The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Pshaw! nunks, do you think I’d ask him?” rejoined Mr. Cripps, helping himself to a pinch of snuff. “He’s going to Newmarket on Wednesday with Sir Bulkeley Price, and they don’t return till Friday. And now, nunks,” pursued Mr. Cripps, fortifying himself with another pinch of snuff, “I want a little money from you. I must have all you can spare — I must, ‘pon rep!”

  “I thought it would end in this,” replied the butler.

  “Nay, I ask no particular favour,” rejoined Mr. Cripps— “I only want it till the day after the wedding, and that’s but three days off. Come, down with a hundred, and you shall have a hundred to the back of it — you shall, by this light!”

  “Ods bods! how the boy talks!” cried the butler. “I’ve no hundreds to lend, and if I had, I wouldn’t lend them on usury.”

  “Well, fifty I must have,” said Mr. Cripps; “I can’t do with less. Forty — you shake your head — thirty — twenty, — I’m obliged to come down like an auctioneer. You are devoid of all natural feeling, nunks; more stony-hearted than Brutus, to refuse your sister’s son twenty pounds for three days, and perhaps, prevent him from settling for life.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Jukes, moved by this appeal, “I will lend you twenty guineas, nephew, but you must repay me. It’s the savings of the last three years.”

  “Repay you, that I will, thou best of nunks,” replied Mr. Cripps, embracing him. “I’ll repay you with enormous interest.”

  “I don’t want interest,” replied the butler; “I shall be well content with the principal.”

  And opening a drawer in the cupboard, he took out of it a small leather bag containing twenty guineas, which he counted, and gave to his nephew.

  “Twenty thousand thanks, nunks,” said Mr. Cripps, pocketing the gold; “and rely upon being punctually repaid. By-the-bye, if you’re at all tired of your present place, and should like to serve me, I needn’t say I shall be happy to engage you as butler, and to increase your wages. What do you get from old Abel?”

  “Never mind what I get, nephew,” replied Mr. Jukes. “I’ve no idea of leaving him.”

  “No offence, nunks,” rejoined the other; “it’s no degradation to a man to be his nephew’s butler. I know two fathers who’re their own shoe-blacks. But you’ll not fail to come to the wedding. Twelve o’clock on Thursday. Be punctual. My butler’s place shall be left open for a few days, in case you should change your mind about it.”

  And he took his leave in high glee, while Mr. Jukes, as he shut the door after him, said dolefully to himself: —

  “I’m afraid I’ve done wrong in lending the money. However he’s my sister’s son.”

  Having now got a larger sum in his pocket than he had ever had before, Mr. Cripps felt strongly tempted to try his luck at the gaming-table, but he resisted the temptation.

  “No, no,” he thought, “it won’t do to hazard this money. It’s everything to me just now. I shall have plenty to spare for play shortly.”

  On his way home, Mr. Cripps called upon Peter Pokerich, and invited him and the fair Thomasine to the wedding, the one in the capacity of groomsman, and the other in that of bridesmaid; and the invitation was delightedly accepted by both.

  A great load was taken from the valet’s mind on the following morning, as he helped his master into Sir Bulkeley Price’s carriage, and saw him start, as he supposed, for Newmarket.

  Not a moment was to be lost. Every preparation that could be made without exciting suspicion, had been made beforehand — but now Mr. Cripps set to work in earnest. He went to the Cocoa Tree and ordered, in his master’s name, a first-rate dinner with abundance of the finest wine, to be sent in on the following day. He next engaged a band of musicians for the ball, and ordered fruits, confectionary, and pastry, for the supper. His fellow servants, who were all of course, in the secret, and to whom he had promised handsome rewards as soon as he should be put in possession of the widow’s fortune, assisted him in his preparations for the fete. It was arranged, that the ceremony should take place in the upper chamber, where Randulph first breakfasted with the beau, and the clergyman selected to perform it was Doctor Gaynam. Thus nothing seemed wanting on the valet’s part to complete the matter; and late on Wednesday evening he went to Billiter Square, to tell Mrs. Nettleship that all was ready. After a brief visit, he took a tender adieu of her, saying, as he squeezed her hand at parting, “We shall meet to-morrow, to part no more!”

