The Tenants of Malory. Volume 2

There were arches of evergreens and artificial flowers of paper, among which were very tolerable hollyhocks, though the roses were startling. Under these, Lord Viscount Verney and the "distinguished party" who accompanied him passed up Castle Street to the town-hall, where he was received by the mayor and town-councillors, accompanied and fortified by the town-clerk and other functionaries, all smiling except the mayor, on whom weighed the solemn responsibility of having to read the address, a composition, and no mean one, of the Rev. Dr. Splayfoot, who attended with parental anxiety "to see the little matter through," as he phrased it, and was so awfully engaged that Mrs. Splayfoot, who was on his arm, and asked him twice, in a whisper, whether the tall lady in purple silk was Lady Wimbledon, without receiving the slightest intimation that she was so much as heard, remarked testily that she hoped he would not write many more addresses, inasmuch as it made him ill-bred to that degree that if the town-hall had fallen during the reading, he never would have perceived it till he had shaken his ears in kingdom-come. Lord Verney read his answer, which there was much anxiety and pressure to hear.

"Now it really was be-autiful —wasn't it?" our friend Mrs. Jones, the draper, whispered, in particular reference to that part of it, in which the viscount invoked the blessing of the Almighty upon himself and his doings, gracefully admitting that in contravention of the Divine will and the decrees of heaven, even he could not be expected to accomplish much, though with the best intentions. And Captain Shrapnell, who felt that the sentiment was religious, and was anxious to be conspicuous, standing with his hat in his hand, with a sublime expression of countenance, said in an audible voice – "Amen."

All this over, and the building inspected, the distinguished party were conducted by the mayor, the militia band accompanying their march – [air – "The Meeting of the Waters"] – to the "Fountains" in Gunner's Lane, to which I have already alluded.

Here they were greeted by a detachment of the Llanwthyn Temperance Union, headed by short, fat Thomas Pritchard, the interesting apostle of total abstinence, who used to preach on the subject alternately in Welsh and English in all the towns who would hear his gospel, in most of which he was remembered as having been repeatedly fined for public intoxication, and known by the familiar pet-name of "Swipey Tom," before his remarkable conversion.

Mr. Pritchard now led the choir of the Lanwthyn Temperance Union, consisting of seven members, of various sizes, dressed in their Sunday costume, and standing in a row in front of fountain No. 1 – each with his hat in his left hand and a tumbler of fair water in his right.

Good Mrs. Jones, who had a vague sense of fun, and remembered anecdotes of the principal figure in this imposing spectacle, did laugh a little modestly into her handkerchief, and answered the admonitory jog of her husband's elbow by pleading – "Poor fellows! Well, you know it is odd – there's no denying that you know;" and from the background were heard some jeers from the excursionists who visited Cardyllian for that gala, which kept Hughes, the Cardyllian policeman, and Evans, the other "horney," who had been drafted from Llwynan, to help to overawe the turbulent, very hot and active during that part of the ceremony.

Particularly unruly was John Swillers, who, having failed as a publican in Liverpool, in consequence of his practice of drinking the greater part of his own stock in trade, had migrated to "The Golden Posts" in Church Street, Cardyllian, where he ceased to roll his barrel, set up his tressels, and had tabernacled for the present, drinking his usual proportion of his own liquors, and expecting the hour of a new migration.

Over the heads of the spectators and the admiring natives of Cardyllian were heard such exhortations as "Go it, Swipey." "There's gin in that," "Five shillin's for his vorship, Swipey," "I say, Swipey Tom, pay your score at the Golden Posts, will ye?" "Will ye go a bit on the stretcher, Swipey?" "Here's two horneys as 'll take ye home arter that."

And these interruptions, I am sorry to say, continued, notwithstanding the remonstrances which Mr. Hughes addressed almost pathetically to John Swillers of the Golden Posts, as a respectable citizen of Cardyllian, one from whose position the police were led to expect assistance and the populace an example. There was something in these expostulations which struck John Swillers, for he would look with a tipsy solemnity in Hughes's face while he delivered them, and once took his hand, rather affectionately, and said, "That's your sort." But invariably these unpleasant interpolations were resumed, and did not cease until this moral exhibition had ended with the last verse of the temperance song, chanted by the deputation with great vigour, in unison, and which, as the reader will perceive, had in it a Bacchanalian character, which struck even the gravest listeners as a hollow mockery: —

Refreshing more than sinful swipes,The weary manWho quaffs a can,That sparkling foams through leaden pipes.Chorus.Let every manThen, fill his can,And fill the glassOf every lassIn brimming bumpers sparkling clear,To pledge the health of Verney's Peer!

