Mr Facey Romford's Hounds (41 page)

“Oh, but then you're a careful rider,” rejoined Lucy, who was not easily turned from her point.

“That's as may be,” said Romford; “but, havin' a pack of hounds of my own—perhaps the best in England—with both wittles and drink in abundance, I don't see what earthly use it is goin' over there to get the very same things that one has here. That's not what they call the economy of labour.”

The fact was, Facey was just a man for his food, and no more. He didn't want his appetite whetted and petted and coaxed; and, having suffered the persecution of two parties, was not at all inclined to venture on a third. Besides, he had spent eighteen shillings in getting to Dalberry Lees, and that would serve him the rest of the season. Of course he hadn't given Independent Jimmy or the servants at the Lees anything; but, still, the vehicle and the gates there and back had come to that amount. “It was payin' for being made miserable,” he said. What good did it do him dinin' off plate? He could eat off pewter quite as well, if not better. As to a fine bed, it was all lost upon him: he was none the better for snoozin' in one—could sleep in a barn, for that matter—under a haystack, if it didn't rain.

“Oh, but society—the pleasures of society! A little change, you know, is always agreeable. It doesn't do for people to live too much alone—get awkward and stupid,” urged Lucy.

“Well,
you
can go,” said Romford. “Dirty and you can go by the coach, just as well as Dirty alone.”

“I'm afraid they've blocked me for that,” replied Lucy; they've only asked me if you go; besides, it wouldn't look well for me to go by the coach, you know—coaches are only for common people.”

Puff, whiff, puff, went Mr Romford, meditating the matter. “Coach eighteen-pence, Dirty, say a shilling—two-and-six; two-and-six there, two-and-six back—five shillings: not worth the money,” resolved he, turning in his chair. He then tried the expense of the other course—Dirty by the coach, Lucy and himself to ride. “Coach for Dirty, say two shillin's or p'r'aps one-and-nine, if they made a stiff bargain; then, two horses found for the night, say save eighteen-pence apiece at home by that; two selves found, dinner and breakfast each—put it, then, at two shillin's a head altogether, that would be four shillin's, and three shillin's would be seven shillin's; seven shillin's saved, except the one-and-ninepence or two shillin's for Dirtiest of the Dirty's fare—say five shillin's saved; but then there would be no end of trouble and persecution, and eating and drinking things he didn't want.”

Lucy, however, combated all objections. She would arrange matters; she would see and pack up his things, so that he should have nothing to do but get on to his horse and accompany her, and when he arrived at Tarring Neville he would find his things all laid out on the sofa before the fire, ready for putting on.

And Facey, despite all his prudence, having a lively recollection of the blue-eyed lady, and not altogether disinclined to see her again, at length gave a sort of silent assent, which Lucy immediately clenched by writing to her dear Mrs Hazey, accepting Mr Hazey's and her very kind invitation for her brother Romford and herself; adding, that they would ride their own horses over, and she would send her maid by the coach, if her dear friend would have the kindness to send somebody to meet it.

So Mr Hazey and his boy Bill lost sixpence between them on the event.

And, on the appointed day, Dirtiest of the Dirty was seen getting into the dribbling Oldbury coach at Beldon Hall lodges, on to the roof of which was then piled a quantity of luggage, looking as if the owners of it were going on a visit for a week. Dirty wore her Dalberry Lees pearl-and-ruby ring quite ostentatiously. The passengers being strangers to her, she of course thought she was equally unknown to them. So she bounced very considerably: telling them her lady was a nobleman's daughter; that she (Dirty) had lived with her two years; that when they left Beldon Hall, they were going to stay with the Queen at Pimlico Palace, and afterwards with Mr Harker Tentrees at Bromley-by-Bow. Indeed, she talked so imposingly, that, what with her tongue and her fine attire, if she had not admitted her servitude, and also got in at the Beldon Hall lodges, her fellow-passengers would have doubted whether she was a Dirty or some young lady on a visit to our master.

Then, at a somewhat later hour of the day, Mr Romford and Mrs Somerville emerged on horseback from the Beldon Hall stable-yard—Mrs Somerville on the redoubtable Leotard, Mr Romford on the equally valuable Everlasting: our master having previously put the stable establishment under the surveillance of Mr Proudlock the keeper; who, in his turn, was secretly watched by Billy Balsam; and Billy by Lucy's lynx-eyed mamma, Mrs Benson.

