Ten Thousand a-Year. Volume 3

Had Lady Cecilia been a woman of acute perceptions or lively sensibilities, she must have fled from her sufferings—she must have gone mad, or committed suicide. As it was, dull as was her temperament, when the more odious points of Titmouse's character and habits were forced upon her notice by the close and constant contiguity of daily intercourse, the reflection that such must be the case for the remainder of their lives, became hourly more intolerable, and roused into existence feelings of active hatred and disgust; she became every moment even more alive to the real horrors of her position. The slender stay she had sought for in the reflection that she had incurred all by a dutiful submission to her father's wishes, quickly gave way; she knew that it was false! As for Titmouse, he had never cared one straw about anything beyond becoming the husband of the future Baroness of Drelincourt—and that on account not merely of the dignity and splendor conferred upon him by such an alliance with the last remaining member of the elder branch of his ancient family, but also because of the grave and repeated assurances of Mr. Gammon, that it was in some mysterious way essential to the tenure of his own position. Had, however, Lady Cecilia, instead of being cold and inanimate, haughty even to repulsion in her manner, and of person lean and uninviting—been of fascinating manners, affectionate disposition, of brilliant accomplishments, and of ripe loveliness of person, it would, I am persuaded, have made little or no difference to Mr. Titmouse; since such a radiant being would, as it were, stand always surrounded by the invisible but impassable barrier of refinement—forever forbidding communion and sympathy. As for Lady Cecilia, Titmouse could scarcely avoid perceiving how she despised him, and shunned his company on every possible occasion. No person, from merely seeing them, could have dreamed of their being husband and wife. He made no secret at all (at least in his own peculiar visiting circles) of his wishes that the earl's increasing age and infirmities might quicken, and Lady Cecilia's apparently delicate health decline apace—and thus accelerate the accession of Mr. Titmouse to the barony of Drelincourt.

"Ha, ha!" would exclaim his choice boon companions, "won't it be comical, Tit, to see you take your seat in the Upper House?"

"'Pon my soul, jolly, ah, ah!—Demme, I'll show the old stagers a funny trick or two!"

"Capital!—ah, ah, ha!—Do the donkey? eh?—You'd make the chancellor's wig jump off!"

"Ha, ha, ha!—I'll tickle 'em, or my name isn't Tittlebat Titmouse!"—By all which was meant, that he purposed introducing into the House of Lords that peculiar mode of debating which had earned him such quick distinction in the House of Commons!

After they had spent about a month at Yatton, his urgent Parliamentary duties required Mr. Titmouse to tear himself from that lovely seclusion—that "bower of bliss"—and resume his arduous post in the House. Though Lady Cecilia would have vastly preferred being left behind at Yatton, decency seemed to require that the bride and bridegroom should make their reappearance in the world jointly, and she was therefore compelled to accompany him to town; and they were very soon duly established in his new residence in Park Lane. It was spacious and elegant—indeed it was furnished with great splendor, inasmuch as carte blanche had been given to a fashionable upholsterer. In a moment they were both in the great whirling world of fashion. Lord Dreddlington gave a series of dinner-parties on their account, as did several of their distinguished kinsfolk and friends; and in due time their hospitalities were returned by Mr. Titmouse. His first dinner-party went off with great éclat, no fewer than four peers of the realm, with their ladies, being among his guests. Mr. Titmouse led down to dinner the gigantic Duchess of Tantallan, blazing in diamonds, his Grace the Duke bringing up the rear with the Lady Cecilia—and the splendid affair was duly announced, the ensuing morning, in the obsequious columns of the Aurora. For some little time Mr. Titmouse occupied his novel and dazzling position with an approach towards decorum and self-denial; but as he became familiar with it, his old tastes revived, and Lady Cecilia and her friends were gratified, for instance, while in the drawing-room after dinner, by catching occasional sounds of Mr. Titmouse's celebrated imitations of animals, which, once or twice, when considerably elevated, he insisted upon giving on his re-entering the drawing-room! Indeed, he spared no pains to acquire the power of pleasing society by the display of rare accomplishments; for which purpose he took lessons every other day in the art diabolic—i. e. in conjuring; in which he soon became an expert proficient, and could play marvellous tricks upon cards and with dice, eat pocket-handkerchiefs, cause wine-glasses visibly to sink through solid tables, and perform sundry other astounding feats. Nor was he long in collecting round him guests, who not only tolerated, but professed infinite delight in, such entertainments—"fit audience, nor few"—consisting principally of those adventurous gentlemen who have entered Parliament in a devout reliance on Providence to find them dinners. 'T was only in such society as this that Titmouse could feel the least sense of enjoyment, and from which Lady Cecilia altogether absented herself, often without deigning the slightest reason, excuse, or apology. In fact, the intemperate habits and irregular hours of Titmouse, soon rendered it necessary that he and the Lady Cecilia should occupy separate sleeping apartments; for either his club, the House, or his other engagements, kept him out till a very late—or rather early—hour every morning.