And then came a chill and ghastly "hip-hip, hurrah," and with some gracious inquiries on Lord Verney's part, as to the numbers, progress, and finances of "their interesting association," and a subscription of ten pounds, which Mr. John Swillers took leave to remark, "wouldn't be laid out on water, by no means," the viscount, with grand and radiant Mr. Larkin at his elbow, and frequently murmuring in his ear – to the infinite disgust of my friend, Wynne Williams, the Cardyllian attorney, thus out-strutted and out-crowed on his own rustic elevation – was winning golden opinions from all sorts of men.

The party went on, after the wonders of the town had been exhausted, to look at Malory, and thence returned to a collation, at which toasts were toasted and speeches spoken, and Captain Shrapnell spoke, by arrangement, for the ladies of Cardyllian in his usual graceful and facetious manner, with all the puns and happy allusions which a month's private diligence, and, I am sorry to say, some shameless plagiarisms from three old numbers of poor Tom Hood's "Comic Annual," could get together, and the gallant captain concluded by observing that the noble lord whom they had that day the honour and happiness to congratulate, intended, he understood, everything that was splendid and liberal and handsome, and that the town of Cardyllian, in the full radiance of the meridian sunshine, whose golden splendour proceeded from the south– "The cardinal point at which the great house of Ware is visible from the Green of Cardyllian" – (hear, hear, and laughter) – "there remained but one grievance to be redressed, and that set to rights, every ground of complaint would slumber for ever, he might say, in the great bed of Ware" – (loud cheers and laughter) – "and what was that complaint? He was instructed by his fair, lovely, and beautiful clients – the ladies of Cardyllian – some of whom he saw in the gallery, and some still more happily situated at the festive board" – (a laugh). "Well, he was, he repeated, instructed by them to say that there was one obvious duty which the noble lord owed to his ancient name – to the fame of his public position – to the coronet, whose golden band encircled his distinguished brow – and above all, to the ancient feudal dependency of Cardyllian" – (hear, hear) – "and that was to select from his county's beauty, fascination, and accomplishment, and he might say loveliness, a partner worthy to share the ermine and the coronet and the name and the – ermine" (hear, hear) "of the ancient house of Verney" (loud cheers); "and need he add that when the selection was made, it was hoped and trusted and aspired after, that the selection would not be made a hundred miles away from the ivied turrets, the feudal ruins, the gushing fountains, and the spacious town-hall of Cardyllian" (loud and long-continued cheering, amid which the gallant captain, very hot, and red, and smiling furiously, sat down with a sort of lurch, and drank off a glass of champagne, and laughed and giggled a little in his chair, while the "cheering and laughter" continued).

And Lord Verney rose, not at all hurt by this liberty, very much amused on the contrary, and in high good humour his lordship said, —

