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The History of Pendennis, Vol. 2

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




Accordingly, at one o'clock, the Dowager Lady Rockminster appeared at
Major Pendennis's, who was delighted, as may be imagined, to receive
so noble a visitor. The major had been prepared, if not for the news
which her ladyship was about to give him, at least with the
intelligence that Pen's marriage with Miss Amory was broken off. The
young gentleman bethinking him of his uncle, for the first time that
day, it must be owned, and meeting his new servant in the hall of the
hotel, asked after the major's health from Mr. Frosch; and then went
into the coffee-room of the hotel, where he wrote a half-dozen lines
to acquaint his guardian with what had occurred. "Dear uncle," he
said, "if there has been any question between us, it is over now. I
went to Tunbridge Wells yesterday, and found that somebody else had
carried off the prize about which we were hesitating. Miss A., without
any compunction for me, has bestowed herself upon Harry Foker, with
his fifteen thousand a year. I came in suddenly upon their loves, and
found and left him in possession.

"And you'll be glad to hear, Tatham writes me, that he has sold three
of my fields at Fairoaks to the Railroad Company, at a great figure. I
will tell you this, and more when we met; and am always your
affectionate--A.P."

"I think I am aware of what you were about to tell me," the major
said, with a most courtly smile and bow to Pen's embassadress, "It was
a very great kindness of your ladyship to think of bringing me the
news. How well you look! How very good you are! How very kind you have
always been to that young man!"

"It was for the sake of his uncle," said Lady Rockminster, most
politely.

"He has informed me of the state of affairs, and written me a nice
note--yes, a nice note," continued the old gentleman; "and I find he
has had an increase to his fortune--yes; and all things considered, I
don't much regret that this affair with Miss Amory is _manquée_,
though I wished for it once--in fact, all things considered, I am very
glad of it."

"We must console him, Major Pendennis," continued the lady; "we must
get him a wife." The truth then came across the major's mind, and he
saw for what purpose Lady Rockminster had chosen to assume the office
of embassadress.

It is not necessary to enter into the conversation which ensued, or to
tell at any length how her ladyship concluded a negotiation, which, in
truth, was tolerably easy. There could be no reason why Pen should not
marry according to his own and his mother's wish; and as for Lady
Rockminster, she supported the marriage by intimations which had very
great weight with the major, but of which we shall say nothing, as her
ladyship (now, of course, much advanced in years) is still alive, and
the family might be angry; and, in fine, the old gentleman was quite
overcome by the determined graciousness of the lady, and her fondness
for Laura. Nothing, indeed, could be more bland and kind than Lady
Rockminster's whole demeanor, except for one moment when the major
talked about his boy throwing himself away, at which her ladyship
broke out into a little speech, in which she made the major
understand, what poor Pen and his friends acknowledged very humbly,
that Laura was a thousand times too good for him. Laura was fit to be
the wife of a king--Laura was a paragon of virtue and excellence. And
it must be said, that when Major Pendennis found that a lady of the
rank of the Countess of Rockminster seriously admired Miss Bell, he
instantly began to admire her himself.

So that when Herr Frosch was requested to walk up-stairs to Lady
Rockminster's apartments, and inform Miss Bell and Mr. Arthur
Pendennis that the major would receive them, and Laura appeared
blushing and happy as she hung on Pen's arm, the major gave a shaky
hand to one and the other, with no unaffected emotion and cordiality,
and then went through another salutation to Laura, which caused her to
blush still more. Happy blushes! bright eyes beaming with the light of
love! The story-teller turns from this group to his young audience,
and hopes that one day their eyes may all shine so.

Pen having retreated in the most friendly manner, and the lovely
Blanche having bestowed her young affections upon a blushing bridegroom,
with fifteen thousand a year, there was such an outbreak of
happiness in Lady Clavering's heart and family as the good Begum had
not known for many a year, and she and Blanche were on the most
delightful terms of cordiality and affection. The ardent Foker pressed
onward the happy day, and was as anxious as might be expected to
abridge the period of mourning which had put him in possession of so
many charms and amiable qualities, of which he had been only, as it
were, the heir apparent, not the actual owner, until then. The gentle
Blanche, every thing that her affianced lord could desire, was not
averse to gratify the wishes of her fond Henry. Lady Clavering came up
from Tunbridge. Milliners and jewelers were set to work and engaged to
prepare the delightful paraphernalia of Hymen. Lady Clavering was in
such a good humor, that Sir Francis even benefited by it, and such a
reconciliation was effected between this pair, that Sir Francis came
to London, sate at the head of his own table once more, and appeared
tolerably flush of money at his billiard-rooms and gambling-houses
again. One day, when Major Pendennis and Arthur went to dine in
Grosvenor place, they found an old acquaintance established in the
quality of major-domo, and the gentleman in black, who, with perfect
politeness and gravity, offered them their choice of sweet or dry
champagne, was no other than Mr. James Morgan. The Chevalier Strong
was one of the party; he was in high spirits and condition, and
entertained the company with accounts of his amusements abroad.

