Chapter XXXI: Sir Moses’s Menage.—departure of Fine Billy

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SIR MOSES, being now a magnate of the land, associating with Lord
Oilcake, Lord Repartee, Sir Harry Fuzball and other great dons,
of course had to live up to the mark, an inconvenient arrangement
for those who do not like paying for it, and the consequence was
that he had to put up with an inferior article.—take first-class
servants who had fallen into second-class circumstances. He had a
ticket-of-leave butler, a _delirium tremens_ footman, and our old
friend pheasant-feathers, now calling herself Mrs. Margerum, for
cook and house-keeper. And first, of the butler. He was indeed a
magnificent man, standing six feet two and faultlessly
proportioned, with a commanding presence of sufficient age to awe
those under him, and to inspire confidence in an establishment
with such a respectable looking man at the head. Though so
majestic, he moved noiselessly, spoke in a whisper, and seemed to
spirit the things off the table without sound or effort. Pity
that the exigencies of gambling should have caused such an
elegant man to melt his master’s plate, still greater that he
should have been found out and compelled to change the faultless
white vest of upper service for the unbecoming costume of prison
life. Yet so it was: and the man who was convicted as Henry
Stopper, and sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation, emerged
at the end of four with a ticket-of-leave, under the assumed name
of Demetrius Bankhead. Mr. Bankhead, knowing the sweets of
office, again aspired to high places, but found great difficulty
in suiting himself, indeed in getting into service at all.

People who keep fine gentlemen are very chary and scrupulous whom
they select, and extremely inquisitive and searching in their
inquiries.

In vain Mr. Bankhead asserted that he had been out of health and
living on the Continent, or that he had been a partner in a
brewery which hadn’t succeeded, or that his last master was
abroad he didn’t know where, and made a variety of similar
excuses.

Though many fine ladies and gentlemen were amazingly taken with
him at first, and thought he would grace their sideboards
uncommonly, they were afraid to touch for fear “all was not
right.”

Then those of a lower grade, thought he wouldn’t apply to them
after having lived in such high places as he described, and this
notwithstanding Bankhead’s plausible assertion, that he wished
for a situation in a quiet regular family in the country, where
he could get to bed at a reasonable hour, instead of being kept
up till he didn’t know when. He would even come upon trial, if
the parties liked, which would obviate all inquiries about
character; just as if a man couldn’t run off with the plate the
first day as well as the last.

Our readers, we dare say, know the condescending sort of
gentleman “who will accept of their situations,” and who
deprecate an appeal to their late masters by saying in an
airified sort of way, with a toss of the head or a wave of the
hand, that they told his Grace or Sir George they wouldn’t
trouble to ask them for characters. Just as if the Duke or Sir
George were infinitely beneath their notice or consideration.

And again the sort of men who flourish a bunch of testimonials,
skilfully selecting the imposing passages and evading the want of
that connecting link upon which the whole character depends, and
who talk in a patronising way of “poor lord this,” or “poor Sir
Thomas that,” and what they would have done for them if they had
been alive, poor men!

Mr. Demetrius Bankhead tried all the tricks of the trade—we beg
pardon—profession—wherever he heard of a chance, until hope
deferred almost made his noble heart sick. The “puts off” and
excuses he got were curiously ingenious. However, he was pretty
adroit himself, for when he saw the parties were not likely to
bite, he anticipated a refusal by respectfully declining the
situation, and then saying that he might have had so and so’s
place, only he wanted one where he should be in town half the
year, or that he couldn’t do with only one footman under him.

