Mr Facey Romford's Hounds (16 page)

Facey then arose, and diving his hands up to the hilts in his Bedford-cord trouser pockets, took a meditative fling round the little apartment, apparently lost in calculation, but in reality resolved not to miss such a chance.

“It's too much for the master to pay,” at length said he, pulling up short, and sticking himself John Bull-ically (a coat tail over each arm) before the fire. “It's too much for the master—but still I think it might be manished,—I think it might be manished. 'Spose now,” said he, sitting down again, and placing a foot on each hob, “'spose we were to say—subscription two thousand—subscription two thousand—that would leave a cool thousand for me—quite little enough for a man who has all the trouble and bother of the thing.”

“I am afraid we could hardly raise the money,” replied Mr Greenfield, meekly.

“Oh, easy enough,” replied Mr Romford—“easy enough. Put on the screw! there are always plenty of fellows with more wool on their backs than's good for them, who'll stand a little fleecing.”

Mr Greenfield sat mute, for his instructions were to fleece Facey.

“It's a disagreeable thing to talk about money,” observed Mr Romford, with a pish and pshaw, “but landed property is so different to money property, where you get every farthing paid to the day, that one's 'bliged to be a little prudent and circumspect. Won't do to live up to one's income, you know,” added Facey with a shake of the head.

“True,” assented Mr Greenfield, who had some house property of his own, which was always either standing empty, tumbling down, or wanting a year's rent laid out in repairs.

“Oh, I don't think there could be any difficulty about it,” resumed Mr Romford, cheerfully, after a pause “I don't think there would be any difficulty about it. It's only like putting a per-centage on to the present subscriptions, you know. Just as easy to draw a cheque for sixty as for fifty. People don't care half so much for parting with money by cheque, as they do in notes or sovs.”

Mr Greenfield sat mute.

“A man can't leave home without loss,” observed Mr Romford. “When the cat's away, the mice will play,” continued he, taking another sample out of his beard and examining it attentively as before. The two then sat silent for a time, Facey twisting the hair about and viewing it in various lights.

“You'll have the country hunted as it never was before,” at length observed Romford, throwing the hair into the fire. “I don't like boasting, but if anybody can show sport I can. I have a first-rate pack of hounds,” added he; “spared no expense in getting them.”

Mr Greenfield did not attempt to gainsay any part of this, his friends of the Larkspur Hunt being quite content to take Mr Romford, provided they could get him at their own price, but being a rich man they thought they should have him cheaper than if he was a poor one. And our friend, like the drunken actor who fancied himself the King, in the Coronation, and exclaimed as he crossed the stage, “God bless you, my people!”—our friend, we say, having talked so long in thousands, began a to think that he dealt in them too, and that he was really a rich man, instead of a rank impostor.

Having given the fire another poke with his toe, for they did not allow fire-irons at the Hopton Heath Station, Mr Facey Romford got up again and gave himself another fling round the room, as if for inspiration.

“You see now,” said he, resuming his erect position before the fire, “you see now, what I want is sport—sport is the first consideration with me; but sport can't be had without money, and we ought to put our shoulders fairly to the wheel together to get it.”

The Secretary nodded assent.

“Well, then, you see,” said Facey, “besides what I shall lose by leaving home, I shall have to increase my establishment; and I needn't tell you, who see me, that a man of moy weight can't mount himself for nothin'. Three 'underd is generally the figure I have to give for horses. As soon as ever the rascals hear they are for Mr Romford, they immediately stick on the price. Then I should certainly like to know about a little shooting and fishing—not that I can say I should avail myself of either much, only it's pleasant to have an object for a walk, and to feel that one can go out if one likes. Altogether I think we understand each other,” said Facey, thinking it would be very odd if the Honorary Secretary did. “Two thousand a-year guaranteed subscription, half in November and half in January, or the whole in November, if you like, for four days a week, with an occasional ‘bye,' cover rents and stopping paid, and I'll undertake to show you such sport as never was seen. But ‘of their own merits modest men are dumb'—only, if I can't show sport, I don't know who can; so that's a bargain,” said he, extending his right hand for a shake.

“Oh! but I shall have to consult the gentlemen of the hunt, first,” exclaimed Mr Greenfield, drawing back in alarm. “I shall have to consult the gentlemen of the hunt, first.”

