“I’m extremely sorry for what I said, sir,” he remarked, penitentially; “I ought to have known better.”
“You said nothing, Jukes,” replied Abel, sadly, yet kindly, “but what I ought to have heard unmoved, and I am ashamed of my own weakness. It is not because I shall go childless to the grave that I have exhibited this emotion, but because your allusion has opened old wounds, and brought the past too palpably and painfully before me. You know the secrets of my heart, and will understand what a train of emotion a chance word might awaken. I am an old man. Jukes, — callous in feeling on most points — but there is one point on which I am as sensitive as ever. It is that disappointment — that blighting which I met with from — from — I cannot bring myself to utter her name. The wound I then received is incurable. I shall bear it to my dying day.”
“I hope not, sir — I hope not,” sympathised the butler.
“I hate the sex, Jukes!” cried Abel, almost fiercely. “There is no faith, no honesty in it — any more than there is true friendship in men. I never yet knew a woman whom I could thoroughly esteem — nor a man on whose friendship I could entirely rely. If I could make an exception in the latter case, it would be in favour of yourself.”
“And if a servant was ever true to his master, I am true to you, sir,” replied Mr. Jukes, earnestly. “But you expect too much from human nature. Our imperfect condition is to blame, not ourselves. In my opinion, there are more true-hearted women than the reverse; and I should be sorry to think otherwise. But if you search the world over for one who could come up to your notions of perfection, I fear you would not find her. The best of women have some faults, and the worst many redeeming qualities. But with all their faults they are the best part of creation. So at least I think, and so you would think too, sir, if your choice had not been so unhappily fixed.”
“Do not advert to it again. Jukes,” cried Abel, repressing a pang.
“I’ve done, sir — I’ve done!” rejoined Mr. Jukes, hastily. “And now may I venture to ask what has displeased you with your nephew?”
“Perhaps I ought not to be angry with him,” replied Abel; “but I watched him closely during his introduction to Beau Villiers and Lady Brabazon on the Mall this morning, and saw that he was completely dazzled by them. Nay, I clearly detected, by certain looks and gestures that passed between him and Lady Brazen, for such should be her title, that she put him to the blush about his relationship to me. I do not blame him for this, because I know what effect appearances have upon young persons, and how difficult it is to understand real worth when set against the glitter of rank and fashion, however worthless or vicious the latter may be. I do not blame him, I say, but I lament that he did not bear his first trial better.”
“You should blame Lady Brabazon, not him, sir,” rejoined Mr. Jukes. “Some ladies of her rank have a way of abashing modest young men, and delight in doing it. And then I’m sure I may tell you without offence, that your dress is scarcely becoming your real station in life. No, sir, I don’t wonder Mr. Randulph felt a little embarrassed. I might just as well complain of my graceless nephew, Crackenthorpe Cripps, who serves Mr. Villiers, the very gentleman you’ve mentioned. The rascal will never own me if he meets me in the Park, though he’s extremely glad to call me ‘nunks,’ and wheedle me out of a crown at other times. But what do I care for his impertinence? Nothing at all.”
“Well, Jukes, perhaps you are right,” said Abel, after a moment’s reflection; “and perhaps I am guilty of as much weakness as my nephew himself, in feeling hurt by the matter. I had written to his mother on the subject; but I have just destroyed the letter.”
“I am glad to hear it, sir,” replied Mr. Jukes.
“And now there is another point, about which I feel considerable uneasiness,” pursued Abel. “Randulph, as you know, has seen Hilda Scarve; and, short as the interview was, it was long enough it seems for her to produce a strong impression upon him. Now,” he continued, sternly, and emphatically, “he never shall marry that girl, with my consent! — never. Jukes! And if he should marry her, he shall never have a shilling of mine. I have forbidden him to visit the house; but I am apprehensive he will disobey my injunctions. If he goes there without my knowledge, I will shut my doors against him.”
“If you do so, you will act very harshly and very unjustly sir,” replied Mr. Jukes; “and so I tell you beforehand.”
“The fault will be his own,” rejoined Abel, coldly. “I have warned him. It must be your part to see Jacob Post, if the fellow is still with the miser, and ascertain whether Randulph visits the house. D’ye understand?”