It was about half-past eleven o'clock one day towards the latter end of June, that Mr. Titmouse, having finished breakfast, (which was surely very early, since he had not gone to bed till four o'clock that morning,) a meal to which he invariably sat down alone, often not catching a glimpse of Lady Cecilia during the day, except on a chance encounter in the hall, or on the stairs, or when they were forced to go out to dinner together—had entered his library, to enjoy undisturbed the luxury of his hookah. The apartment was spacious and handsome. All the sides of it were occupied by very curious antique carved oak bookcases, which had belonged to the former tasteful occupant of the house, and from whom they had been purchased by Titmouse, who then bethought himself of procuring books to fill them. For this purpose, it luckily occurred to him, on seeing an advertisement of a library for sale by auction one day, that it would be a good speculation to be beforehand with the expected audience, and purchase the aforesaid library in a lump by private contract. He did so—and at a remarkably low price; giving directions that they should forthwith be carried to a bookbinder, named by the obsequious auctioneer—with orders to bind them all in elegant but as varied bindings as possible. Certainly the works were of a somewhat miscellaneous character;—old Directories; Poems by Young Ladies and Gentlemen; Ready-Reckoners; Doddridge's Expositor; Hints on Etiquette; two hundred Minerva press novels; triplicate copies of some twenty books on cookery; the art of war; charades; Cudworth's Intellectual System; books of travels; Bibles, dictionaries, prayer-books, plays; Treatises on Political Economy, and Dancing; adventures of noted highwaymen; the classics: moral essays; Enfield's Speaker; and Burn's Ecclesiastical Law. If these respectable works had had the least sense of the distinction which had been so unexpectedly bestowed upon them, they ought not to have murmured at never afterwards receiving the slightest personal attention from their spirited and gifted proprietor!—The room was lit by a large bow-window, which, being partially open, admitted the pleasant breeze stirring without; while the strong light was mitigated by the half-drawn blinds, and the ample chintz window-draperies. On the mantelpiece stood one or two small alabaster statues and vases, and a very splendid and elaborately ornamented French timepiece. The only unpleasantness perceptible, was the sort of disagreeable odor prevalent in rooms which, as in the present instance, are devoted to smoking. To this apartment had been also transferred many of the articles that I have described as having been visible in his rooms at the Albany. Over the mantelpiece was placed the picture of the boxers,—that of Mr. Titmouse being similarly situated in the dining-room. On the present occasion, he wore a full crimson dressing-gown, with yellow slippers; his shirt-collar was open, and thrown down over his shoulders,—leaving exposed to view a quantity of sand-colored hair under his throat. In fact, he looked the image of some impudent scamp of a valet, who has, in his master's absence, chosen to dress himself in that master's clothes, and affect his luxurious airs. He lay on the sofa with his hookah in his left hand; near him was the table, on which stood the Morning Growl, and some eight or ten letters, only one or two of which had as yet been opened. He had just leaned back his head, and with an air of tranquil enjoyment very slowly expelled a mouthful of smoke, when a servant submissively entered, and announced the arrival of a visitor—Mr. Gammon.

"How d' ye do, Gammon!—early, eh?" commenced Titmouse, without stirring, and with infinite composure and nonchalance. Mr. Gammon made the usual reply, and presently sat down in the chair placed for him by the servant, nearly opposite to Mr. Titmouse—who, had he been accustomed to observation, or capable of it, might have detected something rather unusual in the flushed face, the anxious and restless eye, and the forced manner of his visitor.

"Likely to be a devilish hot day—'pon my soul!".—exclaimed Titmouse, after again emptying his mouth—adding in a tolerably conceited manner—"By the way—here's a letter from Snap—just opened it!—Rather cool, after what's passed—eh? Dem him, asks me for a place under government;—Ah—a—what's he fit for?"

