A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The History of Pendennis, Vol. 2

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




The Prince of Fairoaks, who was tolerably prudent and had no need of
ready money, would as soon have thought of borrowing from his uncle's
servant as of stealing the valet's pocket-handkerchief, and was on the
point of making some haughty reply to Morgan's offer, but was checked
by the humor of the transaction. Morgan a capitalist! Morgan offering
to lend to him! The joke was excellent. On the other hand, the man
might be quite innocent, and the proposal of money a simple offer of
good-will. So Arthur withheld the sarcasm that was rising to his lips,
and contented himself by declining Mr. Morgan's kind proposal. He
mentioned the matter to his uncle, however, and congratulated the
latter on having such a treasure in his service.

It was then that the major said that he believed Morgan had been
getting devilish rich for a devilish long time; in fact he had bought
the house in Bury-street, in which his master was a lodger; and had
actually made a considerable sum of money, from his acquaintance with
the Clavering family and his knowledge obtained through his master
that the Begum would pay all her husband's debts, by buying up as many
of the baronet's acceptances as he could raise money to purchase. Of
these transactions the major, however, knew no more than most gentlemen
do of their servants, who live with us all our days and are
strangers to us, so strong custom is, and so pitiless the distinction
between class and class.

"So he offered to lend you money, did he?" the elder Pendennis
remarked to his nephew. "He's a dev'lish sly fellow, and a dev'lish
rich fellow; and there's many a nobleman would like to have such a
valet in his service, and borrow from him too. And he ain't a bit
changed, Monsieur Morgan. He does his work just as well as ever--he's
always ready to my bell--steals about the room like a cat--he's so
dev'lishly attached to me, Morgan!"

On the day of Strong's visit, the major bethought him of Pen's story,
and that Morgan might help him, and rallied the valet regarding his
wealth with that free and insolent way which so high-placed a
gentleman might be disposed to adopt toward so unfortunate a creature.

"I hear that you have got some money to invest, Morgan," said the
major.

It's Mr. Arthur has been telling, hang him, thought the valet.

"I'm glad my place is such a good one."

"Thank you, sir--I've no reason to complain of my place, nor of my
master," replied Morgan, demurely.

"You're a good fellow: and I believe you are attached to me; and I'm
glad you get on well. And I hope you'll be prudent, and not be taking
a public-house or that kind of thing."

A public-house, thought Morgan--me in a public-house!--the old
fool!--Dammy, if I was ten years younger I'd set in Parlyment before I
died, that I would. "No, thank you kindly, sir. I don't think of the
public line, sir. And I've got my little savings pretty well put
out, sir."

"You do a little in the discounting way, eh, Morgan?"

"Yes, sir, a very little--I--I beg your pardon, sir--might I be so
free as to ask a question--"

"Speak on, my good fellow," the elder said, graciously.

"About Sir Francis Clavering's paper, sir? Do you think he's any
longer any good, sir? Will my lady pay on 'em, any more, sir?"

"What, you've done something in that business already?"

"Yes, sir, a little," replied Morgan, dropping down his eyes. "And I
don't mind owning, sir, and I hope I may take the liberty of saying,
sir, that a little more would make me very comfortable if it turned
out as well as the last."

"Why, how much have you netted by him, in Gad's name?" asked the
major.

"I've done a good bit, sir, at it: that I own, sir. Having some
information, and made acquaintance with the fam'ly through your
kindness, I put on the pot, sir."

"You did what?"

"I laid my money on, sir--I got all I could, and borrowed, and bought
Sir Francis's bills; many of 'em had his name, and the gentleman's as
is just gone out, Edward Strong, Esquire, sir: and of course I know of
the blow hup and shindy as is took place in Grosvenor-place, sir:
and as I may as well make my money as another, I'd be _very_ much
obleeged to you if you'd tell me whether my lady will come down
any more."

Although Major Pendennis was as much surprised at this intelligence
regarding his servant, as if he had heard that Morgan was a disguised
marquis, about to throw off his mask and assume his seat in the House
of Peers; and although he was of course indignant at the audacity of
the fellow who had dared to grow rich under his nose, and without his
cognizance; yet he had a natural admiration for every man who
represented money and success, and found himself respecting Morgan,
and being rather afraid of that worthy, as the truth began to
dawn upon him.

"Well, Morgan," said he, "I mustn't ask how rich you are; and the
richer the better for your sake, I'm sure. And if I could give you any
information that could serve you, I would speedily help you. But
frankly, if Lady Clavering asks me whether she shall pay any more of
Sir Francis's debts, I shall advise and I hope she won't, though I
fear she will--and that is all I know. And so you are aware that Sir
Francis is beginning again in his--eh--reckless and imprudent course?"

