CHAPTER LII — LAWLESS ASTONISHES MR. COLEMAN
“'Now, all your writers do consent that ipse is he; now,
are you not ipse, for I am he?' “'Which he, sir?' “'He,
sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown,
abandon—which is, in the vulgar, leave the society—which,
in the boorish, is company of this female—which, in the
common, is woman—which together is, abandon the society of
this female; or clown.... I will o'errun thee with policy;
therefore tremble, and depart.'”
—As You Like, It.
“AS far as I understand the matter,” said Lawless, nodding sapiently, “the great obstacle to your happiness is the drysalter, and the chief object you desire to attain is his total abolition, eh?”
Coleman assenting to these premises, Lawless continued, “Supposing, by certain crafty dodges, this desirable consummation arrived at, if you could show your governor that you had four or five hundred pounds a year of your own to start with, one of his main objections to your union with this female—young woman would be knocked on the head?”
“My good fellow,” returned Freddy with a slight tone of annoyance, “I'm as fond of a joke as any man, but when I tell you that I am foolish enough to take this matter somewhat deeply to heart—that if Lucy is forced to marry the brute, she'll be wretched for life, and I shall not be much otherwise—I think you'll choose some other subject for your mirth.”
“Why, Freddy, old boy, you don't suppose I'm poking fun at you, do you? Why, I would not do such a thing at any price—no! 'pon my honour, I'm as serious as a judge, I am indeed; but the best way will be to tell you my plan at once, and then you'll see the logic of the thing. In the first place, your governor says that Lucy is to marry the drysalter, because he's the best offer she's ever likely to have, doesn't he?”
“Yes, that's right enough, so far,” replied Freddy.
“What's the drysalter worth? whereabouts is the figure?”
“Two thousand a year, they say,” returned Freddy with a sigh.
“And I shall come into nearer five, in a month's time,” returned Lawless; “got the whip hand of him there, and no mistake.”
“You!” exclaimed Coleman, astonished.
“Eh, yes! I, my own self—the Honourable George Lawless at your service, age five and twenty—height five feet nine—rides under ten stone—sound wind and limb—five thousand per annum, clear income and a peerage in perspective—ain't that better than a drysalter, eh?”
“Why, Lawless, you are gone stark staring mad,” interrupted I; “what on earth has all that got to do with Freddy and his cousin?”
“Don't stop him,” cried Coleman, “I begin to see what he is aiming at.”
“Eh! of course you do, Freddy, boy,” continued Lawless; “and it's not such a bad dodge either, is it? Your governor lays down the broad principle that the highest bidder shall be the purchaser, and on this ground backs the drysalter; now if I drive over this morning, propose in due form for your cousin's hand, and outbid the aforesaid drysalting individual, the governor must either sacrifice his consistency, or accept my offer.”
“Well, and suppose he does, what good have you done then?” asked I.
“Eh, good?” returned Lawless, “every good to be sure; and first and foremost knocked over the drysalter—if I'm accepted, he must be rejected, that's a self-evident fact. Well, once get rid of him, and it's all plain sailing—I find a hundred reasons for delaying to fulfil my engagement; in a month's time I come into my property (the jolly old aunt who left it me tied it up till I was five and twenty—and the old girl showed her sense too, for ten to one I should have made ducks and drakes of it when I was young and foolish); very well—I appoint Freddy agent and receiver of the rents—(the fellow that has it now makes five hundred a year of it, they tell me); and then suddenly change my mind, jilt Miss Markham, and if Governor Coleman chooses to cut up rough, he may bring an action of 'breach of promise,' lay the damages at five thousand, and so get a nice little round sum to buy the young woman's wedding clothes when she marries Freddy. That's the way to do business, isn't it, eh?”
“'Pon my word it's a grand idea,” said Coleman; “how came you ever to think of it? But, my dear Lawless, are you really in earnest about the receivership?”
“In earnest? to be sure I am; I always intended it.”
