A beggar on horseback

Front matter

THE ADTIIOROF'tJNFAIRMr WON"&

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ROBERT W WDDDRUFF LIBRARY

Chapter I

Mus. Tenteeden Jones gave a party. Not a dinner, or yet a dance, but a highly fashionable afternoon " tea," to which the guests came at four and stayed till seven, and at which the entertainment was music, as specified on the cards. Mrs. Tenterden Jones was not the wife of Mr. T. Jones, the fat pork-butcher, who sold bacon and black puddings and deliciouslooking fat kitteny sausages, in the same country-town wherein she resided. No ; Mrs. Tenterden Jones sold nothing at all, and the bitterest and most difficult pill which she had to swallow was that her husband did. He was an apothecary as well as a doctor, and sold drugs and potions in prodigious quantities to the whole country round. His pills, however, were always richly silvered, and made up in neat little boxes, and his patients swallowed them by the score, without any bitterness or difficulty whatever.

To address Mrs. Jones without the Tenterden, was to wound her to the quick. If a patient sent in a hurry for " Dr. Jones," and omitted the important prefix, that gentleman's irate spouse took care — when it lay in her power — to withhold the message for at least half an hour from the time of its delivery, in order that the offending patient might be kept writhing for thirty delicious extra minutes with the colic, toothache, or gout, as the merited punishment of his or her presumption ; and when, upon one occasion, an abstracted postman happened to deliver a note addressed '' Mrs. T. Jones " at the abode of the pork-butcher — said note being from Mrs. Tenterden Jones's confidential dentist, announcing that her new upper-jaw teeth were quite ready for u fixing" — the punishments and persecutions which that unhappy postman suffered from suspended Christmas-boxes, complaints at head-quarters, and fiery onslaughts from Mrs. Tenterden Jones's ill-disposed poodle, were enough to turn the hair of the unfortunate letter-carrier prematurely grey.

As gaiety and admiration were the ruling passions of Mrs. Jones's life, and as the doctor had money and good-nature in pretty equal proportions, his wife drew liberally upon both, and her parties were lively and frequent, if never particularly select. This especial one was quite an unusual effort. Two dances had preceded it, and Mrs. Tenterden Jones resolved to wind up the season with music and song. The worthy couple were not themselves musically inclined. The lady could just manage to sit out a concert or short opera without going to-sleep, but her spouse never could ; and, as he always snored in thirds, his periods formed a serious impediment to the harmony of orchestral performances, and frequently caused the leader tc aim surreptitious kicks at the shins of the big bassoon, thinking that that injured individual must certainly be the aggressor. Somebody had, however, told Mrs. Tenterden Jones that a musical tea would be " the thing," and as there was a lot of talent in the country at that particular time, and a special attraction in the person of a certain magnificent Signor Howlerini — who was on a visit to the sheriff for a week's recreation, to enjoy the manly pastime of rabbit-shooting — the doctor's wife acted on the friendly hint, and opened her salons to such of the elite as chose to flock thither on that sunshiny April day.

Moppet, the page, had got his jacket turned, and a whole row of new bright buttons affixed to it for the occasion ; a local waiter, with a goodly crop of blossoms from the spirit land upon his nose, was engaged to assist ; the maid-of-all-work was made melancholy with injunctions to keep out of the way, and, as a proof of obedience, thrust a depressed countenance, disfigured by tears and grime, through the balustrade whenever the spirited male attendant was showing a guest up the narrow staircase.

The drawing-rooms, too, looked quite grand, with the folding-doors thrown wide open between them, and all the chairs in the house arranged in neat rows for the guests to sit upon. Things, indeed, were excellently managed. Wherever Dr. Tenterden Jones had left the mark of his head on chair-back or couch, an antimacassar was skilfully spread. Cruel work the doctor's pomatum had made of damask and silk — and crewel-work was made to serve as a covering for it. Wherever the carpet showed signs of wear and tear, rich Persian rugs — or imitations almost as good — were luxuriously laid down. The blinds were carefully drawn, lest too glaring a light should be the means of showing up some other glaring things which were better left in the shade. The old Broadwood pianoforte stood invitingly open at the farthest end of the back room;>and the jaws of the poodle — whose name was Beggar — stood open also, as a receptacle for morsels of cake and biscuit, with which the guests in selfdefence supplied him, in order to save their garments from the wreckage of his terribly long nails.

