CHAPTER XV.
There is a festival where knights and dames,
And aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims,
Appear.
'T is he,--how came he thence?
What doth he here?
Lara.
There are two charming situations in life for a woman,--one, the first
freshness of heiressship and beauty; the other, youthful widowhood, with
a large jointure. It was at least Lucy's fortune to enjoy the first. No
sooner was she fairly launched into the gay world than she became the
object of universal idolatry. Crowds followed her wherever she moved
nothing was talked of or dreamed of, toasted or betted on, but Lucy
Brandon; even her simplicity, and utter ignorance of the arts of fine
life, enhanced the eclat of her reputation. Somehow or other, young
people of the gentler sex are rarely ill-bred, even in their
eccentricities; and there is often a great deal of grace in inexperience.
Her uncle, who accompanied her everywhere, himself no slight magnet of
attraction, viewed her success with a complacent triumph which he
suffered no one but her father or herself to detect. To the smooth
coolness of his manner, nothing would have seemed more foreign than pride
at the notice gained by a beauty, or exultation at any favour won from
the caprices of fashion. As for the good old squire, one would have
imagined him far more the invalid than his brother. He was scarcely ever
seen; for though he went everywhere, he was one of those persons who sink
into a corner the moment they enter a room. Whoever discovered him in
his retreat, held out their hands, and exclaimed, "God bless me! you
here! We have not seen you for this age!" Now and then, if in a very
dark niche of the room a card-table had been placed, the worthy gentleman
toiled through an obscure rubber; but more frequently he sat with his
hands clasped and his mouth open, counting the number of candles in the
room, or calculating "when that stupid music would be over."
Lord Mauleverer, though a polished and courteous man, whose great object
was necessarily to ingratiate himself with the father of his intended
bride, had a horror of being bored, which surpassed all other feelings in
his mind. He could not therefore persuade himself to submit to the
melancholy duty of listening to the squire's "linked speeches long drawn
out." He always glided by the honest man's station, seemingly in an
exceeding hurry, with a "Ah, my dear sir, how do you do? How delighted I
am to see you! And your incomparable daughter? Oh, there she is!
Pardon me, dear sir,--you see my attraction."
Lucy, indeed, who never forgot any one (except herself occasionally),
sought her father's retreat as often as she was able; but her engagements
were so incessant that she no sooner lost one partner than she was
claimed and carried off by another. However, the squire bore his
solitude with tolerable cheerfulness, and always declared that "he was
very well amused; although balls and concerts were necessarily a little
dull to one who came from a fine old place like Warlock Manor-house, and
it was not the same thing that pleased young ladies (for, to them, that
fiddling and giggling till two o'clock in the morning might be a very
pretty way of killing time) and their papas!"
What considerably added to Lucy's celebrity was the marked notice and
admiration of a man so high in rank and ton as Lord Mauleverer. That
personage, who still retained much of a youthful mind and temper, and who
was in his nature more careless than haughty, preserved little or no
state in his intercourse with the social revellers at Bath. He cared not
whither he went, so that he was in the train of the young beauty; and the
most fastidious nobleman of the English court was seen in every second
and third rate set of a great watering-place,--the attendant, the flirt,
and often the ridicule of the daughter of an obscure and almost
insignificant country squire. Despite the honour of so distinguished a
lover, and despite all the novelties of her situation, the pretty head of
Lucy Brandon was as yet, however, perfectly unturned; and as for her
heart, the only impression that it had ever received was made by that
wandering guest of the village rector, whom she had never again seen, but
who yet clung to her imagination, invested not only with all the graces
which in right of a singularly handsome person he possessed, but with
those to which he never could advance a claim,--more dangerous to her
peace, for the very circumstance of their origin in her fancy, not his
merits.
They had now been some little time at Bath, and Brandon's brief respite
was pretty nearly expired, when a public ball of uncommon and manifold
attraction was announced. It was to be graced not only by the presence
of all the surrounding families, but also by that of royalty itself; it
being an acknowledged fact that people dance much better and eat much
more supper when any relation to a king is present.
"I must stay for this ball, Lucy," said Brandon, who, after spending the
day with Lord Mauleverer, returned home in a mood more than usually
cheerful,--"I must stay for this one ball, Lucy, and witness your
complete triumph, even though it will be necessary to leave you the very
next morning."
"So soon!" cried Lucy.
"So soon!" echoed the uncle, with a smile. "How good you are to speak
thus to an old valetudinarian, whose company must have fatigued you to
death! Nay, no pretty denials! But the great object of my visit to this
place is accomplished: I have seen you, I have witnessed your debut in
the great world, with, I may say, more than a father's exultation, and I
go back to my dry pursuits with the satisfaction of thinking our old and
withered genealogical tree has put forth one blossom worthy of its
freshest day."
