Jack Hinton: The Guardsman

CHAPTER XLVII. LONDON

It was late when I arrived in London and drove up to my father’s house. The circumstances under which I had left Ireland weighed more heavily on me as I drew near home, and as I reflected over the questions I should be asked and the explanations I should be expected to afford; and I half dreaded lest my father should disapprove of my conduct before I had an opportunity of showing him how little I had been to blame throughout. The noise and din of the carriages, the oaths and exclamations of the coachmen, and the uproar of the streets turned my attention from these thoughts, and I asked what was the meaning of the crowd.

‘A great ball, sir, at Lady Charlotte Hinton’s.’

This was a surprise, and not of the pleasantest. I had wished that my first meeting with my father at least should have been alone and in quietness, where I could fairly have told him every important event of my late life, and explained wherefore I so ardently desired immediate employment on active service and a total change in that career which weighed so heavily on my spirits. The carriage drew up at the instant, and I found myself once more at home.

What a feeling does that simple word convey to his ears who knows the real blessing of a home – that shelter from the world, its jealousies and its envies, its turmoils and its disappointments; where, like some landlocked bay, the still, calm waters sleep in silence, while the storm and hurricane are roaring without; where glad faces and bright looks abound; where each happiness is reflected back from every heart and ten times multiplied, and every sorrow comes softened by consolation and words of comfort! And how little like this is the abode of the great leader of fashion; how many of the fairest gifts of humanity are turned back by the glare of a hundred wax-lights, and the glitter of gilded lackeys; and how few of the charities of life find entrance where the splendour and luxury of voluptuous habits have stifled natural feeling, and made even sympathy unfashionable!

It was not without difficulty I could persuade the servants, who were all strangers to me, that the travel-stained, dusty individual before them was the son of the celebrated and fashionable Lady Charlotte Hinton, and at length reach my room to dress.

It was near midnight. The rooms were filled as I entered the drawing-room. For a few moments I could not help feeling strongly the full influence of the splendid scene before me. The undoubted evidences of rank and wealth that meet the eye on every side in London life are very striking. The splendour of the women’s dress, their own beauty, a certain air of haughty bearing peculiarly English, a kind of conscious superiority to the rest of the world mark them; and in their easy, unembarrassed, steady glance you read the proud spirit of Albion’s ‘haughty dames.’ This alone was very different from the laughing spirit of Erin’s daughters, their espiègle looks and smiling lips. The men, too, were so dissimilar – their reserved and stately carriage, their low voices, and deferential but composed manner contrasting strongly with Irish volubility, quickness, and gesticulation. I stood unnoticed and alone for some time, quietly observant of the scene before me; and as I heard name after name announced, many of them the greatest and the highest in the land, there was no semblance of excitement as they entered, no looks of admiring wonder as they passed on and mingled with the crowd. This showed me I was in a mighty city, where the chief spirits that ruled the age moved daily before the public eye; and again I thought of Dublin, where some third-rate notoriety would have been hailed with almost acclamation, and lionised to the ‘top of his bent.’

I could remember but few of those around, and even they had either forgotten me altogether, or, having no recollection of my absence, saluted me with the easy nonchalance of one who is seen every evening of his life.

‘How are you, Hinton?’ said one, with something more of warmth than the rest. ‘I have not met you for some weeks past.’

‘No,’ said I, smiling. ‘I have been nearly a year from home.’

‘Ah, indeed! In Spain?’

‘No, in Ireland.’

‘In Ireland? How odd!’

‘Who has been in Ireland?’ said a low, plaintive voice. Turning round as she spoke, my lady-mother stood before me. ‘I should like to hear something – But, dear me, this must be John!’ and she held out her jewelled hand towards me.

‘My dear mother, I am so happy to see you look so very well – ’

‘No, no, my dear,’ said she, sighing, ‘don’t speak of that. When did you arrive? I beg your Royal Highness’s pardon, I hope you have not forgotten your protege, my son.’

I bowed reverently as a large, full, handsome man, with bald head and a most commanding expression, drew himself up before me.

‘No, madam, I have not forgotten him, I assure you!’ was the reply, as he returned my salute with marked coldness, and passed on.

Before Lady Charlotte could express her surprise at such an unlooked-for mark of displeasure, my father, who had just heard of my arrival, came up.

