Sir Goodwin's Folly: a story of the year 1795

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SIR GOODWIN'S FOLLY A STORY OF THE YEAR 1795. BY ARTHUR LOCKER. A wizard raised his magic looking-glass, And bade me search there for my lover's face ; I saw a shadowy troop before me pass, Some clad in russet, some bedecked with lace : Ah! woe is me ! I scorned the humble part, And chose Gentility without a heart. The Village Maiden IN THREE VOLUMES. vol. m. LONDON : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1864. [77k Right of Translation reserved.] CONTENTS OF VOL. III.

Chapter I. Opposite Neighbours

Mr. Adam Gattrell, late of St. Antholin's court, in the city of London, perruquier, hut at present of Bunhill-row, St. Luke's, independent, had transferred his custom from the Antigallican Coffee-house behind the Exchange, to the Light Horseman Tavern. Of course, his obedient crony, Mr. Pead, accompanied him in this migra tion, which caused no small annoyance to the Anti gallican people. In those hard times, the loss of a couple of steady old topers, who consumed a vast quantity of ardent liquor without ever becoming noisy, or losing their respective equilibria, was a grievous blow. But Mr. Gattrell, had he chosen to lay bare the recesses of his gigantic intellect to VOL. III. B the vulgar gaze, could have given several excellent reasons for this important step. In the first place, the Antigallican was not what it used to be.

Wil liam, the faithful waiter, who had concocted Mr. Gattrell's punch for thirty consecutive years, had quitted the coffee-room for ever, and was now lying in a humble grave in Bunhill-fields burial-ground, exactly opposite the worthy ex-hairdresser's back parlour-window. With the decease of William, a change had crept over the establishment. A young whipper-snapper fellow had succeeded to his napkin, a youth of extraordinary bodily activity, who rattled the glasses about in a fashion which discomposed the nerves of the oldsters. Then the landlord, to save taking, out a guinea certificate, had actually brushed the powder out of his hah, and enjoined his wife and daughter to do likewise, making them look as black (to use the indignant language of the Public Advertiser) as so many American savages.

Such cheese-paring disloyalty deserved to be dis countenanced, so Mr. Gattrell withdrew his custom. His reasons for selecting the Light Horseman Tavern, as the scene of future conviviality, were threefold. The punch was undeniably excellent; the establishment was farther from Bunhill-row, and consequently he was less liable to be dropped in upon by the indignant wife of his bosom ; lastly, the house was situated in St. Antholin's-court, facing his old shop. The shades of an autumnal night had gathered over the townj the oil-lamp at the entrance of the court (provided lately, to the intense delight of the inhabitants, with a patent reflector) had been lighted, most of the tradespeople had put up their shutters, and were discussing the gossip of the day in their favourite taverns. The argand-lamps in the par lour of the Light Horseman shed a brilliant glare over the pavement outside, while within a highly select company was gathered together.

There was the landlord, Mr. Ridgett, a corpulent, red-faced personage, as a landlord ought to be, seated in his ample arm-chair, with his best wig on his head, his broad-skirted, snuff-coloured coat buttoned at his waist, and a resplendent Irish brilliant brooch in his shirt-front. He was supported on either side by Mr. Gattrell and Mr. Pead, who were also portly and rubicund. The remainder of the company we need not particularise. The window was open, partly because the weather was mild, and partly because the parlour-folks were highly interested in everything that went on over the way at Mr. GattreU's former establishment. " Pity you was obleeged, Mr. Gattrell, to take a tenant that wasn't in your profession," observed the landlord. " Pity, indeed, Mr. Ridgett," responded the retired tradesman ; " but, what was I to do ?

That scoundrelly Jacobinical villain, Chigwood, had given the business such a bad name, that I couldn't get any respectable party to look at it. Then I was deceived in an old apprentice of mine, Tom Wa terlow. I offered to put him in the shop, but he B2 was fool enough to go off with Chigwood trapesing about the country wth a raree-show. And now Wilkins round in Budge-row has got all the trade of the neighbourhood into his hands, such as it is. For barbering, gentlemen, is a ruined business. The bleeding and tooth-drawing, that used to be a paying concern when I was a boy, has been cut into by the regular doctors ; the wig trade has been destroyed by the freaks of fashion ; and our powder has been blown sky-high by, I lament to say, our respected Chancellor, William Pitt. Ain't that a true bill, Pead?"