"Uncle!" said Lucy, reprovingly, and holding up her taper finger with an
arch smile, mingling with a blush, in which the woman's vanity spoke,
unknown to herself.
"And why that look, Lucy?" said Brandon.
"Because--because--well, no matter! you have been bred to that trade in
which, as you say yourself, men tell untruths for others till they lose
all truth for themselves. But let us talk of you, not me; are you really
well enough to leave us?"
Simple and even cool as the words of Lucy's question, when written,
appear, in her mouth they took so tender, so anxious a tone, that
Brandon, who had no friend nor wife nor child, nor any one in his
household in whom interest in his health or welfare was a thing of
course, and who was consequently wholly unaccustomed to the accent of
kindness, felt himself of a sudden touched and stricken.
"Why, indeed, Lucy," said he, in a less artificial voice than that in
which he usually spoke, "I should like still to profit by your cares, and
forget my infirmities and pains in your society; but I cannot: the tide
of events, like that of nature, waits not our pleasure!"
"But we may take our own time for setting sail!" said Lucy.
"Ay, this comes of talking in metaphor," rejoined Brandon, smiling; "they
who begin it always get the worst of it. In plain words, dear Lucy, I
can give no more time to my own ailments. A lawyer cannot play truant in
term-time without--"
"Losing a few guineas!" said Lucy, interrupting him.
"Worse than that,--his practice and his name."
"Better those than health and peace of mind."
"Out on you, no!" said Brandon, quickly, and almost fiercely. "We waste
all the greenness and pith of our life in striving to gain a
distinguished slavery; and when it is gained, we must not think that an
humble independence would have been better. If we ever admit that
thought, what fools, what lavish fools, we have been! No!" continued
Brandon, after a momentary pause, and in a tone milder and gayer, though
not less characteristic of the man's stubbornness of will, "after losing
all youth's enjoyments and manhood's leisure, in order that in age the
mind, the all-conquering mind, should break its way at last into the
applauding opinions of men, I should be an effeminate idler indeed, did I
suffer, so long as its jarring parts hold together, or so long as I have
the power to command its members, this weak body to frustrate the labour
of its better and nobler portion, and command that which it is ordained
to serve."
Lucy knew not while she listened, half in fear, half in admiration, to
her singular relation, that at the very moment he thus spoke, his disease
was preying upon him in one of its most relentless moods, without the
power of wringing from him a single outward token of his torture. But
she wanted nothing to increase her pity and affection for a man who in
consequence, perhaps, of his ordinary surface of worldly and cold
properties of temperament never failed to leave an indelible impression
on all who had ever seen that temperament broken through by deeper though
often by more evil feelings.
"Shall you go to Lady--------'s rout?" asked Brandon, easily sliding
back into common topics. "Lord Mauleverer requested me to ask you."
"That depends on you and my father."
"If on me, I answer yes," said Brandon. "I like hearing Mauleverer,
especially among persons who do not understand him. There is a refined
and subtle sarcasm running through the commonplaces of his conversation,
which cuts the good fools, like the invisible sword in the fable, that
lopped off heads without occasioning the owners any other sensation
than a pleasing and self-complacent titillation. How immeasurably
superior he is in manner and address to all we meet here! Does it not
strike you?"
"Yes--no--I can't say that it does exactly," rejoined Lucy.
"Is that confusion tender?" thought Brandon.
"In a word," continued Lucy, "Lord Mauleverer is one whom I think
pleasing without fascination, and amusing without brilliancy. He is
evidently accomplished in mind and graceful in manner, and withal the
most uninteresting person I ever met."
"Women have not often thought so," said Brandon. "I cannot believe that
they can think otherwise."
A certain expression, partaking of scorn, played over Brandon's hard
features. It was a noticeable trait in him, that while he was most
anxious to impress Lucy with a favourable opinion of Lord Mauleverer, he
was never quite able to mask a certain satisfaction at any jest at the
earl's expense, or any opinion derogatory to his general character for
pleasing the opposite sex; and this satisfaction was no sooner conceived
than it was immediately combated by the vexation he felt that Lucy did
not seem to share his own desire that she should become the wife of the
courtier. There appeared as if in that respect there was a contest in
his mind between interest on one hand and private dislike or contempt on
the other.