“Perfectly,” replied Jukes, “but I don’t like the job.”
“Like it or not, you will do as I bid you,” continued Abel, peremptorily. “And you have not yet received the whole of your instructions. You say that your nephew serves Mr. Villiers. Bribe him to bring word what Randulph does in his master’s society; whether he games, drinks, or riots — in a word, how he goes on.”
“There will be no necessity to bribe Crackenthorpe to tell all this,” returned Mr. Jukes. “But I repeat, I don’t like such underhand proceedings. They’re unworthy of you.”
“It is the only way of arriving at the truth,” replied Abel, “And now leave me. I must write to my sister about this Scarve — curse on the name — and will desire her to interdict her son from going near the house.”
“In my humble opinion you are taking the precise course to attract him thither, sir,” rejoined Mr. Jukes. “If he never desired to go before, he will do so now. It’s human nature, sir. Tell me not to open that cupboard, and I should long to do it. Recollect Bluebeard, Sir.”
“Bluebeard be hanged!” cried Abel, angrily. “Go and look after dinner. Serve it at four to a moment. I won’t wait an instant for them — not an instant.”
The butler bowed and retired, while Abel commenced a second letter to his sister.
As Mr. Jukes approached the butler’s pantry, whither he repaired after quitting his master, he was startled by hearing a voice issue from it, singing with some taste, but in a very affected style, the following snatch: —
“I have been in love, and in debt, and in drink, This many and many a year; And these are three plagues, enough, I should think, For one poor mortal to bear.”
“There’s my rascally nephew, Crackenthorpe,” muttered Mr. Jukes. “I won’t see him. He’s come upon his old errand.”
Here the singer again exalted his voice: —
“There’s nothing but money can cure me,
And rid me of all my pain;
‘Twill pay all my debts, and remove all my lets,
And my mistress, that cannot endure me,
Will love me, and love me again. Fal de ral.”
“Ay, money’s always the burden of his song,” muttered Mr. Jukes. “However, I must see him, I suppose. My master’s orders are peremptory.”
“With this, he pushed open the door, and discovered his nephew leaning in a very careless attitude against the table. Mr. Crackenthorpe Cripps was a young man of about three-and-twenty, of very dissipated appearance, with a slim, well-proportioned figure, and tolerably good features, only marred by an expression of cunning and assurance. He was dressed in a cast-off suit of his master’s, and, being precisely the same height, and nearly the same make, as the renowned beau, his clothes fitted him remarkably well. He would scarcely have been taken for a valet, for in defiance of the regulations against the wearing of offensive weapons by footmen, then somewhat strictly enforced, from the quarrels arising among those gentry, he carried a silver-hilted sword. His coat was of scarlet, trimmed with gold somewhat tarnished, but still presenting a sufficiently gay appearance; his waistcoat of green flowered silk; his breeches of yellow velvet; his cravat was laced; and the queue of his wig was left unfastened, allowing the hair to float negligently over his shoulders, to add, no doubt, to the rakish air he affected. A clouded cane, with a large silken tassel, completed his equipment. From his air, his dress
, and his pretensions, this coxcomb was known amongst his fraternity as Beau Cripps — a title of which he was not a little vain, and strove to support. On seeing his uncle, the valet did not alter his position, but contented himself with waving his hand condescendingly to him.
“How are ye, nunks?” he said. “Give you the bon jour, as we bucks say. Sweet old soul, how I love thee! ‘Pon rep! ’tis a pleasure rather than a duty to visit thee.”
“I beg you’ll never put yourself to any trouble on my account, nephew,” replied Mr. Jukes, somewhat testily; “and I must request, whenever you visit this house in future, that you’ll bear in mind the situation I hold in it. Amuse yourself with your opera ballads elsewhere.”
“Cudslid, nunks!” cried Mr. Cripps, “you are far more particular than the Duke of Doncaster’s gentleman himself. Why I do what I like when I visit him.”
“Perhaps so,” rejoined Mr. Jukes; “but you sha’n’t do what you like here, I promise you.”
“Devil take me, if I ever heard a better jest,” cried Mr. Cripps, forcing a laugh; “but you were always a wit, nunks. Try my snush. You’ll find it excellent. It’s the beau’s own mixture, ‘pon rep!”
