Chapter III

Brag’s feelings at the period of this announcement were by no means of the most agreeable character. It was quite certain that the scene which had just been enacted by the noble lord and himself would furnish materials for a _historiette_ in his lordship’s circle, whence it would infallibly descend to the sphere of his own actions, as fashions gradually sink from the duchess to the dowdy, until, as extremes meet, they become extinct from their universality.

Then, for the Lothario to be slighted--avoided--cut by the waiting-girl of a small inn, who ought to have been prouder than a peacock at having attracted his eyes: altogether Jack was ill at ease, and fell to ruminating upon his present not brilliant prospects, until he fell asleep.

Not so his mother. She had pondered the words her son had spoken: she felt that his recommendation to take unto herself a second husband, although she had passed several years of widowhood, was not altogether unreasonable, since the career which he appeared determined to pursue, let it terminate as it might, was not very likely to end in a steady settle-down to business, and since, as everybody allows, a “lone woman” in trade is liable to be imposed upon.

It is odd enough, that an idea once formed in a mind where it never had place before, becomes the leading subject of thought and consideration. Mrs. Brag had never dreamt of a second marriage; and it is but fair to say, that none of her male, middle-aged, marrying acquaintance had ever, by word or deed, led her to moot the question. It was reserved for her son to fire the train; and from the moment it was ignited, Mrs. Brag became a different woman. She bestowed extra care upon her frill and her front; had the one plaited, and the other curled, with peculiar pains; took to the wearing of coloured ribands; looked into the shop whenever she heard the sound of voices; and, in short, gave herself more airs than she had ever thought of assuming for many years before.

Never, however, had she been driven into what may be called a resolution upon the subject, until the morning upon which this little history opens. Johnny had often suggested the measure, and she had at first repelled the idea, out of respect to the departed Mr. B.; at last, she listened more complacently; then, as I have just said, she occupied herself in putting the scheme in execution practically; and after that morning, finding that all solicitations to John in regard of steadiness must prove fruitless, she came to a resolution of obliging her darling boy, of whom she might justly have said--

“Johnny, with all thy faults, I love thee still,”

and of making herself more comfortable at home. How to compass the affair then became her only consideration; for the reader ought to know, that although to the very last she maintained her profession of disinclination for the step, she had, in fact, determined upon taking it. The way she went to work will hereafter be developed.

The volatile John, himself, arose on the morning of his intended steeple-chase, little refreshed from the sort of feverish night’s rest he had enjoyed--if enjoyment it might be called. He could not rally from the effects of his self-exposure, which affected him the more strongly, as he began to anticipate (since it was evident that they were staying somewhere in the neighbourhood) the appearance of some of the branches of the noble family of Ilfracombe to witness what men of desperate expedients consider “fine sport.” What should he do if this very Lord Dawlish were to join the field, attended perhaps by Lady Fanny Smartly, or the earl himself? Every word that he had uttered the previous night would, of course, be repeated; and if not actually kicked or horse-whipped by the indignant viscount, in revenge for the description he had given of his father and his family, even Lord Tom Towzle himself, who was his main-stay, might join in the general execration of the pretender; the more especially as Lord Tom had at various times borrowed sundry sums of Brag’s “loose cash,” and, having been of late refused unlimited access to his purse, might perhaps not be particularly sorry to find a cause for breaking off his acquaintance with him.

The day however came, and Brag having breakfasted, began to rally; and resolving to put the best face upon the affair, he mounted the horse he kept, and proceeded to the scene of action, casting his eyes, it must be admitted, in every direction, in dread of encountering his friend of the preceding afternoon. Nothing of the sort, however, occurred to annihilate him; and when he reached the inn at which the sportsmen were to rendezvous, and found Lord Tom and his associates just the same as usual,--all gay, lively, and warm in their reception,--he felt reassured, and in less than an hour had forgotten, or resolved not to remember, anything about his self-exposure to the noble lord.