  The next morning, betimes, Mr. Cripps placed himself under the hands of Antoine, who proceeded to array him in a magnificent suit, which had never been worn by his master, it having only been sent home the night before by Desmartins. It consisted of a coat of crimson-embossed velvet, richly-laced with gold, breeches of the same material, and a white satin waistcoat flowered with gold. To these were added pink silk hose rolled above the knee, superb diamond buckles, a point-lace cravat, and his master’s handsomest Ramillies periwig, which had been dressed by Peter Pokerich. Nearly three hours were expended in thus attiring him; and when all was completed, Antoine declared that his master had never looked half so well, a sentiment in which Mr. Cripps, as he complacently surveyed himself in the cheval-glass, entirely concurred.

  A little before twelve, Peter Pokerich and the fair Thomasine arrived. The lady was dressed in white and silver, with a fly-cap with long lappets, and looked so excessively pretty, that Mr. Cripps could not help wishing she had had Mrs. Nettleship’s fortune, and he had been her lover.

  While he was welcoming them, and passing some high-flown compliments on the fair Thomasine’s charms, Mr. Jukes was shewn into the room; and as he was in his butler’s dress, his nephew did not condescend to speak to him.

  Shortly after this, Antoine announced that the bride had arrived, and Mr. Cripps hurried downstairs to meet her.

  Mrs. Nettleship, who had bestowed more than ordinary pains upon her person, wore a yellow satin sack, embroidered with little dots of gold. She had large pearl ear-rings, a garnet necklace, and a diamond solitaire. Her complexion, which was naturally rather high had been corrected by white French powder, and was further set off by abundance of little patches on her cheeks, neck, and shoulders. She carried a beautiful Indian fan, the handle of which was ornamented with precious stones.

  She had arrived in great state, a gilt chariot, lined with pale blue satin, hired for her from a coach-maker, by Mr. Rathbone, having formed her conveyance; and she was attended by a couple of footmen out of place, likewise hired for the occasion, habited in superb liveries of sky blue cloth trimmed with silver, with silver shoulder-knots, and point d’Espagne hats. Mr. Rathbone, who had accompanied her in the carriage, was dressed in a suit of purple velvet laced with gold.

  Addressing a hundred pretty compliments to the bride, who was almost bewildered by the grandeur she beheld around, and who could not help exchanging significant glances with Mr. Rathbone, Mr. Cripps led her up-stairs, where her wonder increased at every step. The two long-eared spaniels and the macaw enchanted her, but she actually screamed delight on beholding the monkey, in his little scarlet coat and bag-wig.

  Coffee, chocolate, and champagne, were then handed round by Antoine and the page; and while this was going on, the clergyman and his assistant were announced. Dr. Gaynam had a much more respectable appearance than when he officiated at the marriage of Sir Singleton Spinke. He was dressed in his full canonicals, and wore a well-powdered full-bottomed wig, which Peter Pokerich would not have disdained.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Cripps had seated himself by the bride on one of the couches, and was talking very tenderly to her, when he perceived his uncle approach Mr. Rathbone, as if with the intention of addressing him. He instantly arose, and taking the latter aside, whispered a few words to him, and then having accomplished his object, which was to prevent any communication between him and Mr. Jukes, told the clergyman to proceed with the ceremony.

  Doctor Gaynam was sipping a glass of usquebaugh, but he hastily gulped it down, and declared himself perfectly ready. He then
took a prayer-book from the clerk, and stationed himself between the windows, motioning the others to take their places before him.

  All was soon arranged. Peter Pokerich and the fair Thomasine stood near the bride; Mr. Rathbone near the bridegroom; Antoine behind him; while the group was completed by the two Africans, who had mounted a settee in the corner to obtain a full view of the ceremony. The page was on the floor keeping the dogs quiet, who were quarrelling with the monkey, and biting its tail.

  Just as Dr. Gaynam had opened his book, and uttered a preliminary cough, a noise was heard at the door, and Mr. Cripps, turning to see what was the matter, beheld it open, and admit his master!

