Paul Clifford

by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

  Before he of the flowing locks had time to answer, the master of the ceremonies, who had for the last three minutes been eyeing the strangers through his glass, stepped forward with a sliding bow, and the handsome gentleman taking upon himself the superiority and precedence over his comrades, was the first to return the courtesy. He did this with so good a grace, and so pleasing an expression of countenance, that the censor of bows was charmed at once, and, with a second and more profound salutation announced himself and his office.

  ‘You would like to dance, probably, gentlemen?’ he asked, glancing at each, but directing his words to the one who had prepossessed him.

  ‘You are very good,’ said the comely stranger; ‘and, for my part, I shall be extremely indebted to you for the exercise of your powers in my behalf. Allow me to return with you to the ball-room, and I can there point out to you the objects of my especial admiration.’

  The master of the ceremonies bowed as before, and he and his new acquaintance strolled into the ball-room, followed by the two comrades of the latter.

  ‘Have you been long in Bath, sir?’ inquired the monarch of the rooms.

  ‘No, indeed! We only arrived this evening.’

  ‘From London?’

  ‘No: we made a little tour across the country.’

  ‘Ah! Very pleasant, this fine weather.’

  ‘Yes; especially in the evenings.’

  ‘Oho! – Romantic!’ thought the man of balls, as he rejoined aloud, ‘Why the nights are agreeable, and the moon is particularly favourable to us.’

  ‘Not always!’ quoth the stranger.

  ‘True – true, the night before last was dark; but, in general, surely the moon has been very bright.’

  The stranger was about to answer, but checked himself, and simply bowed his head as in assent.

  ‘I wonder who they are!’ thought the master of the ceremonies. ‘Pray, sir,’ said he, in a low tone, ‘is that gentleman – that tall gentleman, any way related to Lord —? I cannot but think I see a family likeness.’

  ‘Not in the least related to his lordship,’ answered the stranger; ‘but he is of a family that have made a noise in the world; though he (as well as my other friend) is merely a commoner!’ laying a stress on the last word.

  ‘Nothing, sir, can be more respectable than a commoner of family,’ returned the polite Mr —, with a bow.

  ‘I agree with you, sir,’ answered the stranger, with another. ‘But, heavens!’ – and the stranger started; for at that moment his eye caught for the first time, at the far end of the room, the youthful and brilliant countenance of Lucy Brandon, – ‘do I see rightly? or is that Miss Brandon?’

  ‘It is indeed that lovely young lady,’ said Mr —. ‘I congratulate you on knowing one so admired. I suppose that you, being blessed with her acquaintance, do not need the formality of my introduction.’

  ‘Umph!’ said the stranger, rather shortly and uncourteously – ‘No! Perhaps you had better present me!’

  ‘By what name shall I have that honour, sir?’ discreetly inquired the nomenclator.

  ‘Clifford!’ answered the stranger; ‘Captain Clifford!’

  Upon this, the prim master of the ceremonies, threading his path through the now fast-filling room, approached towards Lucy to obey Mr Clifford’s request. Meanwhile, that gentleman, before he followed the steps of the tutelary spirit of the place, paused, and said to his friends, in a tone careless, yet not without command, ‘Hark ye, gentlemen, oblige me by being as civil and silent as ye are able, and don’t thrust yourselves upon me, as you are accustomed to do, whenever you see no opportunity of indulging me with that honour with the least show of propriety!’ So saying, and waiting no reply, Mr Clifford hastened after the master of the ceremonies.

  ‘Our friend grows mighty imperious!’ said Long Ned, whom our readers have already recognized in the tall stranger.

  ‘’Tis the way with your rising geniuses,’ answered the moralizing Augustus Tomlinson. ‘Suppose we go to the card-room, and get up a rubber!’

  ‘Well thought of,’ said Ned, yawning, – a thing he was very apt to do in society. ‘And I wish nothing worse to those who try our rubbers, than that they may be well cleaned by them.’ Upon this witticism the Colossus of Roads, glancing towards the glass, strutted off, arm-in-arm with his companion to the card-room.

  During this short conversation the re-introduction of Mr Clifford (the stranger of the Rectory and deliverer of Dr Slopperton) to Lucy Brandon had been effected, and the hand of the heiress was already engaged (according to the custom of that time) for the two ensuing dances.