The assemblage of company was brilliant in the extreme. There was Mrs. Tenterden Jones herself, with quite four guineas' worth of frizzled fair hair hanging down upon her forehead like an overgrown Lowther Arcade doll, and with a tremendous long train of purple satin streaming out behind, to the intense bewilderment of the wall-eyed curate, who, being short-sighted, mistook it for a portion of the carpet, and was always planted firmly upon it whenever the graceful wearer wanted to move .about. There was Dr. Tenterden Jones, very red and fussy, with a deeply rooted aversion to tea-parties, and a bad cold in his head, which kept him busy with his nose for the greater portion of the time. Indeed, that troublesome organ gave him quite as much employment as he could attend to, for whenever, in a fit of politeness, he essayed to address a lady guest, the nose played him a mean trick, and humbled him in the visitor's eyes as well as in his own. It was really too provoking, seeing that he had dined early on roast shoulder of mutton with onion sauce, and had not practised the habits of a total abstainer, for he contrived to give a goodly benefit of the perfume arising from the savoury portion of his dinner to the hapless victim of his attentions, and sneezed cold punch persistently over her, until she groped in desperation for her umbrella, in a state of undefined perplexity with regard to the expediency of putting it up.

Several aunts and uncles, and quite an array of cousins on both sides of the house, were present ; and there, too, was Mrs. Tenterden Jones's mamma, smiling and fat, with a brown satin gown, out of which she was manifestly bursting, and a big brown cameo brooch catching together the ends of an extremely diminutive collar, which would insist upon rucking up at the back of her neck, and required constant pinning down by the poor

10 A Beggar on Hardback

relation in snuffed-out bombazine. There were the three young Tenterden Joneses, with long plaited hair-tails down their backs, bare necks and legs, and mingled perfumes of stale bread-andbutter and hair oil. These engaging children hovered ominously about the refreshment table, breathed on all the tea-cake, and made audible and occasionally embarrassing remarks upon certain members of the company present.

There was old Mrs. Cruppingham Crump, the M.P 's wife, the " rankest woman," she said, in the country, who had once sat in company with a juke ! and the retired brevet-major, who had a very large diamond upon his finger, and a very small soul all athirst to display it ; and the pretty Miss Sweetapple, with cheeks precisely like her name ; and opposite to her the three ugly Miss Sourberrys, who could see no beauty about her ; and the mild little man, whose little eyeglass kept perpetually dropping from his eye, down upon the carpet, like a tear — except that he always picked it up again ; and the fierce big man, who swaggered, and cocked his moustaches, and two-thirds of whose language would have been considered improper at a Christian meeting.

There was the Englishman who gave a recitation about Homer, whom he called 'Omer, to the confusion of the curate, who thought he meant Omar Pasha, and, remaining mystified to the end, applauded in all the wrong places, and floored the fierce man by asking whether he, as a professed traveller, could inform him of the whereabouts of the Hilliad, or whether it was a Turkish fortress in which Omar had been confined. There was the Scotchman, who was a known philanthropist : always augmented the Sunday collection in his kirk by placing a threepenny-piece upon the plate, never gave copper to a beggar in the street — bestowed silver, or nothing — and who, when his family took the scarlet-fever, sent all their infected clothing to the county infirmary for the benefit of the sick poor.

