Mr Facey Romford's Hounds (42 page)

Mr and Mrs Gowleykins, of Cock-a-Roost Hall, were the first guests to arrive; fat Gowleykins with a Gibus hat and diminutive tie, Mrs Gowleykins with a hoop that made her look like “the Great Globe itself.” It was with difficulty she could get herself compressed into a seat, and then there was a great balance bagging over the arm. Gowleykins was a big, baldheaded, butter-like man, who straddled and tried to look easy, though feeling extremely uncomfortable, and most heartily wishing himself back at Cock-a-Roost Hall. He was a rich man, having, as Hazey afterwards informed Mr Romford confidentially, full five thousand a year, which, coupled with a delightful simplicity in horsey matters, made him a most valuable ally to Hazey. He didn't get less than fifty pounds a year out of the laird of Cock-a-Roost Hall—fifty pounds at least, all but the couple of sovereigns or so he gave the groom every Christmas to keep his master's heart soft and emollient.

Mr and Mrs Cropper, of Cowleyshaw Hill, Mrs Stirry, and Miss Winkler followed the Gowleykins, the two former having taken up the latter at their residence at Oaklands Grove, greatly to the prejudice of all three dresses. Cropper had growled the whole way at the unreasonable absurdity of crinolines, devoutly wishing that they and some of their inmates were at Jericho. He, too, was a moneyed man, variously estimated at from two to three thousand a year; and though he didn't hunt, indeed his beer-barrel-like figure almost precluded the idea, yet Hazey managed to squeeze a pony out of him for the Hard and Sharps under the plea of patriotism—aiding the noble sport of hunting, which Hazey always maintained it was the bounden' duty of every man to do. Scarcely had Cropper's thick legs carried him round the now assembled circle, and brought him up safely on the hearthrug, than the door opened on the voluntary principle (that is to say, without the intervention of servants), and in rolled Mr Romford in the full array of the Larkspur Hunt—scarlet Tick, clean white vest, black kerseymeres, patent leather boots with elastic sides, for which latter elegancies we do not exactly know to whom he was indebted, but to a firm in St James's Street.

Then Mr Hazey, acting the part of bear-leader, made up to Mr Romford, and, getting him by the arm, forthwith began wheeling and circling him about, introducing him to this person and to that, supplementing his proclamation of names with an aside commentary upon their wealth, such as “Deuced warm fellow that—has his five thousand a year, if he has a halfpenny” (meaning old Cock-a-Roost); or “That's a capital fellow, full of money, subscribes to the hounds, and does everything a man should do.” But the great object of Mr Hazey's admiration was Mr Bonus, now of Shaverley Place, but formerly of the Stock Exchange, a gentleman who still retained a lively leaning to his old pursuits, being always ready for a deal, in which he generally managed to be successful too. “Wonderful fellow,” whispered Hazey to Romford, as, having effected the introduction, he led him off towards the lamp as if to show him the picture of a favourite hunter above—“wonderful fellow, turns everything he touches into gold. Do believe he gets ten-and-a-half per cent. for every halfpenny he has. Is chairman of the Half-Guinea Hat Company, one of the best specs going. Bought a cow of me that our people could make nothing of. Only gave me six-pun-ten for her, and—would you believe it?—she reared him two calves and made him twenty puns' worth of butter besides.”

This interesting genius was a slightly-built, middle-sized, yellow-haired man, who might be almost any age from thirty to fifty. The most remarkable feature about him was, a skew-bald fan beard, formed of alternate tufts of yellow and white hair, just like the fringe of a kettle-holder. He was a single man, and a good deal courted in the country.

And now the door opened again, and in pops Mr Daniel Dennis, the stop-gap of the neighbourhood, a “rus
in urbe”
sort of youth, little remarkable for anything save living opposite a weathercock. “I live opposite a weathercock,” he was always telling people out hunting. “I live opposite a weathercock, and I saw at a glance this morning that the wind was at north-east;” or, “the weathercock opposite my lodging has been steady at south west these three days, and I predict we shall soon have rain.”

