Chapter VII (1)

During the period of suspense which must naturally intervene, under any circumstances, between the departure and return of a yacht from Cowes, professing a voyage to Portsmouth, it may, perhaps, be as well to let the reader know something of those personages of our drama, who, in its earlier part, were prominent characters, and who, owing to the management of one of the party, first caused the explosion of Brag’s absurdity, without a match.

The agreeable Mrs. Dallington, and the lovely Blanche Englefield, as Mrs. Cropper the housekeeper informed Mr. Salmon, had become--“nothing loath,”--the respective wives of Sir Charles Lydiard and Mr. Francis Rushton. Sir Charles and his lady passed the honeymoon at his place in Gloucestershire; Rushton and _his_ bride went, as the ‘world’ will go, to Paris: and never were four people more entirely changed by the relative change of their several conditions than this _parti carré_.

Lydiard, once in possession of the kind-hearted widow, doubted no longer. Convinced by the unreserved communication of thoughts, and opinions, to which the character of husband entitled him, of her single-mindedness, and unqualified affection and esteem for him, all the doubts which disturbed, and all the fears which alarmed him, were banished from his mind: while Rushton, convinced of the purity and excellence of his blushing Blanche, felt no longer irritated, or peevish, if she chanced to bestow a passing smile upon another; perfectly assured by an intimate acquaintance with her sterling good qualities, that she would never have accepted him, spite of her own knowledge of the little irregularities of his temper, had she not meant to bind him to herself by ties of affection and tenderness, which to a heart ardent as Rushton’s was, must be invincible and irresistible.

So here, then, were reduced, in four short weeks, two turbulent spirits, either after his own fashion; and the nervous suspicious lover, and the fiery doubting suitor, subdued into two as happy husbands as ever entered the holy state of matrimony.

Thus it is:--a lover must be jealous of the object of his affections; because, in that state of probation in which a lover is doomed to live, there can be no love without jealousy: but when once the beloved one becomes a wife, the signs of jealousy on the part of her husband are both disgusting and degrading; degrading to himself, as implying a conscious inferiority; and disgusting, because it betrays a suspicion that his wife will practically evince her consciousness of that inferiority by preferring somebody else to _him_.

Fuller says, “Where jealousie is the jailour, many break the prison, it opening more wayes to wickednesse than it stoppeth; so that, where it findeth one, it maketh ten dishonest.” And so it is. What does the generous, while yet untainted Othello say?--_he_ who, as Mrs. Salmon described him, was “as black as my hat, and a nigger into the bargain.”

----’Tis not to make me jealous,
To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company,
Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well:
Where virtue is, these are more virtuous.
Nor from mine own weak merits will I draw
The smallest fear, or doubt of her revolt,
For she had eyes, and chose me.

As Rushton had no very particular friend to act Iago, he contented himself upon Shakspeare’s principle; and the jealousy, which none can separate from love during a long and anxious courtship, was buried at the foot of the altar at which he made her his wife. Nothing in truth could be more perfectly happy than Lydia and Rushton; and nothing connected with their felicity would have interfered to disturb the resolution of Brag to be “everything in the world,” and Lady Lavinia’s husband into the bargain, but the appalling fact that Sir Charles and his Lady, and Mr. and Mrs. Rushton, had emerged from their sweet solitudes into the world at Ryde, which very watering-place had been fixed as their rendezvous at the end of the double honeymoon.

This, Jack certainly did not know, nor in the slightest degree did he anticipate such a _contretemps_ while he was lounging “the sultry hours away,” during the voyage of “Psyche” to Portsmouth. However, these curious coincidences will occur, however particularly disagreeable their occurrence may be. Still, there is nothing in the world so silly as discounting grievances; when they come due, it is quite time enough to honour them, and pay the amount: so, even if Jack _had_ known that his “love’s bitter foes” were at Ryde, he would not have agitated himself unnecessarily until they had, by some accident, arrived at Cowes.

It is not to be denied that Jack felt himself more comfortable, and more at ease, strolling about upon the beach, than he was at any period of the previous day on board his yacht; and he pictured to himself the gratification he should experience in seeing her enter the harbour, her taunt mast “towering to the skies,” and her ample main-sail swelling to the breeze.

Yet in the midst of these higher aspirations Jack could not altogether avoid the recollection of his earlier days and associations. He began to worry himself now about his sister’s fate and death, to fidget himself about his mother’s marriage, and even feel something like a regret about Anne; it was, “in course,” no use minding it now; but it all came into his head as he sat watching the waves rolling in upon the shore.

With regard to his yacht, Brag’s vanity was amply gratified by her appearance, beating up from Portsmouth,--wind being as per last; but the day was bright and clear, and as he watched her buffeting the waves he said to himself, “That’s _my_ yacht;” which being, in point of fact, almost the only thing he ever could call his own, was a very gratifying soliloquy. He waited until she neared the harbour, and then proceeded to his lodgings, not wishing to be seen by his guests on their landing; inasmuch as the wags, if they pounced upon him at once, might fancy his indisposition feigned, or at least construe it into an indisposition to a second voyage.

The party had not long deposited themselves in their respective homes, before Lady Lavinia’s attentions to the little man were renewed in the shape of a note of enquiry after his health, and containing a line in the way of postscript, to inform him that having found two friends of hers, at Portsmouth, who were coming to the island, she had ventured to give them, and one or two of their servants, a passage in “The Psyche.” “I hope,” added her ladyship, “you will not be angry with me for having taken this liberty. I think, if you even are so now, you will forgive me when you come here this evening, for they are, I find, people whom you know. I hope you are busying yourself about our dance; I will not terrify you by calling it a ball. Lady Wattle will be here to meet you, and we have arranged everything;--it must be Tuesday,--remember that. I have made out a list of the people to have; here short notice only is required, the shorter the better, however. It comes as a surprise, and people like it; and we are all so snug. I only wish my cottage were large enough to manage it here. _Au revoir_,” &c. &c.

