“Her voice had gradually been growing fainter, and her articulation more difficult, as she uttered those loving words which Death rudely cut short. The medical man came: it was too late—all was over! Then did I throw myself upon that senseless form, and accuse myself of having broken the heart of the best of women. Oh! I thought, if I could only recall the past: if the last few years of my life could be spent over again—if my beloved wife, my little ones, and my fortune were still left to me—how different would my conduct be! But repentance was too late: the work was done—and the consummation of the task of ruin, sorrow, and death was accomplished! Wretch—wretch that I was!
“The poor people at whose cottage my wife thus breathed her last, were very kind to me. They endeavoured to solace my affliction, and insisted that I should remain with them at least until after the funeral. And if my poor Julia’s remains received decent interment,—if she were spared the last ignominy of a parish funeral, which would have crowned all the sad memories that remained to me in respect to her,—it was through the benevolence of those poor people and the surgeon who had been called in.
“When I had followed the corpse of my poor wife to the grave, I returned to London; and, assuming another name, procured a humble employment in the City. Would you believe, my lord, that one who had held the rank of a Field Officer became the follower of a bailiff—a catchpole—a sort of vampire feeding itself upon the vitals of the poor and unfortunate? Yet such was my case: and even in that detestable capacity I experienced one day of unfeigned pleasure—one day of ineffable satisfaction; and that was upon being employed to arrest and convey to Whitecross Street prison my mortal enemy—Colonel Beaumont. Yes: he also was ruined by play, and overwhelmed with difficulties. And at whose suit was he captured? At that of Goldshig, the Jew! The Colonel was playing at hide-and-seek; but I tracked him out. Night and day did I pursue my inquiries until I learnt that he occupied a miserable lodging in the Old Bailey: and there was he taken. He languished for six months in prison—deserted by his friends—and compelled to receive the City allowance. Every Sunday during that period did I visit the gaol to gloat upon his miseries. At length he died in the infirmary, and was buried as a pauper!
“Shortly after that event, I lost my place, through having shown some kindness to a poor family in whose house I was placed in possession under an execution; and from that time, until yesterday, my life has been a series of such miseries—such privations—such maddening afflictions, that it is most marvellous how I ever could have surmounted them. Indeed, I am astonished that suicide has not long ago terminated my wretched career. Your Highness saw how I was spurned from the door of that temple of infamy, which had absorbed a considerable part of my once ample means;—but that was not the first—no, nor the fiftieth time that, when driven to desperation, I have vainly implored succour of those who had formerly profited by my follies—my vices. In conclusion, permit me to assure your Highness that if the most heart-felt gratitude on the part of a wretch like me, be in any way a recompense for that bounty which has relieved me from the most woeful state of destitution and want,—then that reward is yours—for I am grateful—oh! God only knows how deeply grateful!”
“Say no more upon that subject,” exclaimed Richard, who was profoundly affected by the history which he had just heard. “From this day forth you shall never experience want again—provided you adhere to your resolves to abandon those temples of ruin in which fortune, reputation, and happiness—yes, and the happiness of others—are all engulphed. But for the present we have both a duty to perform. Last night, at the door of Crockford’s Club, I observed a young man in the society of two villains, whom I have, alas! ample cause to remember. This young man of whom I speak, drew forth his purse to assist you at the moment when I interfered.”
“Yes—I saw him, and I know who he is, my lord,” replied the Major. “His name is Egerton—he lives in Stratton Street—and his fortune is rapidly passing into the pockets of swindlers and blacklegs. It was my intention to call upon him and warn him of the frightful precipice upon which he stands; but, alas! too well do I know that such is the infatuation which possesses the gamester——”
“Enough!” interrupted Richard. “That idea must not deter me from performing what I conceive to be a duty. And you must aid me in the task.”
“If your Highness will show me how I can be instrumental in rescuing that young man from the jaws of destruction,” exclaimed Major Anderson, “gladly—most gladly will I lend my humble aid.”
“You speak as one who is anxious to atone for the misdeeds of the past,” said the Prince; “and so long as such be your feelings, you will find a sincere friend in me. In respect to this foolish young man, who is rushing headlong to ruin, caution must be used; or else those arch-profligates, Chichester and Harborough, will frustrate my designs. It is for you to seek an interview with Mr. Egerton, and inform him that the Prince of Montoni is desirous to see him upon business of a most serious and of altogether a private nature.”
“The wishes of your Highness shall be attended to,” replied Major Anderson. “It is useless to attempt to find Egerton alone at this time of the day; but to-morrow morning I will call on him at an early hour.”
The Prince was satisfied with this arrangement, and took his departure from the lodging of the ruined gamester.
Reader! there is no vice which is so fertile in the various elements of misery as Gambling!
CHAPTER CCXLV.
THE EXCURSION.
While Major Anderson was engaged in relating his terribly impressive history to the Prince of Montoni, Lord Dunstable and Egerton were in earnest conversation together at the lodgings of the latter gentleman in Stratton Street.
The fact was, that Albert Egerton was placed in a most cruel dilemma, as the following note, which he had received in the morning, will show:—
‘Pavement, March 28th, 1841.
