Early mention has been made in this history of Mr. Garbetts, Principal Tragedian, a promising and athletic young actor, of jovial habits and irregular inclinations, between whom and Mr. Costigan there was a considerable intimacy. They were the chief ornaments of the convivial club held at the Magpie Hotel; they helped each other in various bill transactions in which they had been engaged, with the mutual loan of each other’s valuable signatures. They were friends, in fine: although Mr. Garbetts seldom called at Costigan’s house, being disliked by Miss Fotheringay, of whom in her turn Mrs. Garbetts was considerably jealous. The truth is, that Garbetts had paid his court to Miss Fotheringay and been refused by her, before he offered his hand to Mrs. G. Their history, however, forms no part of our present scheme — suffice it, Mr. Garbetts was called in by Captain Costigan immediately after his daughter and Mr. Bows had quitted the house, as a friend proper to be consulted at the actual juncture. He was a large man, with a loud voice and fierce aspect, who had the finest legs of the whole company, and could break a poker in mere sport across his stalwart arm.
“Run, Tommy,” said Mr. Costigan to the little messenger, “and fetch Mr. Garbetts from his lodgings over the tripe shop, ye know, and tell ’em to send two glasses of whisky-and-water, hot, from the Grapes.” So Tommy went his way; and presently Mr. Garbetts and the whisky came.
Captain Costigan did not disclose to him the whole of the previous events, of which the reader is in possession; but, with the aid of the spirits-and-water, he composed a letter of a threatening nature to Major Pendennis’s address, in which he called upon that gentleman to offer no hindrance to the marriage projected between Mr. Arthur Pendennis and his daughter, Miss Fotheringay, and to fix an early day for its celebration: or, in any other case, to give him the satisfaction which was usual between gentlemen of honour. And should Major Pendennis be disinclined to this alternative, the Captain hinted, that he would force him to accept by the use of a horsewhip, which he should employ upon the Major’s person. The precise terms of this letter we cannot give, for reasons which shall be specified presently; but it was, no doubt, couched in the Captain’s finest style, and sealed elaborately with the great silver seal of the Costigans — the only bit of the family plate which the Captain possessed.
Garbetts was despatched then with this message and letter; and bidding Heaven bless ‘um the General squeezed his ambassador’s hand, and saw him depart. Then he took down his venerable and murderous duelling-pistols, with flint locks, that had done the business of many a pretty fellow in Dublin: and having examined these, and seen that they were in a satisfactory condition, he brought from the drawer all Pen’s letters and poems which he kept there, and which he always read before he permitted his Emily to enjoy their perusal.
In a score of minutes Garbetts came back with an anxious and crestfallen countenance.
“Ye’ve seen ‘um?” the Captain said.
“Why, yes,” said Garbetts.
“And when is it for?” asked Costigan, trying the lock of one of the ancient pistols, and bringing it to a level with his oi — as he called that bloodshot orb.
“When is what for?” asked Mr. Garbetts.
“The meeting, my dear fellow?”
“You don’t mean to say, you mean mortal combat, Captain,” Garbetts said, aghast.
“What the devil else do I mean, Garbetts?— I want to shoot that man that has trajuiced me honor, or meself dthrop a victim on the sod.”
“D—— if I carry challenges,” Mr. Garbetts replied. “I’m a family man, Captain, and will have nothing to do with pistols — take back your letter;” and, to the surprise and indignation of Captain Costigan, his emissary flung the letter down, with its great sprawling superscription and blotched seal.
“Ye don’t mean to say ye saw ‘um and didn’t give ‘um the letter?” cried out the Captain in a fury.
“I saw him, but I could not have speech with him, Captain,” said Mr. Garbetts.
“And why the devil not?” asked the other.
“There was one there I cared not to meet, nor would you,” the tragedian answered in a sepulchral voice. “The minion Tatham was there, Captain.”
“The cowardly scoundthrel!” roared Costigan. “He’s frightened, and already going to swear the peace against me.”
“I’ll have nothing to do with the fighting, mark that,” the tragedian doggedly said, “and I wish I’d not seen Tatham neither, nor that bit of ——”
“Hold your tongue, Bob Acres. It’s my belief ye’re no better than a coward,” said Captain Costigan, quoting Sir Lucius O’Trigger, which character he had performed with credit, both off and on the stage, and after some more parley between the couple they separated in not very good humour.