"Ah!" said Mr. Pead, shaking his head with a sigh. " England han't been the same country since we lost the American colonies ! " " You're always hankering after them Virginian goods of yours, Pead, that you lost in '76," replied Mr. Gattrell, severely. " But I keep my losses to myself, which you can't deny, Mr. Pead." " Yes, sir, you do," said Mr. Pead, humbly. The poor man could not afford to differ with his com panion, having borrowed five guineas of him the preceding Saturday. " To return to what we was talking of," remarked the landlord. " What led you to take this man for a tenant, Mr. Gattrell?" " This," replied the old gentleman. " My mistress is fond of having a lodger, and so am I ; for cooking and waiting on him keeps her from med dling with what don't concern a woman." All the married men present who had any notion that their respective wives might invade the sanctity of the Light Horseman parlour nodded approval, and Mr. Gattrell continued.

" So we put a bill in our window in Bunhill-row. Amongst other persons in the course of a few days, comes a thin, dapper, seafaring looking gentleman, along with this fo reigner, and examines the lodgings. They liked 'em. I need scarcely say that with my mistress's cleanliness, and the beautiful view from the bed room-window over the bmying-ground, they couldn't fail to like 'em. I says, ' Gentlemen, there ain't such a situation in London. For business, there's the Bank of England handy ; if you want a pleasant walk, there's Moorfields, with all the mad folks in Bedlam looking out of their windows. If you want a bath, there's Peerless Pool close by, with a fish pond three hunched feet long, and a terrace-walk planted with lime-trees. If you want amusements, there's the Shepherd and Shepherdess, or Hemlock Barn just across the City-road; and as for the country, ten minutes' walk takes you into Fins bury-fields.' Don't I speak the truth, Mr. Pead ?

" " You do, indeed, sir. I never see a more con venient neighbourhood in my life." " Well, of course they took the lodgings ; that is, the seafaring gentleman took 'em for the French man, and paid a week in advance. He says, ' There's only one objection to this gentleman, Mr. Gattrell ; he knows very little English.' < Never mind,' says my mistress, ' he'll find his way to his mouth.' Two or three weeks passed, and we became weU pleased with one another. I used to amuse myself in the mornings teaching him Eng lish, and he learnt pretty quick, considering he's a foreigner. Well, I found he wanted a place for to open an agency business. My mistress says, ' There's the poor old shop in the court standing empty. Let him take that.' So he took it, and there he is." " What's the meaning of the words he's had painted over the door ?

" asked the landlord. " I've been spelling it over every day this week. Bureau de renseignements pour les etrangers." " Ah ! I can tell you the English of that," said Mr. Gattrell, briskly. " ' Now mind you, Mr. Saint Brick,' I says, ' I'll have no treasonable non sense painted on my shop. No Liberty, Egga light, Frattemight, like they have in your country, so please to tell me what that means.' He laughed like anything, and answered, 4 Parbloo, Moosoo,' (I've began to pick up a little of the lingo, you see), ' jer swee Royaliste' — that means, I'm a true blue king's man. 'That writing means,' he savs, ' Moosoo Gadarelle, office of informations for the strangers.' For my poor compatriots," continued Mr. Gattrell, mimicking the Frenchman, " that vish to know vether deir fathers and mothers' heads over in La Belle France, is on deir shoulders or not."

" In fact," observed a waggish-looking man, the same who at the outset of our history defended the cause of hair-powder — " in fact, a sort of Graillotine inquiry office, where an unlucky mounseer may call, and receive in exchange for a small fee the heads of his relations. Does he keep 'em, Gattrell, like your wig-blocks, ranged all round the shelves?" " Nonsense, sir," replied Mr. Gattrell, sternly, " it's no joking matter. I tell you, gentlemen, the stories Saint Brick has told me about then goings on in Paris was enough to rise the hair off my head. I couldn't understand much of what he said, but every anecdote had a murder in it. How happy we should be, my friends," concluded the old perruquier, as he sipped his punch, " that we live in this tight little island!" " Ay," said the waggish man, " that five-and twenty-mile ditch has saved old England a deal of bother."