‘A month has passed, dear Albert, since I saw you; and you promised to come and see us as soon as you had finished your little business about buying the estate. But you have not come; and me and the girls are quite non-plushed about it. So I tell you what we’ve made up our minds to do. Next Monday is a holiday; and we intend to hire a shay and go and see your new estate. But as we don’t know where it is, we shall of course want you to go with us; and so you may expect us next Monday, as I say, at eleven o’clock precise. Now mind and don’t disappoint us; because we’ve all made up our minds to go, and we won’t take any refusal. If you can’t go, why then we’ll go by ourselves; so in that case send us the proper address, and a note to the servants. You see that me and the girls are quite determined; so no excuse,
“Your loving aunt,
“BETSY BUSTARD.”
“What the deuce is to be done?” asked Egerton for the tenth time since the arrival of his friend.
“Egad! I really am at a loss to advise, my dear boy,” replied Dunstable. “The affair is so confoundedly ticklish. Can’t you write and put them off?”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Egerton: “you see how determined they are. Even if I were to apologise for not accompanying them, how could I refuse to give them the address of a country-seat which they so firmly believe me to possess?”
“Then write and say that, finding the house did not suit you after all, you have sold it again,” suggested Dunstable.
“My aunt would see through the thing in a moment,” returned Egerton. “Besides, she is intimate with Storks, my stock-broker, and would learn from him that I had not bought in any money lately; but, on the contrary, had been selling out. I really must do something—even if I hire a country house for the purpose.”
“Ah! that might be done!” cried Dunstable. “Or, stay!” he continued, a sudden idea striking him: “I have it—I have it, my dear boy!”
And his lordship seemed as overjoyed as if he himself were the individual who was unex
pectedly released from a serious difficulty.
“Do not keep me in suspense,” said Egerton, imploringly: “what is it that you have thought of?”
“I’ll tell you in as few words as possible, my boy,” returned the nobleman. “It was about two years ago that I passed a short time at a place not far from London, called Ravensworth Hall. It is a splendid mansion, and has been shut up almost ever since that period. Lady Ravensworth is living somewhere on the continent, in great seclusion, and I happen to know that there is only an old gardener, with his wife, residing at the Hall.”
“But I cannot understand how anything you are now telling me bears reference to my difficulty,” observed Egerton, impatiently.
“Why—don’t you see?” ejaculated Lord Dunstable, slapping his friend upon the shoulder. “The gardener and his wife will not decline a five-pound note; and I dare say they are not so mighty punctilious as to refuse to allow you to call yourself the master of Ravensworth Hall for one day. What do you think of that idea?”
“I think it is most admirable,” returned Egerton, his countenance brightening up—“if it can only be carried into execution.”
“Will you leave it all to me?” asked Dunstable.
“I cannot possibly do better,” replied Egerton. “But remember—there is no time to lose. This cursed letter must be answered to-day, or to-morrow morning at latest.”
“I will ride out to Ravensworth as quickly as a thorough-bred can take me thither,” said Dunstable, rising to depart. “At seven o’clock this evening I’ll meet you to dine at Long’s; and by that time all shall be satisfactorily arranged, I can promise you.”
Egerton wrung his friend’s hand; and the nobleman had already reached the door of the room, when he turned back as if a sudden recollection had struck him, and said, “By the way, my dear boy, have you any cash in the house? I must make a certain payment in the neighbourhood before I go; and my agent in the country has been infernally slow lately in sending up the rents of my estate.”
Lord Dunstable’s estate was one of those pleasing fictions which exhibit the imaginative faculties of so many members of the aristocracy and gentry residing at the West End of London.
“Oh! certainly,” was Egerton’s prompt answer to the question put to him. “I have some four or five hundred pounds in my pocket-book. How much do you require?”
“Four hundred pounds will just make up the amount I have to pay,” said Dunstable; and having received that sum in Bank-notes, he took his departure, humming an opera air.
It is not necessary to detail the particulars of the young nobleman’s visit to Ravensworth Hall: suffice it to say that he was completely successful in his proposed arrangements with the gardener, and that he communicated this result to his friend Egerton at Long’s Hotel in the evening. Chichester, Cholmondeley, and Harborough were let into the secret; and they insisted upon joining the party.
Accordingly, on the following day Egerton sent a favourable reply to his aunt’s letter; but his conscience reproached him—deeply reproached him, for the cheat which he was about to practise upon his confiding and affectionate relative.
For, in spite of the dissipated courses which he was pursuing,—in spite of the gratification which his pride received from the companionship of his aristocratic acquaintances,—in spite of the lavish extravagance that marked his expenditure, this young man’s good feelings were not altogether perverted; and it required but the timely interposition of some friendly hand to reclaim him from the ways that were hurrying him on to ruin!
The Monday fixed upon for the excursion arrived; and at eleven o’clock in the forenoon a huge yellow barouche, commonly called “a glass-coach,” rattled up to the door of Mr. Egerton’s lodgings in Stratton Street. The driver of this vehicle had put on his best clothes, which were, however, of a seedy nature, and gave him the air of an insolvent coachman; and the pair of horses which it was his duty to drive seemed as if they had been purchased at least six months previously by a knacker who had, nevertheless, mercifully granted them a respite during pleasure.
