The narrative concerns Randulph Crew, a youth from Cheshire arriving in London in the early eighteenth century, after giving up his inheritance to his father’s creditors, following his father’s death. He soon becomes infatuated with a girl named Hilda, whose father, Scarve, is an infamous miser. However, Scarve wishes for her to marry his nephew, Philip Frewin and looks unkindly on Crew, disapproving of his paying his fathers’ creditors. Crew’s pursuit of Hilda is also opposed by his uncle, Abel Beechcroft, as Beechcroft once wanted a woman that Scarve cunningly took from him. The novel also features a Jacobite conspiracy which inadvertently entangles the young Crew, as he seeks to win the hand of the Miser’s daughter.
The magazine in which the novel was first serialised
CONTENTS
BOOK I. — RANDULPH CREW
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CHAPTER XIX.
CHAPTER XX.
BOOK II. — TRUSSELL BEECHCROFT
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
BOOK III. — ABEL BEECHCROFT
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER XVIII.
How the novel appeared in serial format
BOOK I. — RANDULPH CREW
CHAPTER I.
The Miser’s Dwelling in the Little Sanctuary — Opposite Neighbours — Peter Pokerich and the Fair Thomasine — Jacob Post — Randulph Crew.
In a large, crazy, old-fashioned house at the corner of the Little Sanctuary in Westminster, and facing the abbey, dwelt, in the year 1774*, a person named Scarve.
(The second number of the magazine publication gives this important note to the reader: A slight, but very important typographical error occurred in the first page of this story in the greater part of the impression of the last number. The date was printed 1774. It should have been 1744. A cancel page will be given to bind up with the volume; but, meanwhile, the reader is requested to kindly to correct the mistake with his pen.)
From his extraordinary penurious habits, he received the appellation of Starve, and was generally denominated by his neighbours “Miser Starve.” Few, if any, of those who thus designated him, knew much about him, none of them being allowed to cross his threshold; but there was an air, even externally, about his dwelling, strongly indicative of his parsimonious character. Most of the windows in the upper stories, which, as is usual with habitations of that date, far overhung the lower, were boarded up, and those not thus closed were so covered with dust and dirt that it was impossible to discern any object through them. Many parts of the building were in a ruinous condition, and where the dilapidations were not dangerous, were left in that state; but wherever some repairs were absolutely necessary to keep the structure together, they were made in the readiest and cheapest manner. The porch alone preserved its original character. It projected far beyond the doorway, and was ornamented with the arms of a former occupant of the habitation, wrought in bold relief in oak, and supported by two beautifully-carved female figures. All the lower windows were strongly grated, and darkened like the upper with long-accumulated dust. The door was kept constantly bolted and barred, even in the day-time; and the whole building had a dingy, dismal, and dungeon-like aspect.
Mr. Scarve’s opposite neighbour, who was as curious as opposite neighbours generally are, and who was a mercer named Deacle, used to spend hours with his wife and daughter, who was as curious as himself, in reconnoitring the miser’s dwelling. But their curiosity was rarely, if ever, gratified, except by occasionally seeing some member of the family go forth, or return. Another constant spy upon the mysterious abode was Peter Pokerich, a young barber and wig-maker, occupying the next house to the mercer, but whose motives were not like the other’s, entirely those of curiosity. Having completed his apprenticeship about a twelvemonth before, Peter Pokerich had at that time settled in the Little Sanctuary, and had already obtained a fair share of business, being much employed in dressing the wigs of the lawyers frequenting Westminster Hall. He was a smart dapper little fellow, with no contemptible opinion of himself, either as to mental or personal qualifications, and being determined to push his fortune with the sex, had, in the first instance, paid very marked attentions to the mercer’s daughter, Thomasine, or, as she was more familiarly called, Tommy; and these attentions it was pretty evident were not altogether unacceptable. Just, however, as he was on the eve of declaring himself and soliciting the hand of the fair Thomasine, with little apprehension of a refusal, he accidentally beheld the miser’s daughter, Hilda Scarve, and his inflammable heart taking fire at her beauty, which was sufficiently ravishing to captivate a colder breast than the barber’s, he thenceforth became her slave, and could no longer endure the auburn locks, the hazel orbs, the round cheeks, and plump little person, of the fair Thomasine, which had once appeared so attractive in his eyes. Another consideration was not without its weight in turning the scale of his affections. Hilda’s father was reputed to be of immense wealth; she was his only child, at least it was generally understood to be so, and would, of course, inherit the whole of his vast hoards; and as, furthermore, he was an old man, it could not, in the course of nature, be very long before the property must come to her. This consideration decided Peter in favour of the miser’s daughter, and it was the hope of obtaining a glimpse of her that made him play the spy upon her father’s dwelling.
