The agent of Broome Warren : a novel : in three volumes

Chapter I

THE few strides before a leap may sometimes attract attention to the style in which we get over it, and create a corresponding interest in our fortunes on the other side, and such, perhaps, may be the effect of a few words of preface on the course of a history. But experiments in cold blood are apt to be dangerous, and we have seen occasions on which it might have been well to remember the admonition to a poor player, to " leave making faces and begin." We therefore commence acquaintance with our fellow traveller through a long journey by expressing a civil hope that he will not find it fatiguing.

Having thus broken the ice and exchanged a few pleasant observations on the land we are leaving, we gradually slide into the subject that most engages our mind, and wonder whether he has ever remarked that amongst the well grown and elegantly got up habitue's of Pall Mall and thereabouts, the

VOL I. 1 prevailing expression is that of some bearded young lion brooding over the poisoned barb of the Hottentot.

Of course, he can never remember to have seen amongst them the blithe sparkling eye, or to have heard the natural accent of mirth so common to the class immediately below them, and supposes that such characteristics are suppressed by the high society in which they move — that happy faces are not compatible with good breeding, and that moody silence and imperturbable features are the most infallible signs of lofty position. We quite agree in his suppositions, and fall into rather a long discussion of why they should be facts ; during which we hope his own good breeding will keep him awake.

True content, we think, would be puzzled to put on that suicidal look and stoic indifference to everything that excites an opposite development in the rest of the world ; and the young blood that rises like a spring from the mountain top, would be sure enough to rebel against any social engineering that would dam it up in stagnation. We must seek other cause for these clouded brows than incapacity to struggle against the mode of May Fair and the club in St. James's ; and if so, what can it be ? Why is this handsome young potentate of the peerage, or overgrown gentry, to be seen, from four o'clock to sunset, framed and glazed in his club window like some fine picture that wants the last touch to the corner of the mouth, and the last dot of light to the now expressionless eye ? Why does he stalk the street like his tailor's advertisement, and chronicle his want of thought in lazy articulation that would scarce do credit to a jackdaw ? See him lounging at Tattersall's and making up the only book in his library — does he brighten when he wins, or darken when he loses ? See him lolling by the rails of Rotten Row — does he care one puff of the cigar that takes the colour from his cheek and spoils his appetite, for the fair horse-breaker who wonders what on earth my lord can be thinking about ? She would be very clever if she could find out.

And yet my lord has no want of education to supply him with thoughts, for he ran the gauntlet at Eton, and would have been backed for a " doublefirst" at Oxford, had he only not happened to be a gentleman commoner at Christ Church, and the fellow student of a class who aspired to honour in the science of doing nothing. It is just this study that overpowers his brain, for the more his capabilities the more his want of some necessity upon which they may be exercised ; some decided purpose and defined occupation to form a starting and a winning-post in the great race of life, and inspire and direct emulation for a creditable place. "Without these, our thoroughbred is nowhere, and we may leave him to his own calculation of what he is worth.

No wonder if he and his like have a look of care — it would be a wonder if they had not ; but it does appear remarkable that so many of them have never penetrated the cause of it, or listened to some

1—2 one of the ten thousand occasions on which it has been told them. We never knew more than a single sufferer who evinced the slightest suspicion that the world did not go with him quite as Nature meant it should ; and with this exception we propose to extend our acquaintance whilst he looks about for a remedy.

Our friend's name was James Crowley. He was well born and well educated, and, as he was an only son and inherited all the wits of his family — and their wealth into the bargain — the young ladies of the London season used to give a decided opinion that he was very clever. His face and figure would have removed all doubt, had any been entertained, for the first was of the choicest bronze, overshadowed and skirted by a dark forest, of which Mr. Truefit was the ranger, and the latter exhibited five feet eleven inches of as good drawing as we usually find on the walls of the Royal Academy. And then one fair waltzer could not refrain from whispering to another that the nose was perfect Grecian; and the other would whisper back that the dark eye was just the Helicon that inspired Sappho.

In fact, James Crowley (or Jim Crow, as his familiars and lovely lips, in secret, were accustomed to call him) was undeniably a handsome fellow, and very much the more so from the indolence which had never found it out. His age was about five-and-twenty, but his experience in the world, which means a radius of half-a-mile round the Duke of Wellington's statue in Piccadilly, was great enough to break him down. He had given up dancing because he had danced with everybody, and he rarely dined out because there they were again. As to falling in love, that was entirely out of the question, for he was unreasonable enough to require a heart at first hand, and where was such a Kohinoor to be found ? The juvenile balls had made it unattainable even in the nursery! Life, he said, was a barren wilderness, and the den he dwelt in was the Clarendon Hotel.