"Allow me to say – I am sure you will" – (hear, hear, and cries of "We will") – "I say, I am sure you will permit me to say that the ladies of Cardyllian, a-a-about it, seem to me to have chosen a very eloquent spokesman in the gallant, and I have no doubt, distinguished officer who has just addressed the house. We have all been entertained by the eloquence of Captain Scollop" – [here the mayor deferentially whispered something to the noble orator] – "I beg pardon – Captain Grapnell – who sits at the table, with his glass of wine, about it – and very good wine it is – his glass, I say, where it should be, in his hand" – (hear, hear, and laughter, and "You got it there, captain"). "And I assure the gallant captain I did not mean to be severe – only we were all joking – and I do say that he has his hand – my gallant friend, Captain Grabblet, has it – where every gallant officer's ought to be, about it, and that is, upon his weapon" – (hear, hear, laughter, and cries of "His lordship's too strong for you, captain"). "I don't mean to hurt him, though, about it," (renewed cries of hear, and laughter, during which the captain shook his ears a little, smiling into his glass rather foolishly, as a man who was getting the worst of it, and knew it, but took it pleasantly). "No, it would not be fair to the ladies about it," (renewed laughter and cheering), "and all I will say is this, about it – there are parts of Captain Scraplet's speech, which I shan't undertake to answer at this moment. I feel that I am trespassing, about it, for a much longer time than I had intended," (loud cries of "No, no, go on, go on," and cheering, during which the mayor whispered something to the noble lord, who, having heard it twice or thrice repeated, nodded to the mayor in evident apprehension, and when silence was restored, proceeded to say), "I have just heard, without meaning to say anything unfair of the gallant captain, Captain Scalpel, that he is hardly himself qualified to give me the excellent advice, about it, which I received from him; for they tell me that he has rather run away, about it, from his colours, on that occasion." (Great laughter and cheering). "I should be sorry to wound Captain Shat – Scat – Scrap, the gallant captain, to wound him, I say, even in front." (Laughter, cheering, and a voice from the gallery "Hit him hard, and he won't swell," "Order.") "But I think I was bound to make that observation in the interest of the ladies of Cardyllian, about it;" (renewed laughter); "and, for my part, I promise my gallant friend – my – captain – about it – that although I may take some time, like himself" (loud laughter); "although I cannot let fall, about it, any observation that may commit me, yet I do promise to meditate on the excellent advice he has been so good as to give me, about it." And the noble lord resumed his seat amid uproarious cheering and general laughter, wondering what had happened to put him in the vein, and regretting that some of the people at Downing Street had not been present to hear it, and witness its effect.

CHAPTER XVIII

OLD FRIENDS ON THE GREEN

Tom Sedley saw the Etherage girls on the green, and instead of assisting as he had intended, at the great doings in the town, he walked over to have a talk with them.

People who know Cardyllian remember the two seats, partly stone, partly wood, which are placed on the green, near the margin of the sea – seats without backs – on which you can sit with equal comfort, facing the water and the distant mountains, or the white-fronted town and old Castle of Cardyllian. Looking toward this latter prospect, the ladies sat, interested, no doubt, though they preferred a distant view, in the unusual bustle of the quiet old place.

On one of these seats sat Charity and Agnes, and as he approached, smiling, up got Charity and walked some steps towards him! looking kindly, but not smiling, for that was not her wont, and with her thin hand, in doe-skin glove, extended to greet him.

"How are you, Thomas Sedley? when did you come?" asked Miss Charity, much gladder to see him than she appeared.

"I arrived this morning; you're all well, I hope;" he was looking at Agnes, and would have got away from Miss Charity, but that she held him still by the hand.

"All very well, thank you, except Agnes. I don't think she's very well. I have ever so much to tell you when you and I have a quiet opportunity, but not now," – she was speaking in a low tone; – "and now go and ask Agnes how she is."

So he did. She smiled a little languidly, he thought, and was not looking very strong, but prettier than ever – so very pretty! She blushed too, very brilliantly, as he approached; it would have been flattering had he not seen Cleve Verney walking quickly over the green toward the Etherage group. For whom was the blush? Two gentlemen had fired simultaneously.

"Your bird? I rather think my bird? – isn't it?"

Now Tom Sedley did not think the bird his, and he felt, somehow, strangely vexed. And he got through his greeting uncomfortably; his mind was away with Cleve Verney, who was drawing quickly near.

"Oh! Mr. Verney, what a time it is since we saw you last!" exclaimed emphatic Miss Charity; "I really began to think you'd never come."

"Very good of you, Miss Etherage, to think about me."

"And you never gave me your subscription for our poor old women, last winter!"

"Oh! my subscription? I'll give it now – what was it to be – a pound?"

"No, you promised only ten shillings, but it ought to be a pound. I think less would be shameful."

"Then, Miss Agnes, shall it be a pound?" he said, turning to her with a laugh – with his fingers in his purse, "whatever you say I'll do."

"Agnes– of course, a pound," said Charity, in her nursery style of admonition.

"Charity says it must be a pound," answered Agnes.

"And you say so?"

"Of course, I must."

"Then a pound it is– and mind," he added, laughing, and turning to Miss Charity with the coin in his fingers, "I'm to figure in your book of benefactors – your golden book of saints, or martyrs, rather; but you need not put down my name, only 'The old woman's friend,' or 'A lover of flannel' or 'A promoter of petticoats,' or any other benevolent alias you think becoming."