"You judge women wrongly!" said Brandon. "Ladies never know each other;
of all persons, Mauleverer is best calculated to win them, and experience
has proved my assertion. The proudest lot I know for a woman would be
the thorough conquest of Lord Mauleverer; but it is impossible. He may
be gallant, but he will never be subdued. He defies the whole female
world, and with justice and impunity. Enough of him. Sing to me, dear
Lucy."
The time for the ball approached; and Lucy, who was a charming girl and
had nothing of the angel about her, was sufficiently fond of gayety,
dancing, music, and admiration to feel her heart beat high at the
expectation of the event.
At last the day itself came. Brandon dined alone with Mauleverer, having
made the arrangement that he, with the earl, was to join his brother and
niece at the ball. Mauleverer, who hated state, except on great
occasions, when no man displayed it with a better grace, never suffered
his servants to wait at dinner when he was alone or with one of his
peculiar friends. The attendants remained without, and were summoned at
will by a bell laid beside the host.
The conversation was unrestrained.
"I am perfectly certain, Brandon," said Mauleverer, "that if you were to
live tolerably well, you would soon get the better of your nervous
complaints. It is all poverty of blood, believe me. Some more of the
fins, eh?--No! Oh, hang your abstemiousness; it is d----d unfriendly to
eat so little! Talking of fins and friends, Heaven defend me from ever
again forming an intimacy with a pedantic epicure, especially if he
puns!"
"Why, what has a pedant to do with fins?"
"I will tell you,--ah, this madeira--I suggested to Lord Dareville, who
affects the gourmand, what a capital thing a dish all fins (turbot's
fins) might be made. 'Capital!' said he, in a rapture; 'dine on it with
me to-morrow.' 'Volontiers!' said I. The next day, after indulging in a
pleasing revery all the morning as to the manner in which Dareville's
cook, who is not without genius, would accomplish the grand idea, I
betook myself punctually to my engagement. Would you believe it? When
the cover was removed, the sacrilegious dog of an Amphitryon had put into
the dish Cicero's 'De Finibus.' 'There is a work all fins!' said he.
"Atrocious jest!" exclaimed Brandon, solemnly.
"Was it not? Whenever the gastronomists set up a religious inquisition,
I trust they will roast every impious rascal who treats the divine
mystery with levity. Pun upon cooking, indeed! _A propos_ of Dareville,
he is to come into the administration."
"You astonish me!" said Brandon. "I never heard that; I don't know him.
He has very little power; has he any talent?"
"Yes, a very great one,--acquired, though."
"What is it?"
"A pretty wife!"
"My lord!" exclaimed Brandon, abruptly, and half rising from his seat.
Mauleverer looked up hastily, and on seeing the expression of his
companion's face coloured deeply; there was a silence for some moments.
"Tell me," said Brandon, indifferently, helping himself to vegetables,
for he seldom touched meat; and a more amusing contrast can scarcely be
conceived than that between the earnest epicurism of Mauleverer and the
careless contempt of the sublime art manifested by his guest,--"tell me,
you who necessarily know everything, whether the government really is
settled,--whether you are to have the garter, and I (mark the
difference!) the judgeship."
"Why so, I imagine, it will be arranged; namely, if you will consent to
hang up the rogues instead of living by the fools!"
"One may unite both!" returned Brandon. "But I believe, in general, it
is vice versa; for we live by the rogues, and it is only the fools we are
able to hang up. You ask me if I will take the judgeship. I would not--
no, I would rather cut my hand off," and the lawyer spoke with great
bitterness, "forsake my present career, despite all the obstacles that
now encumber it, did I think that this miserable body would suffer me for
two years longer to pursue it."
"You shock me!" said Mauleverer, a little affected, but nevertheless
applying the cayenne to his cucumber with his usual unerring nicety of
tact,--"you shock me; but you are considerably better than you were."
"It is not," continued Brandon, who was rather speaking to himself than
to his friend,--"it is not that I am unable to conquer the pain and to
master the recreant nerves; but I feel myself growing weaker and weaker
beneath the continual exertion of my remaining powers, and I shall die
before I have gained half my objects, if I do not leave the labours which
are literally tearing me to pieces."
"But," said Lord Mauleverer, who was the idlest of men, "the judgeship is
not an easy sinecure."
"No; but there is less demand on the mind in that station than in my
present one;" and Brandon paused before he continued. "Candidly,
Mauleverer, you do not think they will deceive me,--you do not think they
mean to leave me to this political death without writing 'Resurgam'
over the hatchment?"
"They dare not!" said Mauleverer, quaffing his fourth glass of madeira.
"Well, I have decided on my change of life," said the lawyer, with a
slight sigh.