"It was my lady who invited me," said Strong to Arthur, under his
voice--"that fellow Morgan looked as black as thunder when I came in.
He is about no good here. I will go away first, and wait for you and
Major Pendennis at Hyde Park Gate."

Mr. Morgan helped Major Pendennis to his great coat when he was
quitting the house; and muttered something about having accepted a
temporary engagement with the Clavering family.

"I have got a paper of yours, Mr. Morgan," said the old gentleman.

"Which you can show, if you please, to Sir Francis, sir, and perfectly
welcome," said Mr. Morgan, with downcast eyes. "I'm very much obliged
to you, Major Pendennis, and if I can pay you for all your kindness
I will."

Arthur overheard the sentence, and saw the look of hatred which
accompanied it, suddenly cried out that he had forgotten his
handkerchief, and ran up-stairs to the drawing-room again. Foker was
still there; still lingering about his siren. Pen gave the siren a
look full of meaning, and we suppose that the siren understood meaning
looks, for when, after finding the veracious handkerchief of which he
came in quest, he once more went out, the siren, with a laughing
voice, said, "O, Arthur--Mr. Pendennis--I want you to tell dear Laura
something?" and she came out to the door.

"What is it?" he asked, shutting the door.

"Have you told Harry? Do you know that villain Morgan knows all."

"I know it," she said.

"Have you told Harry?"

"No, no," she said. "You won't betray me?"

"Morgan will," said Pen.

"No, he wont," said Blanche. "I have promised him--_n'importe_. Wait
until after our marriage--O, until after our marriage--O, how wretched
I am," said the girl, who had been all smiles, and grace, and gayety
during the evening.

Arthur said, "I beg and implore you to tell Harry. Tell him now. It is
no fault of yours. He will pardon you any thing. Tell him tonight."

"And give her this--_Il est là_--with my love, please; and I beg your
pardon for calling you back; and if she will be at Madame Crinoline's
at half-past three, and if Lady Rockminster can spare her, I should so
like to drive with her in the park;" and she went in, singing and
kissing her little hand, as Morgan the velvet-footed came up the
carpeted stair.

Pen heard Blanche's piano breaking out into brilliant music as he went
down to join his uncle; and they walked away together. Arthur briefly
told him what he had done. "What was to be done?" he asked.

"What is to be done, begad?" said the old gentleman. "What is to be
done but to leave it alone? Begad, let us be thankful," said the old
fellow, with a shudder, "that we are out of the business, and leave it
to those it concerns."

"I hope to Heaven she'll tell him," said Pen.

"Begad, she'll take her own course," said the old man. "Miss Amory is
a dev'lish wide-awake girl, sir, and must play her own cards; and I'm
doosid glad you are out of it--doosid glad, begad. Who's this smoking?
O, it's Mr. Strong again. He wants to put in _his_ oar, I suppose. I
tell you, don't meddle in the business, Arthur."

Strong began once or twice, as if to converse upon the subject, but
the major would not hear a word. He remarked on the moonlight on
Apsley House, the weather, the cab-stands--any thing but that subject.
He bowed stiffly to Strong, and clung to his nephew's arm, as he
turned down St. James's-street, and again cautioned Pen to leave the
affair alone. "It had like to have cost you so much, sir, that you may
take my advice," he said.

When Arthur came out of the hotel, Strong's cloak and cigar were
visible a few doors off. The jolly chevalier laughed as they met. "I'm
an old soldier too," he said. "I wanted to talk to you, Pendennis. I
have heard of all that has happened, and all the chops and changes
that have taken place during my absence. I congratulate you on your
marriage, and I congratulate you on your escape, too--you understand
me. It was not my business to speak, but I know this, that a certain
party is as arrant a little--well--well, never mind what. You acted
like a man, and a trump, and are well out of it."

"I have no reason to complain," said Pen. "I went back to beg and
entreat poor Blanche to tell Foker all: I hope, for her sake, she
will; but I fear not. There is but one policy, Strong, there is
but one."

"And lucky he that can stick to it," said the chevalier. "That rascal
Morgan means mischief. He has been lurking about our chambers for the
last two months: he has found out that poor mad devil Amory's secret.
He has been trying to discover where he was: he has been pumping Mr.
Bolton, and making old Costigan drunk several times. He bribed the Inn
porter to tell him when we came back: and he has got into Clavering's
service on the strength of his information. He will get very good pay
for it, mark my words, the villain." "Where is Amory?" asked Pen.

