CHAPTER XXIX.—DE GRANDEVILLE MEETS HIS MATCH.
UNPLEASANT as was the situation in which Lewis was left at the end of the last chapter, we can scarcely imagine that any of our readers, however they may be accustomed to look on the “night side of nature,” can have coolly made up their minds to the worst, and settled to their own dissatisfaction that he fell a victim to the poacher’s gun. We say we cannot imagine such a possibility; not because we have any very deep reliance on the tender-heartedness of all our fellow-creatures, seeing that this tale may fall into the hands of a poor-law guardian or a political economist; that a butcher may read it fresh from the shambles, or a barrister after defending some confessed murderer. But we feel certain, butcher or barrister, law-giver or guardian must alike perceive that, as we are writing the life and adventures of Lewis Arundel, we cannot commit manslaughter without adding thereunto suicide; or, to speak plainly, we cannot kill Lewis without docking our own tale; therefore, the utmost extent for which our most truculent reader can possibly hope must be a severe gun-shot wound, entailing a lingering illness and a shattered constitution. But even these pleasant and reasonable expectations are doomed to meet with disappointment, the fact being that almost at the moment in which “long Hardy” (for he it was) levelled his gun at Lewis’s retreating figure, his quick ear had caught a sound betokening the advance of some person through the bushes in his immediate vicinity; and neither wishing to encounter any of the gamekeeper’s satellites, nor considering the deed he had meditated exactly calculated to be performed before any, even the most select audience, the poacher slowly recovered his gun and proceeded to convey himself away, after a singular snake-like fashion of his own, reserving to himself the right of shooting his supposed enemy at some more convenient season. In the meantime Lewis walked quietly on, unconscious of the danger he had escaped, until a turn in the road brought him in sight of his companions. During the course of their homeward walk Lewis questioned the gamekeeper as to his intentions concerning the poachers to whose proceedings he had that morning gained a clue.
“Veil, yer see, Mr. Arundel,” returned Millar, in whose estimation Lewis had risen fifty per cent, since his clever shot at the snipe, “yer see, it ain’t ther fust time as this chap Hardy has give us a good deal o’ trouble: we catched him a poarchin’ about three year ago, and he wor in ————— gaol for six months at a stretch. Veil, ven he cum out, he tuk to bad courses altogether—jined ther chartists, them chaps as preaches equalerty, ’cos, being at the wery bottom of ther ladder therselves, equalerty would pull them hup and their betters down; vunce let ’em get to ther middle round, and they’d soon give up equalerty—hit would be the ‘haristogracy of talent,’ or ther ‘shu-premacy of physic-all force’ (vich means, adwisability of pitching into somebody else) vith ’em then. I hates such cant as I hates varmint, so I do.”
Having delivered himself of this opinion with much emphasis, the keeper proceeded to relieve his mind by flogging an inoffensive dog for an imaginary offence ere he continued—
“Veil, arter he jined the chartists he vent to Lunnun as a Delicate, as they calls ’em; and has they found him in wittles and drink, lodgin’ and hother parquisites, in course he worn’t in no hurry to cum back; howsomdever, I suppose at last they diskivered what I could a told ’em at furst—that he wasn’t worth his keep; and so they packed him off home agen. I ’spected vhen I heard he vas arrived vot he’d be hup to. He calls hisself a blacksmith, but he drives more shots into ’ares and pheasands than nails into ’orses’ ’oofs, you may depend.”
“And how do you propose to put a stop to his depredations?” inquired Lewis.
“Vy, I should like to catch him in the wery act—nab him vith the game upon him,” returned the keeper meditatively; “then ve could get him another six months. But he’s precious sly, and uncommon swift of foot too, though he ain’t fur hoff my age, vich shall never see five-and-forty no more.”
“I wish, Millar,” said Lewis, after a moment’s consideration, “I wish that whenever you receive information which you think likely to lead to this man’s capture, you’d send me word; there’s nothing I should like better than to lend you a hand in taking him. I might be useful to you, for I am considered a fast runner.”
“And suppose it comes to blows? Them poarching chaps is rough customers to handle sometimes,” rejoined Millar, with a cunning twinkle in his eye, as if he expected this information would alter his companion’s intentions.
“So much the more exciting,” returned Lewis eagerly; “an affray with poachers would be a real treat after such a life of inaction as I’ve been leading lately.”
