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The History of Pendennis, Vol. 2

W >> William Makepeace Thackeray >> The History of Pendennis, Vol. 2




The girl looked very much abashed at this news: her mother and the
young man interchanged signs of wonder and intelligence. Perhaps the
conjuror had used the same words to a hundred different carriages
on that day.

Making his way solitary among the crowd and the carriages, and noting,
according to his wont, the various circumstances and characters which
the animated scene presented, a young friend of ours came suddenly
upon cab 2002, and the little group of persons assembled on the
outside of the vehicle. As he caught sight of the young lady on the
box, she started and turned pale: her mother became redder than ever:
the heretofore gay and triumphant Mr. Sam. immediately assumed a
fierce and suspicious look, and his eyes turned savagely from Fanny
Bolton (whom the reader no doubt, has recognized in the young lady of
the cab) to Arthur Pendennis, advancing to meet her.

Arthur too, looked dark and suspicious on perceiving Mr. Samuel
Huxter in company with his old acquaintances: but his suspicion was
that of alarmed morality, and, I dare say, highly creditable to Mr.
Arthur: like the suspicion of Mrs. Lynx, when she sees Mr. Brown and
Mrs. Jones talking together, or when she remarks Mrs. Lamb twice or
thrice in a handsome opera-box. There _may_ be no harm in the
conversation of Mr. B. and Mrs. J.: and Mrs. Lamb's opera box (though
she notoriously can't afford one) may be honestly come by: but yet a
moralist like Mrs. Lynx has a right to the little precautionary
fright: and Arthur was no doubt justified in adopting that severe
demeanor of his.

Fanny's heart began to patter violently: Huxter's fists, plunged into
the pockets of his paletot, clenched themselves involuntarily, and
armed themselves, as it were, in ambush: Mrs. Bolton began to talk
with all her might, and with a wonderful volubility: and Lor! she was
so 'appy to see Mr. Pendennis, and how well he was a lookin', and we'd
been talkin' about Mr. P. only jest before; hadn't we, Fanny? and if
this was the famous Hepsom races that they talked so much about, she
didn't care, for her part, if she never saw them again. And how was
Major Pendennis, and that kind Mr. Warrington, who brought Mr. P's
great kindness to Fanny; and she never would forget it, never: and Mr.
Warrington was so tall, he almost broke his 'ead up against their
lodge door. You recollect Mr. Warrington a knockin' of his head--don't
you, Fanny?

While Mrs. Bolton was so discoursing, I wonder how many thousands of
thoughts passed through Fanny's mind, and what dear times, sad
struggles, lonely griefs, and subsequent shame-faced consolations were
recalled to her? What pangs had the poor little thing, as she thought
how much she had loved him, and that she loved him no more? There he
stood, about whom she was going to die ten months since, dandified,
supercilious, with a black crape to his white hat, and jet buttons in
his shirt front: and a pink in his coat, that some one else had
probably given him: with the tightest lavender-colored gloves sewn
with black: and the smallest of canes. And Mr. Huxter wore no gloves,
and great blucher boots, and smelt very much of tobacco certainly; and
looked, oh, it must be owned, he looked as if a bucket of water would
do him a great deal of good! All these thoughts, and a myriad of
others rushed through Fanny's mind as her mamma was delivering herself
of her speech, and as the girl, from under her eyes, surveyed
Pendennis--surveyed him entirely from head to foot, the circle on his
white forehead that his hat left when he lifted it (his beautiful,
beautiful hair had grown again), the trinkets at his watch-chain, the
ring on his hand under his glove, the neat shining boot, so, so unlike
Sam's high-low!--and after her hand had given a little twittering
pressure to the lavender-colored kid grasp which was held out to it,
and after her mother had delivered herself of her speech, all Fanny
could find to say was, "This is Mr. Samuel Huxter whom you knew
formerly, I believe, sir; Mr. Samuel, you know you knew Mr. Pendennis
formerly--and--and--will you take a little refreshment?" These
little words tremulous and uncolored as they were, yet were understood
by Pendennis in such a manner as to take a great load of suspicion
from off his mind--of remorse, perhaps from his heart. The frown on
the countenance of the prince of Fairoaks disappeared, and a
good-natured smile and a knowing twinkle of the eyes illuminated his
highness's countenance. "I am very thirsty," he said, "and I will be
glad to drink your health, Fanny; and I hope Mr. Huxter will pardon me
for having been very rude to him the last time we met, and when I was
so ill and out of spirits, that indeed I scarcely knew what I said."
And herewith the lavender-colored dexter kid-glove was handed out, in
token of amity, to Huxter.