"At Boulogne, I believe. I left him there, and warned him not to come
back. I have broken with him, after a desperate quarrel, such as one
might have expected with such a madman. And I'm glad to think that he
is in my debt now, and that I have been the means of keeping him out
of more harms than one."

"He has lost all his winnings, I suppose," said Pen.

"No: he is rather better than when he went away, or was a fortnight
ago. He had extraordinary luck at Baden: broke the bank several
nights, and was the fable of the place. He _lied_ himself there, with
a fellow by the name of Bloundell, who gathered about him a society of
all sorts of sharpers, male and female, Russians, Germans, French,
English. Amory got so insolent, that I was obliged to thrash him one
day within an inch of his life. I couldn't help myself; the fellow has
plenty of pluck, and I had nothing for it but to hit out."

"And did he call you out?" said Pen.

"You think if I had shot him I should have done nobody any harm? No,
sir; I waited for his challenge, but it never came: and the next time
I met him he begged my pardon, and said, 'Strong, I beg your pardon;
you whopped me and you served me right.' I shook hands: but I couldn't
live with him after that. I paid him what I owed him the night
before," said Strong with a blush. "I pawned every thing to pay him,
and then I went with my last ten florins, and had a shy at the
_roulette_. If I had lost, I should have let him shoot me in the
morning. I was weary of my life. By Jove, sir, isn't it a shame that a
man like me, who may have had a few bills out, but who never deserted
a friend, or did an unfair action, shouldn't be able to turn his hand
to any thing to get bread? I made a good night, sir, at _roulette_,
and I've done with _that_. I'm going into the wine business. My wife's
relations live at Cadiz. I intend to bring over Spanish wine and hams;
there's a fortune to be made by it, sir--a fortune--here's my card. If
you want any sherry or hams, recollect Ned Strong is your man." And
the chevalier pulled out a handsome card, stating that Strong and
Company, Shepherd's Inn, were sole agents of the celebrated Diamond
Manzanilla of the Duke of Garbanzos, Grandee of Spain of the First
Class; and of the famous Toboso hams, fed on acorns only in the
country of Don Quixote. "Come and taste 'em, sir--come and try 'em at
my chambers. You see, I've an eye to business, and by Jove, this time
I'll succeed."

Pen laughed as he took the card. "I don't know whether I shall be
allowed to go to bachelors' parties," he said. "You know I'm
going to--"

"But you _must_ have sherry, sir. You must have sherry."

"I will have it from you, depend on it," said the other. "And I think
you are very well out of your other partnership. That worthy, Altamont
and his daughter correspond, I hear," Pen added after a pause "Yes;
she wrote him the longest rigmarole letters that I used to read: the
sly little devil; and he answered under cover to Mrs. Bonner. He was
for carrying her off the first day or two, and nothing would content
him but having back his child. But she didn't want to come, as you may
fancy; and he was not very eager about it." Here the chevalier burst
out in a laugh. "Why, sir, do you know what was the cause of our
quarrel and boxing match? There was a certain widow at Baden, a Madame
la Baronne de la Cruche-cassée, who was not much better than himself,
and whom the scoundrel wanted to marry; and would, but that I told her
he was married already. I don't think that she was much better than he
was. I saw her on the pier at Boulogne the day I came to England."

And now we have brought up our narrative to the point, whither the
announcement in the Chatteris Champion had already conducted us.

It wanted but very, very few days before that blissful one when Foker
should call Blanche his own; the Clavering folks had all pressed to
see the most splendid new carriage in the whole world, which was
standing in the coach-house at the Clavering Arms; and shown, in
grateful return for drink, commonly, by Mr. Foker's head coachman.
Madame Fribsby was occupied in making some lovely dresses for the
tenants' daughters, who were to figure as a sort of bridemaids' chorus
at the breakfast and marriage ceremony. And immense festivities were
to take place at the Park upon this delightful occasion.

"Yes, Mr. Huxter, yes; a happy tenantry, its country's pride, will
assemble in the baronial hall, where the beards will wag all. The ox
shall be slain, and the cup they'll drain; and the bells shall peal
quite genteel; and my father-in-law, with the tear of sensibility
bedewing his eye, shall bless us at his baronial porch. That shall be
the order of proceedings, I think, Mr. Huxter; and I hope we shall see
you and _your_ lovely bride by her husband's side; and what will you
please to drink, sir? Mrs. Lightfoot, madam, you will give to my
excellent friend and body surgeon, Mr. Huxter, Mr. Samuel Huxter,
M.R.C.S., every refreshment that your hostel affords, and place the
festive amount to my account; and Mr. Lightfoot, sir, what will _you_
take? though you've had enough already, I think; yes, ha."