There was the hunting man, who was not out with the hounds that day, though it was the last of a splendid season, because he would not, for the finest run in the world, miss such a treat as Mrs. Tenterden Jones's party, but who in reality was only present because he funked the country which he knew by the hunting fixtures they were to draw, and because he had got a purler on his last day out, which had left every bone in his body in a state of ache. There was the wide-awake mamma, who turned her back on the doorway, because she knew that her

J. Beggar on Hurst/back 11

daughter and an " eligible " were spooning on the other side of it ; and the stupid mamma, who crushed her own fat person in between beau and belle, and asked the gentleman if he would kindly move and leave her a little space. There was the talkative lady, who jabbered away like a piping canary all through the most touching songs; and the silent one, who, when requested by an artless and unsuspecting young man to have some more tea, produced an ear-trumpet three yards long, and grimly asked him to repeat what he had said. There was the gaudy lady, who stood resolutely in the centre of the room to show off her dress; and the faded one, who retired into a corner and stayed there, because she knew that her " back-lacing " had come undone. There was the young maid, who brought her sweetheart and a roll of songs, and stowed both away in a quiet corner until they should be wanted; and the old maid, who brought her cat in her reticule, to the manifest delight of the poodle, who spied it at once, and licked his chops, and fairly slobbered with joy at the ecstatic prospect of gobbling it up by-and-by.

The music was indeed a treat. The eldest Miss Sourberry opened the programme with " My mother bids me bind my hair," which, as she had none and wore a front, was particularly appropriate. She was likewise in a state of delicious uncertainty as to whether the possessive pronoun should be pronounced " me," or " my," and as the short-sighted curate stood beside her while she sang, and turned the leaves of the music with an entire disregard to the requirements of the vocalist (who was consequently distracted, and had to compose an entire page in place of one which fell under the piano) the effect was novel and interesting to a degree. The fierce man followed with " I'd wish to be a daisy," which the curate volunteered to play, and did so with such imperfectness that the afflicted singer jerked his elbow, and pommelled his back, and uttered a torrent of adjectives during the symphony, which accorded ill with the mild words of the touching melody he had undertaken to sing. Then the young maid fetched her roll and her lover from the corner, and opened out the one, while she shut up the other with a look, lest he should begin to speak, and reveal the ignoble fact that he stammered. Finally, the old maid minced to the piano, and began to bleat " I'm saddest when I sing ; " and while the company groaned, " So are we ! so are we ! " the poodle found out that she had left her reticule on the sofa, and contrived to damage the contents of it a good deal before an extensive show of Hying fur and a variety of demoniac screeches attracted the attention of the host, who, by choking the poodle and sneezing on the cat, managed to restore order without disturbing the song.

Some sweet things in duets and trios succeeded ; and then the mild man sang, to his own accompaniment, Handel's "Honour and Arms." His voice was a feeble tenor — his tone deprecatory and weak — and whenever he repeated the passage, " Though I could slay thee at a blow," he tried to adopt a fierce expression of countenance by rolling his eyes and wrinkling up his nose, which so diverted the three young olive-branches of the family that they proceeded to imitate him, with extraordinary success. This distortion of his features was attended with yet another unpleasant result, for his eyeglass, finding itself disturbed, tumbled out of the eye in which it was stuck, and kept the mild man practising gymnastics in order to preserve it from damage and return it to its place, until at length, just as he was violently declaring the scorn in which he held his foe, down it went full tilt upon the ivories, and, being broken to pieces, left him to grope his way helplessly about for the remainder of the afternoon — trampling on the dog, sitting on the cat, shaking hands with all the wrong people when going away, and finally departing with the brevet-major's hat on nis head instead of his own, and the curate's presentation umbrella tucked confidently under his arm.

The advent of the great Howlerini made a profound sensation. He came late, and condescended — after much coaxing and pawing, and several " Ah, do's ! " from Mrs. Tenterden Jones — to favour the company with a plaintive Italian ditty, blossoming out into a brilliant, not to say stunning bravura movement at the end.