“I’m in for the ball,” said Jack,--“that’s clear enough, and _no_ mistake. I wonder how long this is to last before I may venture to hint my intentions in regard of the match; and I wonder who the deuce my two friends who came up with some of their servants in my yacht may be. I wanted no friends to come here;--Stiffkey and young Gunnersbury perhaps; or Brown and his wife; or perhaps that sour-faced doctor that’s married to Nancy. I don’t think I’ll go to the old woman’s to-night--see what the morning will do.”

Jack puzzled himself a good deal how to act in this emergency: if it were any of the people who first came into his mind who had arrived, a meeting with them would be utter annihilation. Why the deuce hadn’t my lady said at once _who_ they were? Stiffkey would sink him at the first shot,--not to speak of the I. O. U. Gunnersbury would insult him. It could not be Lord Tom himself. At all events, go he would not,--go he could not; and therefore, in order to guard himself from any surprises of that sort, he wrote, as well as he could, a little answer to Lady Lavinia’s note, saying he found himself so ill that he had been obliged to go to bed; and lest any extraordinary measure of her ladyship’s kindness might convict him of evasion or deceit, he forthwith proceeded to disrobe and retire to his couch; thus punishing himself for the sake of keeping out of the way of an apprehended detection for a few hours. The next day must unearth him; for whoever his friends were, the very fact of his indisposition would bring them to see him. It mattered not; he had not nerve to face the danger, and so the note was despatched immediately: and as Hickman had not yet come on shore from the yacht, his master was snugly deposited on his couch, all ready to act the invalid “smack, smooth, and no mistake.”

The note had not been gone more than half an hour before Jack’s ears were assailed by the noise of feet ascending the stairs of his domicile. This announcement of approach was speedily followed by a smart tapping at the bed-room door. Jack heard it all; but as to the doomed culprit every minute is precious, he affected not to be aware of what was happening. The knock was repeated, and Brag felt it was useless to try any longer to stave off the visiter, whoever he might be; and a “come in,” uttered in a tone of voice which sounded very much like the negative invitation sometimes given to a bore, of “you won’t stay and dine with us,” was followed by the irruption into his apartment of Heneage Peckover, of Womanswould in the county of Kent, Esq.

“Why, Brag, my boy,” said the squire, “what’s the matter? Lady Lavinia is all in a stew about you--eh!--so Mrs. Peckover told me to come and inquire after you, and thank you for our passage up from Portsmouth, and for some deuced good luncheon, which we got on board your yacht.”

“My dear sir,” said Jack, “how are you? I’m very glad to see you:” which was not altogether untrue,--for there were many other persons who would have been infinitely more unwelcome. “I’m uncommon ill: caught cold yesterday, I take it.”

“Deuced sorry for that,” said the squire. “You must rally and rouse; only don’t come out in the evening if you think it’s cold:--nurse. As Mrs. Peckover says, one day’s penance is no great sacrifice; and Lady Lavinia agrees with her that you had better not think of coming to her to-night; she has written to you, she says.”

“Yes,” said Jack; “I have answered her _billy-do_,--asking me to come.”

“I know,” said the squire; “and I have brought you a billy don’t, to tell you not to go.--Ha, ha, ha! I made that joke myself; and Mrs. Peckover tells me it’s as old as the hills. I don’t care--I don’t trouble my head with those sort of things: however, you’ll come after breakfast to-morrow. Mrs. Peckover is very anxious to be introduced to you.”

Now this was a fact, and is only a proof of that curious sympathy which prevails amongst women, even to a somewhat advanced period in life. Mrs. Peckover had taken the most unqualified aversion from Jack, only from seeing him at a distance, and knowing that he was one of her husband’s “cockney friends,”--a description associated in her mind with everything coarse and disgusting, and which kept them, as we have already seen, proscribed from what she called _her_ circle.

During the voyage from Portsmouth, Lady Lavinia had spoken of Jack in terms which at once released him from the stigma which the lady so generally cast upon the Nimrods of Cockaigne with whom her good-natured husband was so constantly in the habit of making acquaintance; nor were the favourable opinions of her ladyship at all weakened in Mrs. Peckover’s estimation by the appearance of “things in general” connected with our hero. The yacht itself and its appointments bespoke the man; and having admitted all the propositions of Lady Lavinia with regard to him, she concluded their conversation by expressing her pity and commiseration for his unhappy position at the Lewes play, where, by some strange accident, he had become involved in the most disagreeable circumstances, all of which she described with the greatest possible point and the minutest accuracy.

“Mrs. Peckover,” said the squire, “has been telling Lady Lavinia all the history of the old mad-woman at the playhouse at Lewes, and made her ladyship laugh immoderately.”

“She has, has she?” said Jack to himself.

“Who the deuce was the woman?” continued the squire: “Mrs. Peckover wants to know if you ever found out.”

This was beyond his hopes; the real fact was not known, after all.

“Found out!” said Jack--“not I. Didn’t you?”

“No,” said the squire. “Mrs. Peckover got rather unwell at the play after you had been driven away, and so Lady Patcham insisted upon her going back and sleeping at her house; and we didn’t go to the inn, else we might have known, I dare say.”

“Oh!” said Jack, forgetting rather too much that he was an invalid, “you didn’t go back to the inn?”

