The Castle Inn

by Stanley John Weyman

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE OLD BATH ROAD

  In the year 1757--to go back ten years from the spring with which we aredealing--the ordinary Englishman was a Balbus despairing of the State.No phrase was then more common on English lips, or in English ears, thanthe statement that the days of England's greatness were numbered, andwere fast running out. Unwitting the wider sphere about to open beforethem, men dwelt fondly on the glories of the past. The old babbled ofMarlborough's wars, of the entrance of Prince Eugene into London, ofchoirs draped in flags, and steeples reeling giddily for Ramillies andBlenheim. The young listened, and sighed to think that the day had been,and was not, when England gave the law to Europe, and John Churchill'swarder set troops moving from Hamburg to the Alps.

  On the top of such triumphs, and the famous reign of good Queen Anne,had ensued forty years of peace, broken only by one inglorious war. Thepeace did its work: it settled the dynasty, and filled the purse; butmen, considering it, whispered of effeminacy and degeneracy, and thelike, as men will to the end of time. And when the clouds, long sightedon the political horizon, began to roll up, they looked fearfully abroadand doubted and trembled; and doubted and trembled the more because inhome affairs all patriotism, all party-spirit, all thought of thingshigher than ribbon or place or pension, seemed to be dead among publicmen. The Tories, long deprived of power, and discredited by the taint orsuspicion of Jacobitism, counted for nothing. The Whigs, agreed on allpoints of principle, and split into sections, the Ins and Outs, solelyby the fact that all could not enjoy places and pensions at once, thesupply being unequal to the demand--had come to regard politics aspurely a game; a kind of licensed hazard played for titles, orders, andemoluments, by certain families who had the _entree_ to the public tableby virtue of the part they had played in settling the succession.

  Into the midst of this state of things, this world of despondency,mediocrity, selfishness, and chicanery, and at the precise crisis whenthe disasters which attended the opening campaigns of the Seven Years'War--and particularly the loss of Minorca--seemed to confirm thegloomiest prognostications of the most hopeless pessimists, came WilliamPitt; and in eighteen months changed the face of the world, not for hisgeneration only, but for ours. Indifferent as an administrator, mediocreas a financier, passionate, haughty, headstrong, with many of the worstfaults of an orator, he was still a man with ideals--a patriot amongplacemen, pure where all were corrupt. And the effect of his touch wasmagical. By infusing his own spirit, his own patriotism, his own beliefin his country, and his own belief in himself, into those who workedwith him--ay, and into the better half of England--he wrought aseeming miracle.

  See, for instance, what Mr. Walpole wrote to Sir Horace Mann inSeptember, 1757. 'For how many years,' he says, 'have I been telling youthat your country was mad, that your country was undone! It does notgrow wiser, it does not grow more prosperous! ... How do you behave onthese lamentable occasions? Oh, believe me, it is comfortable to have anisland to hide one's head in! ...' Again he writes in the same month,''It is time for England to slip her own cables, and float away into someunknown ocean.'

  With these compare a letter dated November, 1759. 'Indeed,' he says tothe same correspondent, 'one is forced to ask every morning what victorythere is, for fear of missing one.' And he wrote with reason. India,Canada, Belleisle, the Mississippi, the Philippines, the Havanna,Martinique, Guadaloupe--there was no end to our conquests. Wolfe fell inthe arms of victory, Clive came home the satrap of sovereigns; but dayby day ships sailed in and couriers spurred abroad with the news that anew world and a nascent empire were ours. Until men's heads reeled andmaps failed them, as they asked each morning 'What new land, to-day?'Until those who had despaired of England awoke and rubbed theireyes--awoke to find three nations at her feet, and the dawn of a new andwider day breaking in the sky.

  And what of the minister? They called him the Great Commoner, theheaven-born statesman; they showered gold boxes upon him; they bore himthrough the city, the centre of frantic thousands, to the effacementeven of the sovereign. Where he went all heads were bared; while hewalked the rooms at Bath and drank the water, all stood; his very sedan,built with a boot to accommodate his gouty foot, was a show followed andwatched wherever it moved. A man he had never seen left him a house andthree thousand pounds a year; this one, that one, the other one,legacies. In a word, for a year or two he was the idol of thenation--the first great People's Minister.