"For what he is, and nothing else," replied Gammon, with a bitter smile, glancing over poor Snap's letter, which Titmouse handed to him, though marked "strictly confidential"—Gammon being undoubtedly the very last man upon earth whom Snap would have wished to know of his application.

"Were you at the House last night?" inquired Gammon—"They sat very late! Lord Bulfinch made, I think, a very powerful speech"—

–

"Yes—devilish good—rather long though; and too many of those cursed figures that—by Jove—no one cares about!" replied Titmouse, languidly.

He had by this time turned himself towards Mr. Gammon,—his right arm and leg hanging carelessly over the further side of the sofa.

"Lady Cecilia is well, I hope?"

"Can't say—not seen her this week," drawled Titmouse. "I'll ring and ask if you wish," he added, with an affected smile.

"Ah, my dear Titmouse," quoth Gammon, blandly, and with a smile of delicious flattery, "I hope you don't give her Ladyship just cause for jealousy?—eh? You must not avail yourself of your—your acknowledged power over the sex—ahem!"

Mr. Titmouse, half closing his eyes, silently expelled a mouthful of smoke, while an ineffable smile stole over his features.

"You must not neglect her Ladyship, Titmouse," quoth Gammon, gently shaking his head, and with an anxiously deferential air.

"'Pon my life, I don't neglect her!—Public life, you know—eh?" replied Titmouse, slowly, with his eyes closed, and speaking with the air of one suffering from ennui. Here a pause of some moments ensued.

"Can we have about half an hour to ourselves, uninterruptedly?" at length inquired Mr. Gammon.

"Ah—a—why—my singing-master is coming here a little after twelve," quoth Titmouse, turning himself round, so as to be able to look at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"Oh, probably less than that period will suffice, if we shall not be interrupted—may I ring the bell, and will you give orders to that effect?" With this, Gammon rang the bell; and on the servant's appearing:—

"I say, sir—do you hear, demme?" said Titmouse, "not at home—till this gentleman's gone." The man bowed, and withdrew; and on his closing the door, Gammon softly stepped after him and bolted it; by which time Titmouse, somewhat startled, withdrew his hookah, for an instant, from his mouth, and gazed rather anxiously at Gammon, about whose appearance he then, for the first time, fancied he saw something unusual.

"Aha!—My stars, Mr. Gammon, we're going to be devilish secret—aren't we!" exclaimed Titmouse, with a faint smile, having watched Mr. Gammon's movement with great surprise; and he began to smoke rather more energetically than before, with his eye fixed on the grave countenance of Mr. Gammon.

"My dear Titmouse," commenced his visitor, drawing his chair near to him, and speaking in a very earnest but kindly manner, "does it never astonish you, when you reflect on the stroke of fortune which has elevated you to your present point of splendor and distinction?"

"Most amazing!—uncommon!" replied Titmouse, apprehensively.

"It is!—marvellous! unprecedented! You are the envy of hundreds upon hundreds of thousands! Such an affair as yours does not happen above once or twice in a couple of centuries—if so often! You cannot imagine the feelings of delight with which I regard all this—this brilliant result of my long labors, and untiring devotion to your service."—He paused.

"Oh, 'pon my life, yes; it's all very true," replied Titmouse, with a little trepidation, replenishing the bowl of his hookah with tobacco.

"May I venture to hope, my dear Titmouse, that I have established my claim to be considered, in some measure, as the sole architect of your extraordinary fortunes—your earliest—your most constant friend?"

"You see, as I've often said, Mr. Gammon—I'm most uncommon obliged to you for all favors—so help me–! and no mistake," said Titmouse, exhibiting a countenance of increasing seriousness; and he rose from his recumbent posture, and, still smoking, sat with his face turned full towards Mr. Gammon, who resumed—

"As I am not in the habit, my dear Titmouse, of beating about the bush, let me express a hope that you consider the services I have rendered you not unworthy of requital"–

"Oh yes—to be sure—certainly," quoth Titmouse, slightly changing color—"anything, by Jove, that's in my power—but it is most particular unfortunate that—ahem!—so deuced hard up just now—but—ah, 'pon my soul, I'll speak to Lord Bulfinch, or some of those people, and get you something—though I sha'n't do anything of the kind for Snap—dem him! You've no idea," continued Titmouse, anxiously, "how devilish thick Lord Bulfinch and I are—he shakes hands with me when we meet alone in the lobby—he does, 'pon my life."