All that his compeers did to sustain their energies he had tried over and over again, excepting that he had never tried the resources of Grockford's, which was then in its glory. He had a distaste for gambling, which was thought unaccountable — a weakness which would not suffer him to ruin the peace of mind of those who were not overburthened with it, and an illogical way of reasoning that, such being the case, it would be no great mark of wisdom to risk his own. In other ways he was said to be much too lavish, though his fortune stood sound enough to resist the tide that dispersed many another ; and as there was no chance of his being ruined and unable to accommodate a good fellow with a stray hundred or two, he was universally admitted to be a very good fellow himself.

Such was the mode in which he had passed the diplomatic seasons of dowagers and fair attache's ever since he left college. The dog-days were slept out upon the deck of some marvel of a yacht, and the winter in careering over the fences about Melton, or standing sentry in alarming battues for some distinguished dealer in Leadenhall Market. His indifference made him a good shot, and he rode forward because it was too much trouble to crane.

At last he could bear this waste of days no longer. He felt that he was living for nobody and nothing, and suddenly announced to his club companions, one evening about the end of July, that he had recommended himself a total change, and was going to start the very next morning in search of something new. His resolution was opposed by many doubts of his sanity, but perhaps there might have been individuals elsewhere to pronounce it the wisest he had ever made.

So thoroughly had he been worn out by the world of fashion, that he had taken no sort of consideration about any world he might adopt in place of it, and his course was determined by a letter which chanced to turn up in his hasty packing. It had come some days ago from the only dear relation he had, and this was the Countess of Goldfield, many years his elder, and widow of the lord lieutenant of a county some hundred and odd miles from London. Lord Goldfield had been dead four or five years, leaving a son to inherit the family estate in Yorkshire, and two daughters, who had both been happily married in the early part of the previous season, on which event Lady Goldfield had relinquished her leading station in London life, and betaken herself to the splendid solitude of Goldsworthy Park. It was a tempting direction for his pilgrimage, and he decided upon taking it, though it involved a visit not quite so tempting, but not to be avoided, on the same road.

When the next nine o'clock express train was screaming for its passengers, and the usual anxious crowd were screaming for their places, would anybody have imagined that the handsome young man who stood so calmly deliberating amongst them, in his well-fitting travelling dress, was no other than our friend James Crowley ! There at nine o'clock ! Could there have been a greater proof of his utter horror of everything he was leaving ?

He seemed to be making up his mind as to which of the carriages would subject him to the least affliction of fellow travellers, when his eye was attracted to the window of the one opposite by the burst of a shrill voice, which very much resembled the sudden disturbance of a hen roost. It was high in disapproval of a porter, who, it appeared, was carrying a basket of ducks topsy-turvy, notwithstanding the public announcement that they were real Aylesburys, and had gained the first prize at the poultry show.

" All right, ma'am," said the porter, " I'm going to put them in the luggage van."

But the luggage van was not to be heard of. They always travelled by first class, and so did the beautiful game cock, which had been highly commended, and just been insured for a hundred pounds.

" 'Gainst the rules, ma'am," replied the barbarian swinging the important passenger over his shoulder, in spite of all expostulations, human and gallinaceous, and charging through the amused lookers-on.

But here Crowley proved his better breeding by stepping forward and politely assuring the excited lady that he would see her treasures placed out of danger, and return to make his report.

This was very good-natured, for it was certainly not called for by any remarkable fascination, either personal or decorative. In the latter respect the lady was rather grotesque. She was a mixture of many fashions, all plume and prismatic streamer, with a hey-day twinkle in her eye, not out of keeping with a sharp projecting profile, but very much so with the tell-tale pepper-and-salt of a wild and very youthful coiffure. Fifty odd years are secrets very hard to keep, and frank confession saves a deal of trouble. Upon the whole, this was certainly not quite the companion we should have picked out for oiir friend's comfort, but it was difficult to know what would suit him best, as nothing had ever suited him yet. That he regarded her with unusual attention was not at all surprising. Perhaps he had been taken by the discovery of something really new.