" Come," exclaimed Mr. Gattrell. rising to his feet, " I'll give you a toast. The King, God bless him ! the Queen, God bless her ! the Jacobins, confound them ! " " And now," said the waggish man, " if the com pany's agreeable, I'll give 'em a song, suitable to the occasion. " King Jupiter sat on a fleecy white cloud, Far, far up in the sky so blue ; And round His Majesty stood a great crowd Of gaping gods and goddesses too. He had pitched his ball and sceptre away, And in his two hands held a lump of clay, Which round with bis fingers he twirled ; Would you know the reason of this queer sight, Which made all the deities stare outright ? Why, 'twas Jupiter making the World ! Lend me your tongs, friend Vulcan,' he said; 1 I'll scorch the clay for a second or so ; And make two countries steaming and red.

Where sugar and pepper and spice shall grow ; These are the Indies, East and West.' And next he touched Diana's breast, As cold, and as chaste as snow ; ' This is the land of the Czar and knout— And this, which Dad Saturn has paddled about, Is Germany, heavy and slow.' Apollo he breathed on the next bit of clay, Like a guinea it clinked with a musical ring ; Jove shaped a boot, and proceeded to say, ' Here's Italy, where they do nothing but sing ;' Sweet Venus pressed her lips to the next, But Mars stepped forward, a trifle vexed, And nearly trod on her dove ; ' In this,' says His Majesty, ' both must share, 'Tis France, dear Venus, a joint affair, Compounded of War and Love.' Then Jupiter raised his golden cup. And he poured out nectar to make the sea : Says he, ' I've used my material up, The World's created — let's go to tea.' ' Hollo !' he cried, as he rose from his bench, ' Here's a small lump left, I'll add to the French This three-cornered bit that's over.' ' No ! shiver my timbers !' says Neptune ; ' come, That 'ere bit's mine, I'll make it my home, And keep my boats there' — he pressed bis thumb — And fashioned the Straits of Dover !"

" Brayvo ! " exclaimed Mr. Ridgett, thumping the table enthusiastically ; " I call that something real and patriotic." Mr. GattreH's lips were pursed together, and uttered a slight hiss. It was a small noise to begin with, but being vigorously followed up by Mi\ Pead and several other guests, who considered that whatever Mr. Gattrell disapproved of must be wrong, it swelled into quite an alarming chorus, converting the quiet parlour into the semblance of a village-green where a number of anxious ma trons with outstretched necks protect their yellow downy offspring from marauding urchins. " Wdiy, gentlemen ! " said the waggish man, somewhat disconcerted, " one 'ud think I was Tom Paine, or Citizen ThelwaU. What are ye hissing at, Mr. Pead?" Mr. Pead did not condescend to reply, but quietly pointed the stem of his pipe to Mr. Gattrell, as much as to say, " There's my commanding officer.

I've nailed my colours to his mast. Ask him." His gandership spoke : " Gentlemen all, Mr. Mullett in particular. The song in itself is a good song, and might have been wrote by my old customer David Garrick. Why, then," pursued Mr. Gattrell, describing argu mentative circles in the air with his pipe-bowl, " why, then, did I hiss ? Because, sir," he added, striking the table with his clenched fist, and look ing severely at the landlord, exactly (so the ad miring Mr. Pead afterwards stated, as Mr. She ridan regards the Speaker of the House) — "be cause, sir, in that song, the French are let off too easy." " Hear, hear ! " shouted Mr. Pead. " Ay, sir, too easy by half. What, sir ! bring in the God of War and the Goddess of Love to assist at the birth of a people who have turned out to be a set of bloodthirsty infidel scoundrels, the scorn and reproach, as Mr. Burke says, of the civilised world ! out upon you, Mi-.

Mullett ! Don't conceive that I'm hoodwinked to the vices of the French nation because I've got a Frenchman for a tenant over the way. No, sir ! Never, sir ! Why, the god of the French should be the god of the infernal regions, the god of Tartary !" " Hear, hear ! " shouted Mr. Pead. " And who was that ? " said the old gentleman, turning sharply upon his obsequious friend. " I've heard you brag, Pead, of your grammar-school edication. Who was that god ? " Mr. Pead struck an attitude like the picture of Sterne, or Miss Anna Seward the poetess, and remained silent for some minutes. At length he spoke. " It was either Plutus, Pluto, or Plutarch ; but which, I'll be hanged if I can recollect." " All three, most likely," observed Mi-. Mullett, sarcastically ; " the French are bad enough for any thing."