The dirty fist in the young surgeon's pocket was obliged to undouble
itself, and come out of its ambush disarmed. The poor fellow himself
felt, as he laid it in Pen's hand, how hot his own was, and how
black--it left black marks on Pen's gloves; he saw them--he would have
liked to have clenched it again and dashed it into the other's
good-humored face; and have seen, there upon that ground, with Fanny,
with all England looking on, which was the best man--he Sam Huxter of
Bartholomew's, or that grinning dandy.

Pen with ineffable good-humor took a glass--he didn't mind what it
was--he was content to drink after the ladies; and he filled it with
frothing lukewarm beer, which he pronounced to be delicious, and which
he drank cordially to the health of the party.

As he was drinking and talking on in an engaging manner, a young lady
in a shot dove-colored dress, with a white parasol lined with pink,
and the prettiest dove-colored boots that ever stepped, passed by Pen,
leaning on the arm of a stalwart gentleman with a military mustache.
The young lady clenched her little fist, and gave a mischievous
side-look as she passed Pen. He of the mustaches burst out into a
jolly laugh. He had taken off his hat to the ladies of cab No. 2002.
You should have seen Fanny Bolton's eyes watching after the
dove-colored young lady. Immediately Huxter perceived the direction
which they took, they ceased looking after the dove-colored nymph, and
they turned and looked into Sam Huxter's orbs with the most artless
good-humored expression.

"What a beautiful creature!" Fanny said. "What a lovely dress! Did you
remark, Mr. Sam, such little, little hands?"

"It was Capting Strong," said Mrs. Bolton: "and who was the young
woman, I wonder?"

"A neighbor of mine in the country--Miss Amory," Arthur said--"Lady
Clavering's daughter. You've seen Sir Francis often in Shepherd's Inn,
Mrs. Bolton."

As he spoke, Fanny built up a perfect romance in three volumes--
love--faithlessness--splendid marriage at St. George's, Hanover-square
--broken-hearted maid--and Sam Huxter was not the hero of that
story--poor Sam, who by this time had got out an exceedingly rank Cuba
cigar, and was smoking it under Fanny's little nose.

After that confounded prig Pendennis joined and left the party the
sun was less bright to Sam Huxter, the sky less blue--the sticks had
no attraction for him--the bitter beer hot and undrinkable--the world
was changed. He had a quantity of peas and a tin pea-shooter in the
pocket of the cab for amusement on the homeward route. He didn't take
them out, and forgot their existence until some other wag, on their
return from the races, fired a volley into Sam's sad face; upon which
salute, after a few oaths indicative of surprise, he burst into a
savage and sardonic laugh.

But Fanny was charming all the way home. She coaxed, and snuggled, and
smiled. She laughed pretty laughs; she admired everything; she took
out the darling little jack-in-the-boxes, and was _so_ obliged to Sam.
And when they got home, and Mr. Huxter, still with darkness on his
countenance, was taking a frigid leave of her--she burst into tears,
and said he was a naughty, unkind thing.

Upon which, with a burst of emotion, almost as emphatic as hers, the
young surgeon held the girl in his arms--swore that she was an angel,
and that he was a jealous brute; owned that he was unworthy of her,
and that he had no right to hate Pendennis; and asked her, implored
her, to say once more that she--

That she what?--The end of the question and Fanny's answer were
pronounced by lips that were so near each other, that no bystander
could hear the words. Mrs. Bolton only said, "Come, come, Mr. H.--no
nonsense, if you please; and I think you've acted like a wicked
wretch, and been most uncommon cruel to Fanny, that I do."

When Arthur left No. 2002, he went to pay his respects to the carriage
to which, and to the side of her mamma, the dove colored author of
_Mes Larmes_ had by this time returned. Indefatigable old Major
Pendennis was in waiting upon Lady Clavering, and had occupied the
back seat in her carriage; the box being in possession of young
Hopeful, under the care of Captain Strong.

A number of dandies, and men of a certain fashion--of military bucks,
of young rakes of the public offices, of those who may be styled men's
men rather than ladies'--had come about the carriage during its
station on the hill--and had exchanged a word or two with Lady
Clavering, and a little talk (a little "chaff" some of the most
elegant of the men styled their conversation) with Miss Amory. They
had offered her sportive bets, and exchanged with her all sorts of
free-talk and knowing innuendoes. They pointed out to her who was on
the course: and the "who" was not always the person a young lady
should know.