“No,” said the squire. “Mrs. Peckover got a bed at Lady Patcham’s, and I slept upon some chairs in the library. The house was crammed full of people. However, I don’t care for that sort of thing. Ha, ha, ha! Besides, as Mrs. Peckover says, there’s nothing like light and shade in this life. You never enjoy comfort half so much, if you are always comfortable, as you do if you rough it sometimes.”

Jack’s satisfaction at the happy state of ignorance in which Peckover and his lady were still involved, was so great, that he began to regret having taken fright at the approach of his unknown friends; nor was he much less pleased at hearing that they had seen nothing of his friend Colonel Stiffkey, who had returned to Eastbourne only for one day, and had proceeded on a tour along the coast, with his friend Mr. Gunnersbury. “Mrs. Peckover, I believe,” added the squire, “thinks there is a chance of their coming here, which will be very pleasant, because she likes the colonel mightily. He is a great amateur artist; and she admires pictures, and prints, and all that. For my part, I don’t care much about such things. Ha, ha, ha!”

Peckover prolonged his visit to Brag, and talked over the only subject upon which the little man could talk, and spoke enthusiastically of the fine runs he anticipated in the coming season, and gave an animated description of the horses, “black, white, and grey,” which he had in his stable, until the maid-servant of the lodging came into the room to announce that one of Mrs. Peckover’s footmen was below, and wished to speak to his master.

“Bid him come up,” said the squire.

He did come up.

“Well, what is it, Stephen?” said Peckover.

“My mistress has sent me, sir,” said Stephen, “to say, that if you don’t come to dress directly, you will be too late for dinner.”

“Odds bobs!” said the squire. “Who’d have thought it: how time flies in pleasant company! I’ll be home instantly. Go on first; tell Mrs. Peckover I’m coming as fast as I can: so, so! Well, Mr. Brag, I shall make a favourable report, and say you’ll be with Lady Lavinia after breakfast. Good day,--good day! Dear me! only think of the time!”

And away hurried the gentle giant, leaving Brag in almost as great a perplexity as that in which he found him. The escape about his mother’s exposure was a great relief; so was the circumstance of Stiffkey’s sudden departure from Eastbourne. But then, the impending threat of his visit to the island was a complete set-off in the account against those. In fact, look which way he would, Jack felt that expedition was essential to his success, and that no time was to be lost.

As soon as Peckover was well clear of his lodgings, Brag got up and dressed himself, being now secure against farther interruption; and resolved to make a dinner, if Hickman would permit him to do so, upon some of the innumerable remnants of the luncheon of which Peckover had spoken so highly; and having, without the aid of his valet-butler, butler-valet, completed his toilet as far as he intended, and seated himself on his little sofa, in his dressing-gown and slippers, he rang the bell, and summoned that minister to his presence.

“Hickman,” said Jack, “I fancy I could eat some dinner;--something cold, I should prefer,--eh?”

“I don’t think, sir,” said Hickman, “there is anything cold in the house.”

“What! have they cleared off the luncheon?” said Jack, “eh? entirely,--smack, smooth, and no mistake?”

“No, sir,” said Hickman, shaking his head with a sort of half _dégagé_, half diplomatic wriggle; “but then we never bring away anything from the yacht. The captain and the crew consider----”

“Consider!” said Jack. “Why, haven’t they got plenty of salt-beef, pork, and the deuce knows what, to eat?”

“Those are for long voyages, sir,” said Hickman: “but there really was very little left; and I---- It isn’t usual, sir.”

“Oh!” said Jack. “Well, if it’s right, it’s right; and what’s right can’t be wrong: so there’s an end of that, and no mistake. Get me something then to eat.”

“Something plain, sir?” said Hickman, “a----”

“Yes,” said Jack.

“Will you have a _perigoo_?” said Hickman. “I can get that in a minute.”

“Any eggs and bacon?” said Jack.

“Sir!” said Hickman, looking aghast.

“Something nice, and not common,” said Brag. “I’m peckish.”

“A _salade à volaille_?” said Hickman.

“Oh, anything,” said Jack, “only let it be quick; for my headache is gone, and I want to eat.”

Hickman, who was an admirable servant in his way, and who knew every turn and twist of Cowes, was not long in preparing a nice little repast for his eccentric master; who, however ready and willing, when he was out hunting, to take a snack without a table-cloth, had no dislike to see his “feed,” as he called it, put down all sweet, and clean, and no mistake.

In half an hour, a cloth, like unsunned snow, set off to the best advantage a remarkably nice little dinner; and Jack, growing bold by experience, ordered himself a bottle of the champagne which was so extremely popular on board the yacht. This, a pint of sherry, and, as he proposed, a bottle of claret to wind up with, were the liquids he selected to imbibe; and, bating the visions of the colonel and the young bombardier, Jack was as brisk and as gay as

“Jove, in his chair,
Of the sky, lord-mayor;”

and dismissing Hickman from attendance, he poured glass after glass down his throat, each bumper adding to his resolution to pop the question to my lady without further delay,--having been acquainted with her certainly less than three weeks, his pretensions, however, having been, it must be owned, considerably encouraged during that period by the bright sunshine of her ladyship’s eyes.

By about nine o’clock Jack had drank himself into a beautiful state of mystification. He had lost sight of the colonel and Gunnersbury, and had reached a sort of seventh heaven of Orlebarism: he had begun to soliloquize aloud,--certain evidence of his real state,--and had nearly

“Screwed his courage to the sticking-place”

with regard to Lady Lavinia, when a rapid, rattling rat-tat-tat at the house-door set him wondering. His doubts were speedily dispelled; for in two minutes after the noise had ceased, Peckover stood before him.