It was under stress of circumstances that Sir Moses Mainchance
became possessed of Mr. Bankhead’s services. He had kicked his
last butler (one of the fine characterless sort) out of the house
for coming in drunk to wait at dinner, and insisting upon putting
on the cheese first with the soup, then with the meat, then with
the sweets, and lastly with the dessert; and as Sir Moses was
going to give one of his large hunt dinners shortly after, it
behoved him to fill up the place—we beg pardon—office—as quickly
as possible. To this end he applied to Mrs. Listener, the
gossiping Register Office-keeper of Hinton, a woman well
calculated to write the history of every family in the county,
for behind her screen every particular was related, and Mrs.
Listener, having paraded all the wretched glazey-clothed,
misshapen creatures that always turn up on such occasions, Sir
Moses was leaving after his last visit in disgust, when Mr.
Bankhead walked in—“quite promiscuous,” as the saying is, but by
previous arrangement with Mrs. Listener. Sir Moses was struck
with Bankhead’s air and demeanour, so quiet, so respectful,
raising his hat as he met Sir Moses at the door, that he jumped
to the conclusion that he would do for him, and returning shortly
after to Mrs. Listener, he asked all the usual questions, which
Mrs. Listener cleverly evaded, merely saying that he professed to
be a perfect butler, and had several most excellent testimonials,
but that it would be much better for Sir Moses to judge for
himself, for really Mrs. Listener had the comfort of Sir Moses so
truly at heart that she could not think of recommending any one
with whom she was not perfectly conversant, and altogether she
palavered him so neatly, always taking care to extol Bankhead’s
personal appearance as evidence of his respectability, that the
baronet was fairly talked into him, almost without his knowing
it, while Mrs. Listener salved her own conscience with the
reflection that it was Sir Moses’s own doing, and that the bulk
of his plate was “Brummagem” ware—and not silver. So the
oft-disappointed ticket-of-leaver was again installed in a
butlers pantry. And having now introduced him, we will pass over
the delirium tremens footman and arrive at that next important
personage in an establishment, the housekeeper, in this case our
old friend pheasant’s-feathers. Mrs. Margerum, late Sarey Grimes,
the early coach companion and confidante of our fair friend Mrs.
Pringle—had undergone the world’s “ungenerous scorn,” as well for
having set up an adopted son, as for having been turned away from
many places for various domestic peculations. Mrs. Margerum,
however, was too good a judge to play upon anything that anybody
could identify, consequently though she was often caught, she
always had an answer, and would not unfrequently turn the tables
on her accusers—lawyer Hindmarch like—and make them pay for
having been robbed. No one knew better than Mrs. Margerum how
many feathers could be extracted from a bed without detection,
what reduction a horse-hair mattress would stand, or how to make
two hams disappear under the process of frying one. Indeed she
was quite an adept in housekeeping, always however preferring to
live with single gentlemen, for whom she would save a world of
trouble by hiring all the servants, thus of course having them
well under her thumb.

Sir Moses having suffered severely from waste, drunkenness and
incapacity, had taken Mrs. Margerum on that worst of all
recommendations, the recommendation of another servant—viz., Lord
Oilcake’s cook, for whom Mrs. Margerum had done the out-door
carrying when in another situation. Mrs. Margerum’s long career,
coupled with her now having a son equal to the out-door
department, established a claim that was not to be resisted when
his lordship’s cook had a chance, on the application of Sir
Moses, of placing her.

Mrs. Margerum entered upon her duties at Pangburn Park, with the
greatest plausibility, for not content with the usual finding
fault with all the acts of her predecessors, she absolutely
“reformed the butcher’s bills,” reducing them nearly a pound
a-week below what they had previously been, and showed great
assiduity in sending in all the little odds and ends of good
things that went out. To be sure the hams disappeared rather
quickly, but then they _do_ cut so to waste in frying, and the
cows went off in their milk, but cows are capricious things, and
Mrs. Hindmarch and she had a running account in the butter and
egg line, Mrs. Hindmarch accommodating her with a few pounds of
butter and a few score of eggs when Sir Moses had company, Mrs.
Margerum repaying her at her utmost convenience, receiving the
difference in cash, the repayment being always greatly in excess
of the advance. Still as Mrs. Margerum permitted no waste, and
allowed no one to rob but herself, the house appeared to be
economically kept, and if Sir Moses didn’t think that she was a
“charming woman,” he at all events considered he was a most
fortunate man, and felt greatly indebted to Lord Oilcake’s cook
for recommending her—“dom’d if he didn’t.”

But though Mrs. Margerum kept the servants well up to their tea
and sugar allowances, she granted them every indulgence in the
way of gadding about, and also in having their followers,
provided the followers didn’t eat, by which means she kept the
house quiet, and made her reign happy and prosperous.

Being in full power when Mr. Bankhead came, she received him with
the greatest cordiality, and her polite offer of having his
clothes washed in Sir Moses’s laundry being accepted, of course
she had nothing to fear from Mr. Bankhead. And so they became as
they ought to be, very good friends—greatly to Sir Moses’s
advantage.