" How very handsome !" she exclaimed to some one on the seat beyond her. " How polite ! how elegant ! How much he reminds me of our brilliant visitors in Red Lion Square, before I married and became hum-drum in the country ! I should have thought that other gentleman, who was standing by his side, and is now standing by himself, might also have stepped forward in a case so urgent ; but he does nothing but look free and easy at this carriage, as if we were intimate acquaintance. I'm sure I don't know what he can see in me to be so particular. There ! did you see him then ? I admire that, indeed. Ha ! ha !"

The person alluded to had certainly an air of self-sufficiency. He was much over-dressed in a sporting, or flash style, and though not bad-looking, hardly gave the assurance of a true gentleman. He was something under the middle age, but with rather a full and flabby habit, which more than hinted a life of dissipation and not over refined society. Crowley himself had remarked him, and wondered what could keep him stationary on the platform, as he seemed to be neither a new arrival nor a projected traveller, and to belong to no party of either description. Like his fair friend in the carriage, he had noticed a very attentive look in her direction, and imagined them to be acquainted. For some cause or other he had been a little curious on the subject, but he had no time for another look at him when he returned with his promised report, for the bell was sounding, and he was only just soon enough to seat himself in front of the flounces when the train began to move. He had not been excited to such an exercise of gallantry within his recollection, and was almost as much astonished at himself as overwhelmed by the torrent of affability to which he had made himself a victim.

Chapter II

TO say the truth, however, Mr. Crowley had no very particular cause for astonishment, for his civility had not been quite so disinterested as he had made it appear, and might have been altogether ascribed to that other personage in the background. What he had done was by way of making acquaintance, and obtaining something more than a glimpse, for that other was the very loveliest girl he had ever seen in his life. At least, so he had thought, for she had not given him a full view of her dark, downcast eyes, till the train started. At that moment they flashed up in the direction of the person we have noticed as having no object in the bustle, and the thought became a conviction : his first fit of admiration was simultaneous with his first tingle of jealousy. The stranger's eye, however, though it followed them with a cool smile of assurance, conveyed no apparent farewell, and was perhaps only led by the usual interest which attends departing travellers. The flash might have had no meaning in it, and he tried to believe so.

The many-coloured elder lady strove hard to assist him in forgetting everything but herself. They had hardly passed the first mile before she had given him the history of all that had tempted her to London, and all that was taking her back to the country. How she had made the most distinguished exhibition in the Poultry Show. How that the parentage of her highly commended chanticleer was a deeply interesting mystery. How that he had been presented as an egg to the late Mr. Cantelot, of Leicester Square, and hatched by steam; and how she had taken him by the wing and brought him up morally, and provided for him in the matrimonial way, till the young army of his sons had killed all the cocks, and tempted away all the widows in the parish. Then again there were halfa-dozen ladies of his harem expecting to increase their families, and she was obliged to hasten home to attend them ; and then again she had taken all the Aylesburys away from the disconsolate drake, and there was no saying but he might be driven to adopt imprudent habits in the village duck-pond. And here she threw her head back and projected a rather downy chin, and laughed in a manner very knowing and confidential.

Crowley might have found it difficult to reply in a vein satisfactory to both ladies, but the fact was he was sensible of nothing but some necessity for a moral shake of his head, for his faculties of hearing and seeins: had been reserved for his younger neighbour exclusively. But she had not spoken a word, or taken her attention a second time from some trifling piece of railway literature.

And here again he found himself a little puzzled. He observed that she never turned over a page, and instead of reading her book, was busied with her own thoughts. That they were not of an ordinarynature was evident from the changing expression of her countenance.

The more he looked the more he wondered at the transparent purity of complexion and the perfect symmetry of her features. The train was carrying him fast towards the land of poesy — wherever that blessed land may be — and he hardly knew whether he was running away from his wits, or only just overtaking them. But we must have a care how we follow him, lest we lose sight of our own, for lofty brows and eyes of blackest blue are dangerous things to think about, and there was once a time when we would willingly have twined a lock of

dark chestnut braids to well, well, it is very

long ago, and we hope we are wiser now. What could have been the subject of this young lady's deep study ? Had it anything to do with that gentleman we saw on the platform ? Nonsense ! if they had any knowledge of each other would they not have said farewell ?