‘Jack, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you. How large you have grown, boy, and how brown!’

The warm welcome of his manly voice, the affectionate grasp of his strong hand, rallied me at once, and I cared little for the looks of king or kaiser at that moment. He drew his arm within mine, and led me through the rooms to a small boudoir, where a party at cards were the only occupants.

‘Here we shall be tolerably alone for a little while, at least,’ said he; ‘and now, my lad, tell me everything about you.*

In less than half an hour I ran over the principal events of my life in Ireland, omitting only those in which Miss Bellew bore a part. On this account my rupture with Lord de Vere was only imperfectly alluded to; and I could perceive that my father’s brow became contracted, and his look assumed a severer expression at this part of my narrative.

‘You have not been very explicit, Jack, about this business; and this it is which I am really uneasy about. I have never known you do a mean or a shabby thing; I will never suspect you of one. So, now, let me clearly understand the ground of this quarrel.’

There was a tone of command in his voice as he said this which decided me at once, and without further hesitation I resolved on laying everything before him. Still, I knew not how to begin; the mention of Louisa’s name alone staggered me, and for a second or two I stammered and looked confused.

Unlike his wonted manner, my father looked impatient, almost angry. At last, when seeing that my agitation only increased upon me, and that my difficulty grew each moment greater, he looked me sternly in the face, and with a voice full of meaning, said —

‘Tell me everything! I cannot bear to doubt you. Was this a play transaction?’

‘A play transaction! No, sir, nothing like it.’

‘Was there not a bet – some disputed wager – mixed up in it?’

‘Yes, there was a wager, sir; but – ’

Before I could conclude, my father pressed his hand against his eyes, and a faint sigh broke from him.

‘But hear me out, sir. The wager was none of mine.’ In a few moments I ran over the whole circumstances of De Vere’s bet, his conduct to Miss Bellew, and my own subsequent proceedings; but when I came to the mention of O’Grady’s name, he stopped me suddenly, and said —

‘Major O’Grady, however, did not approve of your conduct in the affair.’

‘O’Grady! He was my friend all through it!’

My father remained silent for a few minutes, and then in a low voice added —

‘There has been misrepresentation here.’

The words were not well spoken when Lord Dudley de Vere, with my cousin Lady Julia on his arm, came up. The easy nonchalance of his manner, the tone of quiet indifference he assumed, were well known to me; but I was in nowise prepared for the look of insufferable, patronising impertinence he had now put on.

My cousin, more beautiful far than ever I had seen her, took off my attention from him, however, and I turned with a feeling of half pride, half wonder, to pay my respects to her. Dressed in the most perfect taste of the fashion, her handsome features wore the assured and tranquil expression which conscious beauty gives. And here let no inexperienced observer rashly condemn the placid loveliness of the queen of beauty, the sanctioned belle of fashionable life. It is, indeed, very different from the artless loveliness of innocent girlhood; but its claim is not less incontestable. The features, like the faculties, can be cultivated; and when no unnatural effort suggests the expression, who shall say that the mind habitually exercised in society of the highest and most gifted circle will not impart a more elevated character to the look than when the unobtrusive career of everyday life flows on calm and unruffled, steeping the soul in a dreary monotony, and calling for no effort save of the commonest kind.

Julia’s was indeed splendid beauty. The lustrous brilliancy of her dark-blue eyes was shaded by long, black lashes; the contour of her cheeks was perfect; her full short lips were slightly, so slightly curled, you knew not if it were no more smile than sarcasm; the low tones of her voice were rich and musical, and her carriage and demeanour possessed all the graceful elegance which is only met with in the society of great cities. Her manner was most frank and cordial; she held out her hand to me at once, and looked really glad to see me. After a few brief words of recognition, she turned towards De Vere —

‘I shall ask you to excuse me, my lord, this set. It is so long since I have seen my cousin.’

He bowed negligently, muttered something carelessly about the next waltz, and with a familiar nod to me, lounged away. O’Grady’s caution about this man’s attentions to Julia at once came to my mind, and the easy tone of his manner towards her alarmed me; but I had no time for reflection, as she took my arm and sauntered down the room.