Egerton’s countenance became as red as scarlet when this crazy equipage stopped at his door: but his four friends, who were all posted at the windows of his drawing-room, affected to consider the whole affair as “a very decent turn-out;” and thus the young man’s mind was somewhat calmed.
By the side of the seedy coachman upon the box sate a tall, thin, red-haired young man, dressed in deep black, and with his shirt-collar turned down, over a neckerchief loosely tied, after the fashion of Lord Byron. The moment the glass-coach stopped in Stratton Street, down leapt the aforesaid seedy coachman on one side, and the thin young man on the other; and while the seedy coachman played a nondescript kind of tune upon the knocker of the house, the young gentleman proceeded to hand out first Mrs. Bustard, and then her five daughters one after the other.
This being done, and Egerton’s tiger having thrown open the front door, the thin young man offered one arm to Mrs. Bustard and the other to Miss Clarissa Jemima Bustard, and escorted them into the house, the four remaining young ladies following in a very interesting procession indeed.
Egerton hastened to welcome his relatives; but from the first moment that he had set his eyes upon the red-haired young man, he had entertained the most awful misgivings;—and those fears were fully confirmed when Mrs. Bustard introduced that same young man by the name of “Mr. Tedworth Jones, the intended husband of Clarissa Jemima.”
The son and heir of the wealthy tripeman tendered a hand which felt as flabby as tripe itself; and Miss Clarissa Jemima was under the necessity of blushing deeply at her mamma’s allusion to her contemplated change of situation.
Egerton gave Mr. Tedworth Jones the tip of his fore-finger, and then conducted the party up stairs to the drawing-room, where the ceremony of introducing his City relatives to his West End friends took place.
Lord Dunstable was most gallant in claiming Mrs. Bustard as “an old acquaintance;” and he even overcame his aristocratic prejudices so far as to shake hands with Mr. Tedworth Jones. Then the young ladies were introduced in due order; and, though they giggled with each other a great deal, and were dressed in very flaunting colours, they were all very good-looking; and this circumstance rendered Lord Dunstable, Sir Rupert Harborough, Colonel Cholmondeley, and Mr. Chichester particularly agreeable towards them.
“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Bustard, throwing herself into an arm-chair, and wiping the perspiration from her fat face, “we really was scrooged up in that shay——”
“Glass-coach, mamma,” said Miss Susannah Rachel, reprovingly.
“Never mind the name, my dear,” returned Mrs. Bustard. “Your poor father always called it a shay; and he couldn’t have been wrong. But, as I was a-saying, how we was squeeged up, to be sure! Six of us inside, and obleeged to sit on each other’s knees.”
“That will be just the very thing, madam, to render the trip more agreeable,” said Mr. Chichester, with an affable smile.
“Provided the old lady doesn’t sit on my knees,” whispered Sir Rupert Harborough to Colonel Cholmondeley.
But Mr. Chichester’s observation had made all the young ladies giggle, with the exception of Miss Clarissa Jemima, who blushed, and whispered to Mr. Jones something about such a remark being very unpleasant for a person “in her situation.” Mr. Jones cast a sentimental glance upon his intended, and sighed very poetically as he assured Miss Clarissa that she was “a hangel.”
“How are we going, Al dear?” asked Mrs. Bustard, after a pause; “and how far off is it? because I don’t think the cattle in our shay are any very great shakes.”
“On the contrary, aunt, I am afraid they are very great shakes indeed,” replied Egerton, with a miserable attempt at a joke. “But I think you will approve of the arrangements made.”
“Oh! yes—I am sure of that,” hastily in
terposed Lord Dunstable, who perceived that his young friend was very far from happy. “Your nephew’s establishment is not prepared for his reception yet; but we have done all we could to make you and your amiable daughters comfortable. Materials for an elegant collation were sent out yesterday; and my four-in-hand and the Colonel’s phaeton, in addition to your glass-coach, will convey us all in a very short time to your nephew’s country seat.”
Scarcely were these words uttered when the four-in-hand and the phaeton alluded to, dashed up the street; and the tiger entered to announce their arrival.
Egerton immediately offered his arm to his aunt, well knowing that if he did not take care of her no one else would: Mr. Tedworth Jones escorted his intended; Lord Dunstable took one of the young ladies under his protection; and the three others of course fell respectively to the lot of Colonel Cholmondeley, Sir Rupert Harborough, and Mr. Chichester.
A fair and equitable distribution of the party took place between the three vehicles; and the cavalcade moved rapidly away in a northern direction, Mrs. Bustard assuring her nephew “that it was quite a blessing to get rid of so much scrooging and squeeging as she had previously endured.”
The gentlemen were very agreeable, and the young ladies very amiable—although they every now and then simpered and giggled without much apparent cause; but then it must be recollected that they suddenly found themselves for the first time in their lives in the company of a Lord, a Baronet, and two Honourables, one of whom moreover was a Colonel.
The Mysteries of London, Vol. II [Unabridged & Illustrated] (Valancourt Classics) Page 120