“Or'd rot it, I thought you'd been a reg'larly 'pointed Plenipotentiary,” replied Facey, pretending disappointment at the answer. “Or'd rot it, but I thought you'd been a reg'larly 'pointed Plenipotentiary,” repeated he. “However,” said he, “you know what I want, and must fig your fellows up to giving it. Tell them it's only the superiority of their country that tempts me,
nothin'
else.”

“I'll represent all you have said,” replied Mr Greenfield, guardedly.

“And in talking about it, mind don't forget to broach the shooting. Say, I should like a little shooting.”

“I'll not forget that either,” assented Mr Greenfield.

“Nor the fishing,” rejoined Facey; adding, “It would do your heart good to see me throw a fly. I really think the fish feel a pride and a pleasure in being hooked by me,” continued he, flourishing his right arm as if he were in the act of handling a fishing-rod.

He had had a good deal of fishing where he was, and what with his rod and his gun had kept the butcher's bill down.

Our master then took a general suck of the Secretary's brains, learning as much about the country and characters in it as he could. They seemed to be a lively sort—quite different to the old Heavysides. Dinners, balls, parties of all sorts.

The shrill shriek and screech of the whistle at length announced the coming of the down-train, and Facey, who had arranged the visit with a greater regard to his own convenience than that of the Honorary Secretary, now asked him to give him a help on with his paletot, which being adjusted, Facey gave him another pump-handling shake of the hand, and emerging from the little waiting-room, was presently seated conspicuously in a first-class carriage on his way back to Minshull Vernon, exchanging the first-class for a third one, as before. And the big talk, coupled with the Brighton diamond and gay get-up generally, had impressed the Honorary Secretary so favourably, that the Larkspur gentlemen resolved to secure Mr Romford, and, after trying eighteen hundred a-year unsuccessfully, Mr Greenfield was at length commissioned to close for the two thousand a-year, the name of Romford tickling the subscribers' fancies just as Mr Facey said he tickled trouts when a boy.

And Facey chuckled at his own 'cuteness when he got the despatch announcing their acceptance of his offer, and said the Romford star was clearly on the ascendant.

When it became known that such a swell as the Turbot-on-its tail had taken the Larkspur country, he was beset by people with large places offering him their houses, at more or less remunerative prices. “Nothing for nothing,” is the motto now-a-days. One gentleman was going to Naples; another to Rome; a third wanted to make a tour in the East; a fourth in the West; and they would have no objection to letting their houses and gardens to a careful party without any children, and one who would not interfere with the game. The game was to be held sacred. But for this, Facey would have had no difficulty in taking a place, and paying the rent out of his gun.

The course of his inquiries, however, made him acquainted with the fact that Beldon Hall, the beautiful seat of Lord Viscount Lovetin, on the south-east of his country, was vacant, and had been so for some time,—a circumstance that generally has a mitigating influence on the expected rent. In this case it had a considerable influence; for his lordship had had so many cruel disappointments and vexations about letting it, that he was almost heart-broken in consequence. Not that the Viscount was poor—far from it—but this was the thorn in his side,—the one thing that made him miserable. Indeed, he had much changed with the unexpected acquisition of his title from his cousin, having been, when Jack Moneygull, of the Tom and Jerry Huzzars, one of the jolliest fellows under the sun, ready to back a bill, bonnet a Bobby, do anything light and frolicsome; but now, as the Lord Viscount Lovetin, he had become the meanest, most morose, penurious creature possible, always dreading expense and imposition, sitting calculating interest by the clock. He had shut up Beldon Hall and retired to the Continent, where he lived
au troisième, au quatrième, au cinquième
,—anywhere rather than at home,—never spending a halfpenny he could help, and talking as if he didn't know where the next day's dinner was to come from. Then he wanted to let Beldon Hall, and he didn't want to let it. When it came to the point, he put so many restrictions and embargoes upon the parties, that nobody would take it. His lordship wanted the money, in fact, but did not want to give the tenants anything for it. Mr Challoner might have it, provided he wouldn't use the drawing-room. Mr Coverdale might have it, provided he wouldn't use the dining-room. Mrs Emmerson and his lordship quarrelled about the cut pile carpet in the music-room. He would have it put away, while she insisted upon keeping it down. So they separated, after consuming an immensity of paper, for they were both most voluminous letter-writers. And half-a-dozen other negotiations had gone off on similar quibbles, until the place was regularly blown. Nobody would look at it. People said it wasn't to let.

