At last it came to be this letter’s turn, and the Major broke a seal with ‘Fairoaks’ engraved upon it, and ‘Clavering St. Mary’s’ for a postmark. It was a double letter, and the Major commenced perusing the envelope before he attacked the inner epistle.
“Is it a letter from another Jook,” growled Mr. Glowry, inwardly, “Pendennis would not be leaving that to the last, I’m thinking.”
“My dear Major Pendennis,” the letter ran, “I beg and implore you to come to me immediately”—very likely, thought Pendennis, and Steyne’s dinner to-day—“I am in the very greatest grief and perplexity. My dearest boy, who has been hitherto everything the fondest mother could wish, is grieving me dreadfully. He has formed—I can hardly write it—a passion, an infatuation,”—the Major grinned—“for an actress who has been performing here. She is at least twelve years older than Arthur—who will not be eighteen till next February—and the wretched boy insists upon marrying her.”
“Hay! What’s making Pendennis swear now?”—Mr. Glowry asked of himself, for rage and wonder were concentrated in the Major’s open mouth, as he read this astounding announcement.
“Do, my dear friend,” the grief-stricken lady went on, “come to me instantly on the receipt of this; and, as Arthur’s guardian, entreat, command, the wretched child to give up this most deplorable resolution.” And, after more entreaties to the above effect, the writer concluded by signing herself the Major’s ‘unhappy affectionate sister, Helen Pendennis.’
“Fairoaks, Tuesday”—the Major concluded, reading the last words of the letter—“A d——d pretty business at Fairoaks, Tuesday; now let us see what the boy has to say;” and he took the other letter, which was written in a great floundering boy’s hand, and sealed with the large signet of the Pendennises, even larger than the Major’s own, and with supplementary wax sputtered all round the seal, in token of the writer’s tremulousness and agitation.
The epistle ran thus:
“FAIROAKS, Monday, Midnight.
“MY DEAR UNCLE,
In informing you of my engagement with Miss Costigan, daughter of J. Chesterfield Costigan, Esq., of Costiganstown, but, perhaps, better known to you under her professional name of Miss Fotheringay, of the Theatres Royal Drury Lane and Crow Street, and of the Norwich and Welsh Circuit, I am aware that I make an announcement which cannot, according to the present prejudices of society at least, be welcome to my family. My dearest mother, on whom, God knows, I would wish to inflict no needless pain, is deeply moved and grieved, I am sorry to say, by the intelligence which I have this night conveyed to her. I beseech you, my dear Sir, to come down and reason with her and console her. Although obliged by poverty to earn an honourable maintenance by the exercise of her splendid talents, Miss Costigan’s family is as ancient and noble as our own. When our ancestor, Ralph Pendennis, landed with Richard II. in Ireland, my Emily’s forefathers were kings of that country. I have the information from Mr. Costigan, who, like yourself, is a military man.