Lucy, who understood stage effect as well as any woman, did not essay to descend until several successive wheel-rolls up to the door and rings of the bell led her to think the company would be about assembled, though she was informed as to who was arriving through the medium of Dirtiest of the Dirty, who had it from Hyacintha, Mrs Hazey's maid. So she amused herself, during the progress of an elaborate toilette, with listening to the details of the internal economy of Tarring Neville,—who was mean—who was awful mean—who there was no a-bearin',—and in speculating on the probable appearance of Mr and Mrs Cropper; what Mr Bonus would be like; what Mrs Gowleykins would have on; and whether Mr Dennis was good-looking or otherwise. At length a passage clock struck the quarter, and, after a final glance in the cheval glass, Lucy took up her white-kid gloves and fan, and sailed majestically out of the room, leaving Dirty to rearrange her things and extinguish the six wax-lights with which the apartment was illuminated. “No use in stinting oneself,” thought Lucy, as she quitted the blaze of light. She then made the grand descent of the softly-carpeted staircase, and was presently where Basket the butler, glass door-handle in hand, stood guard, as well over it as over a covey of flat candlesticks on the adjoining table.

The door opened, and our magnificent prima donna sailed graciously into the room, radiant with smiles, radiant with inward satisfaction, and dazzling with costly jewels. Her new toilette completely threw in the shade the shabby silks, satins, and velvets of the other ladies. They began to wish they had been a little smarter: Mrs Cropper, that she had put on her violet; Mrs Beddingfield, that she had not come in blue. And then they blamed the gentlemen for advising them not. Meanwhile, Mrs Somerville having made a hasty survey of the scene, and satisfied herself that there was no one there to compete with herself, either in the way of looks or attire, droopped her black Spanish lace mantilla off her beautifully rounded shoulder, and proceeded to smirk and smile and show her pearly teeth to the company: “Mrs Gowleykins, Mrs Somerville; Mrs Somerville, Mrs Beddingfield; Mrs Cropper, Mrs Somerville,” and so forth.

Masters of hounds are generally pretty punctual, as well at their meets as their meals, and Mrs Somerville had scarcely concluded her floating teeth-showing gyrations ere Basket sailed noiselessly into the room and announced in a whisper to Hazey, as if imparting a profound secret, that “dinner was ready.” Then Hazey, who had got sidled up to Mrs Somerville, as if he were going to make an attempt on her pocket, offered her his red arm, whereupon the other gentlemen began pairing off with the respective ladies they had had indicated to them as dinner companions: Mrs Cock-a-Roost with Old Cropper, and Mrs Cropper with Three Thousand Five Hundred a Year; Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. with Miss Winkler; Facey ultimately brought up the rear with Mrs Hazey. By, however, one of those scientific man known only to great strategical commanders, Anna Maria's capacious dress, like Cassandra Cleopatra's at Dalberry Lees, was found extending itself half over Mr Romford's chair, and this though her order of going would have indicated her place to be at the other end of the table; but ladies are always very obliging where there is any business to be done.

Grace was then said by the worthy Rector of Slavington-cum-Starvington, and forthwith soup began to circulate from each end of the table. Sherry of course followed soup, and then came the fish—a dish of smelts, and turbot with lobster sauce. Hock and Moselle then succeeded, and the gentlemen began to feel a little more comfortable. The ladies of course had dined at luncheon time, and, like Willy Watkins with his hunting, now only ate for conformity. Indeed, we often wonder for whom the great overpowering dinners are provided. If we follow a man to his club, and see what he orders, we shall find that soup, fish, and meat, constitute the dinners of nine-tenths of the whole. Tarts, sweets, savouries, are in little demand. But when a party of men sit at one table, instead of at several tables as they do at a club, there seems to be an idea that the accumulation of appetites requires greater appeasing, and makes it necessary to have an infinity of food.

If people find certain dishes at one end of a table, they may be pretty sure what there will be at the other. For instance, a sirloin of beef is pretty sure to be faced by a turkey, whilst a roast leg of mutton generally involves some boiled chickens at the other. Then the ham, tongue, sausages, and so on, follow as a matter of course. Roast beef and turkey was the order of the day at Tarring Neville, for which there was a pretty equal demand; but Facey, not being much of a carver, willingly relinquished the honour of assisting Mrs Hazey to Mr Pannet, who sat on the opposite side of the table; thus enabling him to devote his attentions to Miss Hazey. But Facey was prudent and calculating. Anna Maria was certainly very pretty. Fine head and neck, beautiful brown hair, elegant figure; but then there was that confounded “Boy Bill” and another cub or two elsewhere. Besides, Hazey would live for ever, and Mrs H. looked like a tough 'un too. Altogether he determined to take the curb of his admiration up a link or two.