Old Mother Benson, though not good enough to take abroad, was very useful at home: for, being of a wandering disposition, she was always trotting about, and turning up where nobody expected her.

Lucy, we need scarcely say, was got up with the greatest care, looking more as if she was going to ride in Rotten Row, or along the esplanade at Brighton, instead of fighting her way across country, unseen, perhaps, by anyone.

Mr Romford, on the other hand, was the sportsman in mufti, deer-stalker hat, rough brownish Tweeds, and rusty Napoleons. Thus attired, they set out on their travels, timing themselves so as to reach Tarring Neville towards dusk, in order to have as little of that terrible winter night's entertainment before dinner as possible. And having a good eye for counting, Mr Romford made a
détour
that not only enabled him to fix his landmarks upon it, but also carried him clear of those troublesome obstacles to some people's progress yclept turnpike-gates. So he reached Tarring Neville just at the time he proposed, and, landing his sister at the front door under the proper reception of the butler and footman, he led Leotard off with his own horse to the stable, in order to see them properly put up for the night before he thought of himself “Men can ask for what they want, horses can't,” was Facey's aphorism; and he always made a point of seeing to his horses himself, a precaution that was more practised by the last generation of sportsmen than by the present one.

No one, to see Mrs Hazey's reception of Mrs Somerville, would have imagined for a moment that there had been any objection made to asking her, so fervent and enthusiastic it seemed to be the only thing that at all damped the ardour of the greeting being the non-appearance of our hero Mr Romford at her heels. This passing cloud Mrs Somerville speedily dispelled by saying that her brother had just gone round to the stable, whereupon the glow of enthusiasm was renewed, and the seductive blandishments of the teapot recommended. Mrs Somerville declined tea, also the alternative of a glass of sherry and a biscuit, observing that she had lunched just before they came away; whereupon the conversation was turned into the weather-groove, from which it naturally ran upon the roads and the state of the country.

Mrs Hazey was afraid Mrs Somerville would find the roads very dirty?

Oh no, she hadn't; they came by the fields. “That splash,” said she, looking at one on the side of her habit, “was got coming over Cuckfield Common,” and thereupon she held it to the fire to dry.

Mr Hazey and Mr Romford then presently entered the drawing-room, after whom came the boy Bill, who had been loitering in the stable to see whether Facey's horses were quiet to dress or not; and next Miss Anna Maria came sailing in in all the radiance of a recent toilette. Then, after a cast back upon the weather, the roads, and the state of the country, the gentlemen diverged upon the never-failing topic of hunting—each master magnifying his more recent runs, and the ladies discussing the taste and discrimination of milliners, and the probable shape of the approaching spring bonnets and mantles. At length the conversation began to flag, and Mrs Somerville, whose thoughts had been running for some time on an unpacked box, containing a charming evening dress she had brought for the occasion, gladly adopted Mrs Hazey's suggestion, that perhaps she would like to see her room, and gathering up her habit becomingly, she followed her hostess up the staircase and along a passage to where a partially-opened door disclosed the gleam of a newly stirred fire. There, on the sofa, lay the charming evening dress, which ten minutes before had been decorating the elegant person of Dirtiest of the Dirty, who thought she looked uncommonly well in it. Mr Romford too, having got his candle, was conducted by his obsequious host to the other state apartment, which he presently perfumed with a strong smell of tobacco. He then proceeded to decorate himself for dinner—scarlet coat, white vest,, black trousers, such as he wore at Dalberry Lees. And he really looked very civilised. “Devilish handsome,” as he said, when he came to examine himself in the looking-glass.