"So have I on my change of opinion," chimed in the earl. "I will tell
you what opinions seem to me like."
"What?" said Brandon, abstractedly.
"Trees!" answered Mauleverer, quaintly. "If they can be made serviceable
by standing, don't part with a stick; but when they are of that growth
that sells well, or whenever they shut out a fine prospect, cut them
down, and pack them off by all manner of means!--And now for the second
course."
"I wonder," said the earl, when our political worthies were again alone,
"whether there ever existed a minister who cared three straws for the
people; many care for their party, but as for the country--"
"It is all fiddlestick!" added the lawyer, with more significance than
grace.
"Right; it is all fiddlestick, as you tersely express it. King,
Constitution, and Church, forever! which, being interpreted, means,
first, King or Crown influence, judgeships, and garters; secondly,
Constitution, or fees to the lawyer, places to the statesman, laws for
the rich, and Game Laws for the poor; thirdly, Church, or livings for our
younger sons, and starvings for their curates!"
"Ha, ha!" said Brandon, laughing sardonically; "we know human nature!"
"And how it may be gulled!" quoth the courtier. "Here's a health to your
niece; and may it not be long before you hail her as your friend's
bride!"
"Bride, et cetera," said Brandon, with a sneer meant only for his own
satisfaction. "But mark me, my dear lord, do not be too sure of her.
She is a singular girl, and of more independence than the generality of
women. She will not think of your rank and station in estimating you;
she will think only of their owner; and pardon me if I suggest to you,
who know the sex so well, one plan that it may not be unadvisable for you
to pursue. Don't let her fancy you entirely hers; rouse her jealousy,
pique her pride, let her think you unconquerable, and unless she is
unlike all women, she will want to conquer you."
The earl smiled. "I must take my chance!" said he, with a confident
tone.
"The hoary coxcomb!" muttered Brandon, between his teeth; "now will his
folly spoil all."
"And that reminds me," continued Mauleverer, "that time wanes, and dinner
is not over; let us not hurry, but let us be silent, to enjoy the more.
These truffles in champagne,--do taste them; they would raise the dead."
The lawyer smiled, and accepted the kindness, though he left the delicacy
untouched; and Mauleverer, whose soul was in his plate, saw not the
heartless rejection.
Meanwhile the youthful beauty had already entered the theatre of
pleasure, and was now seated with the squire at the upper end of the
half-filled ball-room.
A gay lady of the fashion at that time, and of that half and half rank to
which belonged the aristocracy of Bath,--one of those curious persons we
meet with in the admirable novels of Miss Burney, as appertaining to the
order of fine ladies,--made the trio with our heiress and her father, and
pointed out to them by name the various characters that entered the
apartments. She was still in the full tide of scandal, when an unusual
sensation was visible in the environs of the door; three strangers of
marked mien, gay dress, and an air which, though differing in each, was
in all alike remarkable for a sort of "dashing" assurance, made their
_entree_. One was of uncommon height, and possessed of an exceedingly
fine head of hair; another was of a more quiet and unpretending aspect,
but nevertheless he wore upon his face a supercilious yet not ill-
humoured expression; the third was many years younger than his
companions, strikingly handsome in face and figure, altogether of a
better taste in dress, and possessing a manner that, though it had equal
ease, was not equally noticeable for impudence and swagger.
"Who can those be?" said Lucy's female friend, in a wondering tone. "I
never saw them before,--they must be great people,--they have all the
airs of persons of quality! Dear, how odd that I should not know them!"
While the good lady, who, like all good ladies of that stamp, thought
people of quality had airs, was thus lamenting her ignorance of the
new-comers, a general whisper of a similar import was already circulating
round the room, "Who are they?" and the universal answer was, "Can't
tell,--never saw them before!"
Our strangers seemed by no means displeased with the evident and
immediate impression they had made. They stood in the most conspicuous
part of the room, enjoying among themselves a low conversation,
frequently broken by fits of laughter,--tokens, we need not add, of their
supereminently good breeding. The handsome figure of the youngest
stranger, and the simple and seemingly unconscious grace of his attitudes
were not, however, unworthy of the admiration he excited; and even his
laughter, rude as it really was, displayed so dazzling a set of teeth,
and was accompanied by such brilliant eyes, that before he had been ten
minutes in the room there was scarcely a young lady under thirty-nine not
disposed to fall in love with him.