The only evidence she had given that she sometimes heard the conversation, was a slight blush of vexation, with now and then a tremour over her countenance, as if it were a hard matter to refrain from laughter ; — not very surprising considering her laughing years, which did not seem to be more than twenty. But the gleam was momentary, and the shadows were more settled. A lively elastic nature was evidently pressed down by some influence so weighty, that a struggle seemed only to produce a graver contrast. What could it be ? In one so beautiful there might have been excuse for an over consciousness of self-importance, but this was not the case. Her beauty was the last thing in her thoughts, for never had less pains been taken for adornment. Her dress, indeed, was an emphatic rebuke to the gaudy occupant of the adjoining seat, consisting only of white muslin and a black gossamer scarf, a delicate straw hat being thrown on another seat, in consequence of the summer heat. Her figure might have been called slight by those who estimate attractions by the weight, but it was charmingly rounded, and appeared to be a trifle over the common height.

When would she speak ! Would her voice accord with all the rest, or was there yet some stroke of disenchantment ? The little straw hat was destined to settle the question. It had been some time trotting towards the edge of the seat, and at last the motion of the carriage sent it over. Crowley picked it up tenderly as he would have touched an airbubble, and was very solicitous to be assured it had not been crushed.

" Oh, no," replied such soft tones as he had never heard in his opera box. " It is too light to mind a tumble."

Mr. Crowley had been " very much alarmed."

She bowed and smiled. What an expression in those pure and high-bred lips! What a row of treasures they revealed, and what a heart a man must have possessed if they had not snapped off the best part of it ! Could this fair star be a spark from the blazing firework by her side ? Quite impossible ! At all events the truth of the matter should be arrived at somehow ; but whilst the means were in a deep state of puzzle the distant crow of the "highly commended" was heard in the luggage van, and his mistress crowed in response.

" Ah, there's my dear orphan of Leicester Square ! He knows he is on the road to his domestic perch, and cannot restrain his spirits. Poor anonymous fellow ! how I wish I could give him a name, now that he is so celebrated, to distinguish him from the vulgar plebeians of the — the farm-yard."

And here again she threw back her head and laughed immoderately at some other word which had very nearly escaped her.

" Oh, goodness me ! now I think of it, a lady in our village has christened her donkey after a favourite gentleman, and it always brings him to her recollection, you know. It is so pleasant ! What shall I call my pet ? How I wish you would be his god- father."

" With great pleasure," replied Crowley. " He is perfectly welcome to go halves in all the names I have. — If we put them together, I think they will be very appropriate. Suppose we call him Jim Crow ?"

" Charming ! The very thing ! Jim — what did you say ?"

"Jim Crow, aunt," replied the younger lady, looking up from her book, and now laughing in earnest.

" Aunt !" ejaculated Crowley to himself. " Laud we the gods ! not mamma ! Aunt by marriage, of -course; it could never be by blood. Her uncle must be something very different — though heaven help his taste."

The firework was going off in a louder key.

" How exquisite ! How very clever ! How just the thing ! How flattered he will be to have half your name, and how he will burn to know the other half! What enquiries he will make of all the cocks and hens in the neighbourhood ! My name is Bloomer, and my husband is the vicar of the parish, and this is my niece, Miss Longland ; and everybody will be so anxious to hear all about our gifted fellow-traveller, who gave half his name to my favourite. Oh yes, indeed I think so."

This was rather a strong attempt to examine Mr. Crowley in the first question of the catechism, but he chose to be thought a dunce, and made no satisfactory answer, whilst Miss Longland endeavoured to start another subject. The dunce was much beholden both to the cause and consequence, and, the ice once broken, slid wilfully into that troubled stream which " never did run smooth."

He had a tact in conversation which, without allowing it to become intrusive, was adroit, when he chose, in leaving no break for its discontinuance ; so that the slight observation which had been dropped in his aid in reference to the next station, was naturally followed by a polite question from one who professed to be a stranger on the line. This could not be answered in less than a whole sentence, during which our friend was opportunely reminded that the scene they were passing was of some importance in history. His listener became more attentive. She had read the passage he mentioned; and then, of course, he ventured a few remarks upon the book, from which the young lady was led on to a diffident admission that she had read a great many more. So had Mr. Jim Crow, who now found his studies highly remunerative, inasmuch as they helped him to the information that she was highly educated. Her parents must be persons of elegant mind and good station. What on earth could have induced them to confide her to such protection ?