‘And so, mon cher cousin, you have been leading a very wild life of it – fighting duels, riding steeplechases, breaking your own bones and ladies’ hearts, in a manner exceedingly Irish?’ said Julia with a smile, into which not a particle of her habitual raillery entered.

‘From your letters I can learn, Julia, that a very strange account of my doings must have reached my friends here. Except from yourself, I have met with scarcely anything but cold looks since my arrival.’

‘Oh, never mind that; people will talk, you know. For my part, Jack, I never will believe you anything but what I have always known you. The heaviest charge I have heard against you is that of trifling with a poor girl’s affections; and as I know that the people who spread these rumours generally don’t know at which side either the trifling or the affection resides, why, I think little about it.’

‘And has this been said of me?’

‘To be sure it has, and ten times as much. As to your gambling sins, there is no end to their enormity. A certain Mr. Rooney, I think the name is, a noted play-man – ’

‘How absurd, Julia! Mr. Rooney never played in his life; nor have I, except in the casual way every one does in a drawing-room.’

‘N’importe– you are a lady-killer and a gambler. Now as to count number three – for being a jockey.’

‘My dear Julia, if you had seen my steeplechase you ‘d acquit me of that.’

‘Indeed, I did hear,’ said she roguishly, ‘that you acquitted yourself admirably; but still you won. And then we come to the great offence – your quarrelsome habits. We heard, it is true, that you behaved, as it is called, very honourably, etc; but really duelling is so detestable – ’

‘Come, come, fair cousin, let us talk of something besides my delinquencies. What do you think of my friend O’Grady?’

I said this suddenly, by way of reprisal; but to my utter discomfiture she replied with perfect calmness —

‘I rather was amused with him at first. He is very odd, very unlike other people; but Lady Charlotte took him up so, and we had so much of him here, I grew somewhat tired of him. He was, however, very fond of you; and you know that made up for much with us all.’

There was a tone of sweetness and almost of deep interest in these last few words that made my heart thrill, and unconsciously I pressed her arm closer to my side, and felt the touch returned. Just at the instant my father came forward accompanied by another, who I soon perceived was the royal duke that had received me so coldly a few minutes before. His frank, manly face was now all smiles, and his bright eye glanced from my fair cousin to myself with a quick, meaning expression.

‘Another time, General, will do quite as well, I say, Mr. Hinton, call on me to-morrow morning about ten, will you? I have something to say to you.’

I bowed deeply in reply, and he passed on.

‘And let me see you after breakfast,’ said Julia, in a half-whisper, as she turned towards De Vere, who now came forward to claim her for the waltz.

My father, too, mixed with the crowd, and I felt myself alone and a stranger in what should have been my home. A kind of cold thrill came over me as I thought how unlike was my welcome to what it would have been in Ireland; for although I felt that in my father’s manner towards me there was no want of affection or kindness, yet somehow I missed the exuberant warmth and ready cordiality I had latterly been used to, and soon turned away, sad and disappointed, to seek my own room.

CHAPTER XLVIII. AN UNHAPPY DISCLOSURE

‘What!’ cried I, as I awoke the next morning, and looked with amazement at the figure which waddled across the room with a hoot in either hand – ‘what! not Corny Delany, surely?’

‘Ugh! that same,’ said he, with a cranky croak. ‘I don’t wonder ye don’t know me; hardship’s telling on me every day.’

Now really, in vindication of my father’s household, in which Sir Corny had been domesticated for the last two months, I must observe that the alteration in his appearance was not exactly such as to justify his remark; on the contrary, he had grown fatter and more ruddy, and looked in far better case than I had ever seen him. His face, however, most perseveringly preserved its habitual sour and crabbed expression, rather increased, than otherwise, by his improved condition.

‘So, Corny, you are not comfortable here, I find?’

‘Comfortable! The ways of this place would kill the Danes! Nothing but ringing bells from morning till night; carriages drivin’ like wind up to the door, and bang, bang away at the rapper; then more ringing to let them out again; and bells for breakfast and for luncheon and the hall dinner; and then the sight of vitals that’s wasted – meat and fish and fowl and vegetables without end. Ugh! the Haythins, the Turks! eating and drinking as if the world was all their own.’