Apparently heedless of the various remarks which reached their ears, our
strangers, after they had from their station sufficiently surveyed the
beauties of the ball, strolled arm-in-arm through the rooms. Having
sauntered through the ball and card rooms, they passed the door that led
to the entrance passage, and gazed, with other loiterers, upon the
new-comers ascending the stairs. Here the two younger strangers renewed
their whispered conversation, while the eldest, who was also the tallest
one, carelessly leaning against the wall, employed himself for a few
moments in thrusting his fingers through his hair. In finishing this
occupation, the peculiar state of his rules forced itself upon the
observation of our gentleman, who, after gazing for some moments on an
envious rent in the right ruffle, muttered some indistinct words, like
"the cock of that confounded pistol," and then tucked up the mutilated
ornament with a peculiarly nimble motion of the fingers of his left hand;
the next moment, diverted by a new care, the stranger applied his digital
members to the arranging and caressing of a remarkably splendid brooch,
set in the bosom of a shirt the rude texture of which formed a singular
contrast with the magnificence of the embellishment and the fineness of
the one ruffle suffered by our modern Hyperion to make its appearance
beneath his cinnamon-coloured coatsleeve. These little personal
arrangements completed, and a dazzling snuff-box released from the
confinement of a side-pocket, tapped thrice, and lightened of two pinches
of its titillating luxury, the stranger now, with the guardian eye of
friendship, directed a searching glance to the dress of his friends.
There all appeared meet for his strictest scrutiny, save, indeed, that
the supercilious-looking stranger having just drawn forth his gloves, the
lining of his coat-pocket which was rather soiled into the bargain--had
not returned to its internal station; the tall stranger, seeing this
little inelegance, kindly thrust three fingers with a sudden and light
dive into his friend's pocket, and effectually repulsed the forwardness
of the intrusive lining. The supercilious stranger no sooner felt the
touch than he started back, and whispered to his officious companion,--
"What! among friends, Ned! Fie now; curb the nature of thee for one
night at least."
Before he of the flowing locks had time to answer, the master of the
ceremonies, who had for the last three minutes been eying the strangers
through his glass, stepped forward with a sliding bow; and the handsome
gentleman, taking upon himself the superiority and precedence over his
comrades, was the first to return the courtesy. He did this with so good
a grace and so pleasing an expression of countenance that the censor of
bows was charmed at once, and with a second and more profound salutation
announced himself and his office. "You would like to dance probably,
gentlemen?" he asked, glancing at each, but directing his words to the
one who had prepossessed him.
"You are very good," said the comely stranger; "and, for my part, I shall
be extremely indebted to you for the exercise of your powers in my
behalf. Allow me to return with you to the ball-room, and I can there
point out to you the objects of my especial admiration."
The master of the ceremonies bowed as before, and he and his new
acquaintance strolled into the ball-room, followed by the two comrades of
the latter.
"Have you been long in Bath, sir?" inquired the monarch of the rooms.
"No, indeed! we only arrived this evening."
"From London?"
"No; we made a little tour across the country."
"Ah! very pleasant, this fine weather."
"Yes; especially in the evenings."
"Oho! romantic!" thought the man of balls, as he rejoined aloud, "Why,
the nights are agreeable, and the moon is particularly favourable to us."
"Not always!" quoth the stranger.
"True, true, the night before last was dark; but, in general, surely the
moon has been very bright."
The stranger was about to answer, but checked himself, and simply bowed
his head as in assent.
"I wonder who they are!" thought the master of the ceremonies. "Pray,
sir," said he, in a low tone, "is that gentle man, that tall gentleman,
any way related to Lord ----------? I cannot but think I see a family
likeness."
"Not in the least related to his lordship," answered the stranger; "but
he is of a family that have made a noise in the world; though he, as well
as my other friend, is merely a commoner!" laying a stress on the last
word.
"Nothing, sir, can be more respectable than a commoner of family,"
returned the polite Mr. -------, with a bow.
"I agree with you, sir," answered the stranger, with another. "But,
heavens!"--and the stranger started; for at that moment his eye caught
for the first time, at the far end of the room, the youthful and
brilliant countenance of Lucy Brandon,--"do I see rightly, or is that
Miss Brandon?"
"It is indeed that lovely young lady," said Mr. -------. "I congratulate
you on knowing one so admired. I suppose that you, being blessed with
her acquaintance, do not need the formality of my introduction?"
"Umph!" said the stranger, rather shortly and uncourteously. "No!
Perhaps you had better present me!"
"By what name shall I have that honour, sir?" discreetly inquired the
nomenclator.
"Clifford!" answered the stranger; "Captain Clifford!" Upon this the
prim master of the ceremonies, threading his path through the now fast-
filling room, approached towards Lucy to obey Mr. Clifford's request.
