Our characters are all a month older than they were when the last-described adventures and conversations occurred, and a great number of the personages of our story have chanced to reassemble at the little country town where we were first introduced to them. Frederic Lightfoot, formerly maitre d’hotel in the service of Sir Francis Clavering, of Clavering Park, Bart., has begged leave to inform the nobility and gentry of ——— shire that he has taken that well-known and comfortable hotel, the Clavering Arms, in Clavering, where he hopes for the continued patronage of the gentlemen and families of the county. “This ancient and well-established house,” Mr. Lightfoot’s manifesto states, “has been repaired and decorated in a style of the greatest comfort. Gentlemen hunting with the Dumplingbeare hounds will find excellent stabling and loose-boxes for horses at the Clavering Arms. A commodious billiard-room has been attached to the hotel, and the cellars have been furnished with the choicest wines and spirits, selected, without regard to expense, by C. L. Commercial gentlemen will find the Clavering Arms a most comfortable place of resort: and the scale of charges has been regulated for all, so as to meet the economical spirit of the present times.”
Indeed, there is a considerable air of liveliness about the old inn. The Clavering arms have been splendidly repainted over the gateway. The coffee-room windows are bright and fresh, and decorated with Christmas holly; the magistrates have met in petty sessions in the card-room of the old Assembly. The farmers’ ordinary is held as of old, and frequented by increased numbers, who are pleased with Mrs. Lightfoot’s cuisine. Her Indian curries and Mulligatawny soup are especially popular: Major Stokes, the respected tenant of Fairoaks Cottage, Captain Glanders, H.P., and other resident gentry, have pronounced in their favour, and have partaken of them more than once both in private and at the dinner of the Clavering Institute, attendant on the incorporation of the reading-room, and when the chief inhabitants of that flourishing little town met together and did justice to the hostess’s excellent cheer. The chair was taken by Sir Francis Clavering, Bart., supported by the esteemed rector, Dr. Portman; the vice chair being ably filled by Barker, Esq. (supported by the Rev. J. Simcoe and the Rev. S. Jowls), the enterprising head of the ribbon factory in Clavering, and chief director of the Clavering and Chatteris Branch of the Great Western Railway, which will be opened in another year, and upon the works of which the engineers and workmen are now busily engaged.
“An interesting event, which is likely to take place in the life of our talented townsman, Arthur Pendennis, Esq., has, we understand, caused him to relinquish the intentions which he had of offering himself as a candidate for our borough: and rumour whispers” (says the Chatteris Champion, Clavering Agriculturist, and Baymouth Fisherman,— that independent county paper, so distinguished for its unswerving principles and loyalty to the British oak, and so eligible a medium for advertisements)— rumour states, says the C. C. C. A. and B. F., “that should Sir Francis Clavering’s failing health oblige him to relinquish his seat in Parliament, he will vacate it in favour of a young gentleman of colossal fortune and related to the highest aristocracy of the empire, who is about to contract a matrimonial alliance with an accomplished and lovely lady, connected by the nearest ties with the respected family at Clavering Park. Lady Clavering and Miss Amory have arrived at the Park for the Christmas holidays; and we understand that a large number of the aristocracy are expected, and that festivities of a peculiarly interesting nature will take place there at the commencement of the new year.”
The ingenious reader will be enabled, by the help of the above announcement, to understand what has taken place during the little break which has occurred in our narrative. Although Lady Rockminster grumbled a little at Laura’s preference for Pendennis over Bluebeard, those who are aware of the latter’s secret will understand that the young girl could make no other choice, and the kind old lady who had constituted herself Miss Bell’s guardian was not ill pleased that she was to fulfil the great purpose in life of young ladies and marry. She informed her maid of the interesting event that very night, and of course Mrs. Beck, who was perfectly aware of every single circumstance, and kept by Martha, of Fairoaks, in the fullest knowledge of what was passing, was immensely surprised and delighted. “Mr. Pendennis’s income is so much; the railroad will give him so much more, he states; Miss Bell has so much, and may probably have a little more one day. For persons in their degree, they will be able to manage very well. And I shall speak to my nephew Pynsent, who I suspect was once rather attached to her,— but of course that was out of the question (‘Oh! of course, my lady; I should think so indeed!’)— not that you know anything whatever about it, or have any business to think at all on the subject,— I shall speak to George Pynsent, who is now chief secretary of the Tape and Sealing Wax Office, and have Mr. Pendennis made something. And, Beck, in the morning you will carry down my compliments to Major Pendennis, and say that I shall pay him a visit at one o’clock.”—“Yes,” muttered the old lady, “the Major must be reconciled, and he must leave his fortune to Laura’s children.”
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 meet; 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 ambassadress. “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 manquee, 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 ambassadress.
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 demeanour, 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 acknowledge 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 upstairs 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 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 onwards 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, everything 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 jewellers were set to work and engaged to prepare the delightful paraphernalia of Hymen. Lady Clavering was in such a good humour, 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 upstairs 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, “Oh, Arthur — Mr. Pendennis — I want you to tell dear Laura something!” and she came out to the door.
“What is it?” she 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 won’t,” said Blanche. “I have promised him — n’importe. Wait until after our marriage — Oh, until after our marriage — Oh, how wretched I am,” said the girl, who had been all smiles, and grace, and gaiety 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 anything. Tell him to-night.”
“And give her this — Il est la — 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? Oh, 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 cabstands — anything 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 everything 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 anything 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-cassee, 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 bridesmaids’ 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-inlaw, 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 Madame 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-humour.
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-inlaw’s afraid of him; pa-inlaw’s,” ahem! never mind, but ma-inlaw’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 cannot 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 quarrelling 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 a while 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 quarrelling 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 enclosure 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. Oh, 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 anything, 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 o............