“I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you,” replied Freddy, in a tone of grateful surprise; “it's the kindest thing in the world; but about the first part of your plan, I don't know what to say.”
“You never can think of carrying out such a mad scheme,” remonstrated I; “I thought, of course, you were only in jest.”
“Can you propose anything better, eh?” asked Lawless.
“Why, I don't know,” returned I, musing. “Suppose Freddy were to go and tell his father of his attachment, and say that the receivership, with a small share in the business, would enable him to support a wife comfortably—how would that do?”
“No use,” said Freddy; “as long as that aggravating drysalter, with his two thousand per annum, is in the field, my father would consider it his duty to say 'No'.”
“Eh? yes, of course,” rejoined Lawless, “fathers always do consider their duty to be intensely unpleasant on all such occasions, and it's a duty they never neglect either—I will say that for them. No! depend upon it, mine is the only plan.”
“Really, Frank, I don't see what else is to be done,” urged Freddy; “the danger from the drysalter is great and imminent, remember.”
“Well, you and Lawless can settle it between you: you are a pair of eccentric geniuses, and know how you like to manage your own affairs better than a sober-minded man such as I am.”
“I tell you what, Mr. Sober-minded-man, I mean to take you with me on my expedition; I shall want somebody to pat me on the back—besides, your proper, well-behaved manner will give an air of respectability to the affair.”
“Really you must—” began I.
“Really I won't,” retorted Lawless; while Coleman, seizing me by the arm, drew me on one side.
“Frank, without any joke, I think this freak of Law-less's may enable me to get rid of my rival—this Mr. Lowe Brown—and I should take it as the greatest kindness if you would go with him, and keep him in order; of course I must not be seen at all in the matter myself.”
“Well, if you are really in earnest, and want me to go, I'll do it,” replied I; “though I don't see that I shall be of much use.”
“Shall I write and put Lucy up to it, or not?” rejoined Coleman meditatively.
“If you take my advice, you will not,” replied I; “in fact, the success of your scheme depends very much on keeping her in the dark as to Lawless's not being a bona fide offer. Either her simple woman's mind would dislike the trickery of the thing altogether, or she would excite suspicion by falling into the plot too readily. I would merely write her a cheering note, telling her that you were likely to get an appointment which would enable you to marry; urging her to be firm in her refusal of your abomination, Mr. Brown; hinting that a broken heart would be premature, if not altogether superfluous, and giving her a few general notions that the affair would end happily, without touching upon Lawless at all.”
“Perhaps it would be as well,” replied Freddy; “at all events it will add greatly to the fun of the thing.”
“And let me tell you, that's a consideration by no means to be lost sight of,” put in Lawless, who had overheard the last remark. “Depend upon it, it's a man's duty—partly to himself, partly to his neighbour—never to miss an opportunity of recruiting his exhausted and care-worn frame, and all that sort of thing, by enjoying a little innocent recreation: 'nec semper'—what do ye call it?—'tendit Apollo,' eh?”
“That's quite my view of the case,” said Freddy, whose elastic spirits were fast recovering their accustomed buoyancy. “I hate the dolefuls—Care killed a cat.”
“If that's the worst thing Care ever did, I'll forgive her, eh?” said Lawless, “for cats are horrid poaching varmints, and make awful havoc among the young rabbits. Well, Fairlegh, have you made up your mind?”
“Yes,” replied I, “I am at your service for this morning; but understand, I merely go as a spectator of your prowess.”
“As you like, man. I'll order the chestnuts—go and polish up a little—and then for walking into Governor Coleman, and bowling out the drysalter.”
The chestnuts whirled us over to Hillingford in less than an hour. Lawless, delighted at being allowed to put his project into execution, was in wild spirits, and kept me in fits of laughter the whole way, by his quaint remarks on men and things.
“Is the governor visible, John?” was his address to the footman who answered the door, and who, apparently not being favoured by Nature with any superfluous acuteness of intellect or sweetness of disposition, merely stared sulkily in reply.