"At his old games, sir--can't prevent that gentleman. He will do it."

"Mr. Strong was saying that a Mr. Moss Abrams was the holder of one of
Sir Francis Covering's notes. Do you know any thing of this Mr.
Abrams, or the amount of the bill?"

"Don't know the bill--know Abrams quite well, sir."

"I wish you would find out about it for me. And I wish you would find
out where I can see Sir Francis Clavering, Morgan."

And Morgan said, "thank you, sir, yes, sir, I will, sir;" and retired
from the room, as he had entered it, with his usual stealthy respect
and quiet humility; leaving the major to muse and wonder over what he
had just heard.

The next morning the valet informed Major Pendennis that he had seen
Mr. Abrams; what was the amount of the bill that gentleman was
desirous to negotiate; and that the baronet would be sure to be in the
back parlor of the Wheel of Fortune Tavern that day at one o'clock.

To this appointment Sir Francis Clavering was punctual, and as at one
o'clock he sat in the parlor of the tavern in question, surrounded by
spittoons, Windsor chairs, cheerful prints of boxers, trotting horses,
and pedestrians, and the lingering of last night's tobacco fumes--as
the descendant of an ancient line sate in this delectable place,
accommodated with an old copy of Bell's Life in London, much blotted
with beer, the polite Major Pendennis walked into the apartment.

"So it's you, old boy?" asked the baronet, thinking that Mr. Moss
Abrams had arrived with the money.

"How do you do, Sir Francis Clavering? I wanted to see you, and
followed you here," said the major, at sight of whom the other's
countenance fell. Now that he had his opponent before him, the major
was determined to make a brisk and sudden attack upon him, and went
into action at once. "I know," he continued, "who is the exceedingly
disreputable person for whom you took me, Clavering; and the errand
which brought you here."

"It ain't your business, is it?" asked the baronet, with a sulky and
deprecatory look. "Why are you following me about and taking the
command, and meddling in my affairs, Major Pendennis? I've never done
_you_ any harm, have I? I've never had _your_ money. And I don't
choose to be dodged about in this way, and domineered over. I don't
choose it, and I won't have it. If Lady Clavering has any proposal to
make to me, let it be done in the regular way, and through the
lawyers. I'd rather not have you."

"I am not come from Lady Clavering," the major said, "but of my own
accord, to try and remonstrate with you, Clavering, and see if you can
be kept from ruin. It is but a month ago that you swore on your honor,
and wanted to get a Bible to strengthen the oath, that you would
accept no more bills, but content yourself with the allowance which
Lady Clavering gives you. All your debts were paid with that proviso,
and you have broken it; this Mr. Abrams has a bill of yours for
sixty pounds."

"It's an old bill. I take my solemn oath it's an old bill," shrieked
out the baronet.

"You drew it yesterday, and you dated three months back purposely. By
Gad, Clavering, you sicken me with lies, I can't help telling you so.
I've no patience with you, by Gad. You cheat every body, yourself
included. I've seen a deal of the world, but I never met your equal at
humbugging. It's my belief you had rather lie than not."

"Have you come here, you old, old beast, to tempt me to--to pitch into
you, and--and knock your old head off?" said the baronet, with a
poisonous look of hatred at the major.

"What, sir?" shouted out the old major, rising to his feet and
clasping his cane, and looking so fiercely, that the baronet's tone
instantly changed toward him.

"No, no," said Clavering piteously, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean
to be angry, or say any thing unkind, only you're so damned harsh to
me, Major Pendennis. What is it you want of me? Why have you been
hunting me so? Do _you_ want money out of me too? By Jove, you know
I've not got a shilling,"--and so Clavering, according to his custom,
passed from a curse into a whimper.

Major Pendennis saw from the other's tone, that Clavering knew his
secret was in the major's hands.

"I've no errand from any body, or no design upon you," Pendennis said,
"but an endeavor, if it's not too late, to save you and your family
from utter ruin, through the infernal recklessness of your courses. I
knew your secret--"

"I didn't know it when I married her; upon my oath I didn't know it
till the d--d scoundrel came back and told me himself; and it's the
misery about that which makes me so reckless, Pendennis; indeed it
is;" the baronet cried, clasping his hands.

"I knew your secret from the very first day when I saw Amory come
drunk into your dining-room in Grosvenor-place. I never forget faces.
I remember that fellow in Sidney a convict, and he remembers me. I
know his trial, the date of his marriage, and of his reported death in
the bush. I could swear to him. And I know that you are no more
married to Lady Clavering than I am. I've kept your secret well
enough, for I've not told a single soul that I know it--not your wife,
not yourself till now."