  It was about twenty minutes after the above presentation had taken place, that Lord Mauleverer and William Brandon entered the rooms; and the buzz created by the appearance of the noted peer and the distinguished lawyer had scarcely subsided, before the royal personage expected to grace the ‘festive scene’ (as the newspapers say of a great room with plenty of miserable-looking people in it) arrived. The most attractive persons in Europe may be found among the royal family of England, and the great personage then at Bath, in consequence of certain political intrigues, wished, at that time especially, to make himself as popular as possible. Having gone the round of the old ladies, and assured them, as the Court Journal assures the old ladies at this day, that they were ‘morning stars,’ and ‘swan-like wonders,’ the Prince espied Brandon, and immediately beckoned to him with a familiar gesture. The smooth but saturnine lawyer approached the royal presence with the manner that peculiarly distinguished him, and which blended, in no ungraceful mixture, a species of stiffness, that passed with the crowd for native independence, with a supple insinuation, that was usually deemed the token of latent benevolence of heart. There was something, indeed, in Brandon’s address that always pleased the great; and they liked him the better, because, though he stood on no idle political points, mere differences in the view taken of a hair-breadth, – such as a corn-law, or a Catholic bill; alteration in the church, or a reform in parliament; yet he invariably talked so like a man of honour (except when with Mauleverer), that his urbanity seemed attachment to individuals; and his concessions to power, sacrifices of private opinion for the sake of obliging his friends.

  ‘I am very glad, indeed,’ said the royal personage, ‘to see Mr Brandon looking so much better. Never was the crown in greater want of his services; and, if rumour speak true, they will soon be required in another department of his profession.’

  Brandon bowed, and answered: –

  ‘So, please your royal highness, they will always be at the command of a king from whom I have experienced such kindness, in any capacity for which his Majesty may deem them fitting.’

  ‘It is true, then!’ said his royal highness, significantly. ‘I congratulate you! The quiet dignity of the bench must seem to you a great change after a career so busy and restless?’

  ‘I fear I shall feel it so at first, your royal highness,’ answered Brandon, ‘for I like even the toil of my profession; and at this moment, when I am in full practice, it more than ever – but’ – checking himself at once – ‘his Majesty’s wishes, and my satisfaction in complying with them, are more than sufficient to remove any momentary regret I might otherwise have felt in quitting those toils which have now become to me a second nature.’

  ‘It is possible,’ rejoined the Prince, ‘that his Majesty took into consideration the delicate state of health which, in common with the whole public, I grieve to see the papers have attributed to one of the most distinguished ornaments of the bar.’

  ‘So, please your royal highness,’ answered Brandon, coolly, and with a smile which the most piercing eye could not have believed the mask to the agony then gnawing at his nerves, ‘it is the interest of my rivals to exaggerate the little ailments of a weak constitution. I thank Providence that I am now entirely recovered; and at no time of my life have I been less unable to discharge – so far as my native and mental incapacities will allow – the duties of any occupation, h
owever arduous. Nay, as the brute grows accustomed to the mill, so have I grown wedded to business; and even the brief relaxation I have now allowed myself seems to me rather irksome than pleasurable.’

  ‘I rejoice to hear you speak thus,’ answered his royal highness warmly; ‘and I trust for many years, and,’ added he, in a lower tone, ‘in the highest chamber of the senate, that we may profit by your talents. The times are those in which many occasions occur, that oblige all true friends of the constitution to quit minor employment for that great constitutional one that concerns us all, the highest and the meanest; and’ – the royal voice sank still lower – ‘I feel justified in assuring you, that the office of chief justice alone is not considered by his Majesty as a sufficient reward for your generous sacrifice of present ambition to the difficulties of government.’

  Brandon’s proud heart swelled, and that moment the veriest pains of hell would scarcely have been felt.

  While the aspiring schemer was thus agreeably engaged, Mauleverer, sliding through the crowd with that grace which charmed everyone, old and young, and addressing to all he knew some lively or affectionate remark, made his way to the dancers, among whom he had just caught a glimpse of Lucy. ‘I wonder,’ he thought, ‘whom she is dancing with. I hope it is that ridiculous fellow, Mossop, who tells a good story against himself; or that handsome ass, Belmont, who looks at his own legs, instead of seeming to have eyes for no one but his partner. Ah! If Tarquin had but known women as well as I do, he would have had no reason to be rough with Lucretia. ’Tis a thousand pities that experience comes, in women, as in the world, just when it begins to be no longer of use to us!’