  Then, the crisis over, the old system lifted its head again; themediocrities returned; and, thwarted by envious rivals and a jealousking, Pitt placed the crown alike on his services and his popularity byresigning power when he could no longer dictate the policy which heknew to be right. Nor were events slow to prove his wisdom. The war withSpain which he would have declared, Spain declared. The treasure fleetwhich he would have seized, escaped us. Finally, the peace when it cameredounded to his credit, for in the main it secured his conquests--tothe disgrace of his enemies, since more might have been obtained.

  Such was the man who, restored to office and lately created an earl bythe title of Chatham, lay ill at Bath in the spring of '67. The passageof time, the course of events, the ravages of gout, in a degree theacceptance of a title, had robbed his popularity of its first gloss. Buthis name was still a name to conjure with in England. He was still theidol of the City. Crowds still ran to see him where he passed. His gauntfigure racked with gout, his eagle nose, his piercing eyes, were stillEngland's picture of a minister. His curricle, his troop of servants,the very state he kept, the ceremony with which he travelled, allpleased the popular fancy. When it was known that he was well enough toleave Bath, and would lie a night at the Castle Inn at Marlborough, hissuite requiring twenty rooms, even that great hostelry, then reputed oneof the best, as it was certainly the most splendid in England, andcapable, it was said, of serving a dinner of twenty-four covers onsilver, was in an uproar. The landlord, who knew the tastes of half thepeerage, and which bin Lord Sandwich preferred, and which Mr. Rigby, inwhich rooms the Duchess or Lady Betty liked to lie, what Mr. Walpoletook with his supper, and which shades the Princess Amelia preferred forher card-table--even he, who had taken his glass of wine with a score ofdukes, from Cumberland the Great to Bedford the Little, was put to it;the notice being short, and the house somewhat full.

  Fortunately the Castle Inn, on the road between London and the west,was a place of call, not of residence. Formerly a favourite residence ofthe Seymour family, and built, if tradition does not lie, by a pupil ofInigo Jones, it stood--and for the house, still stands--in a snug foldof the downs, at the end of the long High Street of Marlborough; at theprecise point where the route to Salisbury debouches from the Old BathRoad. A long-fronted, stately mansion of brick, bosomed in trees, andjealous of its historic past--it had sheltered William of Orange--itpresented to the north and the road, from which it was distant somehundred yards, a grand pillared portico flanked by projecting wings. Atthat portico, and before those long rows of shapely windows, fortycoaches, we are told, changed horses every day. Beside the western wingof the house a green sugarloaf mound, reputed to be of Druidical origin,rose above the trees; it was accessible by a steep winding path, andcrowned at the date of this story by a curious summer-house. Travellersfrom the west who merely passed on the coach, caught, if they lookedback as they entered the town, a glimpse of groves and lawns laid out bythe best taste of the day, between the southern front and the river. Tothese a doorway and a flight of stone steps, corresponding in positionwith the portico in the middle of the north front, conducted thevisitor, who, if a man of feeling, was equally surprised and charmed tofind in these shady retreats, stretching to the banks of the Kennet, asilence and beauty excelled in few noblemen's gardens. In a word, whilethe north front of the house hummed with the revolving wheels, andechoed the chatter of half the fashionable world bound for the Bath orthe great western port of Bristol, the south front reflected the tasteof that Lady Hertford who had made these glades and trim walks herprincipal hobby.r />
  With all its charms, however, the traveller, as we have said, stayedthere but a night or so. Those in the house, therefore, would move on,and so room could be made. And so room was made; and two days later, alittle after sunset, amid a spasm of final preparation, and with a greatparade of arrival, the earl's procession, curricle, chariot, coaches,chaises, and footmen, rolled in from the west. In a trice lights flashedeverywhere, in the road, at the windows, on the mound, among the trees;the crowd thickened--every place seemed peopled with the Pitt liveries.Women, vowing that they were cramped to death, called languidly forchaise-doors to be opened; and men who had already descended, and werestretching their limbs in the road, ran to open them. This was in therear of the procession; in front, where the throng of townsfolk closedmost thickly round the earl's travelling chariot, was a sudden baring ofheads, as the door of the coach was opened. The landlord, bowing lowerthan he had ever bowed to the proud Duke of Somerset, offered hisshoulder. And then men waited and bent nearer; and nothing happening,looked at one another in surprise. Still no one issued; instead,something which the nearest could not catch was said, and a tall lady,closely hooded, stepped stiffly out and pointed to the house. On whichthe landlord and two or three servants hurried in; and all wasexpectation.