The steeple-chase took place according to notice; and at its conclusion Lord Tom, assisted by Brag, furnished a report of it for the “Sporting Intelligence” of the London papers, in the following words:--

“This event came off yesterday to the entire gratification of the
numerous company who were present.

“The course had been marked out on the previous day by Lord Wagley,
Lord Thomas Towzle, and Mr. Brag, who judiciously selected a stiff
line of country, including thirty-four leaps and three brooks,
best calculated to try the mettle of both horses and riders. The
winning-post was between two flags placed in a field belonging to Mr.
Brag, who was also appointed umpire. Five horses started--

“Mr. Tagrag’s ‘Washball’ _Owner._
Capt. Snobb’s ‘Beggarboy’ _Owner._
Sir Frederick Flapper’s ‘Stumpy’ _Mr. Martingale._
Mr. Smith’s ‘Tommy’ _Owner._
Colonel Ball’s ‘Blunderbuss’ _Mr. Flint._

“They all went off at a slashing pace. ‘Tommy’ refused the second
leap, and threw his rider over his head, and, falling backwards over
the bank, broke his back, and died in a few minutes. ‘Washball’ was
also unlucky in trying to jump a brook, which her rider did not know
was fordable twenty yards lower down: she slipped her shoulder, and
was obliged to be shot immediately after the race. We are sorry to
add, that Mr. Tagrag, who rode her, unfortunately pitched upon the
back of his neck, and severely injured his spine. He lies at the
‘Full Moon’ at Wigglesford, without hopes of recovery.

“After these little mishaps, the play was made entirely by
‘Beggarboy’ and ‘Stumpy,’ ‘Blunderbuss’ having knocked up after the
first two miles and a half, and being run to a dead stand in the
middle of a ploughed field, whence neither flogging nor spurring
could move him: in fact, the shine was taken out of him, and it
became a clear case of ‘no go.’

“‘Beggarboy’ and ‘Stumpy’ had had enough of it; and when they reached
the last fence, entered the winning-field nearly neck-and-neck.
‘Stumpy’ tumbled into the ditch, and Captain Snobbs worked
‘Beggarboy’ through the flags in very fine style. ‘Stumpy’ was
considerably damaged by the last fall, which is a pity, inasmuch as
he is about one of the best horses in this part of the country.

“The race was for ten sovereigns each, and was run in an incredibly
short space of time. The numerous company assembled were highly
delighted with the spirit-stirring sport, and, after the chase,
proceeded to a field at the back of the ‘Full Moon,’ to see the ties
shot off of the great pigeon match between Mr. Slack and Mr. Nibbs,
for a silver jug and cover.

“The name of Nibbs in itself was sufficient to create an unusual
interest, and the ground was crowded with amateurs. The terms were,
twenty-one yards at twenty-one birds--charge limited to two ounces.
Betting, three to one the winner killed eighteen--five to four on
Nibbs. They both went in, sure of doing the trick; but after Slack
and Nibbs had each killed twelve birds, Nibbs had it all his own way,
and won the jug by five birds, killing nineteen to Slack’s fourteen;
thus winning the by-bets of three to one. Several other matches came
off, and about a hundred and fifty pigeons were knocked over.

“Nothing could exceed the gaiety of the scene. The weather was
remarkably fine, and a proportion of the beauties who had honoured
the race with their presence, were witnesses of the cheering sport.
An old woman standing just outside the enclosure, received a whole
charge of shot in her face, which is likely to cost her the sight of
one eye at least; and a silly boy, who imprudently attempted to knock
down one of the winged birds which was falling out of bounds, was
badly wounded in the chest and throat. He was immediately attended
to by the surgeon of the place, who extracted thirty-six shots from
different parts of his person, and he was then forwarded in an easy
cart to the county hospital. We hope these accidents will act as
cautions to other equally inconsiderate individuals.

“At the conclusion of the sports an admirable cold collation was
served up at the ‘Full Moon,’ in Bunks’s best style. The evening
passed off in the most delightfully convivial manner, and
arrangements were made for a renewal of the exhilarating diversion of
the day, on Thursday next, when a still more numerous assemblage is
anticipated.”