The signor was pallid and stout, with a face like cold dumpling, and a mane of greasy hair hanging aesthetically down his fat back. His coat collar had a peculiar glaze, and he wore a soiled shirt and a great many rings. Altogether he was a tremendous acquisition ; and when he rolled up his goggle eyes, and stretched his mouth, until to see both ends of it you should go to the back of his head, the three Miss Sourberrys drew out their three pocket-handkerchiefs and wiped their eyes, sniffing all the while, as though deeply affected by the pathos of the music, as no doubt they were. The professor accompanied himself, too, with touching grace, and as he had a way of elevating and depressing his shoulders, and outstretching and withdrawing his neck, like a sick poll-parrot, it was no wonder that the philanthropist looked about for brandy-and-water, and that Dr. Tenterden Jones stole quietly away to his surgery to prepare a remedy in case of any sudden emergency.

The greater portion of the company had gone, and the rest were loitering and talking about departing, when a clatter of hoofs without, and a sounding knock at the street door, heralded the entry of a gentleman in hunting costume, whose coat and breeches were muddy, and who carried a crumpled hat and a short crop in his hand, as though he gloried in the appearance of being fresh from deeds of " derring do."

" Why, dear me ! it's Mr. Jessel," exclaimed the hostess, in a nutter of delight, " come to tell us all about the hunt. Well, this is kind."

The doctor also, who had come upstairs again, hurried forward to say something nice to the new guest, but a sneeze stopped him, and if he uttered anything at all his pocket-handkerchief swallowed it up. Mr. Jessel, who was a sporting attorney and a land-agent as well, took all these civilities in excellent part, and then sat down to refresh himself. He was a man of more than average height, with peculiar dark eyes, and a handsome Napoleonic face. His figure was good, too, and his well-cut hunting-coat set it off to advantage.

" Well, what news ? " he asked, as he sipped a glass which the page had brought quietly to his elbow. " I have lost a treat, I suppose ? "

" Oh, such a treat ! " exclaimed the second Miss Sourberry, with a roll of her limpid eyes. " Signor Howlerini sang a perfectly divine thing, with two shakes and a high note at the end. I'm sure / couldn't help crying ! he looked so beautiful, too."

" Humph ! I can't say I'm sorry to have missed that pei'formance," said Jessel, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the signor had departed. " Well, who else had you ? Was little Sweetapple here ? "

"Yes; and she looked so bilious," returned the amiable spinster, curling up her nose until a hat could have hung upon it. " I can't see anything to admire in that young woman."

" Never mind. Let's hear something about the hunt," exclaimed the little doctor, who prided himself on his taste for sport and manly pastimes. " Had you a good day, Jessel ? "

" First rate. A splendid wind-up. As warm as May, and a burning scent lying. Had a clipping run — some capital fencing — and a kill in the open, with most of the field well up. What more could any man want ? "

The doctor rubbed his hands ecstatically.

" What, indeed, my dear sir ? " he chuckled with delight ; " they positively had nothing left to wish for. Did you wait to see the end ? "

" No, they were going on to Glanston — some who had fresh horses out, or who didn't mind riding beaten ones. My nag had had enough, and so had 1. I never ride for a fall, though 1 often get one, so I turned for home."

" How very sweet it must be to hunt ! " exclaimed the admiring Miss Sourberry, who, although the very thought of the perilous pastime sent cold water down her back, nevertheless thought it good policy to appear interested in the conversation. " How nice the dress is, too ! quite like uniform. Is the fox always killed, Mr. Jessel ? "

" Oh dear, no ; more's the pity. He saves his brush, the villain, whenever he can find an unstopped earth."

This was Greek to the lady, but she sagely pretended wisdom, and shut her mouth, which, under the circumstances, was the very best thing she could have done — if her sex will only believe it.

" Many out ? " inquired the doctor, after a brief pause for refreshment.

"Yes, a fairish lot. The last day, you know, generally brings a good attendance."

" Ay, just so. Any new faces ? "

" No, I think not. You know them all — or most of them. There was a man hurt, I'm told, within a mile of you here ; but I don't know if it's true."