The repairs previously alluded to were made by the miser’s servant, Jacob Post, who, on this occasion, stepped over the way to borrow a ladder from Mr. Deacle. For reasons of his own, the mercer readily complied with the request, and when Jacob’s work was done, and he brought back the ladder, he was invited by its owner to his back parlour, where Mrs. Deacle and the fair Thomasine were seated, and where a substantial repast was laid out. Jacob was next requested to sit down, and with some hesitation complied. A plate, loaded with cold beef, was next offered him, and he cleared it in an inconceivably short space of time. The plate was again filled, and again emptied, and as his appetite seemed in no ways stayed, and the edge-bone was nearly bared, a large remnant of a potato pie in a brown earthenware dish was substituted.
To the astonishment of the party, he soon disposed of it. These viands requiring to be washed down, Mr. Deacle took a jug of ale, which stood at one corner of the table, and pouring out a large foaming glass, offered it to his guest, winking as he did so at his wife, as much as to say, “We have him now.” Whether or not Jacob saw the wink is of little import. He took the glass, drained it to the last drop, and sprang to his feet.
“Why, you’re not going!” cried Mr. Deacle.
“Yes, I am,” replied Jacob, in a deep, gruff voice.
“Well; but stop a bit, I’ve something to say to you,” rejoined Mr. Deacle.
“Master’ll wonder what I’m doing here so long,” returned Jacob. “He watched me cross over with the ladder.”
; “You should have thought of that before you sat down,” remarked Mrs. Deacle, somewhat spitefully. “If you would draw another jug of ale, my dear, I dare say Jacob would risk incurring his master’s displeasure, and stay a few minutes longer.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” replied Jacob, looking at the same time wistfully at the jug. “No, I wouldn’t,” he added, slightly softening his tone.
“Try him,” whispered Mrs. Deacle to her spouse.
Mr. Deacle took the hint, and likewise took up the jug, and winking at his wife, proceeded to a side door, opening upon a flight of stone steps, evidently leading to the lower part of the premises, and disappeared. With true feminine tact, Mrs. Deacle had perceived Jacob’s weak point.
He seemed spell-bound. The temptation of the ‘other jug’ was irresistible. He scratched his forehead with the point of his great thumb-nail, pushed the little brown scratch wig covering the top of his head still higher up, glanced at the door, but did not attempt to withdraw. The figure that he now cut was so ridiculous that both ladies burst into screams of laughter. Not in the slightest degree disconcerted, Jacob maintained his position, and eyed them with a look so stern that their merriment speedily died off in a quaver. The Formidable certainly predominated over the Ridiculous in Jacob’s appearance. He was six feet two in height, with a large-boned frame, not encumbered with too much flesh, and immense hands and feet. Though slightly in-kneed, he held himself as erect as an old soldier. He had a grim black muzzle, a wide mouth garnished with keen white teeth, the masticatory powers of which he had so satisfactorily exhibited, thick and jetty eyebrows, and an enormous nose slightly tinged towards its extremity with a mulberry hue. He wore an old gray cloth coat, of the formal cut, in vogue about twenty years before, with a row of plate buttons extending from the collar to the skirts, as well as others on the pockets, and which coat, though it only reached to his knees, must have dangled down to its original owner’s ankles. His waistcoat was of the same material as the upper garment, and evidently dated back to the same remote period. A dirty neckcloth, which looked positively white from its contrast with his swarthy chin, was twisted round his throat. He possessed great personal strength, and, indeed, was reported to have driven off, single-handed, three housebreakers, who had contrived one night to effect an entrance into his master’s habitation. It was thought that the miser retained him as much for self-defence as for his other services; and it was even said that in some money-lending transactions in which Mr. Scarve had been engaged with suspicious characters, Jacob stood by on guard.
By this time, the mercer had returned with a jug, whose frothing head made Jacob smack his lips. Seeing the effect produced on him, Mr. Deacle indulged in a sly chuckle.
“Ah! Jacob,” he said, in a feigned commiserating tone, “I fear you don’t get such liquor as this with your master. He don’t brew over strong — not too much malt and hops, eh?”
“That’s true enough, Sir,” replied Jacob, gruffly.
“Do you get any ale at all, Jacob?” inquired Mrs. Deacle.
“No,” replied Jacob, in a tone so abrupt that it made the good dame start, and elicited a slight scream from the fair Thomasine.
“Odd’s precious!” exclaimed Mrs. Deacle; “how the fellow does frighten one. And so you have no ale?” — (Jacob shook his head)— “nor small-beer?” — (another negative)— “then what do you drink, for wine or spirits must be out of the question?”
“Treacle-beer,” rejoined Jacob, “and little enough of that.”
“So I should think,” remarked Mr. Deacle, cunningly. “Come, come, friend Jacob, — this may be very well for your master, but it won’t do with me. Your nose would never keep its goodly colour on such thin potations.”
A grim smile crossed Jacob’s face, and he tapped the feature in question.
“I understand,” replied the mercer, winking; “private cellar, ah! Perfectly right, Jacob. Private larder, too, I’ll be sworn. You couldn’t live on Miser Starve’s — I mean Mr. Scarve’s — allowance. Impossible, Jacob; impossible. Take a glass, Jacob. Your master must be very rich, eh?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jacob, after tossing off the glass; “he doesn’t live like a rich man.”