This animated description, as a matter of course, figured in the principal journals of the following morning, Brag having succeeded in the interpolation of three or four words, conveying to himself a field, and, by implication, a much more extensive estate, in a part of the country where he did not possess even so much as called him master at his “little place in Surrey.” The only drawback to his happiness, however, upon this occasion, was a visit, three days after the appearance of the intelligence, from the farmer to whom the field actually did belong, who gave him to understand that he had directed his attorney to prosecute the trespassers, who without his permission had ploughed up his land at a season when it did not require tillage; and having ascertained by the newspapers that the whole arrangements had devolved upon Mr. Brag, the attorney thought it most advisable to pounce upon _him_ in the first instance.

This visit, and the intelligence his visitor conveyed to him, were anything but agreeable to the little man, whose feelings upon the matter were in no degree tranquillized by the conviction that his difficulties and responsibility were fastened upon him, because he could not refrain from the indulgence of his besetting propensity, in making himself not only the hero of the affair, but the owner of the ground over which it had been decided.

The next race, however, which Mr. Brag was destined to run, was away from the lawyer, and accordingly, with prudence, which in animals unclothed, we designate instinct, but which in cases like that of Johnny we by courtesy call reason, our hero quitted his head quarters at the Duke’s Head, and proceeded to town per stage-coach; the second message from Mr. Figgs, with regard to the horses, having been accompanied with a peremptory demand that they might both be sent back.

Brag returned to town considerably damaged, and however bold he might be in assuming consequence, and claiming friendships, never did human being more clearly evince by his personal appearance the workings of what served him for mind, than he; a blow like that which he had just received from the farmer’s announcement completely upset him, and in five minutes the sprightly, pert, impudent-looking wagling was metamorphosed into a pale, downcast, miserable victim; and in a plight thus indicative of defeat, he reached the metropolis, quite undecided how to dispose of himself for the afternoon.

While he is in this state of suspense let us look for one moment at those over whose destinies he almost unconsciously possessed a most extraordinary influence. Sir Charles Lydiard, whose sensitiveness had once been disturbed, and whose shyness had been excited by Rushton’s observations upon the manner in which Brag was received at Mrs. Dallington’s, could not get rid of the impression which he had at first so hesitatingly received. None who have not felt jealousy--and, since there never can be love without it, who has not?--can imagine the pains which a patient once infected with the disease, the jaundice of the mind, incessantly takes to keep up its virulence. It so happened, that Sir Charles had never seen Brag since his conversation with Rushton, and therefore had no opportunity of watching the “telegraph” of which they had upon that occasion spoken; but upon a reference to all that _had_ passed, he managed to combine a thousand “trifles light as air,” an infinity of nothings, the consideration of which produced an increased exhibition of coldness and reserve during his next two or three calls at the widow’s.

Mrs. Dallington saw this accession of frigidity, and without exactly hitting upon its true cause, did certainly “telegraph” Blanche into an observance of it. This new glance gave new grounds for doubts and apprehensions, and the worthy baronet passed four miserable hours in the boudoir of the woman he best loved in the world, if he had but known it, devoutly wishing to make his escape, but fearing to move lest an _éclaircissement_ should take place.

Sir Charles felt more embarrassed from the fact that he had _not_ seen his aversion during his last one or two visits; and because he was extremely anxious to know the cause of an absence on his part longer than usual; and because, above all, he could not induce himself to make the smallest inquiry after him. Other men called, joined in the conversation, and relieved Sir Charles from the restraint under which the dread of a serious explanation kept him whenever the temporary absence of Blanche reduced the circle to a _tête-à-tête_; but the appearance of none of those worried or annoyed him. Mrs. Dallington’s manner, kind to all, was in no degree particular to any one of them; but certainly, now that Rushton had concurred with him in his views upon the subject, he _did_ think that Brag was very differently treated by both ladies. Still, he could not descend to touch upon the topic; and after a feverish sitting on the third morning after Brag’s departure, Sir Charles left the widow’s to dress for dinner, pleading an engagement which he had not, for declining an invitation from her and her sister to dine with them, which he would have been, if he could have commanded his feelings, too happy to accept.