" You hear that, Mr. Gattrell ? " remarked the landlord, who was growing wear}- of the discussion, and longed to return to the subject of Monsieur Saint Brick as they called him — " you hear that ? Mr. Mullett has apologised. So let's drop it, as Paddy did the hot potato. And now about mounseer over the way. I hope you will get your rent, Mr. Gattrell ? " said the landlord, mysteriously. " Quarter paid in advance," replied the old perruquier triumphantly. " No more Chigwood tricks for me." " Because he don't appear to do much business, leastways in the daytime. I scarce ever see a soul enter the house. Saint Brick stands half the day at his door in a pair of list slippers, smoking a dirty black pipe, like a bricklayer's hodman. But at night it's otherwise. Look over the way now, gentlemen.

What do you see ? Figgers, half a dozen, more or less, a bobbing about behind that crimson curtain. Why, they're like the Chinese shadows as the man exhibits at the top of the Old Bailey. See how their heads wag about ! If those men arn't conspirators, my name's not Charley Ridgett ! " Mr. Gattrell's nose grew slightly pale, a sure symptom of alarm. " Why, Ridgett," he exclaimed, " what are ye talking about ? The man's a French loyalist. Nearly lost his head for the sake of the king." " Some people think otherwise," observed Mr. Ridgett, darkly. " Who ?" cried the old hairdresser — " who dares to say " " I'll tell ye," said Mr. Ridgett, quietly. " T'other day me and my missus were up at the West-end, and she was a looking into the bonnet-shops in Cranbourn-alley, when somebody tapped me on the shoulder. ' Hallo ! ' says I, ' Mounseer Clery, glad to see ye.' (You know, gentlemen, Clery was King Louis's valley de sham, and wrote that beau tiful book about his imprisonment, which made even my tough old eyes weep.) ' How's matters in Great Pulteney-street ? ' says I. ' Pretty middling,' says he ; ' I've got my house full of boarders.

Got an Abbey in last week.' (You know an Abbey in French don't mean a building, but a sort of parson, Mr. Pead?)" Mi-. Pead nodded a somewhat petulant assent. His scholarship was being impugned on all sides. " ' Ay,' says Clery, ' a man of noble blood, and now teaching music at sixpence a lesson in Hen rietta-street, Covent-garden.' ' Do you hear that, Betsy ? ' says I, nudging my mistress, who was fixed full gape at a hat with a feather in it, three foot high. ' Do you hear that ? Why shouldn't our Polly' (she's just home, gentlemen, from a finishing-school at Hackney, where she learnt next to nothing) — ' why shouldn't she have a few lessons?'" " What's all this rigmarole got to do with mv tenant over the way ? " interposed Mr. Gattrell, sulkily. The landlord grew alarmed. The old per ruquier's eye wore a discontented expression.

He had seceded once from the Antigallican, he might secede again from the Light Horseman, carrying Mr. Pead and a tail of admirers along with him. " I'll cut it short, sir," said Mr. Ridgett, obse quiously. " Do," observed Mi-. Gattrell, magisterially, " and come to the pint." " Polly began the lessons. By arrangement at the grocer's in Henrietta-street, they having a harpsichord. The Abbey told her about his voyage aboard the Saucy Betsy, and how he had a fellow-passenger, Saint Brick. He said he be beved Saint Brick was a bad lot ; he didn't know him personally in France, but he suspected he was a Jacobin." " Gammon," said Mr. Gattrell, decisively. " It's gammon, ain't it, Pead ? " " Ay," chimed in Mr. Pead. " Gentlemen all, I wish you good night," said Mr. Gattrell, sternly. And fixing his three-cornered hat upon his head, he took his silver-topped cane, and stalked from the house, followed by Mr. Pead and several of his staunchest disciples.

" D'ye think he'll ever come back again, Mul lett ? " asked the landlord, apprehensively. " Lor bless ye, yes. He's only took a bit of a huff — old Adam knows he won't get Jamaica rum equal to yours, Ridgett, in the whole city of London. You'll see him here again to-morrow night, like little Bo-peep, with all his tail behind him." Let us cross the court, and entering the bureau de renseignements, pass into the inner parlour, through the apartment formerly dedicated to hair dressing, but now tenanted by Saint Brieuc and his friends. A man wrapped in a cloak, beneath which appeared a sailor's jacket, with a broad-brimmed hat flapped over his eyes, sat in front of the empty fireplace, apparently buried in meditation. " He will be here presently," he murmured, " and I will explain matters to him.