So spoke Harry Foker in the bar of the Clavering Arms. He had
apartments at that hotel, and had gathered a circle of friends round
him there. He treated all to drink who came. He was hail-fellow with
every man. He was so happy! He danced round Madam Fribsby, Mrs.
Lightfoot's great ally, as she sate pensive in the bar. He consoled
Mrs. Lightfoot, who had already begun to have causes of matrimonial
disquiet; for the truth must be told, that young Lightfoot, having now
the full command of the cellar, had none over his own unbridled
desires, and was tippling and tipsy from morning till night. And a
piteous sight it was for his fond wife to behold the big youth reeling
about the yard and coffee-room, or drinking with the farmers and
tradesmen his own neat wines and carefully-selected stock of spirits.

When he could find time, Mr. Morgan the butler came from the Park, and
took a glass at the expense of the landlord of the Clavering Arms. He
watched poor Lightfoot's tipsy vagaries with savage sneers. Mrs.
Lightfoot felt always doubly uncomfortable when her unhappy spouse was
under his comrade's eye. But a few months married, and to think he had
got to this. Madame Fribsby could feel for her. Madame Fribsby could
tell her stories of men every bit as bad. She had had her own woes
too, and her sad experience of men. So it is that nobody seems happy
altogether; and that there's bitters, as Mr. Foker remarked, in the
cup of every man's life. And yet there did not seem to be any in his,
the honest young fellow! It was brimming over with happiness and
good-humor.

Mr. Morgan was constant in his attentions to Foker. "And yet I don't
like him somehow," said the candid young man to Mrs. Lightfoot. "He
always seems as if he was measuring me for my coffin somehow.
Pa-in-law's afraid of him; pa-in-law's, a-hem! never mind, but ma-in-law's
a trump, Mrs. Lightfoot."

"Indeed my lady was;" and Mrs. Lightfoot owned, with a sigh, that
perhaps it had been better for her had she never left her mistress.

"No, I do not like thee, Dr. Fell: the reason why I can not tell,"
continued Mr. Foker; "and he wants to be taken as my head man. Blanche
wants me to take him. Why does Miss Amory like him so?"

"Did Miss Blanche like him so?" The notion seemed to disturb Mrs.
Lightfoot very much; and there came to this worthy landlady another
cause for disturbance. A letter bearing the Boulogne postmark, was
brought to her one morning, and she and her husband were quarreling
over it as Foker passed down the stairs by the bar, on his way to the
Park. His custom was to breakfast there, and bask awhile in the
presence of Armida; then, as the company of Clavering tired him
exceedingly, and he did not care for sporting, he would return for an
hour or two to billiards and the society of the Clavering Arms; then
it would be time to ride with Miss Amory, and, after dining with her,
he left her and returned modestly to his inn.

Lightfoot and his wife were quarreling over the letter. What was that
letter from abroad? Why was she always having letters from abroad? Who
wrote 'em?--he would know. He didn't believe it was her brother. It
was no business of his? It _was_ a business of his; and, with a curse,
he seized hold of his wife, and dashed at her pocket for the letter.

The poor woman gave a scream; and said, "Well, take it." Just as her
husband seized on the letter, and Mr. Foker entered at the door, she
gave another scream at seeing him, and once more tried to seize the
paper. Lightfoot opened it, shaking her away, and an inclosure dropped
down on the breakfast table.

"Hands off, man alive!" cried little Harry, springing in. "Don't lay
hands on a woman, sir. The man that lays his hand upon a woman, save
in the way of kindness, is a--hallo! it's a letter for Miss Amory.
What's this, Mrs. Lightfoot?"

Mrs. Lightfoot began, in piteous tones of reproach to her husband--
"You unmanly! to treat a woman so who took you off the street. O you
coward, to lay your hand upon your wife! Why did I marry you? Why did
I leave my lady for you? Why did I spend eight hundred pound in
fitting up this house that you might drink and guzzle?"

"She gets letters, and she won't tell me who writes letters," said Mr.
Lightfoot, with a muzzy voice, "it's a family affair, sir. Will you
take any thing, sir?"

"I will take this letter to Miss Amory, as I am going to the Park,"
said Foker, turning very pale; and taking it up from the table, which
was arranged for the poor landlady's breakfast, he went away.

"He's comin'--dammy, who's a-comin'? Who's J.A., Mrs. Lightfoot
--curse me, who's J.A.," cried the husband.