Rushton, who had been there, but was also absent in the evening, became more actively employed in Brag’s business than his cold and calculating colleague. In passing Grosvenor Street he encountered Brag proceeding to visit his door-plate and inquire for letters, just arrived from the Duke of Marlborough, having been let out of the coach (in the inside of which he travelled to avoid the farmer’s lawyer) at the corner of a back street in the Edgeware Road, so as not to be detected in his descent; by which ingenious device, and the exhibition of a whip in his hand and a pair of spurs on his heels, the pretender let it be inferred that he had ridden up to town upon one of the nine horses, which did not belong to him.

Rushton welcomed his _friend_ to London; and anxious to ascertain, if he could, whether he proposed making an evening visit to Mrs. Dallington’s, joined him in his walk down the street.

“Just returned?” said Rushton.

“This minute dismounted,” said Brag; “capital sport;--never better!--all smack smooth, and no mistake. Killed two horses outright, and one man, I fancy; however, he was well picked up, and the doctor has got him in charge.”

“Much company?” said Rushton.

“Lots of people,” answered Brag, who, unable to repress that which was certainly true, however dangerous the allusion to the family might be elsewhere; “I myself did not stay at Wigglesford, I had rooms at the inn where my horses stand. All quiet, snug; no nonsense;--civil people; good landlord; pretty daughter, eh!--you understand--no mistake!”

“Were you alone, then?” said Rushton.

“Not altogether,” said Brag; “old Ilfracombe dined with me. He was going to an archery-meeting to join his family. Weather turned out bad; took part of my little dinner;--humble fare--mere soup, fish, cutlet and capon. The rest of the party joined us after dinner. Dawlish and his wife, and Lady Sarah Smartly--they did not get out of the carriage--so I packed him off, and returned to finish my claret, and wind up the evening in _my_ way, eh?”

“Are you going to the widow’s this evening?” said Rushton.

“Not certain,” said Brag: “I’m rather tired, and more than half engaged. How is Sir Charles? Cold chap, that, eh? Don’t you think so?”

“Why,” said Rushton, “a trifle upsets him. He is the most delicate-minded man I ever met with: an expression, a word, a look affects him in a way one could scarcely imagine.”

“Proud, eh?” said Brag. “Distant, eh?”

“No,” replied Rushton. “There is a coldness in his manner, I admit; and those who do not know him may fancy this proceeds from _hauteur_; but the fact is, that however much he may warm in the course of the evening, he falls back to his original state of chilliness the next morning, and requires a new process to _degêler_ him. He is not therefore popular, but, in truth, his apparent coldness has its origin in diffidence and a distrust of himself.”

“Oh! that’s diffidence, is it?” said Brag. “I can’t say I quite understand _that_: I thought it was pride--but for _that_, in course I don’t care one farthing, and no mistake.”

It all at once struck Rushton (Sir Charles having naturally, although unexpectedly, become the subject of their conversation) that the present would be a favourable opportunity of sounding (the water not being very deep) the views and intentions of his communicative friend.

“Why,” said he, “to tell you the truth, Brag, I do not think _you_ a fair judge of Sir Charles. I have my quarrels with him upon different shades of feeling; but you--_you_ are totally different.”

“I don’t see that,” said Brag. “It’s all one to me, you know. I don’t care a fig, as I say to Lord Tom: take me as I am, eh!--all right up, straight down, no mistake. I quite agree with you in differing with _him_; but I don’t see how _my_ case differs from _yours_.”

“Ah!” said Rushton, “there it is: it is in that difference all the difference lies.”

“How d’ye mean?” said Brag.

“He is afraid of you,” replied his companion.