“And the beau’s own box, I’ll be sworn, nephew,” replied Mr. Junks, helping himself to a pinch. “Well,” he added, somewhat mollified by the attention, “will you take anything after your walk?”
“Walk, nunks!” echoed Mr. Cripps, with a look of supreme contempt. “Do you think I would walk while there was a conveyance to be had? No; a coach and a pair of skulls brought me hither. But since you press me, I don’t mind a glass of Bordeaux, or Rhenish. I know old Abel has a prime cellar, so suppose we tap a flask. Mrs. Nicholson, our housekeeper, persuaded me to swallow a cup of green tea before I left home, and plague on’t! it has shattered my nerves sadly.”
“It’s the punch you swallowed last night that has shattered your nerves, nephew, and not the tea,” rejoined Mr. Jukes, shaking his head: “I can’t give you claret, or hock, but if a glass of ale would sit well on your stomach—”
“A glass of ale!” repeated Mr. Cripps, with infinite disgust.
“Faugh! I’ve none of it. And as to punch, know, O ignorant nunks, that the liquors quaffed by me last night were champagne, burgundy, and hermitage. Thou starest, but ’tis a fact, ‘pon rep!”
“Let us drink and be merry,
Dance, joke, and rejoice,
With claret and sherry,
Theorbo and voice.
“The changeable world
To our joy is unjust;
All treasure’s uncertain,
So down with your dust.”
“Apropos of ‘dust,’ it was on that very subject I came hither. I want you to post the cole, nunks — to come down with the rhino — to disburse.”
“I guessed your errand, Crackenthorpe,” replied Mr. Jukes. “You’ve been gaming, sirrah!”
“Why, i’faith, nunks, I must confess to a trifle lost at picquet to the duke’s gentleman,” replied Mr. Cripps.
“What do you call a trifle, eh, nephew?” inquired Mr. Jukes.
“Why — why—” hesitated Mr. Cripps, applying to the snuffbox, and endeavouring to carry off his embarrassment by additional assurance— “twenty crowns — not a farthing more, ‘pon rep!”
“Twenty crowns!” exclaimed Mr. Jukes, raising his hands in unfeigned astonishment. “A valet drink champagne and burgundy, and lose twenty crowns at picquet! What will the world come to!”
“No sermonizing, nunks,” replied Mr. Cripps, “but down with the dust, as I said before. What will you let me have?”
“A crown, if it will rid me of you?” rejoined Mr. Jukes, impatiently.
“Devil take me if I stir without ten crowns!” replied Mr. Cripps. “Therefore, if you desire my absence, you will come down at once. Ten, by this light — ten.”
“Well, anything to get rid of you,” replied Mr. Jukes, “but this is the last advance I’ll ever make.”
“So you always say, nunks,” laughed the valet; “but I’ll refund it in a week, ‘pon rep!”
“I don’t expect it,” rejoined Mr. Jukes, unlocking a cupboard, and opening a drawer within it, from which he took ten crownpieces. “Remember, these are my savings, nephew.”
“And you couldn’t apply them to a better purpose than in assisting your sister’s son,” returned the valet, coolly pocketing the money. “Mille remercimens! — sha’n’t forget the favour, ‘pon rep! But I’ve trespassed too much on your time. Au revoir! I kiss your hand, nunks.”
“Not so fast, Crackenthorpe,” replied Mr. Jukes. “You must do me a service in return for my loan. My master’s nephew, Mr. Randulph Crew, has just been introduced to Mr. Villiers; and my master fears, and with reason, that this introduction will lead to little good. But, be that as it may, you must bring me accurate information of all their proceedings.”
“Rely upon knowing everything, nunks,” replied Mr. Cripps. “I haven’t done yet,” pursued Mr. Jukes. “There is a certain Mr. Scarve who lives in the Little Sanctuary—”
“What, the miser, whom folks nickname Starve?” interrupted Cripps. “I know him. My master has borrowed large sums of money from him. But what of him, nunks?”
“Why, I wish to ascertain whether Mr. Randulph ever visits the house — that’s all,” rejoined Mr. Jukes.