"I am very much obliged, my dear Titmouse, for your kind offer—but I have a little political influence myself, when I think fit to exert it," replied Gammon, gravely.

"Well, then," interrupted Titmouse, eagerly—"as for money, if that's what—by jingo! but if you don't know how precious hard up one is just now"—

"My dear sir," replied Gammon, his countenance sensibly darkening as he went on, "the subject on which we are now engaged is one of inexpressible interest and importance, in my opinion, to each of us; and let us discuss it calmly. I am prepared to make a communication to you immediately, which you will never forget to the day of your death. Are you prepared to receive it?"

"Oh yes!—Never so wide awake in my life! O Lord! fire away!"—replied Titmouse; and taking the tip of his hookah from his lips, and holding it in the fingers of his left hand, he leaned forward, staring open-mouthed at Gammon.

"Well, my dear Titmouse, then I will proceed. I will not enjoin you to secrecy;—and that not merely because I have full confidence in your honor—but because you cannot disclose it to any mortal man but at the peril of immediate and utter ruin."

"'Pon my soul, most amazing! Demme, Mr. Gammon, you frighten me out of my wits!" said Titmouse, turning paler and paler, as his recollection became more and more distinct of certain mysterious hints of Mr. Gammon's, many months before, at Yatton, as to his power over Titmouse.

"Consider for a moment. You are now a member of Parliament; the unquestioned owner of a fine estate; the husband of a lady of very high rank—the last direct representative of one of the proudest and most ancient of the noble families of Great Britain; you yourself are next but one in succession to almost the oldest barony in the kingdom; in fact, in all human probability, you are the next Lord Drelincourt; and all this through ME." He paused.

"Well—excuse me, Mr. Gammon—but I hear;—though—ahem! you're (meaning no offence)—I can't for the life and soul of me tell what the devil it is you're driving at"—said Titmouse, twisting his finger into his hair, and gazing at Gammon with intense anxiety. For some moments Mr. Gammon remained looking very solemnly and in silence at Titmouse; and then proceeded.

"Yet you are really no more entitled to be what you seem—what you are thought—or to possess what you at present possess—than—the little wretch that last swept your chimneys here!"

The hookah dropped out of Titmouse's hand upon the floor, and he made no effort to pick it up, but sat staring at Gammon, with cheeks almost as white as his shirt-collar, and in blank dismay.

"I perceive you are agitated, Mr. Titmouse," said Gammon, kindly.

"By Jove—I should think so!" replied Titmouse, faintly; but he tried to assume an incredulous smile—in vain, however; and to such a pitch had his agitation reached, that he rose, opened a cabinet near him, and taking out from it a brandy-flask and a wine-glass, poured it out full, and drank it off. "You a'n't joking, Mr. Gammon, eh?" Again he attempted a sickly smile.

"God forbid, Mr. Titmouse!"

"Well—but," faltered Titmouse, "why a'n't I entitled to it all? Hasn't the law given it to me? And can't the law do as it likes?"

"No one on earth knows the what and the why of this matter but myself; and, if you choose, no one ever shall; nay, I will take care, if you come this morning to my terms, to deprive even myself of all means of proving what I can now prove, at any moment I choose"–

"Lord, Mr. Gammon!" ejaculated Titmouse, passing his hand hastily over his damp forehead—his agitation visibly increasing. "What's to be the figure?" he faltered presently, and looked as if he dreaded to hear the answer.

"If you mean, what are my terms—I will at once tell you:—they are terms on which I shall peremptorily insist; they have been long fixed in my own mind; I am quite inflexible; so help me Heaven, I will not vary from them a hair's breadth! I require first, to sit in Parliament for Yatton at the next election; and afterwards alternately with yourself; and secondly, that you immediately grant me an annuity for my life of two thousand pounds a-year on your"–

Titmouse sprang from the sofa, dashing his fist on the table, and uttering a frightful imprecation. He stood for a moment, and then threw himself desperately at full length on the sofa, muttering the same execration which had first issued from his lips. Gammon moved not a muscle, but fixed a steadfast eye on Titmouse; the two might have been compared to the affrighted rabbit, and the deadly boa-constrictor.

"It's all a swindle!—a d–d swindle!" at length he exclaimed, starting up into a sitting posture, and almost grinning defiance at Gammon.

"You're a swindler!"—he exclaimed vehemently.

"Possibly—but you, sir, are a BASTARD," replied Gammon, calmly. Titmouse looked the picture of horror, and trembled in every limb.