“There I differ from you,” returned the mercer, “he lives like a miser, and misers are always rich.”
“Maybe,” replied Jacob, turning away.
“Stop, stop,” cried the ironmonger, “you must finish this jug before you go. Are you the only servant in the house?”
“The only man-servant,” replied Jacob, looking as if he did not relish the question; “but there’s sometimes a cheerwoman, and the two ladies do for themselves.”
“Do for themselves!” ejaculated Mrs.
Deacle. “How dreadful!”
“Dreadful! indeed,” echoed Thomasine, with an expression of ineffable disgust, theatrically fine in its effect.
“Well, I should like to see the inside of your master’s house, Jacob, I confess,” pursued Mrs. Deacle.
“You wouldn’t wish to repeat the visit, ma’am, if you had once been there,” he answered drily.
“I hope the miser doesn’t ill-treat his daughter,” said Thomasine. “Poor thing! how I pity her. Such a sweet creature, and such a tyrant of a father!”
“She’s not ill-treated, miss,” rejoined Jacob, gruffly; “and she’s not so much to be pitied as you suppose; nor is master a tyrant by no means, miss.”
“Don’t be offended, Jacob,” interposed the mercer, pouring out a glass and handing it to him. “Women always fancy themselves ill-treated either by their fathers, husbands, or brothers — all except their lovers, eh, Jacob?”
“I’m sure, my love, nobody can say I complain,” said Mrs. Deacle.
“Nor I, father,” added Thomasine; “as to lovers, I know nothing about them, and don’t desire to know.”
“Bless me! how you take one up,” rejoined Mr. Deacle, sharply. “Nobody does say that either of you complains. Surely, Jacob, the old lady whom I always see with your master’s daughter can’t be her mother?”
“No, she’s her aunt,” replied Jacob.
“On the father’s side?”
“Mother’s.”
“I thought as much; and her name is — ?” Jacob looked as though he would have said, “What’s that to you?” but he answered, “Mrs. Clinton.”
“You’ll think me rather curious, Jacob,” pursued the mercer, “but I should like to know the name of your master’s daughter. What is it, eh?”
“Hilda,” replied Jacob.
“Hilda! dear me, a very singular name,” cried Mrs. Deacle.
“Singular, indeed! but sweetly pretty,” sighed Thomasine.
“Probably a family name,” remarked the mercer. “Well, Miss Hilda’s a charming creature, Jacob, — charming.”
“She is charming,” repeated Jacob, emphatically.
“Not very well dressed though,” muttered the mercer, as if speaking to himself; and then he added aloud— “She’ll be a great catch, Jacob — a great catch; any engagement — anyone in view — any lover, eh?”
“No one,” replied Jacob. “Unless,” he added, bursting into a hoarse laugh, “it’s your next door neighbour, Peter Pokerich, the barber.”
“Peter Pokerich!” screamed Thomasine, starting to her feet, and assuming an attitude of distraction.
“Mercy on us! what’s the matter, Tommy?” cried the mercer, in surprise.
“Don’t ask me, father,” rejoined the young lady, gasping like a tragic actress, and passing her hand across her brow as if to clear off some imaginary hair; her own auburn tresses being trimly secured beneath a pretty little fly-cap. “Tell me, Jacob,” she added, catching his arm, “Is my — is Peter — is he Hilda Scarve’s lover? — has he declared his passion? — is he accepted? — tell me all, Jacob, and whatever effort it may cost me, I will bear it.”
“I’ve nothing more to tell than this,” replied Jacob, who listened with imperturbable calmness to this passio
nate and touching address.— “He has lately taken to following Miss Hilda when she goes out to walk with her aunt.”
“But he has not dared to address her, Jacob?” cried Thomasine, breathlessly.
“Not till the other day,” replied Jacob, “and then he stopped her just as she was entering the house. Luckily, I was there, and I gave him a taste of my crabstick, which I’ll engage he’ll remember.”
“Cudgelled! — Peter false, and cudgelled! — cruel, yet kind, Jacob!” cried Thomasine, relaxing her hold, and staggering back, “This is too much — support me, mother.”
“What’s the matter with you, Tommy, I say? — are you going distracted?” cried the mercer.
“Fetch the ratafia, my dear, and don’t ask questions,” replied his wife. “Don’t you see there’s been a secret attachment?” she added, in an under tone; “that deceitful little barber has played her false. But I’ll bring him to his senses, I’ll warrant him. Poor thing! this is just the state I was thrown into when I heard of your going to Storbridge fair with cousin Sally. The ratafia! the ratafia! — quick! quick!”
The mercer opened a cupboard, took out the cordial, gave it to his wife, and then motioning to Jacob to follow him, rushed so precipitately out of the room that he overset a person who was listening at the door, and who proved to be no other than Peter Pokerich.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 286
