Mr Facey Romford's Hounds (34 page)

At length our friend, who was no drinker, having passed the wine two or three times, asked his host if he hadn't better “stop the tap”? and, the proposition seeming to meet with general approval, there was another unanimous rise from the table, and a general consultation of whiskers and ties. They then followed Mr Romford out of the room, who led the way, as he said, to the holloa of the distant music in the drawing-room. Very clear and sounding it was! How he wished he had brought his flute—would have tickled his trout in no time! He then opened the door, and astonished himself with a blaze of light—fourfold what it was when he left.

Then came a charge of tea and coffee trays and cakes, and everything a man doesn't want; and Facey was hunted about till he almost upset one. “Rot it, if this is pleasure,” muttered he, when the Curaçoa man came with his picturesque bottle, “ar don't want any more of it.” And he was heartily glad when the sound of wheels outside the house proclaimed the coming conclusion; still more happy when the footmen began announcing the carriages, and the Paterfamiliases commenced beckoning their wives and daughters, and talking about not keeping their valuable horses waiting, standing shivering and shaking in the cold.

At length, after many trots to the front door, Mr Watkins got the last of the leavers away; and, it not being prudent to indulge in the usual worry before strangers and remanets, after a slight discharge of seltzer and soda, the instincts of all the party seemed to point towards bed. So there was a general bobbing and cooing, and bidding of good-nights—with hopes that Mrs Somerville and Mr Romford found everything in their rooms that they wanted. And, as the only thing Mr Facey particularly wanted was his pipe, and he had that with him, he unhesitatingly answered “Yes.” And he went along, knocking his knees together, well pleased that the penance was over. Barring the mistake of old Felt, he didn't know that he had done so far amiss. Callin' Salver Silver, was nothin'—just a slip of the tongue; but the other was awkward: however, it couldn't be helped. So, taking off and putting his new dress scarlet carefully away in the wardrobe, he resumed his morning jacket; and drawing a luxuriously-cushioned easy-chair right in front of the fire, he adjusted and lit his pipe, and then soused himself down in its voluminous depths to enjoy his sublime tobacco.

“Well,” mused he to himself, as he puffed and smoked; “well, old boy, you are well laid in here—that white-shouldered girl is evidently in love with you! Quite inclined to meet you half way, old gal!”

It may seem strange that it should not have occurred to a fox-hunting fortune-hunter like Mr Romford, that Miss Cassandra Cleopatra Watkins was the very sort of girl he was in search of; but then the reader must take into account the fact that he was a perfect stranger in the country, with no one but Independent Jimmy to give him any information, and that neither Mrs Somerville nor her mother were at all likely to forward any matrimonial arrangement.

So friend Facey was left a good deal to his own devices,—to pick up what he could from this person and from that; and, having picked it up, to put that and that together, so as to make a reliable story of the whole.

To be sure, Miss Cassandra Cleopatra was good enough to inform him, very early in the day, that she was an only child; but there were a good many more things that Mr Facey would like to know, and that she could not inform him of—where the money was, for instance; whether it was settled, and so on; above all, how much there was of it.

“The mother-
familias
, too, seems to be quite agreeable! Wonder what the father would say? That confounded uncertificated bankrupt,” as he called his host, “is far too young,” continued he. “Wonder if there's any way, now, of playin' at leapfrog with the money—passin' it over the present holder's back, so as to prevent his spendin' it, and securing it to some one beyond? Should think there was,” continued he, blowing a voluminous upward cloud, after a long-drawn respiration. “The lawyers can do almost anything—anything except make a scent! Scent's a queer thing!” continued he; “dash'd if it isn't. Wonder if we'll have one to-morrow?” And then he emitted another great cloud, thinking as he did it that there would be a scent in the room, at all events. Hoped the next comer would like tobacco!

And having thus done his best to secure him the luxury, and exhausted his pipe in a further consideration of the fertile subject of scent, our friend at length undressed and turned into bed, at twenty minutes to twelve.