‘Well, apparently they take good care of you in that respect’

‘Devil a bit of care; here it’s every man for himself. But I’ll give warning on Saturday; sorrow one o’ me ‘ll be kilt for the like of them.’

‘You prefer Ireland, then, Corny?’

‘Who said I did?’ said he snappishly; ‘isn’t it as bad there? Ugh, ugh! the Captain won’t rest aisy in his grave after the way he treated me – leaving me here alone and dissolate in this place, amongst strangers!’

‘Well, you must confess the country is not so bad.’

‘And why would I confess it? What’s in it that I don’t mislike? Is it the heap of houses and the smoke and the devil’s noise that’s always going on that I’d like? Why isn’t it peaceful and quiet like Dublin?’

And as I conversed further with him, I found that all his dislikes proceeded from the discrepancy he everywhere discovered from what he had been accustomed to in Ireland, and which, without liking, he still preferred to our Saxon observances – the few things he saw worthy of praise being borrowed or stolen from his own side of the Channel And in this his ingenuity was striking, insomuch that the very trees in Woburn Park owed their goodness to the owner having been once a Lord Lieutenant in Ireland, where, as Corny expressed it, ‘devil thank him to have fine trees! hadn’t he the pick of the Fhaynix?’

I knew that candour formed a most prominent feature in Mr. Delany’s character, and consequently had little difficulty in ascertaining his opinion of every member of my family; indeed, to do him justice, no one ever required less of what is called pumping. His judgment on things and people flowed from him without effort or restraint, so that ere half an hour elapsed he had expatiated on my mothers pride and vanity, apostrophised my father’s hastiness and determination, and was quite prepared to enter upon a critical examination of my cousin Julia’s failings, concerning whom, to my astonishment, he was not half so lenient as I expected.

‘Arrah, isn’t she like the rest of them, coorting one day with Captain Phil, and another with the young lord there, and then laughing at them both with the ould duke that comes here to dinner! She thinks I don’t be minding her; but didn’t I see her taking myself off one day on paper – making a drawing of me, as if I was a haste! Mayhe there’s worse nor me,’ said the little man, looking down upon his crooked shins and large knee-joints with singular complacency; ‘and mayhe she’d get one of them yet.’ À harsh cackle, the substitute for a laugh, closed this speech.

‘Breakfast on the table, sir,’ said a servant, tapping gently at the door.

‘I’ll engage it is, and will be till two o’clock, when they’ll be calling out for luncheon,’ said Corny, turning up the whites of his eyes, as though the profligate waste of the house was a sin he wished to wash his hands of. ‘That wasn’t the way at his honour the Jidge’s; he’d never taste a bit from morning till night; and many a man he ‘d send to his long account in the meantime. Ugh! I wish I was back there.’

‘I have spent many happy days in Ireland, too,’ said I, scarce following him in more than the general meaning of his speech.

A fit of coughing from Corny interrupted his reply, but as he left the room I could hear his muttered meditations, something in this strain: ‘Happy days, indeed! A dacent life you led! tramping about the country with a fool, horse-riding and fighting! Ugh!’

I found my cousin in the breakfast-room alone; my father had already gone out; and as Lady Charlotte never left her room before three or four o’clock, I willingly took the opportunity of our tête-à-tête to inquire into the cause of the singular reception I had met with, and to seek an explanation, if so might be, of the viceroy’s change towards me since his visit to England.

Julia entered frankly and freely into the whole matter, with the details of which, though evidently not trusting me to the full, she was somehow perfectly conversant.

‘My dear John,’ said she, ‘your whole conduct in Ireland has been much mistaken – ’

‘Calumniated, apparently, were the better word, Julia,’ said I hastily.

‘Nay, hear me out. It is so easy, when people have no peculiar reasons to vindicate another, to misconstrue, perhaps condemn. It is so much the way of the world to look at things in their worst light, that I am sure you will see no particular ingenuity was required to make your career in Dublin appear a wild one, and your life in the country still more so. Now you are growing impatient; you are getting angry; so I shall stop.’

‘No, no, Julia; a thousand pardons if a passing shade of indignation did show itself in my face. Pray go on.’