" A man hurt ! " repeated the little practitioner, growing suddenly excited, and beginning to rub his hands in anticipation of a job. " Dear me ! fancy that. Badly hurt, did you say?"

" No, I said nothing about bad or good,'' responded the attorney dryly ; " I didn't see the thing happen, if it happened at all ; but there was a lot of grief to-day, the fences are all so blind, and the lands holding, after the rain. I must be off," he added, finishing his glass, and jumping up. " It will be seven o'clock by the time I'm at home."

" Not a foot you'll stir out of this," exclaimed the hospitable little doctor, thrusting him down upon his chair ae;ain. " I've had your horse brought round to the stable and fed, and you're going to put on one of my old coats and stop here for your dinner ; so not a word out o' your head."

What the favoured guest would have said in reply to this invitation will never be known, for at that precise moment a noise of wheels dashing up to the door, and a general confusion outside, caused all the females among the company to rush promiscuously to the front window, and to burst into a vociferous clamour of surprise.

" A carriage ! " " More visitors ! " "A lot of hunting men, I declare ! '' " No." " Yes, I can see the red coats." " Stay ! it's a sick person. They are lifting him out. He must be very bad ; he seems unable to move."

'■' How pale he is — positively white ! My God ! he is dead." " No, not at all — only in a faint."

These and similar expressions were poured rapidly forth, while the business-loving doctor — with an eye to the main chance, and a nose which smelled guineas in the wind — scuttled off downstairs as fast as his legs could carry him, and his sporting friend followed at a soberer pace, to be in readiness in case help should be required.

" Dear, dear ! " and " Only think ! " and " Just fancy ! " exclaimed half a dozen of the ladies, all excessively red with curiosity and adventure.

" What a strange thing ! It must be the man Mr. Jessel heard was hurt. I wonder who he is ? "

" I know," said Mrs. Tenterden Jones, with a sagaciously mysterious air. " At least, I am almost sure I do." •' Who is he ? who is he ? " panted the excited chorus. " I think," said the hostess, slowly — "mind, only think — but I do think that the hurt man is Mr. Bright, of Nutley.''

" Phew ! " whistled the chorus, " you don't say so ? I hope he is not badli/ hurt."

Mrs. Tenterden Jones's head went up with a toss. "Well, I'm sure 7" don't wish ill to anybody, but, if he is, it's the first of his money Dr. Tenterden Jones will ever have seen. .\o messenger from Nutley ever yet knocked at our door. A doctor from Dublin, always, if you please ! Nobody else good enough. And as for that girl — his niece, or whatever she is — a more upsetting young monkey was never in the country. What was she but a child a year or two ago ? And yet, when I sent her an invitation for a dance, she refused to come, sent an apology, and never even called after."

" How awful ! " exclaimed the sympathizing chorus, throwing up their hands and' eyes together.

" She's a conceited minx ! " cried Mrs. Tenterden Jones, irritated by the recollection of her wrongs ; " and will be doubly unbearable now if anything happens to him — for, of course, she'll come in for Nutley and a lot more. He's awful rich, they say."

" Bless me ! What a run there will be on her if that's the case," exclaimed the jealous chorus.

Mrs. Tenterden Jones shrugged her shoulders, and beat the carpet with her foot, which, being a heavy one, made a noise, and set the poodle barking.

" The run won't last long," she said; "her choice is made — at least so I'm told."

" Really ! Who on earth can it be ? " clamoured the chorus, gaping all around the oracle, and hungering for news. " Have you heard ? "

" Not the name exactly. Some fellow she met in Dublin in the winter, when she was up there with her grand friends."

"Nonsense ! Tell us all about it ! " cried the satellites, gathering like bees about a hive.

And, the depressed servant being called to make a fresh pot of tea, they all sat down to enjoy it, with the delightful addition of a dish of scandal to flavour the bohea.