  The men were out again in a moment, bearing a great chair, which theyset with nicety at the door of the carriage. This done, the gapers sawwhat they had come to see. For an instant, the face that all Englandknew and all Europe feared--but blanched, strained, and drawn withpain--showed in the opening. For a second the crowd was gratified with aglimpse of a gaunt form, a star and ribbon; then, with a groan heard farthrough the awestruck silence, the invalid sank heavily into the chair,and was borne swiftly and silently into the house.

  Men looked at one another; but the fact was better than their fears. Mylord, after leaving Bath, had had a fresh attack of the gout; and whenhe would be able to proceed on his journey only Dr. Addington, hisphysician, whose gold-headed cane, great wig, and starched aspect didnot foster curiosity, could pretend to say. Perhaps Mr. Smith, thelandlord, was as much concerned as any; when he learned the state of thecase, he fell to mental arithmetic with the assistance of his fingers,and at times looked blank. Counting up the earl and his gentleman, andhis gentleman's gentleman, and his secretary, and his private secretary,and his physician, and his three friends and their gentlemen, and mylady and her woman, and the children and nurses, and a crowd of others,he could not see where to-morrow's travellers were to lie, supposing theminister remained. However, in the end, he set that aside as a questionfor to-morrow; and having seen Mr. Rigby's favourite bin opened (for Dr.Addington was a connoisseur), and reviewed the cooks dishing up thebelated dinner--which an endless chain of servants carried to thedifferent apartments--he followed to the principal dining-room, wherethe minister's company were assembled; and between the intervals ofcarving and seeing that his guests ate to their liking, enjoyed theconversation, and, when invited, joined in it with tact andself-respect. As became a host of the old school.

  By this time lights blazed in every window of the great mansion; theopen doors emitted a fragrant glow of warmth and welcome; the rattle ofplates and hum of voices could be heard in the road a hundred pacesaway. But outside and about the stables the hubbub had somewhatsubsided, the road had grown quiet, and the last townsfolk hadwithdrawn, when a little after seven the lamps of a carriage appearedin the High Street, approaching from the town. It swept round thechurch, turned the flank of the house, and in a twinkling drew up beforethe pillars.

  'Hilloa! House!' cried the postillion. 'House!' And, cracking his whipon his boot, he looked up at the rows of lighted windows.

  A man and a maid who travelled outside climbed down. As the man openedthe carriage door, a servant bustled out of the house. 'Do you wantfresh horses?' said he, in a kind of aside to the footman.

  'No--rooms!' the man answered bluntly.

  Before the other could reply, 'What is this?' cried a shrewish voicefrom the interior of the carriage. 'Hoity toity! This is a nice way ofreceiving company! You, fellow, go to your master and say that Iam here.'

  'Say that the Lady Dunborough is here,' an unctuous voice repeated, 'andrequires rooms, dinners, fire, and the best he has. And do you bequick, fellow!'

  The speaker was Mr. Thomasson, or rather Mr. Thomasson plus theimportance which comes of travelling with a viscountess. This, andperhaps the cramped state of his limbs, made him a little long indescending. 'Will your ladyship wait? or will you allow me to have thehonour of assisting you to descend?' he continued, shivering slightlyfrom the cold. To tell the truth, he was not enjoying his honour oncheap terms. Save the last hour, her ladyship's tongue had gone withoutceasing, and Mr. Thomasson was sorely in need of refreshment.