He saw the vision--or rather two--with surprise and horror: here was the man who had left him in bed ill, sick, and wretched,--the very emissary who bore his tale of woe,--returned to find him not only excessively jolly, but having on his table the dreadful evidence of “foregone conclusions”--bottoms of bottles; the spiry champagne, the yet distinguishable sherry, and the tall Chateau Margot, were all before him. What was to be done?

“My dear Brag,” said the squire, “I’m delighted! Quite right?--up again and thriving! I’m right glad to see what I do. Deuced pleasant little party at Lady Lavinia’s: but Mrs. Peckover told me that I ought to come down and see how you were, and sit with you a bit. They are all acting charades, and singing, and playing, and all that; but you know, as Mrs. P. says, I don’t trouble my head with those sorts of things--ha, ha, ha!--so I am come to do a bit of cozey with you.”

“I’m delighted,” said Jack, “and no mistake. What will you have, squire--something hot, sweet, and strong, as the old women say?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Peckover. “Mrs. Peckover says spirits are injurious; but I don’t mind--ha, ha, ha! The women don’t like men to drink; it keeps them away from them. However, I’m here upon what I call duty--ha, ha, ha!--and deuced pleasant duty too.”

“In no time,” as Jack would have expressed it, brandy, &c. and hot water, lemons and sugar, and everything else in the world, were put down, and the squire and Jack _tête-à-tête_; Jack, however, having got considerably the start of his friend, and being more communicative and inquisitive than perhaps he would have been had he not strictly adhered to the rules of the Temperance Societies, just now so much in fashion, which add hypocrisy to sensuality, and render that, which has hitherto been a social failing, a solitary vice.

“Lady Lavinia,” said the squire, “has made out a list of the people for your ball Tuesday. Mrs. Peckover tells me that you have got the credit of ‘going it’ here, and that all the women are in love with you--ha, ha, ha! I never trouble my head with that sort of thing--but so they say.”

“Why,” said Jack, “I believe there is something in that. They are uncommon good-natured,--eh--you know, and no mistake.”

“The ball is fixed for Tuesday, Mrs. Peckover tells me,” said Peckover.

“Oh!” said Jack, “it is, is it?--umph!”

“I say, Brag,” continued the squire, “Mrs. P. thinks that you and my lady are likely to--eh?--put your horses together, as we say; don’t you understand? She is all agog about you; and--so--ha, ha, ha! I never mind those sort of things myself; but only--Oh! they do like these _fêtes_ and yachts--eh?--and the flirtings, as they call them.”

“Why,” said Jack, “I own I think Lady Lavinia--eh?”

“Think!” said the squire--“Mrs. Peckover is sure--what I call cock-sure--and I’m glad of it. A nice place she has got down in our part of the country, and all snug.”

“Straight up, right down,” said Jack, “and no mistake?”

“Four thousand a-year, Mr. Brag,” said Peckover; “at least so Mrs. Peckover tells me.”

“But,” said Jack,--“help yourself, squire,--what do you think of Mr. Selwyn and Fanny? Was _he_ there this evening?--he was with you in the yacht.”

“Why, Mrs. Peckover thinks him clever,” said the squire. “He is desperately in love, she says, with Fanny Hastings. I never trouble my head with those sorts of things--ha, ha, ha!”

“But how,” said Jack, “if she was to marry Selwyn without my lady’s consent?”

“Wouldn’t give her a farthing,” said Peckover; “at least so Mrs. P. assures me.”

“Not if they were to--what d’ye call the thing?” said Jack.

“What?” said the squire.

“Hop the twig,” said Jack. “I forget what the genteel word is--go to Scotland, or somewhere: _h_elope, that’s it.”

“Never see her again,” said Peckover.

“Deuced good plan for me to get him to go,” said Jack.

“Only it would break Lady Lavinia’s heart,” said Peckover; “at least so Mrs. P. insinuates.”

“Well,” said Jack, “but how long does it take to break a female’s heart?”

“Can’t say,” said Peckover; “never trouble my head much about those sorts of things--ha, ha, ha! Dare say you know better than _me_.”

“Why,” said Jack, looking excessively cunning, getting exceedingly tipsy, and being uncommonly impudent, “between you and me and the post, I flatter myself I do, and _no_ mistake.”

“However,” said Peckover, “Mrs. P. told me to show you the list of the company invited:--Lady Wattle--but that you know--gives you her house, and Lady Lavinia has sent out the invitations--not more than seventy altogether. Mrs. P. says she has written off to Stiffkey, who, since I was here, she has found out is actually at Ryde; and here,” continued the squire reading, “are sixty-one down. From Ryde, there are the Lydiards and the Rushtons, great friends of my wife--two sisters; she says they are charming people:--Gunnersbury, and two or three of his cronies:--and Lord Wagley told Lady Lavinia that he had every reason to hope that Lord Tom Towzle, a particular friend of yours,” he says, “would be here from Paris before that--comes by Dieppe to Brighton. I forget all the names, for I don’t trouble my head much with those affairs.”

“Very pleasant,” said Jack; “eh?--Tuesday?”

“Yes, so Mrs. Peckover tells me,” said the squire, “and they have arranged the whole thing. Your butler, who was on board the yacht, seems a capital servant: Mrs. P. says that he understands the thing perfectly, and has made every arrangement in the best possible manner. I never care much about those things myself--ha, ha, ha!”

“’Gad!” said Jack musingly, “that’s pleasant. Well, however, there are six days between this and Tuesday. Squire, will you have a cigar?”

“Why,” said Peckover, “if I thought Mrs. Peckover would be gone to bed before I got back.”

“Stay till you are sure,” said Jack.