  As he made these moral reflections, Mauleverer gained the dancers, and beheld Lucy listening, with downcast eyes and cheeks that evidently blushed, to a young man, whom Mauleverer acknowledged at once to be one of the best-looking fellows he had ever seen. The stranger’s countenance, despite an extreme darkness of complexion, was, to be sure, from the great regularity of the features, rather effeminate; but, on the other hand, his figure, though slender and graceful, betrayed to an experienced eye an extraordinary proportion of sinew and muscle: and even the dash of effeminacy in the countenance was accompanied by so manly and frank an air, and was so perfectly free from all coxcombry or self-conceit, that it did not in the least decrease the prepossessing effect of his appearance. An angry and bitter pang shot across that portion of Mauleverer’s frame which the earl thought fit, for want of another name, to call his heart. ‘How cursedly pleased she looks!’ muttered he. ‘By Heaven! That stolen glance under the left eyelid, dropped as suddenly as it is raised! And he – ha! – how firmly he holds that little hand. I think I see him paddle with it; and then the dog’s earnest, intent look – and she all blushes! Though she dare not look up to meet his gaze, feeling it by intuition. Oh! The demure, modest, shamefaced hypocrite! How silent she is! – She can prate enough to me! I would give my promised garter if she would but talk to him. Talk – talk – laugh – prattle – only simper, in God’s name, and I shall be happy. But that bashful, blushing silence – it is insupportable. Thank Heaven, the dance is over! Thank Heaven, again! I have not felt such pains since the last nightmare I had, after dining with her father!’

  With a face all smiles, but with a mien in which more dignity than he ordinarily assumed was worn, Mauleverer now moved towards Lucy, who was leaning on her partner’s arm. The earl, who had ample tact where his consummate selfishness did not warp it, knew well how to act the lover, without running ridiculously into the folly of seeming to play the hoary dangler. He sought rather to be lively than sentimental; and beneath the wit to conceal the suitor.

  Having paid, then, with a careless gallantry, his first compliments, he entered into so animated a conversation, interspersed with so many naïve yet palpably just observations on the characters present, that perhaps he had never appeared to more brilliant advantage. At length, as the music was about to recommence, Mauleverer, with a careless glance at Lucy’s partner, said, ‘Will Miss Brandon now allow me the agreeable duty of conducting her to her father?’

  ‘I believe,’ answered Lucy, and her voice suddenly became timid, ‘that, according to the laws of the rooms, I am engaged to this gentleman for another dance.’

  Clifford, in an assured and easy tone, replied in assent.

  As he spoke, Mauleverer honoured him with a more accurate survey than he had hitherto bestowed on him; and whether or not there was any expression of contempt or superciliousness in the survey, it was sufficient to call up the indignant blood to Clifford’s cheek. Returning the look with interest, he said to Lucy, ‘I believe, Miss Brandon, that the dance is about to begin;’ and Lucy, obeying the hint, left the aristocratic Mauleverer to his own meditations.

  At that moment the master of the ceremonies came bowing by, half afraid to address so great a person as Mauleverer, but willing to show his respect by the profoundness of his salutation.

  ‘Aha! My dear Mr —!’ said the earl, holding out both his hands to the Lycurgus of the rooms, ‘how are you? Pray can you inform me who that young – man is, now dancing with Miss Brandon?’

  ‘It is – let me see – oh! it is a Captain Clifford, my lord! A very fine young man, my lord! Has your lordship never met him?’

  ‘Never! Who is he? One under your more especial patronage?’ said the earl, smiling.

  ‘Nay, indeed!’ answered the master of the ceremonies, with a simper of gratification. ‘I scarcely know who he is yet; the captain only made his appearance here tonight for the first time. He came with two other gentlemen – ah! There they are!’ And he pointed the earl’s scrutinizing attention to the elegant forms of Mr Augustus Tomlinson and Mr Ned Pepper, just emerging from the card-room. The swagger of the latter gentleman was so peculiarly important, that Mauleverer, angry as he was, could scarcely help laughing. The master of the ceremonies noted the earl’s countenance, and remarked, that ‘That fine-looking man seemed disposed to give himself airs!’