  'Descend? No!' was the tart answer. 'Let the man come! Sho! Times arechanged since I was here last. I had not to wait then, or break my shinsin the dark! Has the impudent fellow gone in?'

  He had, but at this came out again, bearing lights before his master.The host, with the civility which marked landlords in those days--thehalcyon days of inns--hurried down the steps to the carriage. 'Dear me!Dear me! I am most unhappy!' he exclaimed. 'Had I known your ladyshipwas travelling, some arrangement should have been made. I declare, mylady, I would not have had this happen for twenty pounds! But--'

  'But what, man! What is the man mouthing about?' she cried impatiently.

  'I am full,' he said, extending his palms to express his despair.' TheEarl of Chatham and his lordship's company travelling from Bath occupyall the west wing and the greater part of the house; and I havepositively no rooms fit for your ladyship's use. I am grieved,desolated, to have to say this to a person in your ladyship's position,'he continued glibly, 'and an esteemed customer, but--' and again heextended his hands.

  'A fig for your desolation!' her ladyship cried rudely. 'It don't helpme, Smith.'

  'But your ladyship sees how it is.'

  'I am hanged if I do!' she retorted, and used an expression too coarsefor modern print. 'But I suppose that there is another house, man.'

  'Certainly, my lady--several,' the landlord answered, with a gesture ofdeprecation. 'But all full. And the accommodation not of a kind to suityour ladyship's tastes.'

  'Then--what are we to do?' she asked with angry shrillness.

  'We have fresh horses,' he ventured to suggest. 'The road is good, andin four hours, or four and a half at the most, your ladyship might be inBath, where there is an abundance of good lodgings.'

  'Bless the man!' cried the angry peeress. 'Does he think I have a skinof leather to stand this jolting and shaking? Four hours more! I'll liein my carriage first!'

  A small rain was beginning to fall, and the night promised to be wet aswell as cold. Mr. Thomasson, who had spent the last hour, while hiscompanion slept, in visions of the sumptuous dinner, neat wines, andgood beds that awaited him at the Castle Inn, cast a despairing glanceat the doorway, whence issued a fragrance that made his mouth water.'Oh, positively,' he cried, addressing the landlord, 'something must bedone, my good man. For myself, I can sleep in a chair if her ladyshipcan anyway be accommodated.'

  'Well,' said the landlord dubiously, 'if her ladyship could allow herwoman to lie with her?'

  'Bless the man! Why did you not say that at once?' cried my lady. 'Oh,she may come!' This last in a voice that promised little comfort forthe maid.

  'And if the reverend gentleman--would put up with a couch below stairs?'

  'Yes, yes,' said Mr. Thomasson; but faintly, now it came to the point.

  'Then I think I can manage--if your ladyship will not object to sup withsome guests who have just arrived, and are now sitting down? Friends ofSir George Soane,' the landlord hastened to add, 'whom your ladyshipprobably knows.'

  'Drat the man!--too well!' Lady Dunborough answered, making a wry face.For by this time she had heard all about the duel. 'He has nearly costme dear! But, there--if we must, we must. Let me get my tooth in thedinner, and I won't stand on
my company.' And she proceeded to descend,and, the landlord going before her, entered the house.

  In those days people were not so punctilious in certain directions asthey now are. My lady put off her French hood and travelling cloak inthe lobby of the east wing, gave her piled-up hair a twitch this way andthat, unfastened her fan from her waist, and sailed in to supper, hermaid carrying her gloves and scent-bottle behind her. The tutor, whowore no gloves, was a little longer. But having washed his hands at apump in the scullery, and dried them on a roller-towel--with no sensethat the apparatus was deficient--he tucked his hat under his arm and,handling his snuff-box, tripped after her as hastily as vanity and anelegant demeanour permitted.

  He found her in the act of joining, with an air of vast condescension, aparty of three; two of whom her stately salute had already frozen intheir places. These two, a slight perky man of middle age, and afrightened rustic-looking woman in homely black--who, by the way, satwith her mouth, open and her knife and fork resting points upward on thetable--could do nothing but stare. The third, a handsome girl, verysimply dressed, returned her ladyship's gaze with mingled interestand timidity.