“Afraid of _me_!” said Brag, pulling up his shirt collar, “that’s too good.”

“You are too civil by half to the widow,” said Rushton.

“Me!”

“Yes,” said Rushton, “and what is even more to the purpose, he thinks she is too civil by half to you.”

“Upon your honour!” said Brag, in an ecstasy of delight--“afraid of _me_! Come, come--eh!--that’s too good!”

“Not a bit too good,” said Rushton. “I tell you what it is--I’ll be candid with you--I am just as much afraid of you myself.”

“You, Rushton!” said Brag.

“Yes, more than Sir Charles is,” replied Rushton. “Recollect now--remember--think how you go on with Blanch Englefield--a being all shyness and reserve with everybody else, is with _you_, animated and evidently interested in your conversation.”

“You don’t mean that _you_ are afraid of _me_, too,” said Brag, fully convinced of the entire seriousness of the conversation, which after all contained more of real apprehension than Rushton would have willingly had him know. “I certainly have a way, eh!--I don’t know what it is--it cannot be person--manner, I suppose. I am always ready to talk, eh! The tongue is the very deuce in a sharp fellow’s head--a little repartee, and all that, eh!--small-talk, and a good deal of it--that’s it.”

“Clearly,” said Rushton.

“The women like little parties,” said Brag--“fêtes--water excursions--_dejeuners_, and all that. Then they get so good-humoured; and the champagne--and the return--and the moonlight--and the music, and all _that_.”

“You have not yet opened your battery in that line,” said Rushton.

“Waiting for weather,” said Brag. “I’ll show you the way to do that sort of thing as soon as summer is well in, eh!--and then, I think, you _will_ have the heart-ache.”

“Are you, then, so general a lover?” said Rushton. “Will neither content your love of conquest? Must you win both?”

“Oh! come,” said Brag, putting his finger to his nose, and winking, “you are playing your tricks--what do _they_ care for _me_?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Rushton. “My firm belief is, that you may obtain the hand of either of them; and my opinion, moreover, is, that if you have not serious intentions that way, as far as one of them is concerned, you do an injustice to both, by acting towards them as you do.”

“Upon your life!” said Jack--“you are serious?”

“Perfectly,” said Rushton; “however, this is entirely between ourselves: and whatever step you take, let me just mention, that the widow is much the more lively companion of the two, and has rather the better fortune; so turn your basilisk eyes towards her, and leave the poor silent, sighing Blanche for me. Adieu! Here we are at your door--you are at home. Do me the favour to remember what I have said, and as you are great be merciful.”

Saying which, Rushton quitted his friend, who was completely overset by the announcement of the opinion he had just heard delivered. It took very little to convince him of his power over what he called the “female sex,” and he had certainly for some time felt very much inclined to coincide with Rushton in his views upon this particular point. But then came the question--Which of the prizes should he take?--which of the lovers should he immolate? Lydiard, he was assured, was too cold and odd to charm the widow, and Rushton too violent and jealous to be agreeable as a husband to Blanche. The notion once put into his head, operated there like that with which he had a short time before possessed his respectable mother on a similar subject, and all that now remained for him to do was to make up his mind for a decision. That he _did_ decide, the reader is destined soon to see; how, for the present, must remain a secret.

There certainly is one part of the affair which did not make itself evident to him. Blinded by his vanity, he did not perceive that the whole object Rushton had in view in acknowledging his own fears, which he really fancied had some foundation, and in encouraging his pretensions, was the expulsion of the little man altogether; for although he had succeeded in awakening Sir Charles’s suspicions, and Sir Charles had been equally fortunate in arousing _his_, and that he had moreover discovered, by Brag’s manner and admission, that the widow was, at least of the two, the present object of his admiration, he felt perfectly satisfied that he would receive his _congée_ the very hour in which he made a formal declaration, and thus, without appearing in the business, he should be relieved from all farther apprehensions from his presence, while the affair of his expulsion would, in fact, be that of Lydiard and the widow.