"Poor Lady C., it would cut her up dreadfully," whimpered Sir Francis;
"and it wasn't my fault, major; you know it wasn't."

"Rather than allow you to go on ruining her as you do, I _will_ tell
her, Clavering, and tell all the world too; that is what I swear I
will do, unless I can come to some terms with you, and put some curb
on your infernal folly. By play, debt, and extravagance of all kind,
you've got through half your wife's fortune, and that of her
legitimate heirs, mind--her legitimate heirs. Here it must stop. You
can't live together. You're not fit to live in a great house like
Clavering; and before three years more were over would not leave a
shilling to carry on. I've settled what must be done. You shall have
six hundred a year; you shall go abroad and live on that. You must
give up Parliament, and get on as well as you can. If you refuse, I
give you my word I'll make the real state of things known to-morrow;
I'll swear to Amory, who, when identified, will go back to the country
from whence he came, and will rid the widow of you and himself
together. And so that boy of yours loses at once all title to old
Snell's property, and it goes to your wife's daughter. Ain't I making
myself pretty clearly understood?"

"You wouldn't be so cruel to that poor boy, would you, Pendennis?"
asked the father, pleading piteously; "hang it, think about him. He's
a nice boy: though he's dev'lish wild, I own--he's dev'lish wild."

"It's you who are cruel to him," said the old moralist. "Why, sir,
you'll ruin him yourself inevitably in three years."

"Yes, but perhaps I won't have such dev'lish bad luck, you know; the
luck must turn: and I'll reform, by Gad, I'll reform. And if you were
to split on me, it would cut up my wife so; you know it would, most
infernally."

"To be parted from _you_," said the old major, with a sneer; "you know
she won't live with you again."

"But why can't Lady C. live abroad, or at Bath, or at Tunbridge, or at
the doose, and I go on here?" Clavering continued. "I like being here
better than abroad, and I like being in Parliament. It's dev'lish
convenient being in Parliament. There's very few seats like mine left;
and if I gave it to 'em, I should not wonder the ministry would give
me an island to govern, or some dev'lish good thing; for you know I'm
a gentleman of dev'lish good family, and have a handle to my name,
and--and that sort of thing, Major Pendennis. Eh, don't you see? Don't
you think they'd give me something dev'lish good if I was to play
my cards well? And then, you know, I'd save money, and be kept out of
the way of the confounded hells and _rouge et noir_--and--and so I'd
rather not give up Parliament, please." For at one instant to hate and
defy a man, at the next to weep before him, and at the next to be
perfectly confidential and friendly with him, was not an unusual
process with our versatile-minded baronet.

"As for your seat in Parliament," the major said, with something of a
blush on his cheek, and a certain tremor, which the other did not see
"you must part with that, Sir Francis Clavering, to--to me."

"What! are you going into the House, Major Pendennis?"

"No--not I; but my nephew, Arthur, is a very clever fellow, and would
make a figure there: and when Clavering had two members, his father
might very likely have been one; and--and I should like Arthur to be
there," the major said.

"Dammy, does _he_ know it, too?" cried out Clavering.

"Nobody knows any thing out of this room," Pendennis answered; "and if
you do this favor for me, I hold my tongue. If not, I'm a man of my
word, and will do what I have said."

"I say, major," said Sir Francis, with a peculiarly humble smile,
"you--you couldn't get me my first quarter in advance, could you, like
the best of fellows? You can do any thing with Lady Clavering; and,
upon my oath, I'll take up that bill of Abrams. The little dam
scoundrel, I know he'll do me in the business--he always does; and if
you could do this for me, we'd see, major."

"And I think your best plan would be to go down in September to
Clavering to shoot, and take my nephew with you, and introduce him.
Yes, that will be the best time. And we will try and manage about the
advance." (Arthur may lend him that, thought old Pendennis. Confound
him, a seat in Parliament is worth a hundred and fifty pounds.) "And,
Clavering, you understand, of course, my nephew knows nothing about
this business. You have a mind to retire: he is a Clavering man, and a
good representative for the borough; you introduce him, and your
people vote for him--you see."

"When can you get me the hundred and fifty, major? When shall I come
and see you? Will you be at home this evening or to-morrow morning?
Will you have any thing here? They've got some dev'lish good bitters
in the bar. I often have a glass of bitters, it sets one up so."