“The fellow's a fool,” muttered Lawless, “and can't understand English. Hark ye, sirrah,” he continued, “is your master at home?”
As the hero of the shoulder-knot vouchsafed an affirmative reply to this somewhat more intelligible query, we alighted, and were straightway ushered into the drawing-room, where we found Mr. and Mrs. Coleman, and, as Lawless afterwards expressed it, “a party unknown,” who was immediately, with much pomp and ceremony, introduced to us by the name of Mr. Lowe Brown, an announcement which elicited from my companion the whispered remark, “The drysalter himself, by jingo! this looks like business, old fellow; there's no time to be lost, depend upon it”.
“Ah I Mr. Lawlegh,” exclaimed Mrs. Coleman, shaking hands cordially with Lawless, “I thought we were never going to see you again, and I'm sure I was quite delighted, though the servant kept you so long waiting at the gate, till I got Mr. Brown to ring the bell; and Mr. Fairless too, so kind of him, with those beautiful chestnut horses standing there catching cold, in that very high gig, which must be so dangerous, if you were to fall out, both of you.”
“No fear of that, ma'am,” replied Lawless; “Fairlegh and I have known each other too long to think of falling out in a hurry—firm friends, ma'am, as your son Freddy would say.”
“Poor Freddy,” returned Mrs. Coleman affectionately, “did he send any message by you, to say when he is coming home again? We shall have some good news for him, I hope—for he was always very fond of his cousin Lucy.”
“Family affection is a fine thing, ma'am,” said Lawless, winking at me, “and ought to be encouraged at any price, eh?”
“Very true, Mr. Lawlegh, very true; and I am glad to find you think so, instead of living at those nasty clubs all day, turning out wild, smoking cigars like a German student, and breaking your mother's heart with a latchkey, at one o'clock in the morning, afterwards, when you ought to have been in bed and asleep for the last three hours. Good-bye, and God bless you.”
The six concluding words of Mrs. Coleman's not over-perspicuous speech were addressed to Mr. Lowe Brown, who rose to take leave. This gentleman (for such I presume one is bound to designate him, however little appearance might warrant such an appellation) was a snort, stout, not to say fat personage, with an unmeaning pink and white face, and a smug self-satisfied manner and look, which involuntarily reminded one of a sleek and well-conditioned tom-cat. Old Mr. Coleman rose also, and shaking his hand with great empressement, left the room with him in order to conduct him to the door with due honour.
“Look at the servile old rogue, worshipping that snob's two thousand pounds per annum,” whispered Lawless; “we'll alter his tune before long. Fascinating man, Mr. Brown, ma'am,” he continued, addressing Mrs. Coleman.
“Yes, I'm glad you like him; he's a very good quiet young man, and constantly reminds me of my poor dear aunt Martha, who is a peaceful saint in Brixton churchyard, after this vale of tears, where we must all go, only she hadn't two thousand pounds a year, though she was so lucky at short whist, always turning up honours when she liked.”
“Trump of a partner she must have been, and no mistake!” said Lawless enthusiastically. “I suppose she didn't leave the recipe behind her, ma'am?”
“No, Mr. Fairless, no! at least I never heard she did, though I've got a recipe of hers for cherry-brandy, which she was so fond of, and a very good one it is, poor thing! But Mr. Brown, you see, with his fortune, might look so much higher, that, as Mr. Coleman says, it's a chance she may never have again, and it would be madness to throw it away, in her circumstances too.”
“Did Mr. Brown think of marrying your aunt, then, ma'am?” asked Lawless with an air of would-be innocence.
“No, my dear—I mean, Mr. Lawlegh, no—she died, and he went to Merchant Tailor's School together, that is in the same year; we were making it out last night—no, it's Lucy, poor dear, and a famous thing it is for her, only I'm afraid she can't bear the sight of him.”