  My lady noticed this, and the girl's elegant air and shape, and set downthe other two for her duenna and her guardian's man of business. Awarethat Sir George Soane had no sister, she scented scandal, and lost not amoment in opening the trenches.

  'And how far have you come to-day, child?' she asked with condescension,as soon as she had taken her seat.

  'From Reading, madam,' the girl answered in a voice low and restrained.Her manner was somewhat awkward, and she had a shy air, as if hersurroundings were new to her, But Lady Dunborough was more and moreimpressed with her beauty, and a natural air of refinement that was notto be mistaken.

  'The roads are insufferably crowded,' said the peeress. 'They areintolerable!'

  'I am afraid you suffered some inconvenience,' the girl answeredtimidly.

  At that moment Mr. Thomasson entered. He treated the strangers to adistant bow, and, without looking at them, took his seat with anonchalant ease, becoming a man who travelled with viscountesses, andwas at home in the best company. The table had his first hungry glance.He espied roast and cold, a pair of smoking ducklings just set on, adish of trout, a round of beef, a pigeon-pie, and hot rolls. Relieved,he heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

  ''Pon honour this is not so bad!' he said. 'It is not what your ladyshipis accustomed to, but at a pinch it will do. It will do!'

  He was not unwilling that the strangers should know his companion'srank, and he stole a glance at them, as he spoke, to see what impressionit made. Alas! the deeper impression was made on himself. For a momenthe stared; the next he sprang to his feet with an oath plain and strong.

  'Drat the man!' cried my lady in wrath. He had come near to oversettingher plate. 'What flea has bitten you now?'

  'Do you know--who these people are?' Mr. Thomasson stammered, tremblingwith rage; and, resting both hands on the back of his chair, he glarednow at them and now at Lady Dunborough. He could be truculent where hehad nothing to fear; and he was truculent now.

  'These people?' my lady drawled in surprise; and she inspected themthrough her quizzing-glass as coolly as if they were specimens of a rareorder submitted to her notice. 'Not in the least, my good man. Who arethey? Should I know them?'

  'They are--'

  But the little man, whose seat happened to be opposite the tutor's, hadrisen to his feet by this time; and at that word cut him short. 'Sir!'he cried in a flutter of agitation. 'Have a care! Have a care what yousay! I am a lawyer, and I warn you that anything defamatorywill--will be--'

  'Pooh!' said Mr. Thomasson. 'Don't try to browbeat me, sir. Thesepersons are impostors, Lady Dunborough! Impostors!' he continued. 'Inthis house, at any rate. They have no right to be here!'

  'You shall pay for this!' shrieked Mr. Fishwick. For he it was.

  'I will ring the bell,' the tutor continued in a high tone, 'and havethem removed. They have no more to do with Sir George Soane, whose namethey appear to have taken, than your ladyship has.'

  'Have a care! Have a care, sir,' cried the lawyer, trembling.

  'Or than I have!' persisted Mr. Thomasson hardily, and with his head inthe air; 'and no right or title to be anywhere but in the servants'room. That is their proper place. Lady Dunborough,' he continued, hiseyes darting severity at the three culprits, 'are you aware that thisyoung person whom you have been so kind as to notice is--is--'

  'Oh, Gadzooks, man, come to the point!' cried her ladyship, with one eyeon the victuals.

  'No, I will not shame her publicly,' said Mr. Thomasson, swelling withvirtuous self-restraint. 'But if your ladyship would honour me with twowords apart?'

  Lady Dunborough rose, muttering impatiently; and Mr. Thomasson, with theair of a just man in a parable, led her a little aside; but so that thethree who remained at the table might still feel that his eye and hisreprehension rested on them. He spoke a few words to her ladyship;whereon she uttered a faint cry, and stiffened. A moment and she turnedand came back to the table, her face crimson, her headdress nodding.She looked at the girl, who had just risen to her feet.

  'You baggage!' she hissed, 'begone! Out of this house! How dare you sitin my presence?' And she pointed to the door.