“Because she can’t bear the smell of tobacco,” said the squire.

“Never mind,” said Brag; “you can say you were sitting up with a sick man--eh?”

The squire had arrived at an amiable point of readiness to do anything that was proposed, and Hickman was summoned. Cigars were produced, and the squire and Jack began their fumigatory proceedings. More brandy was required, and the two worthies continued until past two o’clock in the morning blowing their clouds, and opening their hearts to each other in the most entirely confidential manner; which sweet communings might have been of the most seriously disadvantageous consequence to either or both of them, had it not been that when Mrs. Peckover’s servant came to call home his master, neither he nor his sprightly host were sufficiently clear in their intellects to know what they had been saying for three hours before; and when they woke in the morning, what had occurred during the latter part of their _sederunt_ was all irrevocably lost and forgotten.

Hickman, however, that invaluable treasure of a servant--the always-to-be-trusted with untold gold--was not guilty of any such omission: sober and discreet, and ever alive to his own interests, he drew a chair to the outside of the door of the little drawing-room in which his master and his friend were ensconced, and there heard the whole of the confidential interchange of facts, feelings, and opinions, which neither of the actors themselves recollected when they rose; but which decided Mr. Hickman in the opinion that his master was “no go,” and that the squire was, as his master had called him, a “slow coach.”

One thing, however, remained indelibly fixed upon Brag’s mind when daylight and reason returned,--one object which had outlived all the revelry, and maintained its place amidst all the spirits and smoke, and confidences and communications,--the list of people invited by Lady Lavinia to the projected ball. What was to be done?--the thing was inevitable: he had surrendered the sceptre into the hands of Lady Lavinia, she had issued her commands,--six days only intervened. His course was clear--he must draw her into a committal of herself to him before that evening came: once accepted, he might laugh at the malice of his envious revilers. If absolutely necessary, he would fight one of them,--this resolution only flitted through his mind; but, at all events, if the “old one” said “yea,” he cared little or nothing for all the rest.

Jack, however, as the reader knows, was an infinitely cleverer person at saying than doing; and although he had made up his mind for “immediate action,” the indiscretion of the evening had actually produced the illness he had only feigned before; and the poor little man completely knocked up by the “excess,” which, not in the slightest degree affected Peckover, was forced to remain _perdu_ the whole of the next day, during which he was honoured by a visit from Lady Lavinia, who called to enquire after his health, attended by her “Tail,” as she was proceeding to embark in “The Psyche,” which again was ordered to sea, under her ladyship’s command,--victualled as before by Mr. Hickman.

The circumstances connected with Jack’s real illness were luckily not known to Lady Lavinia; since Peckover would not, upon any consideration, have communicated to Mrs. P. the excesses which led to it, and in which he had so joyously participated. His non-appearance, therefore, on the Wednesday was attributed only to a continuation of his indisposition, and as Hickman was not likely to get anything by betraying the secret, he did not volunteer an explanation, nor, as his friends had the usufruct of his yacht, and the agreeable et-ceteras, nobody took the trouble to make any very particular enquiries.

The next day, found Johannes redivivus. Jack was all right, and no mistake; his headache was gone, and the rose, which had given place on his cheek to the lily, bloomed all fresh and healthy; and

“Richard was himself again!”

It was a beautiful morning, and all nature looked cheerful; but as it grew later, it became somewhat overcast, at least as far as Brag was concerned: just as he had ordered breakfast, the sound of the bugle announcing the arrival of the post, rang through his ears: the promise of the lawyer to transmit the county newspaper containing the report of the trial flashed into his mind, and after a sickening suspense of nearly half an hour, Hickman announced that there was nothing for him by post, thus releasing him from his doubts, and satisfying an anxiety about “his letters” which he had never evinced before, but exhibited upon this occasion; much indeed to Hickman’s surprise, who of his own knowledge knew that since he had been in his new master’s service he had received only two.

After having obtained this reprieve, Jack, consoling himself upon the principle “that no news is good news,” began to brush up; and resolved to make an early visit to Lady Lavinia, in order to show that, the moment he had recovered from his indisposition, he flew upon the wings of love to

“----do as was his duty,
Honour the shadow of her shoe-tie.”

But alas! the avalanche was already detached from the mountain, and hung over Jack’s head suspended but by one huge icicle, which this noon-day’s sun would infallibly thaw. The Damoclesian sword, however, was still invisible to _him_, who, with his little legs horizontalized on his lodging-house sofa, “a world too” short for any animal of greater length than himself, sat sipping, in all the security of self-satisfaction, some _café au lait_ of Hickman’s _fabrique_; when to his surprise, and perhaps, dismay, he received from the hands of the said Hickman a large pacquet, which had arrived per mail, although not per post, addressed to “John Brag, Esq.” with the three honorary &c. &c. &c. “Cowes.”

Jack opened the despatch with an air of importance which might have been supposed appropriate to a secretary of state of other days, when secretaries of state had something to be proud of. He found it to contain an extremely plump lump of paper, with a small note on its outside, looking like the pilot-fish on the nose of the shark, while he is prowling for prey in the blue waters.

The pilot he opened, and read:--

Lincoln’s Inn, August 19th 182--

“SIR,--Wholly unaccustomed to communications of such a nature as that
with which I have this day been favoured by you, I have, according to
your desire, transmitted my bill, and beg respectfully to decline any
further interference with your affairs. I am, Sir,

“Yours, H. LEVERETT.”

“His back’s up, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Jack; “that’s a pretty go--who cares? let’s look at his account;” and accordingly out it came,--and thus it ran:

“JOHN BRAG, ESQ. To HENRY LEVERETT.