  The valet’s alarm was communicated to the whole assemblage. Antoine, who had retreated behind Rathbone, shrugged his shoulders, and lifted up his hands in affright. The two Africans exchanged glances, and all eyes were directed towards the beau, who, with angry looks, and grasping his clouded cane, marched towards the valet. He was followed by Lady Brabazon, Sir Bulkeley Price, and Trussell Beechcroft. Lady Brabazon was attended by her black page, leading her dog by a ribband, and this arrival excited the anger of one of the spaniels, whose furious barking set the macaw screaming.

  Mr. Cripps presented a very chop-fallen appearance. All his assurance deserted him. His hands dropped to his side, and he scarcely dared to meet his master’s angry gaze.

  “Rascal!” exclaimed Villiers, “I have at last fairly detected you. I’ll teach you to put on my clothes — to assume my name—”

  “What!” screamed Mrs. Nettleship, dropping a bottle of salts, which she had placed to her nose— “isn’t it really himself — isn’t it Mr. Willars.”

  “No, madam,” replied the beau— “I am Mr. Villiers; and this rascal is only my valet, Crackenthorpe Cripps.”

  “Oh, the villain! — the base deceiver! — the impostor!” cried Mrs. Nettleship, clenching her hands, and regarding the valet as if she would annihilate him. “I’ll tear his eyes out! To deceive and expose me in this way — to — to — to — oh! I shall never survive it. Support me!” she added, falling into the arms of the fair Thomasine.

  “This is really too bad of you, sir,” said Mr. Cripps, who began to recover himself a little. “You’ve deceived me. I thought you were at Newmarket.”

  “I received information of your practices, rascal,” replied the beau, “and determined to see to what extent you carried them. And a pretty discovery I’ve made! My house filled with company — my servants turned into your servants — a dinner, supper, confectionary, wine, fruit, musicians, and the devil knows what, ordered at my expense.”

  “Well, they’re not thrown away, sir,” replied Mr. Cripps. “You can marry the lady yourself, if you think proper. I’ve no doubt she’ll consent to the exchange, and she has fifty thousand pounds.”

  “Oh, the impudence!” exclaimed Mrs. Nettleship, jumping up. “I’ll not be taken in a second time. I’ll be revenged on all the sex!”

  “You’re not aware, Mr. Willars, of the extensive frauds this rascal has practised upon you,” said Mr. Rathbone. “He has actually signed a bond for five thousand pounds in your name, which I have in my pocket.”

  “The devil he has!” exclaimed Villiers,

  “But it is of no effect since the marriage has not taken place,” said Mr. Cripps; “and if Mr. Villiers chooses to take the lady, he will of course pay you himself.”

  In spite of himself, the beau could not help laughing.

  “Bad as Mr. Cripps is, he is not worse than the other party,” said Trussell, stepping forward; “while he was duping them, they tried to dupe him. I understand from Mr. Jukes, who has it on unquestionable authority, that Mrs. Nettleship, so far from being a wealthy widow, is greatly in debt, while her friend there, Mr. Rathbone, hoped to pocket the five thousand pounds secured by the bond he has mentioned.”

  “After all, then, it seems I’ve had an escape!” cried Mr. Cripps.

  “You have,” replied Trussell; “and your uncle would have told you all this before, if you had not kept him at a distance.”

  “I won’t stay here to be laughed at!” cried the widow, looking defiance at the jeering countenances around her; “Mr. Rathbone, your arm.”

  “You had better go away by the back stairs,” said Trussell, stopping them; “for there are a couple of bailiffs in the hall, waiting to arrest you!”

  “Curse on it! I sent them myself,” said Mr. Rathbone, “to compel the rascal I supposed to be Mr. Willars to pay your debts.”

  And hurrying out of the room, he acted upon Trussell’s suggestion.

  “And now, rascal,” said the beau to the valet, “you are no longer in my service — I discharge you. And you may thank your stars that I let you off so easily.”

  “I was about to discharge you, sir,” rejoined the valet, impertinently. “I don’t desire to live with a gentleman who takes his servants by surprise. He’s as bad as a jealous husband.”

  “Stay!” cried the beau— “you don’t leave me in that way. Antoine, stand by him. Now, sir, take off that peruke — take it off carefully — now the sword.”

  The orders were obeyed, and the wig and sword delivered to the French valet.

  “Now, take off the coat.” Mr. Cripps complied, with a sigh.

  “Now the waistcoat.” The order was obeyed.