When Pen came up to Lady Clavering's carriage, he had to push his way
through a crowd of these young bucks who were paying their court to
Miss Amory, in order to arrive as near that young lady, who beckoned
him by many pretty signals to her side.

"Je l'ai vue," she said; "elle a de bien beaux yeux; vous êtes un
monstre!"

"Why monster?" said Pen, with a laugh; "Honi soit qui mal y pense.
My young friend, yonder, is as well protected as any young lady in
Christendom. She has her mamma on one side, her 'prétendu' on the
other. Could any harm happen to a girl between those two?"

"One does not know what may or may not arrive," said Miss Blanche. in
French, "when a girl has the mind, and when she is pursued by a wicked
monster like you. Figure to yourself, colonel, that I come to find
monsieur, your nephew, near to a cab, by two ladies, and a man, oh,
such a man! and who ate lobsters, and who laughed, who laughed!"

"It did not strike me that the man laughed," Pen said. "And as for
lobsters, I thought he would have liked to eat me after the lobsters.
He shook hands with me, and griped me so, that he bruised my glove
black and blue. He is a young surgeon. He comes from Clavering. Don't
you remember the gilt pestle and mortar in High-street?"

"If he attends you when you are sick," continued Miss Amory, "he will
kill you. He will serve you right; for you are a monster."

The perpetual recurrence to the word "monster" jarred upon Pen. "She
speaks about these matters a great deal too lightly," he thought. "If
I had been a monster, as she calls it, she would have received me just
the same. This is not the way in which an English lady should speak or
think. Laura would not speak in that way, thank God!" and as he
thought so, his own countenance fell.

"Of what are you thinking? Are you going to _bouder_ me at present?"
Blanche asked. "Major, scold your _méchant_ nephew. He does not amuse
me at all. He is as _béte_ as Captain Crackenbury."

"What are you saying about me, Miss Amory?" said the guardsman, with a
grin. "If it's any thing good, say it in English, for I don't
understand French when it's spoke so devilish quick."

"It _ain't_ any thing good, Crack," said Crackenbury's fellow, Captain
Clinker. "Let's come away, and don't spoil sport. They say Pendennis
is sweet upon her."

"I'm told he's a devilish clever fellow," sighed Crackenbury. "Lady
Violet Lebas says he's a devilish clever fellow. He wrote a work, or a
poem, or something; and he writes those devilish clever things in
the--in the papers you know. Dammy, I wish I was a clever
fellow, Clinker."

"That's past wishing for, Crack, my boy," the other said. "I can't
write a good book, but I think I can make a pretty good one on the
Derby. What a flat Clavering is! And the Begum! I like that old Begum.
She's worth ten of her daughter. How pleased the old girl was at
winning the lottery!"

"Clavering's safe to pay up, ain't he?" asked Captain Crackenbury. "I
hope so," said his friend; and they disappeared, to enjoy themselves
among the sticks.

Before the end of the day's amusements, many more gentlemen of Lady
Clavering's acquaintance came up to her carriage, and chatted with the
party which it contained. The worthy lady was in high spirits and
good-humor, laughing and talking according to her wont, and offering
refreshments to all her friends, until her ample baskets and bottles
were emptied, and her servants and postillions were in such a royal
state of excitement as servants and postillions commonly are upon the
Derby day.

The major remarked that some of the visitors to the carriage appeared
to look with rather queer and meaning glances toward its owner. "How
easily she takes it!" one man whispered to another. "The Begum's made
of money," the friend replied. "How easily she takes what?" thought
old Pendennis. "Has any body lost any money?" Lady Clavering said she
was happy in the morning because Sir Francis had promised her not
to bet.

Mr. Welbore, the country neighbor of the Claverings, was passing the
carriage, when he was called back by the Begum, who rallied him for
wishing to cut her. "Why didn't he come before? Why didn't he come to
lunch?" Her ladyship was in great delight, she told him--she told
every body--that she had won five pounds in a lottery. As she conveyed
this piece of intelligence to him, Mr. Welbore looked so particularly
knowing, and withal melancholy, that a dismal apprehension seized upon
Major Pendennis. "He would go and look after the horses and those
rascals of postillions, who were so long in coming round." When he
came back to the carriage, his usually benign and smirking countenance
was obscured by some sorrow. "What is the matter with you now?" the
good-natured Begum asked. The major pretended a headache from the
fatigue and sunshine of the day. The carriage wheeled off the course
and took its way Londonwards, not the least brilliant equipage in that
vast and picturesque procession. The tipsy drivers dashed gallantly
over the turf, amid the admiration of foot-passengers, the ironical
cheers of the little donkey-carriages and spring vans, and the loud
objurgations of horse-and-chaise men, with whom the reckless post-boys
came in contact. The jolly Begum looked the picture of good humor as
she reclined on her splendid cushions; the lovely Sylphide smiled with
languid elegance. Many an honest holiday-maker with his family wadded
into a tax-cart, many a cheap dandy working his way home on his weary
hack, admired that brilliant turn-out, and thought, no doubt, how
happy those "swells" must be. Strong sat on the box still, with a
lordly voice calling to the post-boys and the crowd. Master Frank had
been put inside of the carriage and was asleep there by the side of
the major, dozing away the effects of the constant luncheon and
champagne of which he had freely partaken.