M
R
R
OMFORD AWOKE AT DAYBREAK
next morning with a parched mouth and a somewhat winey headache; not at all himself, in fact. The late dinner and multiplicity of dishes had disagreed with a gentleman accustomed to early hours and simple fare. He had never tried such a mixture before; “meat, puddin', and cheese” (all the delicacies of the season, as the sailor said), being the utmost extent of his wants.

But that he had been gradually inducted into magnificence through the instrumentality of Beldon Hall, he would now scarcely have known himself, stretched in a great canopy-topped state bed in a noble room, with brilliant chimney-glass, splendid cheval one, tapestry carpet, and every imaginable luxury. What did a man want with so many baths, who always took a header when he was heated!

Of course the capital Louis Quinze clock on the marble mantel-piece did not go, so Facey appealed to his own great silver watch under the pillow to know what o'clock it was, and finding it wanted several hours to breakfast, he did not see any reason why, because the bed was a fine one, he should lie in it longer than he liked; so he bounded out, and making for a window, proceeded to reconnoitre the landscape.

“Aye,” said he to himself, after an identifying stare, “that is Wavertree in the distance, the village with the spire is Dronefield, and the white house beyond will be Mr Bullinger's, of Prestonworth.”

So he settled the matter satisfactorily in his own mind, and then moved the previous question,—namely, that he should dress. But where were his clothes? They had taken them away to brush, or perhaps mop up the beer-slops with in the servants' hall, and then fold and return, and there was nothing for him but the choice between his hunting things and dress ones. Neither of those would do, so he must try to recover the Tweeds. But they had put the bell where nobody could find it; and Facey had to cast about as he would for the scent of a fox. When he did find it, nobody would answer it; for the girl in charge of the numbers merely announced “Number one bell” in the hall, and every servant who heard her concluded that the occupant of such a magnificent apartment—the best room—would be sure to have a valet to answer it, and thought no more of the matter. And when Facey, having taken another rather fretful survey of the landscape, returned again to the charge, an exclamation of “Number one bell!” was all that the ring produced; and so on for a third.

“Rot the fellow!” exclaimed Facey, swinging round with vexation; and after taking a turn about the spacious apartment, he at length settled before his hunting clothes. “S'pose I must put them on,” said he, taking up the Bedford cords, and proceeding to jump into his other clothes in the promiscuous sort of way of a man going to bathe. He then opened his door, and emerged from his room in search of adventures. The landings and staircase were only half awake; and when he got downstairs he found everything in the uncomfortable state familiar only to early, too early, risers. One housemaid on her knees pipeclaying the passage, another raising a cloud of dust with her broom; rugs, mats, pails, dusters, all higgledy-piggledy—everything in the height of confusion. The fine overnight footmen were hurrying about in caps and all sorts of queer clothes, bearing trays full of plate, linen, and china,—the ingredients of another great spread. Worming his way cautiously among the obstacles, Facey at length reached the front door, and emancipating himself from the house, was presently in the fresh air. Very fresh and pleasant it was, and most grateful it felt to his fevered frame.

“Oh, Francis Romford, my beloved friend,” said he, “you had too much wine last night. Oh, Francis Romford, this dinin' out doesn't suit you. Oh, Francis Romford, it's a great luxury to have just what you want to eat and drink, and no more. Oh, Francis Romford, it's bad to hunt with a sore head. Huntin' and drinkin' are two men's work.”

Then he thought a pipe would do him good; and a pipe he accordingly proceeded to take, sauntering along the fine Kensington gravelled drive as he made the necessary preparation for a smoke. This brought him within sight of the stables,—a well-built, rough-cast range, with coachhouses in the centre.

“Humph! not bad-like quarters,” said Facey, eyeing them. “Have seen good horses come out of much worse stables than those.” And thereupon he determined to inspect them. Making for the range on the right, he found himself among the greys in the coachman's stable, with the great Mr Spanker sauntering about, superintending the stablemen in the “you-do-your-work” sort of air of a man who does nothing himself. Pugs, cobs, and coachmen were things Mr Romford eschewed. Pugs he looked upon as eyesores; cobs he never knew the use of; and coachmen, he thought, were men who would be grooms, only they were too lazy. A very slight inspection of the greys, therefore, satisfied him; and returning Mr Spanker's salute with an air of indifference, he turned on his heel, and sought the other side of the stable. Spanker, however, recognised him, and said to his helper, “That is the varry gent as came up through the grating arter the rats when we was at Beldon 'All.”

