do homage to the woman

  whom he delighted to honour, those duteous subjects trembled and obeyed;

  in fact, he thought that the position of a Marchioness of Farintosh was

  under heaven, and before men, so splendid, that, had he elevated a

  beggar-maid to that sublime rank, the inferior world was bound to worship

  her.

  So my lord's lady-mother, and my lord's sisters, and his captains, and

  his players of billiards, and the toadies of his august person, all

  performed obeisance to his bride-elect, and never questioned the will of

  the young chieftain. What were the private comments of the ladies of the

  family we had no means of knowing; but it may naturally be supposed that

  his lordship's gentlemen-in-waiting, Captain Henchman, Jack Todhunter,

  and the rest, had many misgivings of their own respecting their patrons

  change in life, and could not view without anxiety the advent of a

  mistress who might reign over him and them, who might possibly not like

  their company, and might exert her influence over her husband to oust

  these honest fellows from places in which they were very comfortable. The

  jovial rogues had the run of my lord's kitchen, stables, cellars, and

  cigar-boxes. A new marchioness might hate hunting, smoking, jolly

  parties, and toad-eaters in general, or might bring into the house

  favourites of her own. I am sure any kind-hearted man of the world must

  feel for the position of these faithful, doubtful, disconsolate vassals,

  and have a sympathy for their rueful looks and demeanour as they eye the

  splendid preparations for the ensuing marriage, the grand furniture sent

  to my lord's castles and houses, the magnificent plate provided for his

  tables--tables at which they may never have a knife and fork; castles and

  houses of which the poor rogues may never be allowed to pass the doors.

  When, then, "the elopement in High Life," which has been described in the

  previous pages, burst upon the town in the morning papers, I can fancy

  the agitation which the news occasioned in the faithful bosoms of the

  generous Todhunter, and the attached Henchman. My lord was not in his own

  house as yet. He and his friends still lingered on in the little house in

  Mayfair, the dear little bachelor's quarters, where they had enjoyed such

  good dinners, such good suppers, such rare doings, such a jolly time. I

  fancy Hench coming down to breakfast, and reading the Morning Post. I

  imagine Tod dropping in from his bedroom over the way, and Hench handing

  the paper over to Tod, and the conversation which ensued between those

  worthy men. Elopement in high life--excitement in N--come, and flight of

  Lady Cl-- N--come, daughter of the late and sister of the present Earl of

  D-rking, with Lord H---gate; personal rencontre between Lord H---gate and

  Sir B--nes N---come. Extraordinary disclosures. I say, I can fancy Hench

  and Tod over this awful piece of news.

  "Pretty news, ain't it, Toddy?" says Henchman, looking up from a

  Perigord-pie, which the faithful creature is discussing.

  "Always expected it," remarks the other. "Anybody who saw them together

  last season must have known it. The Chief himself spoke of it to me."

  "It'll cut him up awfully when he reads it. Is it in the Morning Post? He

  has the Post in his bedroom. I know he has rung his bell: I heard it.

  Bowman, has his lordship read his paper yet?"

  Bowman, the, valet, said, "I believe you, he have read his paper. When he

  read it, he jumped out of bed and swore most awful. I cut as soon as I

  could," continued Mr. Bowman, who was on familiar--nay contemptuous terms

  with the other two gentlemen.

  "Enough to make any man swear," says Toddy to Henchman; and both were

  alarmed in their noble souls, reflecting that their chieftain was now

  actually getting up and dressing himself; that he would speedily, and in

  course of nature, come downstairs; and, then, most probably, would begin

  swearing at them.

  The most noble Mungo Malcolm Angus was in an awful state of mind when, at

  length, he appeared in the breakfast-room. "Why the dash do you make a

  taproom of this?" he cries. The trembling Henchman, who has begun to

  smoke--as he has done a hundred times before in this bachelor's hall--

  flings his cigar into the fire.

  "There you go--nothing like it! Why don't you fling some more in? You can

  get 'em at Hudson's for five guineas a pound." bursts out the youthful

  peer.

  "I understand why you are out of sorts, old boy," says Henchman,

  stretching out his manly hand. A tear of compassion twinkled in his

  eyelid, and coursed down his mottled cheek. "Cut away at old Frank,

  Farintosh,--a fellow who has been attached to you since before you could

  speak. It's not when a fellow's down and cut up, and riled--naturally

  riled--as you are--I know you are, Marquis; it's not then that I'm going

  to be angry with you. Pitch into old Frank Henchman--hit away, my young

  one." And Frank put himself into an attitude as of one prepared to

  receive a pugilistic assault. He bared his breast, as it were, and showed

  his scars, and said, "Strike!" Frank Henchman was a florid toady. My

  uncle, Major Pendennis, has often laughed with me about the fellow's

  pompous flatteries and ebullient fidelity.