Meanwhile that gentleman, before he followed the steps of the tutelary
spirit of the place, paused and said to his friends, in a tone careless
yet not without command, "Hark ye, gentlemen; oblige me by being as civil
and silent as ye are able; and don't thrust yourselves upon me, as you
are accustomed to do, whenever you see no opportunity of indulging me
with that honour with the least show of propriety!" So saying, and
waiting no reply, Mr. Clifford hastened after the master of the
ceremonies.
"Our friend grows mighty imperious!" said Long Ned, whom our readers have
already recognized in the tall stranger.
"'T is the way with your rising geniuses," answered the moralizing
Augustus Tomlinson. "Suppose we go to the cardroom and get up a rubber!"
"Well thought of," said Ned, yawning,--a thing he was very apt to do in
society; "and I wish nothing worse to those who try our rubbers than that
they may be well cleaned by them." Upon this witticism the Colossus of
Roads, glancing towards the glass, strutted off, arm-in-arm with his
companion, to the card-room.
During this short conversation the re-introduction of Mr. Clifford (the
stranger of the Rectory and deliverer of Dr. Slopperton) to Lucy Brandon
had been effected, and the hand of the heiress was already engaged,
according to the custom of that time, for the two ensuing dances.
It was about twenty minutes after the above presentation had taken place
that Lord Mauleverer and William Brandon entered the rooms; and the buzz
created by the appearance of the noted peer and the distinguished lawyer
had scarcely subsided, before the royal personage expected to grace the
"festive scene" (as the newspapers say of a great room with plenty of
miserable-looking people in it) arrived. The most attractive persons in
Europe may be found among the royal family of England, and the great
personage then at Bath, in consequence of certain political intrigues,
wished, at that time especially, to make himself as popular as possible.
Having gone the round of the old ladies, and assured them, as the "Court
Journal" assures the old ladies at this day, that they were "morning
stars" and "swan-like wonders," the prince espied Brandon, and
immediately beckoned to him with a familiar gesture. The smooth but
saturnine lawyer approached the royal presence with the manner that
peculiarly distinguished him, and which blended in no ungraceful
mixture a species of stiffness that passed with the crowd for native
independence, with a supple insinuation that was usually deemed the token
of latent benevolence of heart. There was something, indeed, in
Brandon's address that always pleased the great; and they liked him the
better because, though he stood on no idle political points, mere
differences in the view taken of a hairbreadth,--such as a corn-law or a
Catholic bill, alteration in the Church or a reform in parliament,--yet
he invariably talked so like a man of honour (except when with
Mauleverer) that his urbanity seemed attachment to individuals, and his
concessions to power sacrifices of private opinion for the sake of
obliging his friends.
"I am very glad indeed," said the royal personage, "to see Mr. Brandon
looking so much better. Never was the crown in greater want of his
services; and if rumour speak true, they will soon be required in another
department of his profession."
Brandon bowed, and answered,--
"So please your royal highness, they will always be at the command of a
king from whore I have experienced such kindness, in any capacity for
which his Majesty may deem them fitting."
"It is true, then!" said his royal highness, significantly. "I
congratulate you! The quiet dignity of the bench must seem to you a
great change after a career so busy and restless."
"I fear I shall feel it so at first, your royal highness," answered
Brandon, "for I like even the toil of my profession; and at this moment,
when I am in full practice, it more than ever--But" (checking himself at
once) "his Majesty's wishes, and my satisfaction in complying with them,
are more than sufficient to remove any momentary regret I might otherwise
have felt in quitting those toils which have now become to me a second
nature."
"It is possible," rejoined the prince, "that his Majesty took into
consideration the delicate state of health which, in common with the
whole public, I grieve to see the papers have attributed to one of the
most distinguished ornaments of the bar."
"So please your royal highness," answered Brandon, coolly, and with a
smile which the most piercing eye could not have believed the mask to the
agony then gnawing at his nerves, "it is the interest of my rivals to
exaggerate the little ailments of a weak constitution. I thank
Providence that I am now entirely recovered; and at no time of my life
have I been less unable to discharge--so far as my native and mental,
incapacities will allow--the duties of any occupation, however arduous.
Nay, as the brute grows accustomed to the mill, so have I grown wedded to
business; and even the brief relaxation I have now allowed myself seems
to me rather irksome than pleasurable."
"I rejoice to hear you speak thus," answered his royal highness, warmly;
"and I trust for many years, and," added he, in a lower tone, "in the
highest chamber of the senate, that we may profit by your talents. The
times are those in which many occasions occur that oblige all true
friends of the Constitution to quit minor employment for that great
constitutional one that concerns us all, the highest and the meanest;
and" (the royal voice sank still lower) "I feel justified in assuring you
that the office of chief-justice alone is not considered by his Majesty
as a sufficient reward for your generous sacrifice of present ambition to
the difficulties of government."