The old major would take no refreshment; but rose and took his leave
of the baronet, who walked with him to the door of the Wheel of
Fortune, and then strolled into the bar, where he took a glass of gin
and bitters with the landlady there: and a gentleman connected with
the ring (who boarded at the Wheel of F.) coming in, he and Sir
Francis Clavering and the landlord talked about the fights and the
news of the sporting world in general; and at length Mr. Moss Abrams
arrived with the proceeds of the baronet's bill, from which his own
handsome commission was deducted, and out of the remainder Sir Francis
"stood" a dinner at Greenwich to his distinguished friend, and passed
the evening gayly at Vauxhall. Meanwhile Major Pendennis, calling a
cab in Piccadilly, drove to Lamb-court, Temple, where he speedily was
closeted with his nephew in deep conversation.

After their talk they parted on very good terms, and it was in
consequence of that unreported conversation, whereof the reader
nevertheless can pretty well guess the bearing, that Arthur expressed
himself as we have heard in the colloquy with Warrington, which is
reported in the last chapter.

When a man is tempted to do a tempting thing, he can find a hundred
ingenious reasons for gratifying his liking; and Arthur thought very
much that he would like to be in Parliament, and that he would like to
distinguish himself there, and that he need not care much what side he
took, as there was falsehood and truth on every side. And on this and
on other matters he thought he would compromise with his conscience,
and that Sadduceeism was a very convenient and good-humored profession
of faith.





CHAPTER XXV.

PHILLIS AND CORYDON.


[Illustration]

On a picturesque common in the neighborhood of Tunbridge Wells, Lady
Clavering had found a pretty villa, whither she retired after her
conjugal disputes at the end of that unlucky London season. Miss
Amory, of course, accompanied her mother, and Master Clavering came
home for the holidays, with whom Blanche's chief occupation was to
fight and quarrel. But this was only a home pastime, and the young
school-boy was not fond of home sports. He found cricket, and horses,
and plenty of friends at Tunbridge. The good-natured Begum's house was
filled with a constant society of young gentlemen of thirteen, who ate
and drank much too copiously of tarts and Champagne, who rode races on
the lawn, and frightened the fond mother; who smoked and made
themselves sick, and the dining-room unbearable to Miss Blanche. She
did not like the society of young gentlemen of thirteen.

As for that fair young creature, any change, as long as it was change,
was pleasant to her; and for a week or two she would have liked
poverty and a cottage, and bread and cheese; and, for a night,
perhaps, a dungeon and bread and water, and so the move to Tunbridge
was by no means unwelcome to her. She wandered in the woods, and
sketched trees and farm-houses; she read French novels habitually; she
drove into Tunbridge Wells pretty often, and to any play, or ball, or
conjuror, or musician who might happen to appear in the place; she
slept a great deal; she quarreled with mamma and Frank during the
morning; she found the little village school and attended it, and
first fondled the girls and thwarted the mistress, then scolded the
girls and laughed at the teacher; she was constant at church, of
course. It was a pretty little church, of immense antiquity--a little
Anglo-Norman _bijou,_ built the day before yesterday, and decorated
with all sorts of painted windows, carved saints' heads, gilt
Scripture texts, and open pews. Blanche began forthwith to work a most
correct high-church altar-cover for the church. She passed for a saint
with the clergyman for a while, whom she quite took in, and whom she
coaxed, and wheedled, and fondled so artfully, that poor Mrs. Smirke,
who at first was charmed with her, then bore with her, then would
hardly speak to her, was almost mad with jealousy. Mrs. Smirke was the
wife of our old friend Smirke, Pen's tutor and poor Helen's suitor. He
had consoled himself for her refusal with a young lady from Clapham
whom his mamma provided. When the latter died, our friend's views
became every day more and more pronounced. He cut off his coat collar,
and let his hair grow over his back. He rigorously gave up the curl
which he used to sport on his forehead, and the tie of his neckcloth
of which he was rather proud. He went without any tie at all. He went
without dinner on Fridays. He read the Roman Hours, and intimated that
he was ready to receive confessions in the vestry. The most harmless
creature in the world, he was denounced as a black and a most
dangerous Jesuit and Papist, by Muffin of the Dissenting chapel, and
Mr. Simeon Knight at the old church. Mr. Smirke had built his chapel
of ease with the money left him by his mother at Clapham. Lord! lord!
what would she have said to hear a table called an altar! to see
candlesticks on it! to get letters signed on the Feast of Saint
So-and-so, or the Vigil of Saint What-do-you-call-'em! All these
things did the boy of Clapham practice; his faithful wife following
him. But when Blanche had a conference of near two hours in the vestry
with Mr. Smirke, Belinda paced up and down on the grass, where there
were only two little grave-stones as yet; she wished that she had a
third there: only, only he would offer very likely to that creature,
who had infatuated him, in a fortnight. No, she would retire; she
would go into a convent, and profess, and leave him. Such bad thoughts
had Smirke's wife and his neighbors regarding him; these, thinking him
in direct correspondence with the bishop of Rome; that, bewailing
errors to her even more odious and fatal; and yet our friend meant no
earthly harm. The post-office never brought him any letters from the
Pope; he thought Blanche, to be sure, at first, the most pious,
gifted, right-thinking, fascinating person he had ever met; and her
manner of singing the chants delighted him--but after a while he began
to grow rather tired of Miss Amory, her ways and graces grew stale
somehow; then he was doubtful about Miss Amory; then she made a
disturbance in his school, lost her temper, and rapped the children's
fingers. Blanche inspired this admiration and satiety, somehow, in
many men. She tried to please them, and flung out all her graces at
once; came down to them with all her jewels on, all her smiles, and
cajoleries, and coaxings, and ogles. Then she grew tired of them and
of trying to please them, and never having cared about them, dropped
them: and the men grew tired of her, and dropped her too. It was a
happy night for Belinda when Blanche went away; and her husband, with
rather a blush and a sigh, said "he had been deceived in her; he had
thought her endowed with many precious gifts, he feared they were mere
tinsel; he thought she had been a right-thinking person, he feared she
had merely made religion an amusement--she certainly had quite lost
her temper to the schoolmistress, and beat Polly Rucker's knuckles
cruelly." Belinda flew to his arms, there was no question about the
grave or the veil any more. He tenderly embraced her on the forehead.
"There is none like thee, my Belinda," he said, throwing his fine eyes
up to the ceiling, "precious among women!" As for Blanche, from the
instant she lost sight of him and Belinda, she never thought or cared
about either any more.