Let me consider how the case stands. I am a sort of Cerberus, three gentlemen rolled into one, as Mrs. Malaprop has it. Edwin Lascelles Norland, Alphonse Leroy, and Robert Southernwood. Saint Brieuc is the only person to whom I have entrusted the triple secret : but Loveridge knows me in the two latter chats racters. It will not be safe to let him learn this story from the newspapers. He will naturally say, ' This Leroy, who is reported to be dead, is alive : I know him as Captain Southernwood ! ' Without intending to harm me, he may disclose the truth, and ruin the enterprise. He shall hear the story from my own lips. Here he comes." As he spoke, Loveridge entered the room. He touched his cap, with anautical salute to his supe rior officer, and said : " Captain Southernwood, I heard that you desired to see me, so here I am.

M'Meckan is on board the schooner, and bade me tell you that the last voyage, although performed' without your valuable presence, has been entirely satisfactory. And Captain," said the fanatic, " now is the time for action. The short harvest pinches men's bellies, and renders them dissatisfied. In Scotland they are ripe for revolt. We were in the Edinburgh Theatre when ' God save the King' was sung : it was received with yells and hisses. If three thousand French republicans were to land at Leith, the whole country would rise to arms." " Wait a feAv weeks longer," replied Southern wood, "and your wishes shall be accomplished. Citizen Merlin assures me that the Convention have got our welfare under their consideration. The Chouan revolt is almost crushed, and as soon as the November fogs come on, an expedition will slip across the Channel.

We shall be informed beforehand of its destination. And now, Citizen Loveridge, I wish to speak to you of a private matter. Do you read the newspapers diligently ? " "I scarce ever get the chance, and this last voyage we had nothing but French and Scotch journals aboard." "He has not read it, then," thought Southern wood. " I wished to know if you had seen a paragraph hi the papers, in which my name was mentioned, that is, my nom de guerre, Alphonse Leroy ? " " I have seen no such paragraph." " Then you shall hear the story. A certain fair lady (you know, Loveridge, there is always a woman in every romance) " " Curse them," exclaimed the other, savagely, " they are at the bottom of every mischief upon earth ! " " Perhaps they are," said Southernwood, good humouredly. "At any rate, a certain fanlady wanted to marry again.

She was a widow, but could not legally establish her husband's death. It seems he was fool enough (like ourselves) to go over to France during the height of the Terror, and mix himself up with politics. She supposes that he was guillotined under a false name. Well, this charming widow got hold of me, told me how she was pining in love for a certain baronet, and besought me to assist her. I made inquiries in Paris, but could learn nothing conclusive. At last she said to me, ' My dear Captain, you have disclosed to me' (one discloses everything, you know, Loveridge, to a pretty woman) ' that you were yourself engaged in the Revolution under the name of Leroy, and that you miraculously escaped the vengeance of the Government.' I must tell you, Loveridge, by the way, that I did not give vou the exact truth, on our first interview on board the Betsy, regarding my escape.

I told you that I was about to be shipped for Cayenne. It was not so. I was rescued, if I may so say, from the very jaws of death. To continue : my fair friend argued thus : ' You, my dear Captain, wish the French rulers to believe that Alphonse Leroy is really dead ? ' 'I do,' I answered. ' Why not, then,' said she, ' signify to the world that Alphonse Leroy and my husband were the same person ? I am sure,' she pursued, with an enchanting smile, ' that poor Edwin is dead, but I cannot prove it. Do me this inestimable favour. Letters and docu ments I can give you in abundance.' Well, Love ridge, you know I am not a highly moral man. I wanted to make it appear that Leroy was dead. My fascinating widow wanted a husband. It was a mutual convenience. So I did the deed, aided by our late fellow-voyager, Saint Brieuc.