As he spoke—throwing off for a moment the cold reserve which had now become habitual to him—his eyes flashed, he drew himself up to his full height, and flung back his graceful head with an air of proud defiance. The gamekeeper regarded him fixedly, and mentally compared him with, not the fighting gladiator, for Millar’s unclassical education had never rendered him acquainted with that illustrious statue, but he had once been present at a prize-fight, in which a tall, athletic youth, rejoicing in the ornithological sobriquet of “the spicy Dabchick,” proved victor, and to that dabchick did he assimilate Lewis. At length his thoughts found vent in the following ejaculation—
“Veil, Mr. Arundel, hif ther’s many more like you hup there, that blessed Lunnun can’t be as bad a place as I thought it.”
Lewis smiled. Perhaps (for, after all, he was human and under twenty-one) the evident admiration which had replaced the no less evident contempt with which the sturdy gamekeeper had regarded him earlier in their acquaintance was not without its charm; at all events, when, after another hour’s shooting, Millar went home to dinner, and Lewis and Walter returned to Broadhurst, the young tutor diminished his income to the extent of half-a-crown, and the keeper, as he pocketed the “tip,” renewed his assurance that he would send Mr. Arundel timely notice “vhenever there vas a chance of being down upon that poarching willain, Hardy.”
Charley Leicester, as he did not start for Constantinople, found himself at liberty to escort Laura Peyton and his cousin Annie to view the ruins of Monkton Priory, which in themselves were quite worth the trouble of a ride; had they, however, been even a less interesting combination of bricks and mortar than the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square (supposing such a thing possible), it would not have signified to the party who then visited them. Never were three individuals less inclined to be critical, or more thoroughly determined to be pleased with everything. The old grey ruins, frowning beneath the clear wintry sky, appeared the colour of strawberry ice to them; every object reflected the rose-tint of their happiness. As for Charley, a change had come o’er him. The indolent, fastidious man of fashion, whose spotless gloves and irreproachable boots were the envy and admiration of Bond Street, had disappeared, and in his place arose an honest, genuine, light-hearted, agreeable, sensible being, to whom nothing seemed to come amiss, and who appeared endowed with a preternatural power of diffusing his own superabundant happiness amongst all who came in contact with him. The girth of his saddle broke; they had no groom with them. “Grooms were such a bore, he would be groom,” Charley had said; consequently there were no means at hand by which the injury could be repaired.
“Well, never mind; he would get some string at the first cottage and tie it up; he was rather glad it had happened, riding without a girth was great fun.”
But Laura’s horse stumbled, and Charley, forgetting his precarious seat, dashed in the spurs, intending to spring forward to her assistance. The horse did spring forward, but the saddle turned round. Mr. Leicester was, however, fated that day to fall on his legs, literally as well as metaphorically, and beyond being splashed up to his knees by alighting on a spot where the sun had thawed the ice into a puddle, he sustained no further injury. Laura was frightened; he must not mount again till he had been able to get the girth mended.
“Very well,” returned Charley; “he would lead the horse then; it was pleasanter to walk than to ride such a cold day as that; he liked it particularly.”
So he marched sturdily through mud and mire, leading his own horse and resting his hand on the mane of the animal ridden by Laura, for the space of some five miles, laughing and talking all the time so agreeably that the young lady came to the conclusion that she had never properly appreciated his powers of conversation till that moment. Altogether, despite the broken girth and the mud and the cold, to say nothing of a slight snowstorm which overtook them ere they reached home, each member of that little party felt mentally convinced that they had never before enjoyed a ride so much in all their lives.
“Arundel, where are you?” exclaimed Leicester, putting his head into the study as he passed the door on his way to his apartment. “Can you spare me five minutes’ conversation?” he continued, as Lewis, closing a book, rose to receive him.
“Certainly,” was the reply; “pray come in.”
“I’ve been wishing to see you all day,” resumed Leicester, carefully shutting the door and glancing round the room. “Where is your charge?”
“He is with the General,” was the reply. “He likes to have him for half-an-hour every day before he goes to dress; he talks to him, and tries to instil into his mind correct notions regarding things in general, and his own future social position in particular. Walter sits still and listens, but I’m afraid he does not understand much about it.”
“No great loss either, I’ve a notion,” returned Charley irreverently. He paused, whistled a few bars of “Son Geloso,” entangled his spur in the hearthrug, extricated it with much difficulty, then turning abruptly to Lewis, he exclaimed, “Arundel, I’m no hand at making fine speeches, but recollect if ever you want a friend I owe you more than I can possibly repay you. Not that this is such a very uncommon relation for me to stand in towards people,” he added with a smile.