But when Arthur went down to pass a few days at Tunbridge Wells with
the Begum, this stage of indifference had not arrived on Miss
Blanche's part or on that of the simple clergyman. Smirke believed her
to be an angel and wonder of a woman. Such a perfection he had never
seen, and sate listening to her music in the summer evenings,
open-mouthed, rapt in wonder, tea-less, and bread-and-butterless.
Fascinating as he had heard the music of the opera to be--he had never
but once attended an exhibition of that nature (which he mentioned
with a blush and a sigh--it was on that day when he had accompanied
Helen and her son to the play at Chatteris)--he could not conceive any
thing more delicious, more celestial, he had almost said, than Miss
Amory's music. She was a most gifted being: she had a precious soul:
she had the most remarkable talents--to all outward seeming, the most
heavenly disposition, &c. It was in this way that, being then at the
height of his own fever and bewitchment for Blanche, Smirke discoursed
to Arthur about her.

The meeting between the two old acquaintances had been very cordial.
Arthur loved any body who loved his mother; Smirke could speak on that
theme with genuine feeling and emotion. They had a hundred things to
tell each other of what had occurred in their lives. "Arthur would
perceive," Smirke said, "that his--his views on Church matters had
developed themselves since their acquaintance." Mrs. Smirke, a most
exemplary person, seconded them with all her endeavors. He had built
this little church on his mother's demise, who had left him provided
with a sufficiency of worldly means. Though in the cloister himself,
he had heard of Arthur's reputation. He spoke in the kindest and most
saddened tone; he held his eyelids down, and bowed his fair head on
one side. Arthur was immensely amused with him; with his airs; with
his follies and simplicity; with his blank stock and long hair; with
his real goodness, kindness, friendliness of feeling. And his praises
of Blanche pleased and surprised our friend not a little, and made him
regard her with eyes of particular favor.

The truth is, Blanche was very glad to see Arthur; as one is glad to
see an agreeable man in the country, who brings down the last news and
stories from the great city; who can talk better than most country
folks, at least can talk that darling London jargon, so dear and
indispensable to London people, so little understood by persons out
of the world. The first day Pen came down, he kept Blanche laughing
for hours after dinner. She sang her songs with redoubled spirit. She
did not scold her mother; she fondled and kissed her to the honest
Begum's surprise. When it came to be bed-time, she said, "_Déjà!_"
with the prettiest air of regret possible; and was really quite sorry
to go to bed, and squeezed Arthur's hand quite fondly. He on his side
gave her pretty palm a very cordial pressure. Our young gentleman was
of that turn, that eyes very moderately bright dazzled him.

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.