But Mrs. Bloomer had no fancy for indulging a conversation in which she could neither lead nor follow, and very soon kicked over the traces and pulled the other way.

" Books and histories," she said, " might be very well for people who could do nothing but read, but if all the world could do nothing better, a pretty world it would be. For her part, she preferred exerting her mind on things that would make her a subject for histories, and a good example for the do-nothings ; though for that matter she didn't know that example ever did much good. She had never followed it herself, and believed nobody else did ; and if that was the case, what was the use of history books ? The world always did more harm than good, and the least said is the soonest mended.

As for accomplishments, and all that stuff, what was poetry but sham sentimentality that would be still more ridiculous . if it were true ? What was painting but the ghost of roses and lilies without their scent ? What was music but Italian operas which nobody understood, and which made everybody tell falsehoods by pretending they did ? What, she would like to know, were such fine things but chaff for admiration, which was not worth the catching ? They had no need to set such traps in Mrs. Bloomer's maiden days, when her father was attorney-general, and secretary for the Board of Guardians. All the music they wanted then was ' Off she goes ;' and all the dancing was down the middle and up again, and the business was done."

" I've no doubt of it, Mrs. Bloomer. I'm sure it would have done mine. But I believe the fashions in those days were more adapted for agile displays of grace ; and, of course, you were always in the fashion."

" Oh, of course ; short and scanty — just low enough to — ha ! ha ! and just high enough to — ha ! ha ! ha ! with a waist just under — don't be inquisitive— and a large bow between the shoulders, and a sash that reached six inches below our petti — never mind ! In those days dancers were dancers, and looked as if they could fly, and tabor and pipe couldn't go fast enough, though we had never less than forty or fifty couple to go down. Goodness me ! how we used to fan ourselves and our partners behind the door ! Dancing was dancing then, and not swimming, as it is now."

VOL. I. 2

" So I have read, Mrs. Bloomer, in an excellent account of the dances at a place called Kirk Alloway, where the dancing and music were quite of another world."

" Oh, quite. I used to go to all the grand balls there, and the master of the ceremonies was most polite in bringing me no end of partners. Poor dear old man ! I was such a favourite !"

The points and angles which composed the attractions of Mrs. Bloomer betrayed themselves through her elaborate costume quite visibly enough to present a pleasant picture of a half-swathed skeleton, footing it fast and furious with a rampant cacodemon; and as Crowley chanced to turn his eye upon the niece, he could not help discovering that her accomplishments, so emphatically denounced, had been guilty amongst other offences of reading the account in question. The consequence was an irresistible fit of laughter, which Mrs. Bloomer fortunately accredited to her own graphic mode of narration, and the jealousy which at first had some appearance of tartness, took an amiable turn. Perhaps, had she been less intent upon herself, she might have been less satisfied by detecting a certain odd sensation in her admirers that they were, in some sort, involved in a confidential understanding. Nothing could have pleased one of the parties better, though it raised a slight blush in the other, and might have carried us into a fanciful enquiry of whether any circumstance in nature is too minute to produce its little family of consequences. But Mrs. Bloomer began another down the middle and up again, over our tender shoots of philosophy, and turned us into mere reporters.

" Ah," she concluded, " those were happy times ! The hey-days and may-days before I married Mr. Bloomer and settled in the country to devote my time and advice to the improvement of his niece, poor Lucy. Alas, she has never taken a word of it, and I have now no hope, — which you will agree with me, Mr. you will agree with me in thinking a great pity, Mr. Mr. 1 beg pardon, I

did not quite catch your name ?"

" Mr. Crow," replied Crowley, with a courteous bow, and another tremour on the lips of Miss Longland.

" Ha ! ba ! I don't believe that, but I daresay I shall find it on your luggage. Well, I was going to tell you I have taken the greatest pains to communicate my acquirements to Lucy, but all to no purpose, for I am sorry to say she is exclusively devoted to reading and drawing and outlandish languages, which you know are not calculated to make much noise in the world. You would hardly imagine that though she was quite out of her mind to come to London, nothing could persuade her to go to the great poultry show ! No, nor a single party of any kind, though we have been living in the midst of fashion, in Diot Street, Bloomsbury, and knew everybody from Kentish Town to the Mansion House. She did nothing in the world but stay at home by herself, and walk about Bloomsbury Square, as if she had lost her wits. What could she have come to town for ?"