The major was revolving in his mind meanwhile the news the receipt of
which had made him so grave. "If Sir Francis Clavering goes on in this
way," Pendennis the elder thought, "this little tipsy rascal will be
as bankrupt as his father and grandfather before him. The Begum's
fortune can't stand such drains upon it: no fortune can stand them:
she has paid his debts half-a-dozen times already. A few years more of
the turf, and a few coups like this will ruin her."

"Don't you think we could get up races at Clavering, mamma?" Miss
Amory asked. "Yes, we must have them there again. There were races
there in the old times, the good old times. It's a national amusement
you know: and we could have a Clavering ball: and we might have dances
for the tenantry, and rustic sports in the park--Oh, it would he
charming."

"Capital fun," said mamma. "Wouldn't it, major?"

"The turf is a very expensive amusement, my dear lady," Major
Pendennis answered, with such a rueful face, that the Begum rallied
him, and asked laughingly whether he had lost money on the race?

After a slumber of about an hour and a half, the heir of the house
began to exhibit symptoms of wakefulness, stretching his youthful arms
over the major's face, and kicking his sister's knees as she sate
opposite to him. When the amiable youth was quite restored to
consciousness, he began a sprightly conversation.

"I say, ma," he said, "I've gone and done it this time, I have." "What
have you gone and done, Franky, dear?" asked mamma. "How much is
seventeen half-crowns?" "Two pound and half-a-crown, ain't it? I drew
Borax in our lottery, but I bought Podasokus and Man-milliner of
Leggat minor for two open tarts and a bottle of ginger beer."

"You little wicked gambling creature, how dare you begin so soon?"
cried Miss Amory.

"Hold _your_ tongue, if you please. Who ever asked _your_ leave,
miss?" the brother said. "And I say, ma--"

"Well, Franky, dear?"

"You'll tip me all the same, you know, when I go back--" and here he
broke out into a laugh. "I say, ma, shall I tell you something?"

The Begum expressed her desire to hear this something, and her son and
heir continued:

"When me and Strong was down at the grand stand after the race, and I
was talking to Leggat minor, who was there with his governor; I saw pa
look as savage as a bear. And I say, ma, Leggat minor told me that he
heard his governor say that pa had lost seven thousand backing the
favorite. I'll never back the favorite when I'm of age. No, no--hang
me if I do: leave me alone, Strong, will you?"

"Captain Strong! Captain Strong! is this true?" cried out the
unfortunate Begum. "Has Sir Francis been betting again? He promised me
he wouldn't. He gave me his word of honor he wouldn't."

Strong, from his place on the box, had overheard the end of young
Clavering's communication, and was trying in vain to stop his
unlucky tongue.

"I'm afraid it's true, ma'am," he said, turning round. "I deplore the
loss as much as you can. He promised me as he promised you; but the
play is too strong for him! he can't refrain from it."

Lady Clavering at this sad news burst into a fit of tears. She
deplored her wretched fate as the most miserable of woman. She
declared she would separate, and pay no more debts for this ungrateful
man. She narrated with tearful volubility a score of stories only too
authentic, which showed how her husband had deceived, and how
constantly she had befriended him: and in this melancholy condition,
while young Hopeful was thinking about the two guineas which he
himself had won; and the major revolving, in his darkened mind,
whether certain plans which he had been forming had better not be
abandoned; the splendid carriage drove up at length to the Begum's
house in Grosvenor-place; the idlers and boys lingering about the
place to witness, according to public wont, the close of the Derby
day, cheering the carriage as it drew up, and envying the happy folks
who descended from it.

"And it's for the son of this man that I am made a beggar!" Blanche
said, quivering with anger, as she walked up stairs leaning on the
major's arm--"for this cheat--for this black-leg--for this liar--for
this robber of women."