Now for the out-door department of Sir Moses’s ménage. The
hunting establishment was of the rough and ready order, but still
the hounds showed uncommon sport, and if the horses were not
quite up to the mark, that perhaps was all in favour of the
hounds. The horses indeed were of a very miscellaneous order—all
sorts, all sizes, all better in their wind than on their
legs—which were desperately scored and iron-marked. Still the
cripples could go when they were warm, and being ridden by men
whose necks were at a discount, they did as well as the best.
There is nothing like a cheap horse for work.

Sir Moses’s huntsman was the noted Tom Findlater, a man famous
for everything in his line except sobriety, in which little item
he was sadly deficient. Tom would have been quite at the top of
the tree if it hadn’t been for this unfortunate infirmity. “The
crittur,” as a Scotch huntsman told Sir Moses at Tattersall’s,
“could no keep itself sober.” To show the necessities to which
this degrading propensity reduces a man, we will quote Tom’s
description of himself when he applied to be discharged under the
Insolvent Debtors’ Act before coming to Sir Moses. Thus it
ran—“John Thomas Findlater known also as Tom Find’ater, formerly
huntsman to His Grace the Duke of Streamaway, of Streamaway
Castle, in Streamaway-shire, then of No. 6, Back Row,
Broomsfield, in the county of Tansey, helper in a livery stable,
then huntsman to Sampson Cobbyford, Esq., of Bluntfield Park,
master of the Hugger Mugger hounds in the county of
Scramblington, then huntsman to Sir Giles Gatherthrong, Baronet,
of Clipperley Park, in the county of Scurry, then huntsman to the
Right Honourable Lord Lovedale, of Gayhurst Court, in the county
of Tipperley, then of No. 11, Tan Yard Lane, Barrenbin, in the
county of Thistleford, assistant to a ratcatcher, then huntsman
to Captain Rattlinghope, of Killbriton Castle, in the County
Steepleford, then whipper-in to the Towrowdeshire hounds in
Derrydownshire, then helper at the Lion and the Lamb public-house
at Screwford, in the County of Mucklethrift, then of 6 1/2 Union
Street, in Screwford, aforesaid, moulder to a clay-pipe maker,
then and now out of business and employ, and whose wife is a
charwoman.”

Such were the varied occupations of a man, who might have lived
like a gentleman, if he had only had conduct. There is no finer
place than that of a huntsman, for as Beckford truly says, his
office is pleasing and at the same time flattering, he is paid
for that which diverts him, nor is a general after a victory more
proud, than is a huntsman who returns with his fox’s head.

When Sir Moses fell in with Tom Findlater down Tattersall’s
entry, Tom was fresh from being whitewashed in the Insolvent
Debtors’ Court, and having only ninepence in the world, and what
he stood up in, he was uncommonly good to deal with. Moreover,
Sir Moses had the vanity to think that he could reclaim even the
most vicious; and, provided they were cheap enough, he didn’t
care to try. So, having lectured Tom well on the importance of
sobriety, pointing out to him the lamentable consequences of
drunkenness—of which no one was more sensible than Tom—Sir Moses
chucked him a shilling, and told him if he had a mind to find his
way down to Pangburn Park, in Hit-im-and-Hold-im shire, he would
employ him, and give him what he was worth; with which vague
invitation Tom came in the summer of the season in which we now
find him.

And now having sketched the ménage, let us introduce our friend
Billy thereto. But first we must get him out of the dangerous
premises in which he is at present located—a visit that has
caused our handsome friend Mrs. Pringle no little uneasiness.

It was fortunate for Sir Moses Mainchance, and unfortunate for
our friend Fine Billy, that the Baronet was a bachelor, or Sir
Moses would have fared very differently at the hands of the
ladies who seldom see much harm in a man so long as he is single,
and, of course, refrains from showing a decided preference for
any young lady. It is the married men who monopolise all the vice
and improprieties of life. The Major, too, having sold Billy a
horse, and got paid for him, was not very urgent about his
further society at present, nor indisposed for a little quiet,
especially as Mrs. Yammerton represented that the napkins and
table-linen generally were running rather short. Mamma, too,
knowing that there would be nothing but men-parties at Pangburn
Park, had no uneasiness on that score, indeed rather thought a
little absence might be favourable, in enabling Billy to modify
his general attentions in favour of a single daughter, for as yet
he had been extremely dutiful in obeying his Mamma’s injunctions
not to be more agreeable to one sister than to another. Indeed,
our estimable young friend did not want to be caught, and had
been a good deal alarmed at the contents of his Mamma’s last
letter.