“What! old Abel is afraid of his nephew borrowing money, eh?” replied Mr. Cripps, laughing. “Well, that can be easily managed. A perruquier whom I patronise, — Peter Pokerich by name, — lives opposite old Starve’s dwelling, and must know his servant, if he keeps one; if not, he must know the miser himself. I’ll get what you want from him, never fear. Any further commands?” he added, cocking his hat jauntily, and gracefully twirling his cane, preparatory to his departure.
Before Mr. Jukes could reply, the door was opened, and Abel Beechcroft entered the room. He stared so sternly at Mr. Cripps, that the confidence of the latter completely deserted him, and hastily taking off his hat, he would have retreated if Abel had not stopped him.
“What are you doing here, rascal?” he asked.
“Only come to see my uncle, ‘pon rep, Mr. Beechcroft!” stammered the valet.
“Only come to rob him of his gains, knave, you mean,” rejoined Abel, sarcastically. “But hark ye, sirrah! I, like my butler, have a plague of a nephew, and he has just become acquainted with your master — your foppish, rakish, gambling master, — and I cannot hope will escape the taint of such infectious society. Now I want to know how quickly, and to what extent, he becomes corrupted by it. You must play the spy upon him, fellow.”
“My uncle has told me your request, Mr. Beechcroft,” rejoined Mr. Cripps; “but really ‘pon rep! if you put the matter in such an objectionable light — if you term it ‘playing the spy’ — I cannot consistently with my — my rep-rep-reputation, comply with your request.”
“What, you are scrupulous, eh, rascal?” laughed Abel, derisively, “and affect as nice a sense of honour as your master? But, like him, you have your price. Bring me the information I require, and you shall have double the sum, whatever it may be, out of which you have just cajoled your uncle.”
“That will be twenty crowns, Mr. Beechcroft,’” replied Mr. Cripps. “You’re a shrewd judge of human nature, sir, ‘pon rep! and have discovered my weak point. No Cripps was ever proof against a bribe.”
“Then the bargain is concluded,” replied Abel, impatiently. “See him out of the house, Mr. Jukes. And then let this letter be taken to the post. Ah! I hear my brother’s and my nephew’s voices in the hall. Point out Mr. Randulph to your nephew, Jukes.”
The butler nodded, and departed with the valet, while Abel returned to the library. Trussell and Randulph were talking and laughing in the hall. On seeing Mr. Cripps, the former instantly directed his nephew’s attention to him.
“As I live,” he cried, “there is Beau Villiers’ gentleman, Mr. Cripps. You must know him, Randulph. It is not amiss to be on terms, even wit
h the servants of the great. Mr. Cripps, a word with you. There’s a bow, Randulph, — the true diving bow, bringing the hair before, with the proper water-spaniel shake afterwards, to restore it to its place. Then did you ever see such a wig, such a cravat, or such a sword-knot?”
“Never on a footman, unquestionably,” replied Randulph.
“Mr. Cripps,” continued Trussell, “this is my nephew, Mr. Randulph Crew, a young gentleman new to the world, as I need scarcely tell you. He has just been presented to your master, and, I flatter myself, has already won his regards.”
“Delighted to hear it, Mr. Trussell — delighted,” replied Mr. Cripps, with another diving bow,— “but not surprised. Fine young man, ‘pon rep! and only wants the je ne scais quoi air, which my master will speedily impart to him, to be perfect. Egad, my master must look to his laurels, Mr. Trussell, or your nephew may rob him of ’em — ha! ha! Condescend to try my snush, sir? It’s the beau’s mixture, with a slight improvement of my own.”
“Thankye, thankye, Mr. Cripps,” said Trussell, plunging his fingers into the proffered box.
“What is it to be to-night, sir?” inquired Mr. Cripps— “the ridotto at Ranelagh, the French play at the Haymarket, or Lady Fazakerly’s drum?”
“I’faith, I don’t know,” replied Trussell, a little embarrassed. “The truth is,” he added, in an under-tone, “my brother is rather straight-laced. He has prejudices to which we must occasionally succumb.”
Mr. Cripps smiled significantly, and regaled his nostrils with a very large pinch of snuff.
“You’ll take care of my nephew’s interest with your master, Mr. Cripps,” whispered Trussell, slipping a crown at the same time into his hand.
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 290