Their colloquy has been here condensed, as the reader knows the main point upon which it turned. But the latter will now see how it is impossible to give a correct account of the letter which the Captain wrote to Major Pendennis, as it was never opened at all by that gentleman.
When Miss Costigan came home from rehearsal, which she did in the company of the faithful Mr. Bows, she found her father pacing up and down their apartment in a great state of agitation, and in the midst of a powerful odour of spirits-and-water, which, as it appeared, had not succeeded in pacifying his disordered mind. The Pendennis papers were on the table surrounding the empty goblets and now useless teaspoon which had served to hold and mix the Captain’s liquor and his friend’s. As Emily entered he seized her in his arms, and cried out, “Prepare yourself, me child, me blessed child,” in a voice of agony, and with eyes brimful of tears.
“Ye’re tipsy again, Papa,” Miss Fotheringay said, pushing back her sire. “Ye promised me ye wouldn’t take spirits before dinner.”
“It’s to forget me sorrows, me poor girl, that I’ve taken just a drop,” cried the bereaved father —“it’s to drown me care that I drain the bowl.”
“Your care takes a deal of drowning, Captain dear,” said Bows, mimicking his friend’s accent; “what has happened? Has that soft-spoken gentleman in the wig been vexing you?”
“The oily miscreant! I’ll have his blood!” roared Cos. Miss Milly, it must be premised, had fled to her room out of his embrace, and was taking off her bonnet and shawl there.
“I thought he meant mischief. He was so uncommon civil,” the other said. “What has he come to say?”
“O Bows! He has overwhellum’d me,” the Captain said. “There’s a hellish conspiracy on foot against me poor girl; and it’s me opinion that both them Pendennises, nephew and uncle, is two infernal thrators and scoundthrels, who should be conshumed from off the face of the earth.”
“What is it? What has happened?” said Mr. Bows, growing rather excited.
Costigan then told him the Major’s statement that the young Pendennis had not two thousand, nor two hundred pounds a year; and expressed his fury that he should have permitted such an impostor to coax and wheedle his innocent girl, and that he should have nourished such a viper in his own personal bosom. “I have shaken the reptile from me, however,” said Costigan; “and as for his uncle, I’ll have such a revenge on that old man, as shall make ‘um rue the day he ever insulted a Costigan.”
“What do you mean, General?” said Bows.
“I mean to have his life, Bows — his villanous, skulking life, my boy;” and he rapped upon the battered old pistol-case in an ominous and savage manner. Bows had often heard him appeal to that box of death, with which he proposed to sacrifice his enemies; but the Captain did not tell him that he had actually written and sent a challenge to Major Pendennis, and Mr. Bows therefore rather disregarded the pistols in the present instance.
At this juncture Miss Fotheringay returned to the common sitting-room from her private apartment, looking perfectly healthy, happy, and unconcerned, a striking and wholesome contrast to her father, who was in a delirious tremor of grief, anger, and other agitation. She brought in a pair of ex-white satin shoes with her, which she proposed to rub as clean as might be with bread-crumb: intending to go mad with them upon next Tuesday evening in Ophelia, in which character she was to reappear on that night.
She looked at the papers on the table; stopped as if she was going to ask a question, but thought better of it, and going to the cupboard, selected an eligible piece of bread wherewith she might operate on the satin slippers: and afterwards coming back to the table, seated herself there commodiously with the shoes, and then asked her father, in her honest, Irish brogue, “What have ye got them letthers, and pothry, and stuff, of Master Arthur’s out for, Pa? Sure ye don’t want to be reading over that nonsense.”
“O Emilee!” cried the Captain, “that boy whom I loved as the boy of mee bosom is only a scoundthrel, and a deceiver, mee poor girl:” and he looked in the most tragical way at Mr. Bows, opposite; who, in his turn, gazed somewhat anxiously at Miss Costigan.
“He! pooh! Sure the poor lad’s as simple as a schoolboy,” she said. “All them children write verses and nonsense.”
“He’s been acting the part of a viper to this fireside, and a traitor in this familee,” cried the Captain. “I tell ye he’s no better than an impostor.”
“What has the poor fellow done, Papa?” asked Emily.
“Done? He has deceived us in the most athrocious manner,” Miss Emily’s papa said. “He has thrifled with your affections, and outraged my own fine feelings. He has represented himself as a man of property, and it turruns out that he is no betther than a beggar. Haven’t I often told ye he had two thousand a year? He’s a pauper, I tell ye, Miss Costigan; a depindent upon the bountee of his mother; a good woman, who may marry again, who’s likel............