One thing, however, was settled, namely, that Billy was to go to
the Park, and how to get there was the next consideration; for,
though the Baronet had offered to convey him in the first
instance, he had modified the offer into the loan of the gig at
the last, and there would be more trouble in sending a horse to
fetch it, than there would be in starting fair in a hired horse
and vehicle from Yammerton Grange. The ready-witted Major,
however, soon put matters right.

“I’ll te te tell you wot,” said he, “you can do. You can have old
Tommy P-p-plumberg, the registrar of b-b-births, deaths, and
marriages, t-t-trap for a trifle—s-s-say, s-s-seven and
sixpence—only you must give him the money as a p-p-present, you
know, not as it were for the hire, or the Excise would be down
upon him for the du-du-duty, and p-p-p’raps fine him into the
b-b-bargain.”

Well, that seemed all right and feasible enough, and most likely
would have been all right if Monsieur had proposed it; but,
coming from master, of course Monsieur felt bound to object.

“It vouldn’t hold alf a quarter their things,” he said; “besides,
how de deuce were they to manage with de horse?”

The Major essayed to settle that, too. There would be no occasion
for Mr. Pringle to take all his things with him, as he hoped he
would return to them from Sir Moses’s and have another turn with
the haryers—try if they couldn’t circumvent the old hare that had
beat them the other day, and the thing would be for Mr. Pringle
to ride his horse quietly over, Monsieur going in advance with
the gig, and having all things ready against Mr. Pringle arrived;
for the Major well knew that the Baronet’s promises were not to
be depended upon, and would require some little manouvering to
get carried out, especially in the stable department.

Still there was a difficulty—Monsieur couldn’t drive. No, by his
vord, he couldn’t drive. He was _valet-de-chambre_, not coachman
or grum, and could make nothing of horses. Might know his ear
from his tail, but dat was all. Should be sure to opset, and
p’raps damage his crown. (Jack wanted to go in a carriage and
pair.) Well, the Major would accommodate that too. Tom Cowlick,
the hind’s lad at the farm, should act the part of charioteer,
and drive Monsieur, bag, baggage and all. And so matters were
ultimately settled, it never occurring to Billy to make the
attempt on the Major’s stud that the Baronet proposed, in the
shape of borrowing a second horse, our friend doubtless thinking
he carried persecution enough in his own nag. The knotty point of
transit being settled, Billy relapsed into his usual easy languor
among the girls, while Monsieur made a judicious draft of clothes
to take with them, leaving him a very smart suit to appear in at
church on Sunday, and afterwards ride through the county in. We
will now suppose the dread hour of departure arrived.

It was just as Mrs. Pringle predicted! There were the red
eye-lids and laced kerchiefs, and all the paraphernalia of
leave-taking, mingled with the hopes of Major and Mrs. Yammerton,
that Billy would soon return (after the washing, of course); for,
in the language of the turf, Billy was anybody’s game, and one
sister had just as good a right to red eye-lids as another.

Having seen Billy through the ceremony of leave-taking, the Major
then accompanied him to the stable, thinking to say a word for
himself and his late horse ‘ere they parted. After admiring
Napoleon the Great’s condition, as he stood turned round in the
stall ready for mounting, the Major observed casually, “that he
should not be surprised if Sir Moses found fault with that ‘oss.”

“Why?” asked Billy, who expected perfection for a hundred
guineas.

“D-d-don’t know,” replied the Major, with a Jack Rogers’ shrug of
the shoulders. “D-d-don’t know, ‘cept that Sir Moses seldom says
a good word for anybody’s ‘oss but his own.”

The clothes being then swept over the horse’s long tail into the
manger, he stepped gaily out, followed by our friend and his
host.

“I thought it b-b-better to send your servant on,” observed the
Major confidentially, as he stood eyeing the gay deceiver of a
horse: “for, between ourselves, the Baronet’s stables are none of
the best, and it will give you the opportunity of getting the
pick of them.”

“Yarse,” replied Billy, who did not enter into the delicacies of
condition.

“That ho-ho-horse requires w-w-warmth,” stuttered the Major, “and
Sir Moses’s stables are both d-d-damp and d-d-dirty;” saying
which, he tendered his ungloved hand, and with repeated hopes
that Billy would soon return, and wishes for good sport, not
forgetting compliments to the Baronet, our hero and his host at
length parted for the present.

And the Major breathed more freely as he saw the cock-horse
capering round the turn into the Helmington road.