  “Now the cravat.” And it was taken off.

  “Now the diamond buckles,”

  “Anything else?” inquired Mr. Cripps, as he gave up the buckles, “Recollect there are ladies in the room, sir.”

  “Yes; take yourself off,” rejoined the beau.

  Even thus shorn of his splendour, Mr. Cripps maintained his customary assurance. He bowed profoundly and gracefully round, and quitted the room, amid the laughter of the company.

  * * *

  CHAPTER XI.

  “Stulte! Hac Nocte Repetunt Animam Tuam; Et Quae Parasti, Cuius Erunt” — Lucas XII.

  “Where can Jacob be, I wonder?” said the miser, in a querulous tone, as he crept back to his chair by the fire, after the departure of Philip and Diggs with their prize. “What keeps him out so late?”

  “I don’t think he’ll come home at all to-night, father,” replied Hilda. “But never mind — go to bed.”

  “Not come home!” echoed the miser, with a sharp cry, “if he doesn’t, and that soon too, he shall never enter my house again. How dares he go out without leave? But perhaps you allowed him to do so. You begin to fancy yourself mistress here, because I can’t look after you, — but I’ll teach you differently.”

  “Indeed, father, you are quite mistaken,” replied Hilda, meekly. “Jacob told me he wished to go out on business of his own, and I didn’t like to refuse him — especially as he said he would soon be back.”

  “And nicely he keeps his word,” rejoined the miser, “why, he has already been absent more than two hours. But how do you know he won’t be back tonight? Have you heard anything about him?”

  Hilda hesitated.

  “You don’t suspect he has carried off anything?” continued the miser, getting up, and fixing a wildly-inquisitive glance upon her.

  “Has he robbed me, — ha? Don’t tell me a lie! He has! — I see he has!”

  “You are wrong, father, he has not,” replied Hilda; “I will answer with my life for Jacob’s honesty. My information is derived from Philip Frewin, who told me he has got locked up from some cause, in the watch-house. I should disbelieve the statement, but that it seems borne out by his absence.”

  “I’ve no doubt of it,” cried the miser— “none whatever. When he returns, he gets his dismissal.”

  “And what will you do without him, father?” rejoined Hilda. “You will get no one so faithful — so honest.”

  “Hum!” muttered the miser— “that is a consideration. You needn’t stay with me any longer.”

  “I don’t like to leave you, dear father,” said Hilda. “You are very much excited — pray let me sit up with you.”

 
“No!” replied the miser, peremptorily. “Give me my gruel, and then go to bed.”

  In obedience to his injunctions, a small basin of gruel, and a slice of toasted bread, were presently placed before him. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then pushed the gruel aside.

  “I have no appetite,” he said. “Take care of it. It will warm up again for my supper tomorrow night.

  “God grant you may be able to partake of it!” she answered, regarding him wistfully. “Father,” she added, approaching him, and speaking in a supplicatory tone, “may I pray with you?”

  “Not tonight,” rejoined the miser. “I am seldom inclined for devotion, and just now my mind is too much disturbed for it.”

  “You make me very uneasy, dear father,” cried Hilda, taking his hand. “Oh! do not, — do not, I beseech you, postpone making up your account with your Maker. You know not how soon you may be called hence!”

  “No more of this!” cried the miser, shaking her off. “I tell you I am not so ill as you think me. Good night!”

  “One word more before I go, father,” she said. “It is not too late to revoke your unjust will.”

  “What I have done, I have done,” he replied. And turning away, he fixed his eyes on the fire.

  Oppressed with the gloomiest foreboding, she quitted the room. On gaining the lower room, she fell upon her aunt’s bosom in an agony of distress. When she was sufficiently recovered to be able to explain to Mrs. Clinton what had occurred, the good old lady was almost as much afflicted as herself.

  “But that the hour is so untimely,” she cried “I would advise you to go to Mr. Beechcroft, and consult him. It would distract me if these villains should succeed in their infamous scheme.”

  “Providence, to whose care I resign myself, will thwart them, I am well assured!” rejoined Hilda. “I will go to Mr. Beechcroft the first thing tomorrow morning, and I am certain he will assist me if he can. And now let us retire to rest, for Jacob, it is clear, will not return.”