Meanwhile, a very different scene was in course of enactment below. In the surgery — where all was very quiet and dim —

a figure lay on a couch ; that of a man in the prime of life

handsome and brown-haired — pale, and terribly still. His head hung upon his shoulder — his right arm fell by his side the hand trailing motionless upon the floor. The ghostly light of the waning April day stole faintly into the room, as six or seven silent men stood grouped about the body — for such in reality was all that it was. The little doctor waved them back. " It is death," he said. " His neck is broken. He must have fallen upon his head."

" That's just how he did fall," said one of the men, a country yokel, who had helped to carry him in. " I seen it happen. He came along fast at the place ; there was a big drop ; he couldn't see it till he was over the fence The beast pecked, and threw him right out, over her head. It was soft plough, and I didn't think he was hurt ; but he never offered to get up, and when me and another turned him over we seen how it was."

" What is to be done 1 has any one gone to tell Miss Bright ? " inquired a gentleman present.

Yes ; Mr. Jessel had kindly volunteered to go — had started at once, in fact, and had taken the carriage in which the dead man had been conveyed from the field.

" Is it far to Nutley?" somebody asked.

No ; only about two miles, or at most three, and the horses were fresh.

They sat down and waited, or loitered to the door, and gazed down the usually quiet street — now all astir with news of the accident — while scared faces looked from almost every window. Then they went back to the surgery, and talked in low tones about what a dreadful thing it was — and how awfully sudden — and believed that he was wealthy, but had heard something about a mortgage — though it might not be true. Ah, ever so ! When a man dies, his survivors ask what property he has left behind. The Angel who bends above him asks what good deeds he has sent before.

Time waned, and the old edax rerum had bitten another hour out of the brief twenty-four, when the watched-for vehicle came dashing along the street. The kindly doctor had sent for his spouse to be in readiness to receive the afflicted lady, whose coming all awaited ; and the satellites had taken the hint, and had departed, unwillingly enough, and were then hanging about to gather up the news. Mrs. Tenterden Jones had exchanged her satin gown for a less gorgeous costume, had smoothed her frizzled hair, and was descending the staircase, very stiff and important, when the carriage stopped at the door. She had the recollection of the rejected invitation still rankling within her breast, and mingled with her sympathy for the bereaved girl was something of a feeling of triumph that the proud spirit was humbled, and that she, the offended hostess, was called upon to show kindness to the offender. She expected tears and tantrums, she afterwards said ; but she saw nothing of the kind. Mr. Jessel got out, and offered his hand to a tall, slight, darkly veiled figure, who had journeyed with him in the carriage. The lady did not accept or touch it, but sprang out unassisted, and entered the dimly lighted hall. Mrs. Tenterden Jones, who was midway on the last flight of stairs, could see pretty distinctly all that passed, although she herself was shrouded by the seimdarkness ; and this is what she saw — The girl hurried in, the man followed her, and strove to take her hand.

" You will forgive me," she heard him whisper; "you know I love you, and there is now no "

" Forgive you ? Jfever ! " was the girl's answer uttered ere he had completed the sentence upon his lips. " If you loved me, you would protect me from affront. Oh, is there no woman here — no friend — who will lead me to my darling, and save me from this man ? "

Deeply rooted as was Sirs. Jones's grievance, and equally deep her longing to hear more — that piteous appeal, those earnest tones were not to be resisted. She coughed to show that she was there, and came down with slow and stately steps.

"The devil !" muttered the escort, falling back in perplexed amazement. But the next instant he recovered himself, brushed past the veiled figure with a murmured, " I am sorry ! — pray forgive ! " — said aloud that the young lady was labouring under a natural excitement, not quite conscious of what she was saying, in fact— and, having told this pardonable untruth, shook hands hurriedly with the hostess, and hastened round to the stable to fetch out his tired horse. Perhaps he dreaded to remain — feared to see the confrontal of the living with the dead. He need not have done so, for those who witnessed it saw no demonstration of grief, no tears, nor heard one sob or murmur from the young lips that just kissed the face of the dead man — in pallor like to his own — and then asked that they two might be taken home together.