Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 1 (of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

Sir Andrew Featherstone inquired of one of the spectators what was the name and character of the deceased, who seemed to have occupied so large a share in the interest and sympathy of the people of Brigland. He was informed that the name of the departed was Richard Smith; that he was a poor man whom nobody knew much about; but that lately a report was spread abroad that he was a rich man and a miser, and that, instigated probably by that report, one of the gipsies that had lately been in that neighbourhood, had broken into his cottage with the intent of robbing him; but there happened to be in the house with him at the time a foreign officer whose wife was related to Richard Smith, and this stranger wounded the gipsey so severely, that he was not able to effect his escape, and he was therefore sent off to the county jail; and that the old man was so dreadfully alarmed, that he soon after died in consequence of the fright. It appeared also from the informant, that the unusual number of persons congregated to witness the funeral was owing to the singularity of the circumstances of the old man’s death, and also to the desire felt to see the foreigner and his family; for the two females were, one of them the wife, and the other the daughter of the foreigner. The youngest of the two was the young woman of whom mention has before been made, as being the niece of old Richard Smith. This narrative happened to be somewhat more correct than many narratives which are thus picked up by an accidental inquiry. The account, however, of the motive which prompted the attendance of so many spectators of the funeral, in some degree disappointed the expectation of Lady Woodstock and her daughter; for they had promised themselves the pleasure of hearing an account of some specimen of humble virtue and extensive benevolent influence in a comparatively low sphere of life. They could not, therefore, but painfully smile at the thought that accident and unessential circumstance should excite an interest so strong and extensive.

At all events, serious feelings had been excited in the minds of the ladies; and even Sir Andrew himself partook of them, and no longer tasked his imagination for something remarkably witty or singular wherewith to amuse his companions, but very suitably and decently joined his companions in that species of talk which minds of their description would naturally have recourse to on such an occasion. And really, Sir Andrew could talk very well and very rationally when he was once set in the right key; but generally he seemed to think it necessary, in order to make himself agreeable, to be always uttering some quaint saying that should make his hearers laugh. He too often forgot that that which is very well as seasoning, is very unpalatable as food. This is a simile drawn from Sir Andrew’s favorite pursuit, which was the art of cookery, as we have above named.

When the party was assembled at dinner, it so happened that the old gentleman, Mr. John Martindale, took his seat at the side of Lady Woodstock, or to speak more definitely, caused Lady Woodstock to take a seat at his side. Some elderly unmarried gentlemen are remarkable for their love of monotony and exactness, always choosing the same seat, and ever going through the same daily routine. It was quite the reverse with John Martindale. In his own residence there was nothing of uniformity, and in his own habits there was nothing like regularity. He would sometimes rise at four or five, and sometimes not till eleven or twelve; and more than once he has been known to breakfast one day at the very same hour, at which he had dined the preceding day. He had the same crotchet in other houses where he could take the liberty, and in fact would rarely enter any house in which he was not so indulged. When he was at the Abbey, it was his very frequent practice to take a seat at table before any of the rest of the party, and to call some one by name to sit by him; and on these occasions he was generally very talkative; but if he were silently inclined, he would go creeping to the lower end of the table like a humble tolerated guest, and never speak but when spoken to; and that was not frequently when amongst those who were acquainted with his habits. The present was not the first time that he had so distinguished Lady Woodstock; indeed, so frequently on other occasions, and at other tables, had he singled out this lady, that it is not to be wondered at that a rumour should have gone abroad of an intention on the old gentleman’s part to make her ladyship an offer of his hand. To say the truth, even Philip himself began to have some apprehensions, and rather to increase in his polite attentions to Miss Sampson.

“Now pray, madam,” said Mr. Martindale, in a very loud voice, “how have you been amusing yourself this morning? I suppose you would have stayed within all the morning studying architecture, if I had not mercifully driven you out to breathe a little wholesome air. You have not such fine air at Hollywick as we have on the heath. You have been walking that way I presume.”

Lady Woodstock gently replied: “Sir Andrew Featherstone was so polite as to accompany me and one of my daughters in a ramble on the heath.”

“Sir Andrew was very polite, indeed,” replied Mr. Martindale; “and I have no doubt you had a most delightful walk. Sir Andrew made himself very agreeable, I hope; he is a witty man. But how is it, my good lady, that you look so unusually grave? Have you been laughing so heartily at Sir Andrew’s wit, that you have no more smiles left for us?”

Her ladyship then explained, and said that she really did feel rather more serious than usual. She then related what she had seen and heard that morning. Mr. Martindale listened with great attention to her narration, and as soon as it was concluded, he abruptly turned round and addressing himself to his relative exclaimed: “Philip, do you hear that? The poor old man who brought the action against you the other day is dead and buried. Lady Woodstock has been at his funeral this morning; and I think you should have been there too, if you had a spark of grace about you, young man.”

“You astonish me, sir,” replied Philip; “I had not heard that the poor man was ill.”

“Ay, but you ought to have known it. Did not you tell me the other day that he was so terrified at the gipsey breaking into his dwelling and threatening his life, that he was quite speechless. You ought to have made inquiries about him. If the poor man did bring an action against you, you ought not to bear malice.”