£ _s._ _d._

_August 2._--Attending you, and conferring with
you as to the case of Grindlestone versus
Brag and others, and taking your instructions
thereon 13 4

_Same day._--Writing to you on the same subject 6 8

_Same day._--Writing to Messrs. Tapps, Tatlock,
and Shackleton, to inform them that you
had put the case into my hands, recapitulating
to them your observations upon the
same 13 4

_August 3._--Attending you at your lodgings, advising
and conferring on the circumstances
attending the case, and taking further instructions
thereon 6 8

_Same day._--After luncheon, attending you before
the Yacht Club-house rails, and stating to
you that I had written a letter to Messrs.
Tapps, Tatlock, and Shackleton 13 4

_Same day._--Before dinner, attending you, and
conferring with you about the purchase of
the yacht “Psyche,” in which you expressed
your wish to purchase her for reasons
then specified, namely, that you desired to
become a member of the Royal Yacht Club,
and could not belong to that society without
being the owner of a yacht of more than 40
tons 13 4

_Same day._--In the evening, attending you, when
you resumed the discussion, and I stated I
thought, as it was growing late, you had
better postpone it till the morning 13 4

_Same day._--After supper, attending you home,
when you repeated the opinions you had
previously stated, and I repeated my previous
disinclination to go into anything
like business until the next day 13 4

_August 4._--To writing you a letter, begging you
to fix a time when I might attend you to
confer upon the propriety of the purchase of
the yacht “Psyche” 6 8

_Same day._--To perusing and considering your
answer 6 8

Paid messenger to carry ditto 2 0

Ditto ditto to bring back answer 2 0

_Same day._--Calling on you at two o’clock,
when you were out, enquiring of your servant-maid
where you were, and receiving
her answer that she really did not know 13 4

Attending Lord Wagley, at your desire, to make
necessary enquiries about the “Psyche,”
which you had expressed a wish to purchase;
when his lordship explained to me
all the circumstances of the sale, and the
reasons why Captain Chipstead, who had
married Miss Allanby, of Twisterly, daughter
of Lieutenant-colonel Allanby, did not
receive the amount of fortune which he expected
with her when he made her an offer,
and reading over a long correspondence
between her guardians and Captain Chipstead
on the subject, with a view to ascertain
the reasons why the “Psyche” was sold
at a price so much below her real value 1 1 0

_Same day._--Writing you a long letter, stating to
you all the circumstances which transpired
during this long conference 13 4

Messenger 2 6

_August 5._--Writing to Messrs. Tapps, Tatlock,
and Shackleton, to acknowledge the receipt
of their letter acknowledging the receipt of
mine 6 8

Attending you on board the “Psyche” and a
long conference with regard to the fittings
and furniture thereof 13 4

Looking over the inventory of her stores, as
delivered over by Captain Chipstead 6 8

Comparing ditto with the stores themselves 6 8

Copy of ditto for you to keep 6 8

Attending you in a walk towards Newport,
and conferring at length with you upon the
question whether a yawl-rig was better than
a cutter-rig, of which your Captain, Bung,
had spoken when we were on board; in
the course of which conference you mentioned
to me that you did not know the
difference, and I stated that I was totally
ignorant of the subject altogether 13 4

To enquiring, at your desire, of the turnpike-keeper
on the Newport road, which was the
nearest way to Northwood church 3 4

To attending you with his answer thereon,
that we must go across the fields to the left,
which lead down towards the river 3 4

Writing you a letter, stating how sorry I
was to be obliged to decline accepting your
invitation to dinner, being engaged to go to
Ryde upon professional business 6 8

“Well,” said Jack, when he had read thus far; “this is going it. I’ve heard a good deal of this sort of thing, but I never saw it before:” and getting extremely tired with the details, he ran his eye “slap down,” as he would have said, to the bottom of the last page of the bill, the “tottle of the whole” of which, amounted to something above one hundred and thirty pounds, including nearly four hundred items much like those already selected, the amount of his share of all the fees of counsel employed, retainers to those not required, proportion of damages, travelling expenses, stamp-duties, and, in short, such a phalanx of abominations as no man ever saw or dreamed of in conjunction.

But, appalling as was this perilous account, and important as the result of Jack’s earnest request to be furnished with it, because he always preferred paying ready money, it was “a mere flea-bite” to what was at hand.

Jack had again put “Psyche” under Lady Lavinia’s orders, and announced his intention of being of the party himself,--had, according to Bung’s advice, fixed one, for the hour of starting, and settled Southampton as the place of destination--issued his instructions to Hickman to prepare an extra fine luncheon, in order to get into the good graces of Mrs. Peckover, who it was clear had very considerable influence over Lady Lavinia,--and had just finished his toilet for the morning, when Hickman again made his appearance with a letter from Lord Wagley. Jack, finding it heavy, was quite divided between the pleasure of receiving a communication from his lordship, and the apprehension that it might contain the dreaded report of the trial.

“Any answer wanted?” said Jack.

“No, sir,” said Hickman,--not quite so respectfully as he might have answered, if he had not listened at the drawing-room door the night before.

Jack proceeded to open the letter, and read thus:

“SIR,--Some mistake having occurred in the direction of the enclosed
letter, it has been returned to me from the general post-office,
and I very much regret having been obliged to open it, in order to
ascertain its owner; and still more, that, as it had no signature
appended to it, I have been compelled to read a great part of it, in
order to discover by whom it was written. I am, sir, Your obedient
servant,

“WAGLEY.”

With this, as the reader must anticipate, came back Jack’s confidential letter to his mother, which, if his vanity had not as usual interposed itself, would have been properly addressed and punctually delivered; but which now had necessarily undergone a perusal in order that it might be sent to the place from whence it came.