Mrs. Lightfoot cried out, "Be quiet, you tipsy brute, do,"--and
running to her bonnet and shawl, threw them on, saw Mr. Foker walking
down the street, took the by-lane which skirts it, and ran as quickly
as she could to the lodge-gate, Clavering Park. Foker saw a running
figure before him, but it was lost when he got to the lodge-gate. He
stopped and asked, "Who was that who had just come in? Mrs. Bonner,
was it?" He reeled almost in his walk: the trees swam before him. He
rested once or twice against the trunks of the naked limes.

Lady Clavering was in the breakfast-room with her son, and her husband
yawning over his paper. "Good-morning, Harry," said the Begum. "Here's
letters, lots of letters; Lady Rockminster will be here on Tuesday
instead of Monday, and Arthur and the major come to-day; and Laura is
to go Dr. Portman's, and come to church from there: and--what's the
matter, my dear? What makes you so pale Harry?"

"Where is Blanche?" asked Harry, in a sickening voice "not down yet?"

"Blanche is always the last," said the boy, eating muffins; "she's a
regular dawdle, she is. When you're not here, she lays in bed till
lunch time."

"Be quiet, Frank," said the mother.

Blanche came down presently, looking pale, and with rather an eager
look toward Foker; then she advanced and kissed her mother, and had a
face beaming with her very best smiles on when she greeted Harry.

"How do you do, sir?" she said, and put out both her hands.

"I'm ill," answered Harry. "I--I've brought a letter for you, Blanche."

"A letter, and from whom is it pray? _Voyons_" she said.

"I don't know--I should like to know," said Foker.

"How can I tell until I see it?" asked Blanche. "Has Mrs. Bonner not
told you?" he said, with a shaking voice; "there's some secret. _You_
give her the letter, Lady Clavering."

Lady Clavering, wondering, took the letter from poor Foker's shaking
hand, and looked at the superscription. As she looked at it, she too
began to shake in every limb, and with a scared face she dropped the
letter, and running up to Frank, clutched the boy to her, and burst
out with a sob, "Take that away--it's impossible, it's impossible."

"What is the matter?" cried Blanche, with rather a ghastly smile, "the
letter is only from--from a poor pensioner and relative of ours."

"It's not true, it's not true," screamed Lady Clavering. "No, my
Frank--is it Clavering?"

Blanche had taken up the letter, and was moving with it toward the
fire, but Foker ran to her and clutched her arm, "I must see that
letter," he said; "give it to me. You shan't burn it."

"You--you shall not treat Miss Amory so in my house," cried the
baronet; "give back the letter, by Jove!"

"Read it--and look at her," Blanche cried, pointing to her mother;
"it--it was for her I kept the secret! Read it, cruel man!"

And Foker opened and read the letter:

"I have not wrote, my darling Bessy, this three weeks; but this is to
give her a _father's blessing_, and I shall come down pretty soon as
quick as my note, and intend to see _the ceremony, and my son-in-law_.
I shall put up at Bonner's. I have had a pleasant autumn, and am
staying here at an hotel where there _is good company_, and which is
kep' _in good style_. I don't know whether I quite approve of your
throwing over Mr. P. for Mr. F., and don't think Foker's _such a
pretty name_, and from your account of him he seems a _muff_, and _not
a beauty_. But he has got _the rowdy_, which is the thing. So no more,
my dear little Betsy, till we meet, from your affectionate father,"

"J. AMORY ALTAMONT."

"Read it, Lady Clavering; it is too late to keep it from you now,"
said poor Foker; and the distracted woman, having cast her eyes over
it, again broke out into hysterical screams, and convulsively
grasped her son.

"They have made an outcast of you, my boy," she said. "They've
dishonored your old mother; but I'm innocent, Frank; before God, I'm
innocent. I didn't know this, Mr. Foker; indeed, indeed, I didn't."

"I'm sure you didn't," said Foker, going up and kissing her hand.

"Generous, generous Harry," cried out Blanche in an ecstasy. But he
withdrew his hand, which was upon _her_ side, and turned from her with
a quivering lip. "That's different," he says.

"It was for her sake--for her sake, Harry." Again Miss Amory is in an
attitude.

"There was something to be done for mine" said Foker. "I would have
taken you, whatever you were. Every thing's talked about in London. I
knew that your father had come to--to grief. You don't think it
was--it was for your connection I married you? D--it all! I've loved
you with all my heart and soul for two years, and you've been playing
with me, and cheating me," broke out the young man, with a cry. "Oh,
Blanche, Blanche, it's a hard thing, a hard thing!" and he covered his
face with his hands, and sobbed behind them.

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