At this moment Mr. Coleman returned, and Lawless, giving me a sly glance, accosted him with a face of the most perfect gravity, begging the favour of a few minutes' private conversation with him, a request which that gentleman, with a slight appearance of surprise, immediately granted, and they left the room together.
During their absence, good Mrs. Coleman confided to me, with much circumlocution, her own private opinion, that Lucy and Mr. Brown were by no means suited to each other, “because, you see, Mr. Fairless, my dear, Lucy's clever, and says sharp funny things that make one laugh, what they call piquante, you know, and poor Mr. Brown, he's very quiet and good-natured, but he's not used to that sort of thing; and she, what you call, laughs at him”; ending with a confession that she thought Freddy and Lucy were made for each other, and that she had always hoped some day to see them married.
Dear, kind-hearted, puzzle-headed little woman! how I longed to comfort her, by giving her a glimpse behind the scenes! but it would have entailed certain ruin; she would have made confusion worse confounded of the best laid scheme that Machiavelli ever concocted.
When Lawless and Mr. Coleman returned from their tête-à-tête, it was easy to see, by the nattered but perplexed expression discernible in the countenance of the elder, and a grin of mischievous delight in that of the younger gentleman, that the stratagem had succeeded so far, and that a cloud had already shaded the fair hopes of the unconscious Mr. Lowe Brown.
“Ah—a—hem! my dear Mrs. Coleman,” began her spouse, his usually pompous manner having gained an accession of dignity, which to those who guessed the cause of it was irresistibly absurd.
“A-hem—as I am, I believe, right in supposing Mr. Fairlegh is acquainted with the object of his friend's visit—”
“All right, sir!” put in Lawless; “go ahead.”
“And as I am particularly requested to inform you of the honour” (with a marked stress on the word) “done to a member of my family, I conceive that I am guilty of no breach of confidence in mentioning that Mr. Lawless has proposed to me, in due form, for the hand of my niece, Lucy Markham, offering to make most liberal settlements; indeed, considering that the fortune Lucy is justified in expecting at her father's death is very inconsiderable—an income of four hundred pounds a year divided amongst thirteen children, deducting a jointure for the widow, should my sister survive Mr. Markham—”
“Never mind the tin, Mr. Coleman,” interrupted Lawless, “you don't catch me buying a mare for the sake of her trappings. In the first place, second-hand harness is never worth fetching home; and in the next, let me tell you, sir, it's your niece's good points I admire: small head well set on—nice light neck—good slanting shoulder —pretty fore-arm—clean about the pasterns—fast springy action—good-tempered, a little playful, but no vice about her; and altogether as sweet a thing as a man need wish to possess. Depend upon it, Mr. Coleman,” continued Lawless, who, having fallen into his usual style of speech, was fairly off, “depend upon it, you'd be very wrong to let her get into a dealer's hands—you would indeed, sir; and if Mr. Brown isn't in that line it's odd to me. I've seen him down at Tattersall's in very shady company, if I'm not much mistaken; he's the cut of a leg, every inch of him.”
Want of breath fortunately obliging him to stop, Lawless's chief auditors, who had gleaned about as much idea of his meaning as if he had been haranguing them in Sanscrit, now interposed; Mrs. Coleman to invite us to stay to luncheon, and her husband to beg that his niece Lucy might be summoned to attend him in his study, as he should consider it his duty to lay before her Mr. Lawless's very handsome and flattering proposal.
“And suppose Lucy should take it into her head, by any chance, to say Yes” (“Never thought of that, by Jove!—that would be a sell,” muttered Lawless, aside),—“what's to become of poor dear Mr. Lowe Brown?” inquired Mrs. Coleman anxiously.
“In such a case,” replied her lord and master, with a dignified wave of the hand, pausing as he left the room, and speaking with great solemnity,—“in such a case, Mr. Lowe Brown will perceive that it is his duty, his direct and evident duty, to submit to his fate with the calm and placid resignation becoming the son of so every way respectable and eminent a man as his late lamented father, my friend, the drysalter.”