Jack looked at it--held it up--opened it, and began to re-read it--in hopes that it might not be so thoroughly explanatory of his intentions, and so totally destructive of his schemes, as at the first blush he apprehended, but as he proceeded line by line to retrace its contents, it was all too true--every project was there related, every subject touched upon, and all his artful contrivances exhibited at full length. He saw in the pages of this dreadful epistle the death-warrant of all his hopes, unless Lord Wagley’s sense of honour was such as to seal his lips with regard to intelligence accidentally, or rather incidentally, obtained from a confidential letter addressed to another person.

It is probable that Lord Wagley, however he might have considered it prudent or necessary to regulate his own future conduct towards Jack, would not have betrayed his secrets had not another letter reached him the same morning from Lord Tom Towzle, which contained a regular detail of Jack’s proceedings during the last few weeks of his lordship’s association with him.

Jack was certainly staggered. The first blow that Gully gave Gregson in their memorable fight near Dunstable, was not a greater puzzler. He resolved to put the whole case at issue at once; and brushing up his hair, and pulling up his shirt collars, he put his hat on his head slantingly, and, arming himself with his little switch, proceeded in less than an hour, and without answering Lord Wagley’s note, to Lady Lavinia’s cottage.

When he arrived within eye-shot of the little lawn, he perceived Selwyn and Fanny sitting together on the bench placed, as the reader remembers, just outside the door: this looked badly for his plans of acidulating “granny;” and therefore he resolved to appear particularly pleased at the sight. But, whatever his intentions might have been with regard to his conduct upon the occasion, they were completely, and by no means agreeably, frustrated by the sudden start-up of the lovers from their delicious _tête-à-tête_, their sudden rush into the cottage, and an equally sudden closing of the door.

Jack “didn’t like the look of things by no means;” however, he continued his march “straight up, right down, and no mistake,” to the gate--that gate which erst stood open to invite him in; it was locked: he pulled the bell; the pet livery-servant of Lady Lavinia, the civilest creature in the world, who ran about Cowes with _billets doux_, and all sorts of messages, after Jack’s heels, came to the barrier.

“My lady nearly ready?” said Jack, settling his collars.

“My lady is not at home,” said the lacquey, with a look black as thunder, and as impudent as he could possibly make it.

“What!” said Jack, “is she gone on board?”

“No; _she_, as you call my lady, is not gone on board,” said the man; “and her ladyship is not going--and more than that, her ladyship has desired me to tell you, she shall not be at home till the end of next December.” Saying which, the man left the gate and the enquirer, who in casting a glance towards the drawing-room, in which were deposited the light-horse volunteer in the ebony case, and the family-tree of all the Newbiggens of Bumblesford, he saw, scarce hidden by the muslin blinds, Lady Lavinia, Mrs. Peckover, Captain and Mrs. Wilford, and Selwyn and Fanny Hastings, all laughing most unceremoniously.

This _was_ a coup,--where was he to go?--what should he do?--send a message to Lord Wagley?--ridiculous!--see him he might--remonstrate with him he would--hear what he had to say--that was the plan: and accordingly, going at a pace something between a walk and a run, Jack retraced his steps towards the Parade, when, just as he reached the high ground at the back of the Castle, he beheld, to his infinite amazement, his beautiful Psyche sailing majestically from her moorings, with the Royal Squadron burgee fluttering at her top-mast head, and a St. George’s ensign flying at her gaff.

This most certainly surprised him, who on the instant began to flatter himself that, as a set-off for his other discomfitures, arising he now could scarcely guess how, he might have been elected into the club: and yet--what _could_ it mean? A few minutes discovered the whole truth.

“Well, Mr. Brag,” said Peckover, whom he encountered just at the corner; “this is a bad business--I’m deuced sorry for it, but Mrs. Peckover tells me that I ought to horsewhip you.”

“Sir!” said Jack.

“She does, by jingo,” said the squire; “she says you are a bad ’un--but I don’t trouble my head with those sort of things, ha, ha, ha! Only if you _will_ go about talking of ladies of character and reputation as you _do_, and swearing that they are all in love with you, and all ready to throw themselves into your arms, Mrs. Peckover says, she thinks it very probable you’ll very soon get every bone in your little body broken to a smash,--ha, ha, ha!”

“This,” said Jack, “is uncommon queer language, Mr. P., and no mistake.”

“Never mind about that,” said Peckover. “I have only told you what Mrs. Peckover tells me.--Now hear the message I have to deliver from Lord Wagley: he says, he finds you wish to sell your yacht; so, under those circumstances, he has desired me to hand you back your acceptance for the eight hundred sovereigns, which I have got here; and as Captain Chipstead disapproves of the sale, he has taken possession of her, and she is gone to Portsmouth to bring over Lord Tom Towzle, who had got Chipstead’s promise to have her.”

“But,” said Jack, “she is _my_ yacht.”

“Come, come,” said Peckover, “take it easy, as Mrs. Peckover says; “never make quarrels without cause. Here’s your bill, there’s the yacht; Wagley will pay the men’s wages, just as if Chipstead had never sold her, so make the best of the bargain; and, if you follow the advice Mrs. Peckover desired me to give you, you’ll what I call cut and run,--ha, ha, ha!”

“But Lady Lavinia?” said Jack.

“Has shut her doors against you for ever,” said Peckover. “Mrs. Peckover tells me the reason is, that she is furious about your plan of irritating her against her favourite niece, and delighted with the honourable conduct of young Selwyn in refusing to take your advice. She has given her consent to their marriage, and, as Mrs. Peckover tells me, gives them up a clear thousand a-year of her own jointure for their establishment.”