"'The old woman's friend,' will do very nicely," said Charity, gravely. "Thank you, Mr. Verney, and we were so glad to hear that your uncle has succeeded at last to the peerage. He can be of such use– you really would be – he and you both, Mr. Verney – quite amazed and shocked, if you knew how much poverty there is in this town."

"It's well he does not know just now, for he wants all his wits about him. This is a critical occasion, you know, and the town expects great things from a practised orator. I've stolen away, just for five minutes, to ask you the news. We are at Ware, for a few days; only two or three friends with us. They came across in my boat to-day. We are going to set all the tradespeople on earth loose upon the house in a few days. It is to be done in an incredibly short time; and my uncle is talking of getting down some of his old lady relations to act chaperon, and we hope to have you all over there. You know it's all made up, that little coldness between my uncle and your father. I'm so glad. Your father wrote him such a nice note to-day explaining his absence – he never goes into a crowd, he says – and Lord Verney wrote him a line to say, if he would allow him, he would go up to Hazelden to pay his respects this afternoon."

This move was a suggestion of Mr. Larkin's, who was pretty well up in election strategy.

"I've ascertained, my lord, he's good for a hundred and thirty-seven votes in the county, and your lordship has managed him with such consummate tact that a very little more will, with the Divine blessing, induce the happiest, and I may say, considering the disparity of your lordship's relations and his, the most dutiful feelings on his part – resulting, in fact, in your lordship's obtaining the absolute command of the constituency. You were defeated, my lord, last time, by only forty-three votes, with his influence against you. If your lordship were to start your nephew, Mr. Cleve Verney, for it next time, having made your ground good with him, he would be returned, humanly speaking, by a sweeping majority."

"So, Lord Verney's going up to see papa! Agnes, we ought to be at home. He must have luncheon."

"No – a thousand thanks – but all that's explained. There's luncheon to be in the town-hall – it's part of the programme – and speeches – and all that kind of rubbish; so he can only run up for a few minutes, just to say, 'How do ye do?' and away again. So, pray, don't think of going all that way, and he'll come here to be introduced, and make your acquaintance. And now tell me all your news."

"Well, those odd people went away from Malory" – began Charity.

"Oh, yes, I heard, I think, something of that," said Cleve, intending to change the subject, perhaps; but Miss Charity went on, for in that eventless scene an occurrence of any kind is too precious to be struck out of the record on any ground.

"They went away as mysteriously as they came – almost – and so suddenly" —

"You forgot, Charity, dear, Mr. Verney was at Ware when they went, and here two or three times after they left Malory."

"So I was," said Cleve, with an uneasy glance at Tom Sedley; "I knew I had heard something of it."

"Oh, yes; and they say that the old man was both mad and in debt."

"What a combination!" said Cleve.

"Yes, I assure you, and a Jew came down with twenty or thirty bailiffs – I'm only telling you what Mr. Apjohn heard, and the people here tell us – and a mad doctor, and people with strait waistcoats, and they surrounded Malory; but he was gone! – not a human being knew where – and that handsome girl, wasn't she quite bee-au-tiful?"

"Oh, what everyone says, you know, must be true," said Cleve.

"What do you say?" she urged upon Tom Sedley.

"Oh, I say ditto to everyone, of course."

"Well, I should think so, for you know you are quite desperately in love with her," said Miss Charity.

"I? Why, I really never spoke to her in all my life. Now, if you had said Cleve Verney."

"Oh, yes! If you had named me. But, by Jove! there they go. Do you see? My uncle and the mayor, and all the lesser people, trooping away to the town-hall. Good-bye! I haven't another moment. You'll be here, I hope, when we get out; do, pray. I have not a moment."

And he meant a glance for Miss Agnes, but it lost itself in air, for that young lady was looking down, in a little reverie, on the grass, at the tip of her tiny boot.

"There's old Miss Christian out, I declare!" exclaimed Charity. "Did you ever hear of such a thing? I wonder whether Doctor Lyster knows she is out to-day. I'll just go and speak to her. If he doesn't, I'll simply tell her she is mad!"

And away marched Miss Charity, bent upon finding out, as she said, all about it.

"Agnes," said Tom Sedley, "it seemed to me to-day, you were not glad to see me. Are you vexed with me?"