Brandon's proud heart swelled, and that moment the veriest pains of hell
would scarcely have been felt.
While the aspiring schemer was thus agreeably engaged, Mauleverer,
sliding through the crowd with that grace which charmed every one, old
and young, and addressing to all he knew some lively or affectionate
remark, made his way to the dancers, among whom he had just caught a
glimpse of Lucy. "I wonder," he thought, "whom she is dancing with. I
hope it is that ridiculous fellow, Mossop, who tells a good story against
himself; or that handsome ass, Belmont, who looks at his own legs,
instead of seeming to have eyes for no one but his partner. Ah! if
Tarquin had but known women as well as I do, he would have had no reason
to be rough with Lucretia. 'T is a thousand pities that experience
comes, in women as in the world, just when it begins to be no longer of
use to us!"
As he made these moral reflections, Mauleverer gained the dancers, and
beheld Lucy listening, with downcast eyes and cheeks that evidently
blushed, to a young man whom Mauleverer acknowledged at once to be one of
the best-looking fellows he had ever seen. The stranger's countenance,
despite an extreme darkness of complexion, was, to be sure, from the
great regularity of the features, rather effeminate; but, on the other
hand, his figure, though slender and graceful, betrayed to an experienced
eye an extraordinary proportion of sinew and muscle; and even the dash of
effeminacy in the countenance was accompanied by so manly and frank an
air, and was so perfectly free from all coxcombry or self-conceit, that
it did not in the least decrease the prepossessing effect of his
appearance. An angry and bitter pang shot across that portion of
Mauleverer's frame which the earl thought fit, for want of another name,
to call his heart. "How cursedly pleased she looks!" muttered he. "By
Heaven! that stolen glance under the left eyelid, dropped as suddenly as
it is raised; and he--ha! how firmly he holds that little hand! I think
I see him paddle with it; and then the dog's earnest, intent look,--and
she all blushes, though she dare not look up to meet his gaze, feeling it
by intuition. Oh, the demure, modest, shamefaced hypocrite! How silent
she is! She can prate enough to me! I would give my promised garter if
she would but talk to him. Talk, talk, laugh, prattle, only simper, in
God's name, and I shall be happy. But that bashful, blushing silence,--
it is insupportable. Thank Heaven, the dance is over! Thank Heaven,
again! I have not felt such pains since the last nightmare I had after
dining with her father!"
With a face all smiles, but with a mien in which more dignity than he
ordinarily assumed was worn, Mauleverer now moved towards Lucy, who was
leaning on her partner's arm. The earl, who had ample tact where his
consummate selfishness did not warp it, knew well how to act the lover,
without running ridiculously into the folly of seeming to play the hoary
dangler. He sought rather to be lively than sentimental; and beneath the
wit to conceal the suitor.
Having paid, then, with a careless gallantry his first compliments, he
entered into so animated a conversation, interspersed with so many naive
yet palpably just observations on the characters present, that perhaps he
had never appeared to more brilliant advantage. At length, as the music
was about to recommence, Mauleverer, with a careless glance at Lucy's
partner, said, "Will Miss Brandon now allow me the agreeable duty of
conducting her to her father?"
"I believe," answered Lucy, and her voice suddenly became timid, "that,
according to the laws of the rooms, I am engaged to this gentleman for
another dance."
Clifford, in an assured and easy tone, replied in assent.
As he spoke. Mauleverer honoured him with a more accurate survey than he
had hitherto bestowed on him; and whether or not there was any expression
of contempt or superciliousness in the survey, it was sufficient to call
up the indignant blood to Clifford's cheek. Returning the look with
interest, he said to Lucy, "I believe, Miss Brandon, that the dance is
about to begin;" and Lucy, obeying the hint, left the aristocratic
Mauleverer to his own meditations.
At that moment the master of the ceremonies came bowing by, half afraid
to address so great a person as Mauleverer, but willing to show his
respect by the profoundness of his salutation.
"Aha! my dear Mr. -------!" said the earl, holding out both his hands to
the Lycurgus of the rooms; "how are you? Pray can you inform me who that
young man is, now dancing with Miss Brandon?"
"It is--let me see-oh! it is a Captain Clifford, my lord! a very fine
young man, my lord! Has your lordship never met him?"
"Never! Who is he? One under your more especial patronage?" said the
earl, smiling.