“Nay,” returned Lewis, “you are reversing our positions: I am your debtor for my introduction to this family, and for an amount of kindness and consideration which you must be placed, like myself, in a dependent situation fully to appreciate. But,” he added, glancing at his friend’s happy face, “I hope you have some good new’s to tell me?”
“You are right in your conjecture,” replied Leicester, “but it is mainly owing to your straightforward and sensible advice that I have gained the prize I strove for. I was within an ace of losing it, though;” and he then gave a hasty outline of his day’s adventures, with which the reader has been already made acquainted.
Lewis congratulated him warmly on his good fortune. “You see I was right when I told you Miss Peyton was not so indifferent to you as you imagined,” he said, “and that she liked you, not because you were a man of fashion, the admired of all admirers, but because she had sufficient penetration to discover that you were something more—that you possessed higher and better qualities, and were not——”
“Go on, my dear Arundel,” urged Leicester as Lewis paused, “go on. I like plain speaking when it comes from a friendly mouth.”
“The mere butterfly you strove to appear, I was going to say,” resumed Lewis; “but you will think me strangely impertinent.”
“Not at all,” returned Leicester, “it’s the truth; I can see it plainly now. I’ve taken as much trouble to make myself appear a fool as other men do to gain a reputation for wisdom. Well, it’s never too late to mend. I shall turn over a new leaf from this time forth, give up dress, restrict myself to one cigar a day, moderate my affection for pale ale, invest capital in worsted gloves and a cotton umbrella, and become a regular business character.” He paused, and drawing a chair to the fire, seated himself, and stretching out his legs, subjected his boots, which bore unmistakable traces of his pedestrian episode, to the influence of the blazing wood. Having thus made himself comfortable, he fell into a fit of musing which lasted till, after gazing vacantly at his extended legs for some moments, his features suddenly assumed an eager expression, and he exclaimed, “Confound those blockheads, Schneider & Shears: I suppose if I’ve told them once I’ve told them fifty times to give more room in the leg for riding-trousers. A horse’s back is a wide thing, and of course when you stretch your legs across it you require the trousers to fit sufficiently loosely to accommodate themselves to the position; they need not set like a couple of hop sacks either; the thing’s simple enough. I know if I’d a pair of scissors I could cut them out myself.”
Glancing at Lewis as he spoke, Leicester perceived that he was struggling, not over successfully, to preserve his gravity, and the absurdity of the thing striking him for the first time, he indulged in a hearty laugh at his own expense ere he added, “Heigh-ho! it’s not so easy to get rid of old habits as one imagines. I see it will take me longer to unpuppyise myself than I was aware of. Seriously, however, I don’t mean to continue a mere idler, living on my wife’s fortune. My father has interest with Government, and I shall ask him to push it and obtain for me some creditable appointment or other. He will have no difficulty; the Hon. Charles Leicester, husband to the rich Miss Peyton, will possess much stronger claims upon his country than Charley Leicester the portionless younger son. In this age of humbug it is easy enough to get a thing if you don’t care whether you have it or not; but if you chance to be some poor wretch, to whom the obtaining it is life or death, ten to one but you are done out of it. Poverty is the only unpardonable sin in these days; the worship of the golden calf is a species of idolatry to which Christians are prone as well as Jews. It’s rare to find a sceptic as to that religion, even amongst the most inveterate unbelievers.”
Lewis, to whom Leicester in his self-engrossment had not perceived that his remarks would apply, bit his lip and coloured; then wishing to save his companion the mortification of discovering that he had accidentally wounded his feelings, he hastened to change the conversation by observing—
“How will the magnanimous Marmaduke bear the news of your success?”
“Oh! to be sure, I was going to tell you about him when something put it out of my head,” returned Leicester. “The great De Grandeville was greater than ever on the subject—it was such fun. He came up to me after breakfast this morning, and catching hold of my button, began: ‘Ar—Mr. Leicester—excuse—ar—won’t detain you five minutes, but—ar—you see in regard to—ar—the matter we conversed on yesterday, when you were good enough to give me the benefit of your opinion concerning a certain proposed alliance, if I may call your attention once more to the subject; you will perceive that—ar—the affair has assumed a very different aspect—ar—indeed so completely different that I feel confident you will agree with me in considering the—ar—in fact the arrangement no longer desirable.’