“Well,” said Jack, “that’s a floorer, and no mistake--what’s to be done?”

“Go!” said Peckover, “that’s the scheme; as the woman in Shakspeare, that Mrs. P. reads to me sometimes, says,

“Stand not upon the order of going, but go.”

“Go!” said Jack; “but it’s no go.”

“You lose nothing by the yacht,” said Peckover, “and that’s something,--for Mrs. Peckover has heard that she isn’t worth half the money you gave for her. I never trouble my head with those things, ha, ha, ha! However, I can’t stay, because I promised Mrs. P. to be back to luncheon; so here, take your bill, and all will be right.”

“Yes,” said Jack, twiddling the invaluable document in his hands; “but I can’t go, and no mistake, this time.”

“Well,” said Peckover, “I bear no malice; you have jumped high, and must put up with a tumble. I’ll shake hands with you for old sporting’s sake, only don’t let Mrs. P. know it. I’ll settle all the rest with Wagley, and you’ll hear no more about “Psyche.” Every man has his rubs in this world,--not that I trouble my head with such matters, ha, ha, ha!”

And so the friends parted. Jack proceeded to his lodgings, enquired for Hickman,--a separation from whom he somehow dreaded; the sneering impertinence of Lady Lavinia’s livery-servant had prepared him for a most tremendous display of insolence from his own man. But here his apprehensions were groundless; for Lord Wagley himself, having taken the yacht over to fetch Lord Tom, had, without thinking of announcing any change in the state of Brag’s affairs, taken Hickman and the luncheon as he found them on board, all ready prepared,--a circumstance of which Jack most cunningly availed himself: and having paid the amount of his lodging-rent, and told the landlady that he was going over to Ryde, in order personally to circulate his invitations to the ball he was about to give, he sent for a chaise from “The Fountain,” and proceeded _viâ_ Newport to that place; having the satisfaction during his _trajet_ to perceive his late “tall bark” gracefully cutting through the bright waters, seemingly eager to be freighted with his bitterest enemies.

When he reached the cockney watering-place, conscious of the presence of people there whom he much dreaded to see, he was driven to “The Pier Hotel,” where he remained during the evening closely ensconced; and at nine o’clock on the following morning crossed to the “Quebec Tavern,” at Portsmouth, where he embarked in “The Rocket” coach for London, having, after all his precautions, encountered on the Pier at Ryde, as he was following the wheelbarrow which contained his trunk and bag, the Lydiards and Rushtons taking their morning walk. He did not _see_ them; but, although he averted his head, he could not shut his ears to the undisguised titterings in which they indulged as he passed them.

Upon Jack’s arrival in London, he felt that the game was so completely up, and he himself so completely down, that any attempt to rally, or restore himself to the place which he had struggled so long to maintain, would be wholly unavailing; and therefore betaking himself in a hack-cab, in company with his one trunk and carpet-bag, to his lodging at Kennington, he set himself down to consider what course it was best to pursue.

His first impulse was to go off and visit his mother, but in what character, puzzled him most. Was she more likely to contribute to assist him if he still appeared the prosperous gentleman on the eve of marrying a Lady Lavinia--or would her maternal heart more affectionately melt if he told her the truth, and confessed the ruin of his fortunes?

In either case Jack felt something like a security that she would not be unassailable by his persuasion, or deaf to his claims; it was as to the game to be played with Mr. Salmon that our hero was chiefly solicitous. His acceptance for five hundred pounds had that day, of course, been dishonoured; because, although he had still three hundred in his banker’s hands, he knew that the firm knew enough of _him_ not to maintain his credit at the expense of even so small a sum as the other two, which were essential to the payment of his bill. If he were to see Salmon so immediately after this event, in his fallen state, Salmon’s indignation would no doubt outweigh his compassion; if he flourished off for a day or two longer, upon the higher scale, he might contrive to induce him into some arrangement for the renewal of the bill, or even into some fresh advance upon the faith of his proposed union with the jointured widow: therefore, in the end, Jack determined to let matters rest till the morning, and then, having called on his banker, and drawn a checque for present use in the gay line, out-manœuvre Salmon, win his mother’s support, and start in some new sphere, in which his sharpness might be available.

These matters settled in his mind, Jack proceeded to eat, with no great appetite, a portion of a cold shoulder of roasted mutton which his landlady had two days before dressed for her husband’s dinner, and which, seeing Jack out of spirits, she had brought him up for supper, with a few pickled onions of her own contrivance. This banquet, served by the light of two candles, of which Jack felt scientifically the meanest possible opinion, certainly did afford a very striking contrast to the gaiety and comfort of his late yacht and her laughing passengers. As he drank from a battered pewter-pot the “heavy wet” of Whitbread and Co. he could not banish from his memory, or even from his sight, the odious Dr. Munx swallowing glass after glass of his champagne; nor, while munching part of a loaf of three days’ standing, reflect without horror upon the consumption of pine-apples on board “The Psyche.”

It is quite true that Jack was not absolutely reduced as yet to the necessity of partaking of such poor food, or imbibing such coarse beverage; but he felt a necessity for rest, and even concealment, until his line was taken; and “dead beat,” as he himself would have said, crawled to his kennel, and felt neither courage nor inclination to leave it. To his landlady this change was not so perceptible as it would have been to those who had been accustomed to see him in “the world.” While at his “little place in Surrey,” he had always kept himself within bounds; and the carpenter and his wife were both perfectly satisfied with their lodger, and never even guessed at the extent of his vagaries at what he elegantly called “The West-end.”