"Nay, indeed!" answered the master of the ceremonies, with a simper of
gratification; "I scarcely know who he is yet; the captain only made his
appearance here to-night for the first time. He came with two other
gentlemen,--ah! there they are!" and he pointed the earl's scrutinizing
attention to the elegant forms of Mr. Augustus Tomlinson and Mr. Ned
Pepper, just emerging from the card-rooms. The swagger of the latter
gentleman was so peculiarly important that Mauleverer, angry as he was,
could scarcely help laughing. The master of the ceremonies noted the
earl's countenance, and remarked that "that fine-looking man seemed
disposed to give himself airs."
"Judging from the gentleman's appearance," said the earl, dryly (Ned's
face, to say truth, did betoken his affection for the bottle), "I should
imagine that he was much more accustomed to give himself thorough
draughts!"
"Ah!" renewed the arbiter elegantiarum, who had not heard Mauleverer's
observation, which was uttered in a very low voice,--"ah! they seem real
dashers!"
"Dashers!" repeated Mauleverer; "true, haberdashers!" Long Ned now,
having in the way of his profession acquitted himself tolerably well at
the card-table, thought he had purchased the right to parade himself
through the rooms, and show the ladies what stuff a Pepper could be made
of.
Leaning with his left hand on Tomlinson's arm, and employing the right in
fanning himself furiously with his huge chapeau bras, the lengthy
adventurer stalked slowly along, now setting out one leg jauntily, now
the other, and ogling "the ladies" with a kind of Irish look,--namely, a
look between a wink and a stare.
Released from the presence of Clifford, who kept a certain check on his
companions, the apparition of Ned became glaringly conspicuous; and
wherever he passed, a universal whisper succeeded.
"Who can he be?" said the widow Matemore. "'T is a droll creature; but
what a head of hair!"
"For my part," answered the spinster Sneerall, "I think he is a linen-
draper in disguise; for I heard him talk to his companion of 'tape.'"
"Well, well," thought Mauleverer, "it would be but kind to seek out
Brandon, and hint to him in what company his niece seems to have fallen!"
And so thinking, he glided to the corner where, with a gray-headed old
politician, the astute lawyer was conning the affairs of Europe.
In the interim the second dance had ended, and Clifford was conducting
Lucy to her seat, each charmed with the other, when he found himself
abruptly tapped on the back, and turning round in alarm,--for such taps
were not unfamiliar to him,--he saw the cool countenance of Long Ned,
with one finger sagaciously laid beside the nose.
"How now?" said Clifford, between his ground teeth; "did I not tell thee
to put that huge bulk of thine as far from me as possible?"
"Humph!" granted Ned; "if these are my thanks, I may as well keep my
kindness to myself; but know you, my kid, that Lawyer Brandon is here,
peering through the crowd at this very moment, in order to catch a
glimpse of that woman's face of thine."
"Ha!" answered Clifford, in a very quick tone; "begone, then! I will
meet you without the rooms immediately." Clifford now turned to his
partner, and bowing very low, in reality to hide his face from those
sharp eyes which had once seen it in the court of Justice Burnflat, said:
"I trust, madam, I shall have the honour to meet you again. Is it, if I
may be allowed to ask, with your celebrated uncle that you are staying,
or--"
"With my father," answered Lucy, concluding the sentence Clifford had
left unfinished; "but my uncle has been with us, though I fear he leaves
us to-morrow."
Clifford's eyes sparkled; he made no answer, but bowing again, receded
into the crowd and disappeared. Several times that night did the
brightest eyes in Somersetshire rove anxiously round the rooms in search
of our hero; but he was seen no more.
It was on the stairs that Clifford encountered his comrades; taking an
arm of each, he gained the door without any adventure worth noting, save
that, being kept back by the crowd for a few moments, the moralizing
Augustus Tomlinson, who honoured the moderate Whigs by enrolling himself
among their number, took up, _pour passer le temps_, a tall gold-headed
cane, and weighing it across his finger with a musing air, said, "Alas!
among our supporters we often meet heads as heavy, but of what a
different metal!" The crowd now permitting, Augustus was walking away
with his companions, and, in that absence of mind characteristic of
philosophers, unconsciously bearing with him the gold-headed object of
his reflection, when a stately footman, stepping up to him, said, "Sir,
my cane!"
"Cane, fellow!" said Tomlinson. "Ah, I am so absent! Here is thy cane.
Only think of my carrying off the man's cane, Ned! Ha, ha!"
"Absent indeed!" grunted a knowing chairman, watching the receding
figures of the three gentlemen; "body o' me! but it was the cane that
was about to be absent!"