"It's a lie!—It's all a lie!"—he gasped.

"Sir, you are a bastard"—repeated Gammon, bitterly, and extending his forefinger threateningly towards Titmouse. Then he added with sudden vehemence—"Wretched miscreant—do you presume to tell me I lie? You base-born cur!"—a lightning glance shot from his eye; but he restrained himself. Titmouse sat at length as if petrified, while Gammon, in a low tone, and with fearful bitterness of manner, proceeded—"You the owner of Yatton? You the next Lord Drelincourt? No more than the helper in your stables! One breath of mine blights you forever—as an impostor—a mere audacious swindler—to be spit upon! to be kicked out of society—perhaps to be transported for life. Gracious Heavens! what will the Earl of Dreddlington say when he hears that his sole daughter and heiress is married to a–It will kill him, or he will kill you!"

"Two can play at that," whispered Titmouse, faintly—indeed almost inarticulately. There was nearly a minute's pause.

"No—but is it all true?—honor!" inquired Titmouse, in a very subdued voice.

"As God is my witness!" replied Gammon.

"Well," exclaimed Titmouse, after a prodigious sigh, "then at any rate, you're in for it with me; you said just now you'd done it all. Aha! I recollect, Mr. Gammon! I should no more have thought of it myself—Lord! than—what d'ye say to that, Mr. Gammon?"

"Alas, sir! it will not avail you," replied Gammon, with a fearful smile; "for I never made the dreadful discovery of your illegitimacy till it was too late—till at least two months after I had put you (whom I believed the true heir) into possession of Yatton!"

"Ah—I don't know—but—why didn't you tell Lord Dreddlington? Why did you let me marry Lady Cicely? By Jove, but it's you he'll kill," quoth Titmouse, eagerly.

"Yes!—Alas! I ought to have done so," replied Mr. Gammon, with a profound sigh—adding, abstractedly, "It may not be too late to make his Lordship some amends. I may save his title from degradation. Lord Drelincourt"–

"O Lord!" ejaculated Titmouse, involuntarily, and almost unconsciously, staring stupidly at Gammon, who continued with a renewed sigh—"Yes, I ought to have told his Lordship—but I own—I was led away by feelings of pity—of affection for YOU—and, alas! is this the return?" He spoke this with a look and in a tone of sorrowful reproach.

"Well, you shouldn't have come down on one so suddenly—all at once—how can a man—eh? Such horrid news!"

"It has cost me, sir, infinitely greater pain to tell you, than it has cost you to hear it!"

"By the living Jove!" exclaimed Titmouse, starting up with a sort of recklessness, and pouring out and tossing off a second glassful of brandy—"it can't be true—it's all a dream! I—I a'n't—I can't be a bas– perhaps you're all this while the true heir, Mr. Gammon?" he added briskly, and snapped his fingers at his companion.

"No, sir, I am not," replied Gammon, calmly; "but let me tell you, I know where he is to be found, Mr. Titmouse! Do you commission me to go in search of him?" he inquired, suddenly fixing his bright penetrating eye upon Titmouse, who instantly stammered out—"O Lord! By Jove! no, no!"

Gammon could scarcely suppress a bitter smile, so ludicrous were the look and tone of Titmouse.

"You shouldn't have let me spend such a lot of money, if it wasn't mine all the while"–

"The estate was, in a manner, Mr. Titmouse, in my gift; and in pitching upon you, sir, out of several, I had imagined that I had chosen a gentleman—a man grateful and honorable"–

"'Pon my solemn soul, so I am!" interrupted Titmouse, eagerly.

"I had but to scrawl a line or two with my pen, the very first day that I saw you at the shop of Mr. Tag-rag—and there, sir—or in some similar hole—you would have been at this moment!" replied Gammon, with a sudden sternness which quite overawed Titmouse; totally losing sight, however, of the very different account of the matter which he had given Titmouse five minutes before; but the very best and most experienced liars have short memories. Here it was, however, Liar v. Fool; and the latter did not perceive the slip made by his adversary—who, however, suddenly became aware of his little inconsistency, and colored.

"You'll excuse me, sir," quoth Titmouse, presently; and with an air which was becoming momentarily more timid and doubtful—"but will you, if all this isn't a bottle of smoke, tell me how you can prove it all? Because, you know, it isn't only saying the thing that will do—you know, Mr. Gammon?"