Some people seem to think if they get a certain muster of guests together, and place a profusion of food before them, that that constitutes society, and that they may sit staring, just as the master of a union workhouse sits staring at the paupers.

Hazey was one of the silent sort, unless he was talking of buying, or selling, or exchanging; and as he could not hope to interest Mrs Somerville with a disquisition on horse dealing, or favour her with a sight of his banker's pass book, he began telling her the quality and price of the various things on the table, explaining that the candles were genuine wax, and the oil the finest sperm. He also drew her attention to his crystal, and next told her how he got his linen direct from the manufacturer in Belfast, without subjecting it to the troublesome attentions of the middle man. He was a regular bargain hunter, and was so proud of his exploits, that he could not keep his own counsel—even letting out that his champagne was of the cheap order—a most injudicious proceeding, seeing it was sure to deteriorate the flavour. If people do give cheap wine, they should keep the price to themselves.

We will not persecute the reader with a description of all the dishes and delicacies that Gritty's moderate abilities furnished, still less with the hard-featured dessert that followed, the component parts whereof were chiefly apples and pears, nor yet with the burthensome conversation that accompanied the whole. It was just one of those sort of dinners that those who have never seen any better would think good, and those who knew what dinners ought to be would think bad. Friend Facey, however, got through it with much more ease than he did the Dalberry Lees one, and Lucy thought it a great deal better than spending the night with her old mother at Beldon Hall. And she was half sorry when an ominous lull enabled Mrs Hazey to catch her eye, and with the usual gesticulation moved the adjournment of the ladies; but then she sailed out with the air of an empress.

O
F COURSE, ON THE RETIREMENT
of the ladies from the dining-room, there was a readjustment of seats at Mr Hazey's festive board; and our distinguished Master, Mr Romford, between whom and his brother M.F.H. there had been a long interregnum of highly-garnished table, now got together, Mr Romford occupying the seat of honour just vacated by Mrs Somerville, having the yellow and white fan-bearded Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. on his right. Next Ten-and-a-half came old boosy Tom Pennant, then the Rector of Slavington-cum-Starvington, flanked by Daniel Dennis, and opposite sat Joe Beddingfield, Gowleykins, Cropper, and others, all anxious to hear the stories of our master, who looked, indeed, as though he were surcharged with them.

Basket, the butler, with his attendant aide-de-camp, having assisted in the new arrangement by the distribution of chairs, glasses, and the marshalling of decanters, now reduced the illumination by extinguishing the extraneous lamps on the sideboard and elsewhere, and presently withdrew, leaving our friends to fraternise through the instrumentality of music, politics, literature, fox hunting, the fine arts, or what not. Of course the wine had to circulate once or twice before anything of a conversation could be expected, during which time those who had anything to say for themselves began looking out for a subject, while those who had not, prepared to act the part of sand-bags, by examining and disposing of the wine.

Mr Bonus—that is to say, Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent.—having carefully manipulated his funny fan beard, and found that every hair was right in this very peculiar half-inch fringe, now gave a slight ingratiating turn of his chair towards Mr Romford; and, after a glance at his hirsute profile, as Romford sat rocking himself in one of Hazey's ricketty chairs, apparently thinking of nothing, though in reality scanning every thing and person in the room, Mr Bonus ventured to ask, in a very deferential tone, if Mr Romford ever looked into the Derby betting.

“Whiles,” replied Facey, pulling out a sample of his beard, and holding it up to the light. “Whiles,” repeated he, re-establishing his chair on all fours, and scrutinising Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. attentively. Derby betting! thought Facey (who could spell Reindeer with any of them). That looked like business; and passing the favourites quickly through his mind, together with the bets he had pending, he was considering what temptation he could afford to offer Mr Bonus, when his host interfered with his wine. Hazey wanted to talk about his wine; and the prices of wine and the prices which horses are at in the betting ring not harmonising, Ten-and-a-half-per-Cent. was obliged to retire his subject. They, however, mutually booked each other for a venture on a future occasion; Bonus thinking himself better informed than Facey, and Facey having an equally confident opinion of himself. Now let us harken to our host.