“I told him I was quite prepared to think as he did on this point, and begged to know in what the mysterious impediment consisted. ‘Well, sir—ar—I don’t say it—ar—by way of a boast—ar—such things are quite out of my line, but you must have yourself perceived the very marked encouragement which my advances met with yesterday evening—ar—in fact the game was—ar—in my own hands!’ I succeeded in repressing a strong desire to kick him, and he continued with bland dignity: ‘Ar—finding that this was the case, I felt that, as a man of honour, I was bound—ar—to make up my mind definitely as to my future course, and had—ar—all but resolved to acquaint the young lady with the brilliant, that is—ar—in many points unexceptionable position which awaited her, when fortunately—I might say providentially—it occurred to me to open a letter I had that evening received from my friend in the Herald’s College. Imagine my horror to learn that her actual father, the immediately previous Peyton himself, had—ar—horresco referais, as Pliny has it— ’pon my word it quite upset me!’
“‘This dreadful Papa, had he murdered somebody?’ inquired I.
“‘No, sir,’ was the answer; ‘Lord Ferrers and other men with unexceptionable pedigrees have committed that crime. There is nothing necessarily vulgar about murder; the case was far worse. This intolerable proximate ancestor, who has not rested in his dishonoured grave above half-a-dozen years, was not only guilty of belonging to an intensely respectable firm in Liverpool, but had actually been insane enough to allow his name to be entered as sleeping partner in a large retail house on Ludgate Hill! Fancy a De Grandeville marrying the daughter of ‘Plumpstern & Peyton’, dealers in cotton goods!”—’pon my word, sir, it took away my breath to think of the narrow escape I’d had!’ ‘And the young lady?’ inquired I.
“‘Ar—of course it will be—ar—disappointment, as I’ve no doubt she considered—ar—that she’d made her book cleverly and stood to win, as the betting men say; but—ar—she soon had tact enough to perceive that the grapes were sour—ar—took that tone immediately,—clever girl, sir, very—ar—I shouldn’t wonder if she were to give out that she had discouraged my attentions—ar—in fact, virtually refused me—ar—I shall not contradict her, I owe her that—ar—with the exception of yourself, Mr. Leicester, her secret will be perfectly safe in my keeping.’ It was now my turn; so drawing myself up as stiffly as old Grant himself, I said, ‘Confidence begets confidence, Mr. De Grandeville; so in return for your candour allow me to inform you that Miss Peyton, doubtless driven to despair by your desertion, has done me the honour to accept me as your substitute! One word more,’ I continued, as, completely taken aback, he flushed crimson and began stammering out apologetical ejaculations, ‘I have listened in silence to your account of the transaction. I confess I have my own opinion about the matter, but should you adhere to your intention of preserving a strict secrecy in regard to the affair, I shall do so likewise; if not, I may feel called on to publish a somewhat different version of these love passages—one which will scarcely prove so agreeable to your self-esteem; unless, indeed,’ I added, seeing that he was about to bluster, ‘you prefer settling the business in a shorter way; in which case I shall be quite at your service.’ So saying I raised my hat, bowed, and turning on my heel, left him to his meditations.”
“Which must have been of a singularly unsatisfactory nature, I should imagine,” returned Lewis, laughing. “But there is no chance of your fighting, I hope?”
“Not the slightest, I expect,” replied Leicester. “De Grandeville, to do him justice, is no coward, but he will have sense enough to see that he can gain no éclât by giving the affair publicity, and will remain quiet for his own sake. Luckily, I’m not of a quarrelsome temperament, or I should have horse-whipped him, or at least tried at it, when he was talking about Laura.”
“It was a temptation which in your place I could not have resisted,” rejoined Lewis.
“Ah, it’s easy to be magnanimous when one is happy,” returned Leicester; “besides, I really was rather sorry for the poor devil, for, as I dare say you’ve guessed long ago, it is clear Laura refused him last night—in fact she as good as told me so.”
“Perhaps it may benefit him,” remarked Lewis. “His vanity was too plethoric, and a little judicious lowering may conduce to the general health of his moral system.”
“I’m afraid it’s a case of too long standing,” replied Leicester. “Such a lamentable instance of egotism on the brain is not so easily to be cured; however, he’s had a pretty strong dose this time, I must confess. And now, seeing that my boots have been wet through for the last three hours, the sooner I get rid of them the better.” So saying, Charley Leicester took himself off, preparatory to performing the same operation on his perfidious boots.