M
R
H
AZEY REVERSED
D
R
C
HANNING
'
S
or somebody's recorded opinion that, “not what a man
has,
but what he is, should guide us in estimating his true value,” for Hazey only looked to what his acquaintance had—we mean in the way of wealth. Hence, any man with plenty of money was sure to be a hero in Hazey's eyes. Nothing so contemptible in his opinion as poverty. Nor birth, nor rank, nor taste, nor talent could compensate for this fatal deficiency, “Poor man—very poor man,” he would say, with an air of compassionate pity. Hazey dearly loved to talk about his own money; tell how much he had in railway shares, how much in Turkish scrip, and how much in Danish bonds and new hotels. In travelling, he generally studied his banker's pass-book as a work of light reading for the rail, confidentially revealing to his next neighbour the amount of cash standing to his credit. “Humph!—not a bad balance,” he would say, pointing to the figures—£1,490 2s. 8d. or £2,013 17s. 1d.—“not a bad balance for a mere country gentleman to keep;”—Hazey omitting to mention that two-thirds of it were on a deposit receipt bearing three per cent. interest, or as near three per cent. as he could screw out of those who had it. With feelings such as these we need scarcely say he issued his invitations on the £
s.d.
principle, baiting his trap as well with the inducement of having the great Mr Romford as the temptation of meeting the rich widow, Mrs Somerville. And Hazey having been good enough to report her reputed jointure of two thousand a year, paid quarterly, all the unmarried men in the country had been trimming their whiskers and bucking up their garments in consequence. Brisk widows are always in demand. Still Hazey's house was never in great repute, for his cookery was only indifferent, and his cellar composed of cheap and second-rate wine. So he had to fire off a good many supplementary notes after the first issue; for people, like porpoises, generally come in shoals, or decline coming altogether. Mr and Mrs Joseph Large couldn't come. They had a party at home. So they had, but it consisted only of themselves. The fact was, Large wasn't pleased as to Mrs Large not being taken out first on a former occasion, and had resolved not to go to Tarring Neville any more.

The Rollingers were extremely sorry they couldn't come; Mr and Mrs Chipperfield were the same; and young Mr Anthony Hallpike, who was one of the catches of the country, declined rather unceremoniously, as young gentlemen will do sometimes.

Then the tide of refusal took a turn, and they got some acceptances. Mr and Mrs Cropper would have great pleasure in, &c.; Mr and Mrs Gowleykins would be most happy; Mr Hibberbine had the honour; and Mrs Stirry and Miss Winkler had the same; the Rev. Mr Matthew Makepiece, the worthy rector of Slannington-cum-Starvington, was also at their command. Then Mr and Miss Makepiece, who at first were only invited to tea, were promoted to the dinner-table. Next there came a little
contretemps;
for the Pannets of Sycamore Hill, who at first were afraid they would not be able to come, Uncle Joe (from whom they had great expectations) having volunteered a visit, now wrote to say that Joe would put it off; and this, too, after the Hazeys had invited the Dumbletons to supply their places.

However, it all came right at last; for the Dumbletons had bad colds, touches of influenza indeed; and the Pannets were not only better looking, but dressed better; in addition to which, Pannet was a water-drinker, which Dumbleton was not, indeed far from it, being one of the old sticking head-achey order, who never could be got away from the dinner-table. And Gritty, the cook, was then weighted with a party of sixteen, which might be increased to eighteen or twenty, according or not as the Beddingfields of Woldingham Manor, and Mr Bonus, who had as yet not answered, came or declined. But Gritty, like all the common cooks, was not easily overpowered. Only give her plenty of rum for the sauces, and she would undertake to get through anything.

Well, Mrs Hazey, having duly arranged all the sauce and other matters in the morning, and Hazey having told Basket how to deal with the wine, they were free to enact the parts of disengaged host and hostess; receive their dear Mrs Somerville and Mr Romford when they came, then dress themselves diligently, and prepare to greet their equally beloved out-of-door friends when they arrived. Miss, of course, knew nothing of any of these domestic proceedings, and the boy Bill was equally ignorant.

And, as the reader perhaps cares not to follow the elders to their respective apartments, see Mrs Hazey reject her pink satin for her amber
moire,
or Hazey substitute a pair of candle-light kerseymeres for the bran new “Nicols” that Basket had laid out for his adornment, we will suppose that the worthy pair have at length descended into the drawing-room, where, with a well-swept hearth and a semi-illumination, they patiently await the coming of the company, wondering whether the clocks are right, and, if so, how they will be by other people's. Hope nobody will think it necessary to come late—half-past six quite late enough for dinner in winter. Hark there's the sound of wheels followed by a lull and a ring and a rush in the passage.