When, however, Facey got into the hunting stable, he found himself at home; and Gullpicker, the presiding genius (a Melton man, whom nobody would have at Melton), seemed impressed with the importance of his visitor. He raised his cap most deferentially, and Facey having returned a nod, and a voluminous puff of smoke, then proceeded to criticise the horses.

There were four well-shaped, well-conditioned bays, well-clothed, well-littered, well done by in every respect except well-ridden. In this latter indulgence they were sadly deficient; indeed the two that the man who hunted for conformity was going to ride that day, had been out, getting the fiery edge taken off them with a gallop on the green. There were now a couple of straps at work upon either side of them, each hissing and thumping as if they would stave in the horses' ribs. Willy was all for having everything as it should be, and Gullpicker was the man to accommodate him. It took two men to strap a horse properly, Gull said, so two to a horse Gull had. It is strange how some fellows get places by merely trading on a name. If Gullpicker had come from Manchester, Musselburgh, or any other place beginning with an “M,” Willy would never have thought of him; but coming from Melton, he concluded he must be all right, and so gave him eighty pounds a-year and his house. A livery-stable keeper would have given him twelve shillings a-week, and would most likely have turned him off at the end of the first one.

Romford now stuck out his great legs, and proceeded to question the worthy, and very soon wormed out the secret of the stable,—which was a hard 'oss, which was a soft 'un, which was a show 'un. The show 'un was master's special favor
ite,
the man said, whom he described as a very shy rider; indeed, the groom thought if it wasn't for the sake of wearing the red coat, Mr Watkins would never go out hunting at all. And Facey said, that was the case with a good many men he knew, adding, that it would be a good thing not to let any man ride in scarlet until he had ridden three years in black.

The servants' breakfast bell now rang a noisy peal, for the Watkinses considered it incumbent upon them to let all the neighbourhood know when there was any eating going on; and Facey having mastered his subject, jerked his head at the groom, who renewed his deferential salute as our master rolled out of the stable. A master of hounds is always a hero in a groom's eyes.

When he returned to the house, it had got into more comfortable order. The scrapers and door mats were restored to their proper places, the mops and pails had disappeared, and a partially revised footman was brushing and arranging the hats in the hall. To him Facey communicated his lavatorial wants, and was forthwith reconducted upstairs and introduced to the dressing-room of his apartment, where he found such an array of baths, foot, hip, shower, as to a man who always took a header seemed quite incomprehensible. Discarding all these, he requested the footman to get him some hot water, wherewith and by the aid of a razor and soap, he proceeded to divest himself of the superfluous portion of his cane-coloured beard, and then treated his pretty face to a wash in the fine mazarine blue and white china basin, thinking all the while what old Gilroy would say if he saw him.

Very queer his old fourpenny shaving brush, and twopenny soap-box,—to say nothing of his horn comb and shabby hair brush,—looked on the fine lace-pattern toilet-cover, lined with blue silk, and edged with Honiton lace. Very different was the toilet glass, with its carved frame and spiral supporters, compared to the few square inches of thing in which he used to contemplate his too fascinating face at the “Dog and Partridge,” or the “West-end Swell.” And Facey wandered backwards and forwards between the bed and dressing-room, surveying his irresistible person first in one mirror and then another, thinking what a killing-looking cock he was.

The noisy gong presently interrupted the inspection, and looking at his watch he found it only wanted twenty minutes to ten, and at half-past the hounds would be due before the door. Tearing himself away then from the mirror, he opened the door and proceeded downstairs, encountering his lisping friend full in the face at the junction of the flights.

“Good morning, Mither Romford,” said she, extending her pretty white hand as she spoke.