That very day, not an hour afterwards, the lieutenant-colonel took occasion to thwart the major about some circumstance of no consequence. Godfrey’s blood boiled in his veins—his promise to his mother, that he would be as gentle as a lamb, he recollected at this instant—with difficulty he restrained himself—still his blood boiled. Major Gascoigne’s fear that Godfrey and Henry should embroil themselves for his sake increased, for he saw what passed in their hearts, and he had no peace of mind by day, or rest by night.
Generous people are, of all others, the most touched by generosity, either of feeling or action. In this state of irritation, it was not possible that things should long go on without coming to a crisis. Major Gascoigne proposed, as the measure that would be most likely to restore and preserve peace, to quit the regiment.—It was a great sacrifice on his part, and, at first, none of his friends would consent to his making it; but, at last, he brought them all to acknowledge that it was, upon the whole, the best thing that could be done. Gascoigne had a friend, a major in another regiment then in England, who was willing to make an exchange with him, and he thought that the business could be arranged without much difficulty. However, from caprice, the love of showing his power, or from some unknown reason, the lieutenant-colonel made it his pleasure to oppose the exchange, and said that it could not be done; though, as Captain Henry said, every body knew, that by his writing a line to Lord Skreene it would have been accomplished directly. It now recurred to Godfrey, that Cunningham Falconer, being secretary to Lord Oldborough, might be of use in this affair. Cunningham had always professed the greatest regard for Godfrey, and he was determined, at least, to make this trial of his sincerity.
The secretary sent a civil answer in an official style, explaining that his office was not the War Office; concluding by an assurance, that if Captain Percy could point out how he could do so with propriety, nothing could give Mr. C. Falconer greater pleasure than to have an opportunity of obliging him.
Now Captain Percy, having a sort of generous good faith about him, believed this last assurance; fancied that as he was no great writer he had not explained himself well by letter, and that he should make Cunningham understand him better viva voce. Keeping his own counsel, and telling only Major Gascoigne and Captain Henry his object, he asked for a fortnight’s leave of absence, and, with some difficulty obtained it. He went to London, waited on Secretary Falconer, and found him ten times more official in his style of conversation than in his letters. Godfrey recollected that his cousin Cunningham had always been solemnly inclined, but now he found him grown so mysterious, that he could scarcely obtain a plain answer to the simplest question. “The whole man, head and heart, seemed,” as Godfrey said, “to be diplomatically closed.” It was clear, from the little that Cunningham did articulate, that he would do nothing in furthering the exchange desired for Major Gascoigne; but whether this arose from his having no influence with Lord Oldborough, or from his fear of wearing it out, our young officer could not determine. He left the secretary in disgust and despair, and went to wait on Commissioner Falconer, who gave him a polite invitation to dinner, and overwhelmed him with professions of friendship; but, as soon as Godfrey explained his business, the commissioner protested that he could not venture to speak to Lord Oldborough on such an affair, and he earnestly advised him not to interest himself so much for Major Gascoigne, who, though doubtless a very deserving officer, was, in fact, nothing more. He next had recourse to Buckhurst Falconer, and asked him to persuade Colonel Hauton to speak to his uncle upon the subject. This Buckhurst immediately promised to do, and kept his promise. But Colonel Hauton swore that his uncle never, on any occasion, listened to his representations; therefore it was quite useless to speak to him. After wandering from office to office, wasting hour after hour, and day after day, waiting for people who did him no good when he did see them, Godfrey at last determined to do what he should have done at first—apply to Lord Oldborough. It is always better to deal with principals than with secondaries. Lord Oldborough had the reputation of being inaccessible, haughty, and peremptory in the extreme; the secretaries, clerks, and under-clerks, “trembled at his name, each under each, through all their ranks of venality.” But to Captain Percy’s surprise, the moment his name was announced, the minister immediately recognized him, and received him most graciously. His lordship inquired after his old friend, Mr. Percy—said that Mr. Percy was one of the few really independent men he had ever known. “Mr. Percy is an excellent country gentleman, and, for England’s sake, I wish there were many, many more such. Now, sir, how can I serve his son?”
With frankness and brevity which suited the minister and the man, Godfrey told his business, and Lord Oldborough, with laconic decision, equally pleasing to the young soldier, replied, “that if it was possible, the thing should be done for Major Gascoigne”—inquired how long Captain Percy purposed to stay in town—desired to see him the day before he should leave London, and named the hour.
All the diplomacy of Cunningham Falconer’s face could not disguise his astonishment when he saw the manner in which his master treated Godfrey.—The next day the commissioner invited Captain Percy in a pressing manner to dine with him: “We shall have a very pleasant party,” said Mr. Falconer, “and Mrs. Falconer insists upon the pleasure of your company—you have never seen my girls since they were children—your own near relations!—you must be better acquainted: come—I will take no denial.”
Godfrey willingly accepted the invitation: he would, perhaps, have found means to have excused himself, had he known whom he was to meet at this dinner—Miss Hauton—the dangerous fair one, whom he had resolved to avoid. But he was in the room with her, and beyond all power of receding, before he knew his peril. The young lady looked more beautiful than ever, and more melancholy. One of the Miss Falconers took an opportunity of telling him, in confidence, the cause of her poor friend’s dejection. “Her uncle, Lord Oldborough, wants to marry her to the Marquis of Twickenham, the eldest son of the Duke of Greenwich, and Miss Hauton can’t endure him.”
The marquis was also at this dinner—Godfrey did not much wonder at the lady’s dislike; for he was a mean, peevish-looking man, had no conversation, and appeared to be fond of drinking.
“But Lord Oldborough, who is all for ambition,” whispered Miss Falconer, “and who maintains that there is no such thing as love, except in novels, says, that his niece may read foolish novels after marriage as well as before, if she pleases, but that she must marry like a reasonable woman.”
Godfrey pitied her; and, whilst he was pitying, Mrs. Falconer arranged a party for the opera for this night, in which Godfrey found himself included. Perhaps he was imprudent; but he was a young man, and human nature is—human nature.