"Calm yourself, my dear Miss Blanche," the old gentleman said; "I pray
calm yourself. You have been hardly treated, most unjustly. But
remember that you have always a friend in me; and trust to an old
fellow who will try and serve you."

And the young lady, and the heir of the hopeful house of Clavering,
having retired to their beds, the remaining three of the Epsom party
remained for some time in deep consultation.





CHAPTER XXI.

EXPLANATIONS.


[Illustration]

Almost a year, as the reader will perceive, has passed since an event
described a few pages back. Arthur's black coat is about to be
exchanged for a blue one. His person has undergone other more pleasing
and remarkable changes. His wig has been laid aside, and his hair,
though somewhat thinner, has returned to public view. And he has had
the honor of appearing at court in the uniform of a cornet of the
Clavering troop of the----shire Yeomanry Cavalry, being presented to
the sovereign by the Marquis of Steyne.

This was a measure strongly and pathetically urged by Arthur's uncle.
The major would not hear of a year passing before this ceremony of
gentlemanhood was gone through. The old gentleman thought that his
nephew should belong to some rather more select club than the
Megatherium; and has announced every where in the world his
disappointment that the young man's property has turned out not by any
means as well as he could have hoped, and is under fifteen hundred
a year.

That is the amount at which Pendennis's property is set down in the
world, where his publishers begin to respect him much more than
formerly, and where even mammas are by no means uncivil to him. For if
the pretty daughters are, naturally, to marry people of very different
expectations, at any rate, he will be eligible for the plain ones; and
if the brilliant and fascinating Myra is to hook an earl, poor little
Beatrice, who has one shoulder higher than the other, must hang on to
some boor through life, and why should not Mr. Pendennis be her
support? In the very first winter after the accession to his mother's
fortune, Mrs. Hawxby in a country-house caused her Beatrice to learn
billiards from Mr. Pendennis, and would be driven by nobody but him in
the pony carriage, because he was literary and her Beatrice was
literary too, and declared that the young man, under the instigation
of his horrid old uncle, had behaved most infamously in trifling with
Beatrice's feelings. The truth is, the old gentleman, who knew Mrs.
Hawxby's character, and how desperately that lady would practice upon
unwary young men, had come to the country-house in question and
carried Arthur out of the danger of her immediate claws, though not
out of the reach of her tongue. The elder Pendennis would have had his
nephew pass a part of the Christmas at Clavering, whither the family
had returned; but Arthur had not the heart for that. Clavering was too
near poor old Fairoaks; and that was too full of sad recollections for
the young man.

We have lost sight of the Claverings, too, until their reappearance
upon the Epsom race-ground, and must give a brief account of them in
the interval. During the past year, the world has not treated any
member of the Clavering family very kindly. Lady Clavering, one of the
best-natured women that ever enjoyed a good dinner, or made a slip in
grammar, has had her appetite and good-nature sadly tried by constant
family grievances, and disputes such as make the efforts of the best
French cook unpalatable, and the most delicately-stuffed sofa-cushion
hard to lie on. "I'd rather have a turnip, Strong, for dessert, than
that pineapple, and all them Muscatel grapes, from Clavering," says
poor Lady Clavering, looking at her dinner-table, and confiding her
griefs to her faithful friend, "if I could but have a little quiet to
eat it with. Oh, how much happier I was when I was a widow, and before
all this money fell in to me!"

The Clavering family had indeed made a false start in life, and had
got neither comfort, nor position, nor thanks for the hospitalities
which they administered, nor a return of kindness from the people whom
they entertained. The success of their first London season was
doubtful; and their failure afterward notorious. "Human patience was
not great enough to put up with Sir Francis Clavering," people said.
"He was too hopelessly low, dull, and disreputable. You could not say
what, but there was a taint about the house and its _entourages_. Who
was the Begum, with her money, and without her h's, and where did she
come from? What an extraordinary little piece of conceit the daughter
was, with her Gallicised graces and daring affectations, not fit for
well-bred English girls to associate with! What strange people were
those they assembled round about them! Sir Francis Clavering was a
gambler, living notoriously in the society of blacklegs and
profligates. Hely Clinker, who was in his regiment, said that he not
only cheated at cards, but showed the white feather. What could Lady
Rockminster have meant by taking her up?" After the first season,
indeed, Lady Rockminster, who had taken up Lady Clavering, put her
down; the great ladies would not take their daughters to her parties;
the young men who attended them behaved with the most odious freedom
and scornful familiarity; and poor Lady Clavering herself avowed that
she was obliged to take what she called "the canal" into her parlor,
because the tiptops wouldn't come.

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