"Vexed? No, indeed!" she said, gently, and looking up with a smile.

"And your sister said – " Tom paused, for he did not know whether Charity's whisper about her not having been "very strong" might not be a confidence.

"What does Charity say?" asked Agnes, almost sharply, while a little flush appeared in her cheeks.

"Well, she said she did not think you were so strong as usual. That was all."

"That was all– no great consequence," said she, with a little smile upon the grass and sea-pinks – a smile that was bitter.

"You can't think I meant that, little Agnes, I of all people; but I never was good at talking. And you know I did not mean that."

"People often say —I do, I know – what they mean without intending it," she answered, carelessly. "I know you would not make a rude speech – I'm sure of that; and as to what we say accidentally, can it signify very much? Mr. Verney said he was coming back after the speeches, and Lord Verney, he said, didn't he? I wonder you don't look in at the town-hall. You could make us laugh by telling all about it, by-and-by – that is, if we happen to see you again."

"Of course you should see me again."

"I meant this evening; to-morrow, perhaps, we should," said she.

"If I went there; but I'm not going. I think that old fellow, Lord Verney, Cleve's uncle, is an impertinent old muff. Every one knows he's a muff, though he is Cleve's uncle; he gave me just one finger to-day, and looked at me as if I ought to be anywhere but where I was. I have as good a right as he to be in Cardyllian, and I venture to say the people like me a great deal better than they like him, or ever will."

"And so you punish him by refusing your countenance to this – what shall I call it? – gala."

"Oh! of course you take the Verneys' part against me; they are swells, and I am a nobody."

He thought Miss Agnes coloured a little at this remark. The blood grows sensitive and capricious when people are ailing, and a hint is enough to send it to and fro; but she said only, —

"I never heard of the feud before. I thought that you and Mr. Verney were very good friends."

"So we were; so we are– Cleve and I. Of course, I was speaking of the old lord. Cleve, of course, no one ever hears anything but praises of Cleve. I suppose I ought to beg your pardon for having talked as I did of old Lord Verney; it's petty treason, isn't it, to talk lightly of a Verney, in Cardyllian or its neighbourhood?" said Sedley, a little sourly.

"I don't know that; but I dare say, if you mean to ask leave to fish or shoot, it might be as well not to attack them."

"Well, I shan't in your hearing."

And with this speech came a silence.

"I don't think, somehow, that Cleve is as frank with me as he used to be. Can you imagine any reason?" said Tom, after an interval.

"I? No, upon my word – unless you are as frank to him about his uncle, as you have been with me."

"Well, I'm not. I never spoke to him about his uncle. But Shrapnell, who tells me all the news of Cardyllian while I'm away" – this was pointedly spoken – "said, I thought, that he had not been down here ever since the Malory people left, and I find that he was here for a week – at least at Ware – last autumn, for a fortnight; and he never told me, though he knew, for I said so to him, that I thought that he had stayed away; and I think that was very odd."

"He may have thought that he was not bound to account to you for his time and movements," said Miss Agnes.

"Well, he was here; Mrs. Jones was good enough to tell me so, though other people make a secret of it. You saw him here, I dare say."

"Yes, he was here, for a few days. I think in October, or the end of September."

"Oh! thank you. But, as I said, I had heard that already from Mrs. Jones, who is a most inconvenient gossip upon nearly all subjects."

"I rather like Mrs. Jones; you mean the 'draper,' as we call her? and if Mr. Verney is not as communicative as you would have him, I really can't help it. I can only assure you, for your comfort, that the mysterious tenants of Malory had disappeared long before that visit."

"I know perfectly well when they went away," said Sedley, drily.

Miss Agnes nodded with a scarcely perceptible smile.

"And I know – that is, I found out afterwards – that he admired her, I mean the young lady – Margaret, they called her – awfully. He never let me know it himself, though. I hate fellows being so close and dark about everything, and I've found out other things; and, in short, if people don't like to tell me their —secrets I won't call them, for everyone in Cardyllian knows all about them – I'm hanged if I ask them. All I know is, that Cleve is going to live a good deal at Ware, which means at Cardyllian, which will be a charming thing, a positive blessing, – won't it? – for the inhabitants and neighbours; and that I shall trouble them very little henceforward with my presence. There's Charity beckoning to me; would you mind my going to see what she wants?"