Brag, however, was about to be entangled in another little business, which promised to interfere with the immediate execution of his plan. He had resolved upon repairing to his “little place in Surrey,” in order to look after certain affairs which were essential to the production of the means for “carrying on the war,” and afterwards proposed, at least when it should be sufficiently dark for the purpose--to visit his mother, who, wisely enough, took care of the shop as far as her abilities would permit her to watch one or two clerks and shopmen, who undoubtedly, seeing that she was a “lone woman,” did every day that, of which, in her own phrase, she was so much afraid “put upon her;” which phrase, rendered into plain English, means, cheat her out of her property whenever they were able.

As our story expands, it may be necessary here to observe, that Mrs. Brag had a daughter, the sister of John, who had never been a favourite with her father. People said her temper was bad: some people said one thing, and other people, as they will do, said other things: certain it is, that home was no home for her. And after a sort of half-and-half education at a suburban boarding-school, where she learned astronomy, the mathematics, netting, knitting, knotting, the use of the globes, dancing, geometry, drawing, embroidery, rug-working, purse-making, flower-painting, botany, singing, geology, plain needle-work, natural history, stencilling, Italian, French, Spanish, and German, the harp, guitar, piano-forte, tambourine, and triangle, together with many other sciences and accomplishments, “too numerous for the brief space of an advertisement,” she early in life married hastily, and clandestinely, a gentleman in the army of the name of Brown. His military duties had since called him to India, where his regiment had now been for several years. Of him or his sister, Jack seldom spoke, and, when he did, coldly referred to her husband as the major. Any little uneasiness which her father had evinced about the marriage at the period at which it occurred, had been decently buried in oblivion by the fond mother and her son, who, whatever other feelings might have prompted him to this acquiescence in the affair, it could not be doubted was in a considerable degree acted upon by a desire to say nothing whatever about it.

There was, however, a person for whom, in earlier life, and before the doting fondness of his sire had spoiled him, he did feel as deep an interest as such a mind as his was capable of--this was no other than the major’s sister, Miss Brown--Anne christened, but called familiarly in those times Nancy Brown. It does not sound romantic by way of a name, but what _is_ in a name?

At the time of Brag’s acquaintance with her, she was a lovely girl just eighteen, fair as the lily and fresh as the rose. Her mother was an humble personage, no better, let it be understood, than a dress-maker, to whom this daughter was assistant; for, lest we should ourselves fall into the errors of which Brag was guilty, it may be as well to observe, that the military functionary with whom Kitty became enamoured, and who had the honour of leading her to the Hymeneal altar without her father’s consent, derived his rank of major from Brag himself; in giving him which brevet he felt himself probably justified, inasmuch as it was derived from a mere abbreviation of his real title. Brown was serjeant-major in the regiment to which he belonged; but the omission of one half of his official denomination was adopted very early by Jack, with, it must be confessed, the full acquiescence of his father, who never could think of the misbehaviour of Kitty in making such a match, with common patience.

When his father died, Johnny, as will be seen hereafter, became so fine a gentleman, that he never paid the least further attention either to Nancy Brown or the promises he had so earnestly made her; judge, then, the surprise and mortification which overwhelmed the vain and foolish creature when his mother, after the usual greetings upon his arrival at home, placed in his hands a letter from his poor suffering victim.

To describe the face or the feelings of Brag when this appeal from his once dear Anne was handed to him by his respected parent, (who was not entirely aware of the real state of the case, but believed the communication, in all probability, to have some reference to her daughter, whom she in her heart had, with a mother’s feelings, forgiven,) would be impossible. To come from a question of supplanting Sir Charles Lydiard in the good graces of Mrs. Dallington, to a letter from Nancy Brown of Walworth, was indeed a sinking in the sublime. He turned pale, as usual; then flushed; then his lips quivered, and his eyes opened; and then, without saying one syllable, he thrust the paper unopened into his pocket, where it shall remain until a new chapter gives us space for its perusal.