  "You have read this confounded paragraph?" says the Marquis. "We have

  read it: and were deucedly cut up, too," says Henchman, "for your sake,

  my dear boy."

  "I remembered what you said, last year, Marquis," cries Todhunter (not

  unadroitly). "You, yourself, pointed out, in this very room, I recollect,

  at this very table--that night Coralie and the little Spanish dancer and

  her mother supped here, and there was a talk about Highgate--you,

  yourself, pointed out what was likely to happen. I doubted it; for I have

  dined at the Newcomes', and seen Highgate and her together in society

  often. But though you are a younger bird, you
have better eyes than I

  have--and you saw the thing at once--at once, don't you remember I and

  Coralie said how glad she was, because Sir Barnes ill-treated her friend.

  What was the name of Coralie's friend, Hench?"

  "How should I know her confounded name?" Henchman briskly answers. "What

  do I care for Sir Barnes Newcome and his private affairs? He is no friend

  of mine. I never said he was a friend of mine. I never said I liked him.

  Out of respect for the Chief here, I held my tongue about him, and shall

  hold my tongue. Have some of this pate, Chief! No? Poor old boy! I know

  you haven't got an appetite. I know this news cuts you up. I say nothing,

  and make no pretence of condolence; though I feel for you--and you know

  you can count on old Frank Henchman--don't you, Malcolm?" And again he

  turns away to conceal his gallant sensibility and generous emotion.

  "What does it matter to me?" bursts out the Marquis, garnishing his

  conversation with the usual expletives which adorned his eloquence when

  he was strongly moved. "What do I care for Barnes Newcome, and his

  confounded affairs and family? I never want to see him again, but in the

  light of a banker, when I go to the City, where he keeps my account. I

  say, I have nothing to do with him, or all the Newcomes under the sun.

  Why, one of them is a painter, and will paint my dog, Ratcatcher, by

  Jove! or my horse, or my groom, if I give him the order. Do you think I

  care for any one of the pack? It's not the fault of the Marchioness of

  Farintosh that her family is not equal to mine. Besides two others in

  England and Scotland, I should like to know what family is? I tell you

  what, Hench. I bet you five to two, that before an hour is over my mother

  will be here, and down on her knees to me, begging me to break off this

  engagement."

  "And what will you do, Farintosh?" asks Henchman, slowly, "Will you break

  it off?"

  "No!" shouts the Marquis. "Why shall I break off with the finest girl in

  England--and the best-plucked one, and the cleverest and wittiest, and

  the most beautiful creature, by Jove, that ever stepped, for no fault of

  hers, and because her sister-in-law leaves her brother, who I know

  treated her infernally? We have talked this matter over at home before. I

  wouldn't dine with the fellow; though he was always asking me; nor meet,

  except just out of civility, any of his confounded family. Lady Anne is

  different. She is a lady, she is. She is a good woman: and Kew is a most

  respectable man, though he is only a peer of George III.'s creation, and

  you should hear how he speaks of Miss Newcome, though she refused him. I

  should like to know who is to prevent me marrying Lady Anne Newcome's

  daughter?"

  "By Jove, you are a good-plucked fellow, Farintosh--give me your hand,

  old boy," says Henchman.

  "Heh! am I? You would have said, give me your hand, old boy, whichever

  way I determined, Hench! I tell you, I ain't intellectual, and that sort

  of thing. But I know my rank, and I know my place; and when a man of my

  station gives his word, he sticks to it, sir; and my lady, and my

  sisters, may go on their knees all round; and, by Jove, I won't flinch."

  The justice of Lord Farintosh's views was speedily proved by the

  appearance of his lordship's mother, Lady Glenlivat, whose arrival put a

  stop to a conversation which Captain Francis Henchman has often

  subsequently narrated. She besought to see her son in terms so urgent,

  that the young nobleman could not be denied to his parent; and, no doubt,

  a long and interesting interview took place, in which Lord Farintosh's

  mother passionately implored him to break off a match upon which he was

  as resolutely bent.

  Was it a sense of honour, a longing desire to possess this young beauty,

  and call her his own, or a fierce and profound dislike to being balked in

  any object of his wishes, which actuated the young lord? Certainly he had

 

‹ Prev