  ‘Judging from the gentleman’s appearance,’ said the earl, drily (Ned’s face, to say truth, did betoken his affection for the bottle), ‘I should imagine that he was much more accustomed to give himself thorough draughts!’

  ‘Ah!’ renewed the arbiter elegantiarum, who had not heard Mauleverer’s observation, which was uttered in a very low voice, – ‘Ah! They seem real dashers!’

  ‘Dashers!’ repeated Mauleverer. ‘True, haberdashers!’

  Long Ned now, having in the way of his profession acquitted himself tolerably well at the card-table, thought he had purchased the right to parade himself through the rooms, and show the ladies what stuff a Pepper could be made of.

  Leaning with his left hand on Tomlinson’s arm, and employing the right in fanning himself furiously with his huge chapeau bras, the lengthy adventurer stalked slowly along, – now setting out one leg jauntily – now the other, and ogling ‘the ladies’ with a kind of Irish look, viz., a look between a wink and a stare.

  Released from the presence of Clifford, who kept a certain check on his companions, the apparition of Ned became glaringly conspicuous; and wherever he passed, a universal whisper succeeded.

  ‘Who can he be?’ said the widow Matemore. ‘’Tis a droll creature: but what a head of hair!’

  ‘For my part,’ answered the Spinster Sneerall, ‘I think he is a linendraper in disguise; for I heard him talk to his companion of “tape.”’

  ‘Well, well,’ thought Mauleverer, ‘it would be but kind to seek out Brandon, and hint to him in what company his niece seems to have fallen!’ And, so thinking, he glided to the corner where, with a grey-headed old politician, the astute lawyer was conning the affairs of Europe.

  In the interim, the second dance had ended, and Clifford was conducting Lucy to her seat, each charmed with the other, when he found himself abruptly tapped on the back, and, turning round in alarm, – for such taps were not unfamiliar to him, – he saw the cool countenance of Long Ned, with one finger sagaciously laid
beside the nose.

  ‘How now?’ said Clifford, between his ground teeth. ‘Did I not tell thee to put that huge bulk of thine as far from me as possible?’

  ‘Humph!’ grunted Ned. ‘If these are my thanks, I may as well keep my kindness to myself; but know you, my kid, that lawyer Brandon is here, peering through the crowd, at this very moment, in order to catch a glimpse of that woman’s face of thine.’

  ‘Ha!’ answered Clifford, in a very quick tone. ‘Begone, then! I will meet you without the rooms immediately.’

  Clifford now turned to his partner, and bowing very low, in reality to hide his face from those sharp eyes which had once seen it in the court of Justice Burnflat, said, ‘I trust, madam, I shall have the honour to meet you again; – is it, if I may be allowed to ask, with your celebrated uncle that you are staying, or –’

  ‘With my father,’ answered Lucy, concluding the sentence Clifford had left unfinished, ‘but my uncle has been with us, though I fear he leaves us tomorrow.’

  Clifford’s eyes sparkled; he made no answer, but, bowing again, receded into the crowd and disappeared. Several times that night did the brightest eyes in Somersetshire rove anxiously round the rooms in search of our hero; but he was seen no more.

  It was on the stairs that Clifford encountered his comrades; taking an arm of each, he gained the door without any adventure worth noting – save that, being kept back by the crowd for a few moments, the moralizing Augustus Tomlinson, who honoured the moderate Whigs by enrolling himself among their number, took up, pour passer le temps, a tall gold-headed cane, and, weighing it across his finger with a musing air, said, ‘Alas! Among our supporters we often meet heads as heavy – but of what a different metal!’ The crowd now permitting, Augustus was walking away with his companions, and, in that absence of mind characteristic of philosophers, unconsciously bearing with him the gold-headed object of his reflection, when a stately footman stepping up to him, said, ‘Sir, my cane!’

  ‘Cane, fellow!’ said Tomlinson. ‘Ah, I am so absent! – Here is thy cane. – Only think of my carrying off the man’s cane, Ned! Ha! Ha!’