The world is satisfied; and in a month or two the happy couple will be united." " I have no right, Captain Southernwood, to criticise your affairs," said Loveridge, " but it seems a dishonest piece of work. Supposing the first husband should, after all, be alive ? " " He is not — we are morally certain of his death." " But you must have committed forgery." " Nonsense. Don't we all commit forgery when ever we sign a name that is not our own ? It is the privilege of revolutionists to indulge in aliases. I have shrewd doubts whether you, Citizen Love ridge, bear the name of your ancestors." " Possibly not," replied Loveridge, with a smile. " Still, assuming a mere name and pretending to be another man are two very different things. But why do you tell me this stoiy ? You know that my sole object hi life is to release my country from the chains of slavery, everything else is " " ' Leather and prunello.' Be it so.

Thou art a worthy citizen," exclaimed Southernwood, warmly, shaking his companion's hand, "and I would I possessed a tithe of your simple-hearted enthu siasm. You ask why I tell you this story. Simply to entreat you to hold your tongue. You know that the individual styled Alphonse Leroy is not dead. Do not disclose that he fives." " I have no admiration for these crooked in trigues, but neither have I any desire to expose you. VOL. ill. C Concerning political matters, I believe your heart is right. Let us labour together for the over throw of despotism, and forget these petty entan glements." " We will, we will ! Still, my dear citizen, as an old friend of mine used to say, the flesh is weak. Will you promise, nay, will you swear, to divulge nothing of this story ? " " You appear greatly excited, Captain Southern wood.

It is but a trifle after all." " Nay, it is no trifle. Discovery would be ruin. All our enterprises would be blasted. I am, as you know, the principal agent between the Conven tion and the friends of freedom here. If my secret were disclosed, I should have to hide myself in obscm-ity. The prospect of a republic being pro claimed in England before January must depend, I may say truly, on our joint exertions. Will you swear ? " " In that case, I will. I swear by the Great Being who inhabits eternity, from whom we all spring, and in whose glory we shall all be amalga mated, that I will carry your secret locked in my breast till you bid me reveal it. Are you satisfied now ? " " I am. I shall never bid you reveal it. Now let us talk of other matters." CHAPTER H. AFTER THE HONEYMOON. As Frederick Starlinghurst preferred being in dependent of the old people at Starling Hall, he had taken a house in the neighbourhood of Canter bury, on the banks of the river Stour, for the accommodation of his newly-wedded wife.

Ring stone Lodge, so the plaee was called, was some what old-fashioned and dilapidated, but it possessed excellent stabling, and as Mr. Starlinghurst was, at the present time, deeply interested in the turf, he thought at least as much of the welfare of his horses as of his bride. The young couple were not so happy in each other's company as they should have been. Star linghurst found that his wife possessed a temper of her own, and that she was beginning to display it in a highly inconvenient fashion. He complained that she was jealous and exacting. Poor Floretta, c on the other hand, lamented that the attentive lover, who, during the era of courtship, and even throughout the honeymoon, had been so punctilious in his attentions, had disappeared, and left in his place a sullen gentleman, whose devotion to horses was such that he had scarcely a civil word to spare for his wife, and seemed to regard her presence as a decided bore.

Floretta felt this neglect deeply. She had transferred her affections from the faithful Taswell to the man of fashion, in con sequence of her passionate admiration for his per sonal charms and fascinations ; and then discovered, to her bitter mortification, that the most boorish squire who ever hunted a fox could not have treated her with greater indifference. For a while she pined in silence ; but, as time flew by, and his neglect became more and more apparent, she uttered sharp reproaches, and began to upbraid him openly. " It is a pity, Frederick," she observed as they sat one day after dinner, " that you were not more economical of your attentions before marriao-e." " Why ? " demanded her husband, sullenly, stretching his legs, and thrusting his hands into the skirt-pockets of his coat.

" Because you would have more to bestow on me now. Then you were perpetually calling at our house, and never entered it without a present in vour hand, a ticket for some performance, or at least a polite speech ; now you avoid the drawinoroom, as if I were in quarantine, and when we meet at dinner silence reigns supreme. What have I done to forfeit your love ? " " Nothing, my dear ; I love you as much as I did before marriage." " Then, sir, you must have professed a regard you did not feel, for I am certain you do not care for me now. We are but a few months married, and already you shun my society. You prefer the company of blacklegs and stable-helps to that of your wedded wife." " My dear Floretta, you would not have me pass my days up-stairs, with Mrs. Potts at my side cri ticising new patterns ?