‘Well then, when a young gentleman, whose exclusive leanings were even a little quizzed here – there, no impatience! – condescends at one spring to frequent third-rate people’s houses; falls in love with a niece, or daughter, or a something there; plays high among riotous associates; makes rash wagers; and fights with his friends, who endeavour to rescue him – ’

‘Thank you, Julia – a thousand thanks, sweet cousin! The whole narrative and its author are palpably before me.’

A deep blush covered her cheek as I rose hastily from my chair.

‘John, dear John, sit down again,’ said she, ‘I have only been in jest all this time. You surely do not suppose me silly enough to credit one word of all this?’

‘It must have been told you, however,’ said I, fixing my eyes on her as I spoke.

The redness of her cheek grew deeper, and her confusion increased to a painful extent, as, taking my hand in hers, she said in a low, soft voice —

‘I have been very, very foolish; but you will promise me never to remember – at least never to act upon – the – ’

The words became fainter and fainter as she spoke, and at last died away inaudibly; and suddenly there shot across my mind the passage in O’Grady’s letter. The doubt once suggested, gained strength at every moment: she loved De Vere. I will not attempt to convey the conflicting storm of passion this thought stirred up within me.

I turned towards her. Her head was thrown gently back, and her deep-blue lustrous eyes were fixed on me as if waiting my reply. A tear rolled heavily along her cheek; it was the first I ever saw her shed. Pressing her hand to my lips, I muttered the words, ‘Trust me, Julia,’ and left the room. ‘Sir George wishes to see you, sir, in his own room,’ said a servant, as I stood stunned and overcome by the discovery I had made of my cousin’s affection. I had no time given me for further reflection as I followed the man to my father’s room.

‘Sit down, Jack,’ said my father, as he turned the key in the door. ‘I wish to talk to you alone here. I have been with the duke this morning; a little explanation has satisfied him that your conduct was perfectly irreproachable in Ireland. He writes by this post to the viceroy to make the whole thing clear, and indeed he offered to reinstate you at once – which I refused, however. Now to something graver still, my boy, and which I wish I could spare you; but it cannot be.’

As he spoke these words he leaned his head in both his hands, and was silent. A confused, imperfect sense of some impending bad news almost stupefied me, and I waited without speaking. When my father lifted up his head his face was pale and care-worn, and an expression such as long illness leaves had usurped the strong and manly character of his countenance.

‘Come, my boy, I must not keep you longer in suspense. Fortune has dealt hardly with me since we parted. Jack, I am a beggar!’

A convulsive gulp and a rattling sound in the throat followed the words, and for a second or two his fixed looks and purple colour made me fear a fit was approaching. But in a few minutes he recovered his calmness, and proceeded, still with a broken and tremulous voice, to relate the circumstances of his altered fortune.

It appeared that many British officers of high rank had involved themselves deeply in a loan to the Spanish Government, under the faith of speedy repayment. The varying chances of the Peninsular struggle had given this loan all the character of a gambling speculation, the skill in which consisted in the anticipation of the result of the war we were then engaged in. My father’s sanguine hopes of ultimate success induced him to enter deeply into the speculation, from which, having once engaged, there was no retreat. Thousand after thousand followed, to secure the sum already advanced; and at last, hard pressed by the increasing demands for money, and confident that the first turn of fortune would lead to repayment, he had made use of the greater part of my cousin Julia’s fortune, whose guardian he was, and in whose hands this trust-money had been left My cousin would come of age in about four months, at which time she would be eighteen; and then, if the money were not forthcoming, the consequences were utter ruin, with the terrific blow of blasted character and reputation.

There was a sum of ten thousand pounds settled on me by my grandfather, which I at once offered to place at his disposal.

‘Alas, my poor fellow! I have advanced already upwards of thirty thousand of Julia’s fortune! No, no, Jack, I have thought much over the matter; there is but one way of escaping from this difficulty. By disposing of these bonds at considerable loss, I shall be enabled to pay Julia’s money. This will leave us little better than above actual want; still, it must be done. I shall solicit a command abroad; they’ll not refuse me, I know. Lady Charlotte must retire to Bath, or some quiet place, which in my absence will appear less remarkable. Strict economy and time will do much. And as to yourself, I know that having once learned what you have to look to I shall have no cause of complaint on your score; the duke has promised to take care of you. And now my heart is lighter than it has been for some months past.’