Mr Romford, finding this, wrote to his lordship, saying that he had taken the Larkspur country, and, hearing that Beldon Hall was empty, he would be glad to know if his lordship would have any objection to letting it to him, adding that he would take great care of the furniture and everything belonging to it, and of course he sealed the letter with the proper Turboton-its-tail seal. Now it so happened that Lord Lovetin had been one of the “gilded youth of England” along with the right or other Mr Romford at Eton, and though they had never been particularly intimate, yet his lordship perfectly remembered Frank Romford, and moreover had had his memory constantly refreshed by reading the meets of his hounds in the papers; and, hope deferred having long made his lordship's heart sick, he jumped at the offer, and named a much less rent than he had ever asked before. And Facey quickly concluded a bargain, which was only mentioned to Mr Lonnergan, the agent, when it came to be ratified by directions from his lordship for giving Mr Romford possession.

Now Mr Lonnergan was an imperious man,—one who had no notion of divided dignity, or of an owner presuming to exercise any control whatever over the property confided to his charge. There could be no two Kings of Brentford with him; and Mr Lonnergan being at best one of your “receive-the-rents, drink-the-landlord's-health, and let-thetenants-do-as-they-like” order, he was doubly easy and indifferent with regard to the letting of Beldon Hall, just executing his lordship's orders, and nothing more,—telling Mrs Mustard, the dirty housekeeper, that the place was let, but saying, with a significant snort and a chuck of his great double-chin, he “didn't know who to, or anything at all about it, so she needn't bother him, his lordship having thought proper to manage the matter himself.” And Lonnergan inwardly hoped that his noble master might burn his fingers by the transaction. Indeed, he half thought of turning his lordship off for the offence.

So, one bright winter's afternoon, a sort of social resurrection seemed to take place at the long-deserted mansion of Beldon Hall, in the shape of smoke rising from the various stacks of chimneys, to the surprise of the passers-by along the Horton and Kingswood road, and the astonishment of the country round about. “What's up now?” was the general inquiry. “Is his lordship coomin' home?” demanded the men. “Has he gotten a wife?” asked the women. Proudlock the gigantic keeper strutted consequentially with the all-important secret—almost too large for his capacious chest to contain.

The great Mr Romford was coming!

What a man Proudlock made him out to be! Wore silver boots on week days, and gold on a Sunday.

1.  An ex-groom, having changed his name from Marsh, and decorated his face with mustachios, took a country, and passed muster, until he hunted a bag fox on a Sunday!

S
SWIG AND
C
HOWEY BEING AT
length restored to convalescence, if not to their pristine beauty—sundry strips of adhesive plaster still remaining on their weather beaten faces—Mr Romford thought that Lucy might as well return to her scenes in the circle at Islington as waste her time any longer at the “Westend Swell.” To this end, therefore, he magnificently presented her with a five-pound note and her fare, saying he would be glad to see her again some other day. But Lucy, having again tasted the sweets of country life, was not to be so easily disposed of as friend Facey supposed, and kept loitering on at the “West-end Swell;”—where, however, we are bound to say she conducted herself in a most exemplary manner. Soapey himself could not have taken exception to her conduct. The fact was she had got fond of the hounds and the horses, and would like if she could to blend her fortune with theirs. But Facey didn't favour the design; he felt that he was on his preferment, and that such an appendage to his hounds might injure his prospects. In vain she expatiated on the delights of the chase, on the pleasures of leading the field, of cutting down Newton and Bibbing. In vain she hinted that Swig and Chowey would be better for a little more looking after, that having a whipper-in in reserve [meaning herself] would have a beneficial effect in keeping them in order. Facey was proof against all her allurements, though he could not but admit that the last argument had a good deal of weight in it. It was a convenience, he admitted to have someone in reserve. That opinion, however, he kept to himself. At length Lucy touched a chord that vibrated more forcibly still—it was a direct appeal to his pocket—Didn't he think it would assist his sales to have a lady to show off his horses? A woman could hardly object to a horse that another had rode, and a man would be laughed to scorn who did.